Or maybe just dumb. What was it about this cowboy that suddenly prevented me from speaking in complete sentences? I finally managed a wobbly “H-hey,
Duh
-wayne.” Shame washed over me at once.
Tell me I did not just make fun of his name out loud!
Apparently he didn’t notice. Fascinating. A wide-as-Texas grin lit his face as he countered with his opening line. “Pinch me to prove I’m awake.”
“E-excuse me?” I gave him a curious look.
“Oh . . .” His face turned deep red, and he raked his hand through his hair. “Sorry. I’m distracted by the music. Just quoting the lyrics. They struck me as funny.”
Heavens, if that man didn’t look amazing with flushed cheeks and sawdust-free hair. Made me want to pinch
myself
, just to prove
I
was awake.
Straining to hear the music above the noise of the crowd, I quickly realized that “Simpatico” had been replaced with another tune.
“Oh, that’s ‘With My Eyes Wide Open,’” I said. “It’s one of my uncle’s favorites. Of course, anything by Dean Martin makes Uncle Laz smile.”
“Funny how music can have that effect on a person,” D.J. said. His eyes took on a faraway look. “I grew up listening to down-home country music. Mostly stuff from
Hee-Haw
.”
“
Hee-Haw
?” This was a new one to me. I’d have to look it up on the Web.
“Sure, it’s an old TV show,” he explained. “My dad watched it when he was young and got me hooked when the VHS collection came out. There’s some priceless stuff on that show. Great comedy. Amazing old-style country music. Guitar-pickin’. Lots of gospel. That’s my mama’s favorite.”
Should I mention that I didn’t know
Hee-Haw
from a hoedown? That my only experience with country music was an occasional song playing overhead at the grocery store? That the theme seemed pretty universal—someone always got drunk and cheated on someone else?
Nah. I simply smiled and said, “I see.” Perhaps I would . . . with time.
Jenna hovered around us like a UFO coming in for a landing. “Did I hear something about
Hee-Haw
?” she asked, her voice a little more animated than necessary.
“Yep.” D.J. flashed a now-familiar grin, one sure to snag my best friend’s heart and send her sensibilities reeling. “I’m a fan. What about you?”
“Oh, I’m a fan all right.” She gazed into his beautiful blue eyes, but I had a pretty strong suspicion she wasn’t talking about the television show. Or music. No, my friend had something else on her mind, something altogether different. Should I remind her that she was practically engaged? That her boyfriend was working offshore to earn enough money to pay for their yet-to-be-announced wedding? The one she’d promised I could coordinate?
Startling to attention, I made introductions. “D.J. Neeley, this is my best friend in the world”—
even when she’s making a total goober of herself
—“Jenna Miller.”
He gave a polite nod, and Jenna gestured for us to take our seats at the counter.
“I hear you’re from Splendora,” Jenna said as she went back to work scrubbing the already clean countertop.
“Sure am. Born and raised.”
“I wonder if you know my cousins—Jimmy John Taylor and his little brother, Beau.” She lifted the sponge and gave him an inquisitive look.
D.J.’s beautiful blue eyes lit with excitement at the revelation. “I’ve known Jimmy John since we were kids. Played on the same baseball team in high school. Beau was a little younger, but he was light-years above most of us, academically speaking.”
She tossed the sponge aside and gave D.J. another pensive once-over as she added, “Yeah, he works for NASA now.”
“No joke. Well, don’t that beat all.”
For a moment, I thought I saw a hint of jealousy in D.J.’s eyes. Just as quickly, it passed.
Was this a new side to my deejay? Was he a small-town boy wishing he could make something of his life, like Beau? Had D.J. strived for bigger things only to end up on Galveston Island, doing construction work?
Thankfully, my brother Nick interrupted my thoughts when he stopped by to shake D.J.’s hand. “You survived having dinner with the family last night, and now you’re back for more? That speaks volumes. Most people can only take our family in small doses.”
“Hey, I enjoyed it.” D.J. gave him an unpretentious smile.
“Well, hey, what’s not to like?” I said, hoping the conversation would shift.
Joey appeared as if by magic and extended his hand to shake D.J.’s. I couldn’t help but wonder what the handsome cowboy thought about my eclectic baby brother. Joey was quite a contrast to the other men in the family—his short stature and dark, curly ponytail set him apart. And the tattoos got almost as much attention as his mustache and goatee. Not that D.J. seemed to notice. He quickly engaged my brother in easy conversation about one of his tattoos—two nails overlapping each other to form a cross.
Flexing his upper arm, Joey explained, “I got this one after I started doing street ministry with our church. It’s a great conversation starter.”
D.J. gave it another look. “No doubt. It’s great.”
The chatter must’ve summoned Uncle Laz, who joined us from the kitchen. He nodded in D.J.’s direction. “Glad to see you survived Rosa’s cooking.”
“Oh?” D.J. looked my way, clearly confused.
I simply shrugged. “My uncle would like you to think he’s the only one in the family with any culinary skills. But don’t give him an inch on this one, okay? He’ll take a mile.”
Laz scowled at me, but I knew he meant no harm. We did this sort of harmless bantering all the time.
“Rosa’s great with pasta and breads, but the boss does make a mean pizza,” Jenna threw in. “Best I’ve ever tasted anyway.”
Uncle Laz raised his ladle in the air and exclaimed, “
Segreto nella salsa.
And I’ve told you not to call me ‘the boss.’”
D.J. looked at me again.
“Secret’s in the sauce,” I whispered. “But it’s not much of a secret these days.” I stopped short of explaining that Laz didn’t like to be called “the boss” because it had too many negative connotations.
“Hush now, Bella.” Laz gave me a warning look, followed by a wink.
“As for the rest of the family, well, we’re a little, um . . .” Nick shrugged, and I could almost read his mind.
Crazy? Nutty?
“A little what, Nicholas?” Uncle Laz countered, raising his ladle again. “Better watch yourself, boy. God put you in this family, and he can just as easily take you out.”
“Spoken like a former mobster,” Nick whispered.
“I heard that.” Laz raised his voice above the pitch of the music, plenty loud enough for everyone on Galveston Island to take note. “And for your information, I was never in the mob.”
Nick decided this was his cue to do his near-perfect impression of Don Corleone. He quoted a couple of familiar lines from
The Godfather
, then ended with an over-the-top rendition of Brando’s famous line, “I’m gonna make him an offer he can’t refuse.” I had to give it to him—my brother was a dead ringer for the infamous mob boss. Er, make that a good match.
D.J. smiled as my brother wrapped up his act. “Right, right.
The Godfather
. Saw that movie once on cable.”
“Just once?” We all turned and stared at him.
The Godfather
movies were a staple in the Rossi home. We owned both the VHS and DVD versions of every one.
“Nick memorized the first movie in high school,” I explained, “but please, whatever you do, don’t get him started. He’ll quote the whole thing.”
Nick turned to D.J. and shrugged. “I’ll stop. But talk to me later. There are a few things you might want to know about Laz’s ties to the mob if you plan on sticking around.”
“So, mob ties?” D.J. turned to me again.
“Let’s just say he has a connection,” I said.
“Two connections,” Nick corrected me.
“Who are they?” D.J. directed his question at anyone who might provide an answer.
My uncle sighed. “Since you must know, I once sold vacuum cleaners to Salvadore Lucci and Benigno Damiano—two very, um,
influential
men back in the day.” Laz’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. “I led Benigno to the Lord in ’95 just before he passed.”
“What about Salvadore?” D.J. asked.
Laz’s jaw tightened. “We haven’t spoken in over five years. I’ve done all I can to reach out to him, but he wants nothing to do with me or my faith, so I must leave him in the Lord’s hands.” At once, Uncle Lazarro bowed his head and offered up what I knew must be a prayer.
D.J. must’ve picked up on his enthusiasm. “I’ll be praying for him too,” he promised. I looked into his eyes to check his level of sincerity. No problem. The guy would really pray for mobster Salvadore Lucci to come to the Lord. Wow.
At this news, Uncle Laz’s eyes lit up with joy, and he offered us a pizza on the house. “I just thought Bella’s guest might be hungry,” he explained, turning back to his work.
“Oh, yes sir. Thank you.” D.J. grinned. “Thank you all. You’ve all been mighty polite.”
“Yep. You’ve figured us out,” Nick said. “We Rossis are a polite bunch.” He punched me in the arm, and I countered with a wallop to his belly. Never one to be outdone, Nick offered a dramatic reaction, bending over at the waist and groaning as if I’d done him mortal harm. He rose with a smile and gave me a wink. “Gotta go.” He leaned over and gave me a kiss on the forehead, then shuffled out the door, singing “With My Eyes Wide Open.”
I shuddered, thinking of D.J.’s likely reaction to all of this. Did he think he’d stumbled into a badly written scene from a yet-unreleased
Godfather
sequel, perhaps?
He turned back to me, putting my mind at ease. “Our families are as different as night and day, that’s for sure. But in some ways they’re just alike. Doesn’t seem to matter where you’re from, family dynamics are pretty much the same everywhere you go.”
Well, amen to that. I could rest easy. This was a man who got my family.
“Might be fun to get them together,” Jenna suggested. “East meets west.”
“More like city meets country,” D.J. explained. “Or better yet, the Grand Opera meets Grand Ole Opry.”
Hmm. My mama was a sponsor of Galveston’s illustrious Grand Opera, so I had that part figured out. But Grand Ole Opry? I’d have to do a little searching on the Web to figure out that one. Regardless, Jenna seemed to get it. She giggled, then blazed a white smile.
Sure, why not show off those newly whitened teeth, girlfriend? You’ve got nothing better to do.
Time to shift gears. Get this train back on track.
“Laz and Jenna cater all of our big events,” I explained to D.J., trying to keep my focus on the conversation at hand. “They’re the best in the biz.” I nodded back toward the kitchen where Laz was working.
“Don’t ever let Rosa hear you say that,” Laz hollered from the kitchen. “You know how she is.”
“How they
both
are,” I whispered to D.J. He responded with a knowing look, and I raised my voice to add, “Anyway, she’s pretty sensitive when it comes to cooking. And with good right. She’s very good at what she does.”
“Humph.” Laz turned back to his work.
I had to smile, thinking of the rivalry between the two. Might be fun to watch them in a showdown sometime. No telling who’d come out on top. Rosa could make some mean classics, and my uncle had a passion for fresh foods, as proven by the garden that consumed over half of our backyard. Of course, his distaste for all things related to Rosa meant she was rarely allowed to root around in his veggies. The man would drop his false teeth if he knew she was hurling his Romas at the neighbors.
D.J. continued the conversation, oblivious to my ponderings. “Bubba’s looking forward to meeting you both when he helps with the barbecue at the wedding.”
“Bubba?” Through the window leading to the kitchen, Laz looked up from his pizza making and gave me a curious look. Oops. Had I forgotten to tell him he’d be receiving assistance from Bubba, the barbecue extraordinaire from Splendora, Texas? Perhaps now would be a convenient time. I filled him in on the particulars, and he seemed to take the news in stride. After the hyperventilating passed, anyway.
“Speaking of barbecue reminds me of something.” Uncle Laz slipped our pizza into the oven, then joined us once again. “I’ve been trying to come up with a barbecue-themed pizza for months now. I think the customers would really love it.”
“What’s stopping you?” D.J. gave him a puzzled look.
“Can’t find the right song.”
“What do you mean?”
“All of his daily specials have a Dean Martin song as a basis,” I explained. “He’s into themed specials. We’ve done a lot of searching but just can’t come up with the right song for a barbecue pizza.”
“Hmm.” D.J. didn’t look convinced. “I wouldn’t mind taking that on as a project, if you’d agree to let my brother help come up with the recipe for the pizza.”
“Son, you’ve got a deal.” Laz extended his hand. “And here’s another thing . . .” With a twinkle in his eye, he turned to me. “If you come up with the perfect song, I might just let you date my niece.”
“Uncle Lazarro!” I literally felt the color drain from my face, and for a moment I thought I might faint. Again.
Only when I heard D.J. say, “Well, I’ll work double hard then,” did I snatch my first breath of fresh air. I flashed what I hoped would look like a coy smile, and he winked.
Okay then. This put a whole new spin on things.
I basked in the glow of this new possibility for approximately seven seconds. That’s exactly how long it took my ex-boyfriend, Tony, to make it from the front door of the restaurant to the counter where we all sat. He saw the gleam in my eye, and I realized I’d been caught with my hand in the cookie jar.
Oh, but what a cookie jar!
I couldn’t stop the giggle that rose up. I wanted to holler, “Yee-haw!” but stopped short, suddenly confused. Was it
yee-haw
or
hee-haw
?
Oh, what difference did it make? With D.J.’s hypnotic blue eyes staring into mine, only one thing mattered. I needed someone to pinch me—and quick!
Mama always says, “
A mali estremi, estremi rimedi
—desperate times call for desperate measures.”