I might feel in that situation. It is kind of weird when people I know come in. Not family—they come in all the time, and tip big. I think they’re convinced if they don’t eat there that Quinn and I will starve. But it does feel weird sometimes when an acquaintance or friend drops by. I feel more pressure in the kitchen. Anyway…Teddi’s isn’t authentic old Italian. It’s more a New York bistro. Romantic. Classy. Though in the bar, there’s a nod to the Old World and Quinn’s and my families.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, the main dining room we had faux-painted, and there are fresh flowers on every table, that sort of thing. But in the bar, we have old black-and-white pictures of both our families in frames, hung so close together there’s barely any wall showing. There are pictures of our parents and our grandparents. There’s a picture of Ellis Island. A picture my grandfather took of the Statue of Liberty the first time he saw it.”
“I can’t wait to see the pictures. The whole place. I guess that’s why I chose this restaurant—truthfully I asked around at work. I wanted to take you someplace you’d love.”
“Well, this place is terrific. My father would feel right at home here.”
He laughed. “What is your father like?”
“Oh…Dad is kind of hard to explain. He’s obsessed with sports—for gambling reasons. He’s loud. A little gruff. He’s terrified of my mother, and at the same time they go toe-to-toe. He likes to pretend he doesn’t hear her, so growing up, his face was always buried in the racing sheets and the newspapers. He didn’t talk much. I think he had an allotted word requirement of twelve a month. If I called home from college and he happened to answer the phone, he’dsay—” I lowered my voice to affect my father “—‘Hi…let me get your mother.’ Note that was six words. He said it twice a month when I caught him on the phone and we were at twelve.”
“I bet he’s a softie underneath it all.”
“Oh, absolutely. When I was fifteen and my appendix almost burst, he drove me to the hospital, didn’t want to wait for an ambulance. Then he visited a church for the first time since his wedding day and said confession and six rosaries. The surgery was cutting it close. They thought my appendix might burst right on the table, and the recovery was none too fun. My father, they tell me, never left the hallway outside my room. Not once. He didn’t come in to see me, either—at least not when I was awake—but I sensed his presence out in the hall. Sort of like a rottweiler guarding his family…. Now that I’m older, he and I talk a bit more. I’m his princess.”
“And your mother?”
“Annoying. Overbearing. Big hair. Big heart.” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the sneaky Agent Petrocelli watching us over his glass of…I guessed club soda.
“Robert, I’m going to the ladies’ room.” I stood. As I left my seat, he rose out of his seat. Manners. I liked a man with manners.
Walking back to the bar area, I stopped right in front of Agent Petrocelli.
“Stop following me around.”
“What makes you think I’m following you?” He played with the cocktail straw in his soda.
“Look, keep this up and I’ll—” I stopped. I’d what? Call the cops? Make sure he slept with the fishes? What?
“Look…I’m just doing my job, Teddi.”
“Don’t call me Teddi. That’s what my family and friends call me.”
“I know. You’re Grandpa Marcello’s Teddi Bear.”
“You fucking bastard.” My voice trembled, and I could see the customers near us leaning in and listening attentively.
“Look…I have a job to do. And so do you, apparently.”
“Fuck off.” I turned to go, heading toward the ladies’ room. My back was to him when he said the words that would wake me in a cold sweat for days to come.
“Did you know your pal, Diana Kent, aka Lady Di, is very close to having her green card revoked?”
I turned. “Are you
“What’s that?”
“Well, the main dining room we had faux-painted, and there are fresh flowers on every table, that sort of thing. But in the bar, we have old black-and-white pictures of both our families in frames, hung so close together there’s barely any wall showing. There are pictures of our parents and our grandparents. There’s a picture of Ellis Island. A picture my grandfather took of the Statue of Liberty the first time he saw it.”
“I can’t wait to see the pictures. The whole place. I guess that’s why I chose this restaurant—truthfully I asked around at work. I wanted to take you someplace you’d love.”
“Well, this place is terrific. My father would feel right at home here.”
He laughed. “What is your father like?”
“Oh…Dad is kind of hard to explain. He’s obsessed with sports—for gambling reasons. He’s loud. A little gruff. He’s terrified of my mother, and at the same time they go toe-to-toe. He likes to pretend he doesn’t hear her, so growing up, his face was always buried in the racing sheets and the newspapers. He didn’t talk much. I think he had an allotted word requirement of twelve a month. If I called home from college and he happened to answer the phone, he’dsay—” I lowered my voice to affect my father “—‘Hi…let me get your mother.’ Note that was six words. He said it twice a month when I caught him on the phone and we were at twelve.”
“I bet he’s a softie underneath it all.”
“Oh, absolutely. When I was fifteen and my appendix almost burst, he drove me to the hospital, didn’t want to wait for an ambulance. Then he visited a church for the first time since his wedding day and said confession and six rosaries. The surgery was cutting it close. They thought my appendix might burst right on the table, and the recovery was none too fun. My father, they tell me, never left the hallway outside my room. Not once. He didn’t come in to see me, either—at least not when I was awake—but I sensed his presence out in the hall. Sort of like a rottweiler guarding his family…. Now that I’m older, he and I talk a bit more. I’m his princess.”
“And your mother?”
“Annoying. Overbearing. Big hair. Big heart.” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the sneaky Agent Petrocelli watching us over his glass of…I guessed club soda.
“Robert, I’m going to the ladies’ room.” I stood. As I left my seat, he rose out of his seat. Manners. I liked a man with manners.
Walking back to the bar area, I stopped right in front of Agent Petrocelli.
“Stop following me around.”
“What makes you think I’m following you?” He played with the cocktail straw in his soda.
“Look, keep this up and I’ll—” I stopped. I’d what? Call the cops? Make sure he slept with the fishes? What?
“Look…I’m just doing my job, Teddi.”
“Don’t call me Teddi. That’s what my family and friends call me.”
“I know. You’re Grandpa Marcello’s Teddi Bear.”
“You fucking bastard.” My voice trembled, and I could see the customers near us leaning in and listening attentively.
“Look…I have a job to do. And so do you, apparently.”
“Fuck off.” I turned to go, heading toward the ladies’ room. My back was to him when he said the words that would wake me in a cold sweat for days to come.
“Did you know your pal, Diana Kent, aka Lady Di, is very close to having her green card revoked?”
I turned. “Are you
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