“So I guess you went back to the salesman the next day.”
“You bet! But the dealership told me that the salesman had quit and anyway, the title in my name was nontransferable to a different car.”
“Outrageous! You were swindled,” said Susan, shocked.
“Yep. And the worst part was that I couldn’t do anything about it. The proof was in the paperwork.”
“So what was the heaven sent lucky break?”
“A phone call,” said Ben, holding out for suspense.
But Susan tried to answer before Ben, “Don’t tell me that the salesman felt sorry for you and gave you back your money?”
“Nope. Even better than that. The same dealership contacted me to tell me that I had won a contest they had announced, of which I hadn’t the slightest memory of entering. I guess among all the paperwork I had signed, there must have been something about a contest. Anyway, the fact is, first prize was a car that I could have never afforded: a cherried-out, flaming red Mustang!”
“That’s amazing! I’ve never met anyone who’s ever won anything in a contest…unless they were related or the mistress of some manager.” Susan seemed really sincere, even though she appeared to be a chronic pessimist.
“Well,” said Ben “I don’t think that it’s just a question of pure luck. I mean, most people never win contests because they don’t participate. They either give up before trying or just don’t tempt fate.”
Susan felt hurt by his accusation of inertia. “What? I don’t agree at all! I would have signed up for hundreds, if not thousands of contests without having won even a consolation prize. You just got really lucky. That’s all, just luck, honey!”
Calling him “honey”, even if blatantly sarcastic, went straight to his head, giving him a smug sense of satisfaction.
“It’s not as rare as you think, you know. Lots of times in my family, we’ve won unexpected prizes from promotions from some brand of cereal or another.”
“We’re not talking about some little toy for kids. We’re talking about a car and…can I dip some of my bread in your sauce, too?”
“Ah, you want to try the ‘scarpetta’?”
“The what?” she asked.
“The ‘scarpetta’. It’s a typical Roman expression, it means ‘little shoe’, but it doesn’t refer to the shoe you wear on your foot. It’s an imitation of the gesture of the workers who cut and sculpted rock from the quarries. These guys were called ‘scalpellini’, or stonecutters. They shaved the slabs of Piperno stone before carving it, just like we’re doing right here with our bread on our plates.”
“Wow! That doesn't sound quite as tasty as bread and sauce, though. I was just hoping some of your good luck would rub off on me to help me find a new job.” Susan's request wasn't presumptuous in the least.
“Of course! Why didn't I think of it sooner? If it's all right with you, I could ask my Uncle Carmine if he needs a waitress at his restaurant. At least nobody would lay a hand on you there.”
“Really? That would be great! That's exactly the kind of job I'm looking for. Thank you so much!”
In a surge of excitement, she threw her arms around him, almost knocking over the bottle of water on the table. Ben was taken by surprise by the unexpected contact of her prominent bosom, as well as the loud kiss she planted on his cheek.
“You're welcome. If I had known that this was the reward, I would have asked you a lot sooner. So how about this, you can come with me tomorrow to the restaurant and I can introduce you in person to my uncle. When he sees how pretty you are, he'll hire you on the spot!”
“Tomorrow? Oh no, I have an appointment that I absolutely can't miss,” said Susan.
“All right, no problem. I'll talk to my uncle first, then we can make the introductions. How about day after tomorrow? Unless your appointment will take longer than a day?”
“No, the day after tomorrow is perfect. I have an exam at the university tomorrow.”
“Really? You didn't tell me that you study. What are you specializing in exactly?” asked Ben.
“Law. My dream is to become an attorney one day.”
“That's fantastic! Fighting crime on the front line. If you need a hand, just give me a call!”
The Italian Affair Restaurant: at the table next to Ben and Susan
The Observer, Guido “Baguette” Bernard, known for his tall, thin stature and his French-Italian origins, couldn't help but murmur his thoughts out loud. “Holy Mother of God! And now what am I gonna tell the Boss?”
Chapter 3
Ben sat in front of his Uncle Carmine, who was taking his time answering.
“So, Uncle Carmine? What do you think? Can you find a job for my friend at your restaurant?”
His hesitation in responding had little to do with not wanting to grant Ben his wish, but more to do with playing for time to come up with a counteroffer.
He was a businessman, after all, whether it meant dealing with a stranger, or his nephew. He lived by a rule over the years; every favor asked of him that he was able to grant, required an immediate payback by the person asking. And the payback had to be, if not greater than the favor, at least equal to it.
“I was just thinking how lucky your friend is. Do you remember Pablo Ruido, the Mexican waiter? Well, just yesterday, he was telling me how homesick he was and how he would love to retire and go back to Mexico. He worked his entire life, and I believe that a man should know when to call it quits and rest. Regarding your friend, this could be just what the doctor ordered.”
Ben jumped up from his chair, beaming with happiness at the opportunity that he could offer Susan, overjoyed at the prospect of keeping the half-promise he had made to her. He started rambling his thanks to his uncle, who, after being pleasantly flattered, interrupted Ben with a hard stare.
“I knew I could count on my favorite uncle! That's what I always say to people: my Uncle Carmine is the most extraordinary and generous person on the face of the earth. If you ever have a problem, go see him, 'cause he can fix anything in a heartbeat!”
When Carmine was satisfied with enough compliments, he stopped Ben's babbling. “Are you finished with the rigamarole?”
Ben shut up and sat back down, like a schoolboy reprimanded by his teacher. “Yes, Uncle Carmine. Sorry.”
“I was just saying that it could be a stroke of luck, not that it will be.”
Ben's enthusiasm vanished into thin air. “But Uncle Carmine, I told you that she already has experience and she's a nice, honest girl!”
“The fact is, dear Benito…” When Carmine called Ben by his full name, it could only mean one thing: a forthcoming lecture. “…I had you in mind for that job. Hold on, don't interrupt me, let me finish what I want to say to you.”
Ben gazed into the air with a lost expression. He was imagining a way to fend off his uncle, allowing him to keep the promise he had made to himself; that no matter what, under any circumstance, nothing would keep him from following his dream. He was preparing to tell his uncle a flat out “no”.
“Obviously, I already know what your answer is,” said Carmine. “You've told me hundreds of times, so stop worrying. That's not what I'm about to say. You've also made it very clear that you don't want any help from my friends or from your uncles to break into show business. I do, however, have something