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“I suppose,” I said carefully and glanced around to see if Gio was anywhere in sight. He wasn’t.
Becky Baller took a sip of water. She arched a beautifully manicured eyebrow as she started talking. “Let’s see if I’ve got the story straight. The brothers moved out to Phoenix after the closure of the original Esposito’s under rather dishonorable circumstances. It split the family apart and bankrupted them.”
She paused for a beat to see if I would confirm or deny her version of events. I said nothing.
“It was an interesting beginning,” she continued, “and certainly renders the opening of this downtown crown jewel as more than a simple family business tale. After all, the first Esposito’s was famous, once a destination favored by presidents, movie stars, and even royalty. To watch it all vanish in such disgraceful fashion must have been a bitter pill, I’m sure.”
Becky Baller was getting at something. I just wasn’t sure what it was. If she was pumping me for information, she was wasting her time because everything I knew about the Esposito family’s New York history could fit into the tabletop shaker of dried red pepper flakes. There’d been a family fight. But the brothers were just teenagers at the time. They couldn’t have been involved in anything sordid.
While I was busy trying to categorize my own thoughts, Becky pounced with a revelation.
“As you probably know, Frank Esposito is deceased, but Steven Esposito lives on Long Island. I’m waiting for him to get back to me with a comment.”
This information meant nothing to me. Where was this all leading? This chick was supposed to be writing a short publicity piece in the Food and Entertainment section, not dissecting the family’s personal soap opera.
I decided it was better not to examine the reporter’s intentions. So I changed the subject.
“Your pizza should be here any moment,” I said, impulsively adopting an artificially chirpy voice in an effort to redirect the conversation. “You know, Ms.Baller, every one of Esposito’s pizzas are wood-fired in an authentic stone and brick oven imported from a tiny town on a Sicilian hilltop. All our fresh toppings are organic, obtained from local Arizona farms, and the olive oil we use is milled right here in the valley. I’m sure you’ll agree that there is nothing quite like the experience of biting into an Esposito’s pizza.” I grinned brilliantly at the end of my commercial spiel and was met with a flat stare.
I could have gone on for a while about the finer qualities of our locally grown basil or the authentic sauce that was a family recipe carried from Italy in the head of some Esposito great-great-grandfather. Luckily Gio himself floated over, deposited a pizza in front of Becky Baller, and gave me a nod that freed me to apply my talents elsewhere.
Tara beckoned me over to the table where she sat with Donna Esposito. I took a chair at Tara’s insistence. Donna kept touching my hand and looking up into my eyes. I didn’t know why, but I thought I saw an expression of hope there. But then, as Gio had explained, Donna was very old and often confused. She had no reason took at me like I was a rare gift she’d been waiting for.
“Oh no,” Tara exclaimed suddenly. She rose from her chair while staring worriedly at her phone.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
Tara was furiously tapping the screen of her phone, visibly upset now. “My mom texted. She thought Leah looked a little flushed, so she took her temperature. Gio!” She waved her arms at her husband, and he took one look at her face and practically vaulted across the crowded room to get to her side.
“Leah’s sick,” Tara explained in rush. “My mother said she’s running a fever of a hundred and two. She already gave her a dose of Motrin. I said I’d be there in twenty minutes to take Leah straight to Urgent Care ... Wait, where’s my purse? Damn, it was just here.”
I found the black Kate Spade bag underneath the table and handed it over.
“Calm down, babe,” Gio said, although as he read through the texts on Tara’s phone, I could see his wife’s worry mirrored in his face.
Tara was now fishing through her purse for her keys. She found them and took two steps toward the door before freezing.
“Wait,” she said, “I was supposed to bring Donna home.”
“I’ll take care of her,” I said. I patted my friend’s arm in comfort. “Just go to your baby. Donna will be fine with me.”
Tara gave me a grateful smile and kissed her husband quickly on the lips. “I’ll call as soon as I know anything.”
“Wait a minute,” Gio called, “I’m coming with you.”
Tara gestured to the busy restaurant. “But what about all this?”
“All this will be fine without me.”
“Gio—”
“I’m coming, Tara,” he said sternly. “I won’t be any good to anyone here if my baby girl is in bad shape.”
“What’s wrong?” Dominic asked. I hadn’t even seen him emerge from the kitchen, but there he was, regarding his brother with obvious concern.
“Dom, I’ve got to go,” Gio said. “Leah’s sick and—”
“Go,” Dominic said. He clamped a hand down on his brother’s shoulder and looked him straight in the eye. “Go,” he said again. “Don’t think twice about it.”
