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Livvy grinned. "Make sure shes Italian. "
"Very funny. " Angie reached for her pen. "Anything else?"
"Plenty. Lets start with the basics. . . . "
ANGIE STOOD ON THE SIDEWALK, LOOKING AT THE restaurant that had been so much a part of her youth. Mama and Papa had been here every evening; he at the front door, greeting guests, she in the kitchen, cooking for them. Family dinners had taken place at four-thirty, before the guests arrived. Theyd all sat at a big round table in the kitchen so that they wouldnt be seen if customers arrived early. After dinner, Mira and Livvy had gone to work, waitressing and busing tables.
But not Angie.
This one is a genius, Papa always said. Shes going to college, so she needs to study.
It had never been questioned. Once Papa spoke, a matter was ended. Angie was going to college. That was that. Night after night, she studied in the kitchen.
No wonder shed gotten a scholarship.
Now here she was, back at the beginning of her life, preparing to save a business she knew nothing about, and tonight there would be no Livvy to help her out.
She stared down at her notes. They had filled four more pages, she and Livvy. One idea after another.
It was up to Angie to implement the changes.
She walked up the steps and went through the front door. The place was already open, of course. Mama had arrived at three-thirty, not a minute before, not a minute later, as shed done every Friday night for three decades.
Angie heard the clatter and jangle coming from the kitchen. She went in, found her mother cursing. "Mira is late. And Rosa called in sick tonight. I know she is playing bingo at the Elks. "
"Rosa is sick?" Angie heard the panic in her voice. "Shes our only waitress. "
"Now you are our waitress," Mama said. "It is not that hard, Angela. Just give people what they order. " She went back to making her meatballs.
Angie left the kitchen. In the dining rooms, she went from table to table, checking every detail, making sure the salt and pepper shakers were filled, that the place settings were clean and properly placed.
Ten minutes later, Mira came rushing through the front door. "Im sorry Im late," she called out to Angie on her way to the kitchen. "Daniella fell off her bike. "
Angie nodded and went back to the menu, studying it as if it were a CliffsNotes guide and she were cramming for a test.
At five forty-five the first customers arrived. Dr. and Mrs. Feinstein, who ran the clinic in town. Twenty minutes later, the Giuliani family arrived. Angie greeted them all as her father would have, then showed them to their tables. For the first few minutes, she actually felt good, as if she were part of her heritage at last. Her mother beamed at her, nodded encouragingly.
By six-fifteen, she was in trouble.
How could seven people generate so much work?
More water, please.
I asked for Parmesan.
Wheres our bread--
and the oil.
"You might be a great copywriter, Angela," Mama said to her at one point, "but I would not tip you well. Youre too slow. "
Angie couldnt disagree. She headed for the Fein-steins table and set down the plate of cannelloni. "Ill be right back with your scampi, Mrs. Feinstein," she said, then ran for the kitchen.
"I hope Dr. Feinstein isnt finished by the time his wife is served," Mama said, clucking in disapproval. "Mira, make those meatballs bigger. "
Angie backed out of the kitchen and hurried back to the Feinsteins table.
As she was serving the scampi, she heard the front door open. A bell tinkled.
