Page 71 of Two Chances With You

“That’s not good.” The waiter changes both tone of voice and expression. That courtesy of his seems to vanish into thin air. Perhaps, a mature and even elderly gentleman like him feels that he’s been made a fool of by these two kids.

I take the situation in hand. “Listen, don’t worry. Just let me accompany the young lady to her car, I’ll get cash from an ATM, and I’ll hurry right back here and pay you.”

“Sure, of course…and you must take me for a fool rube! Do I look stupid to you? Out with the cash, or I’ll call the cops.”

I smile at Gin. “Excuse me.” I stand up and take the waiter by the arm, courteously at first, and then, in response to his rebellious “What do you think you’re doing? Get your hands off of me,” I grip a little more tightly and take him farther away. “Okay, signor waiter, we’re in a position here, but don’t make too big of a deal about it. We have no interest in stealing eleven euros from you. Is that clear?”

“But I…”

I clamp down more firmly, this time in an unmistakably determined way. I see a grimace of pain on his face, and I immediately release him. “Please, I’m asking this as a favor. This is the first time I’ve gone out with this young lady…”

Perhaps primarily because he’s moved and convinced by this last confession of mine, he nods. “Okay, then, I’ll expect you later.”

We return to the table. I smile at Gin. “Everything’s settled.” Gin gets up and looks at the waiter with sincere regret. “I’m really so sorry.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. These things happen.”

I smile at the waiter. He looks at me. I think he’s trying to figure out whether or not I’m planning to come back. “Don’t come back too late, signore, if you please.”

“Don’t worry.”

And so we leave. With a courteous smile and a crumb of dignity.

Chapter 24

I’m behind Step, on the motorcycle, my thoughts in the wind. Look at this guy. Where have you gotten yourself, Gin? It’s absurd. I shake my head, but he notices. I pretend to look in the opposite direction but he tracks me in his rearview mirror and leans back to make himself heard.

“So what’s wrong? Did I come off as a jerk?”

“In what way?”

“First date, I don’t have the money to pay. I practically ask you to pay for me. Even worse, we come that close to being arrested. I can already imagine what you’re thinking.” Step smiles and pitches his voice up into a falsetto in imitation of what I must be thinking. “There, I knew, this scoundrel is a good-for-nothing.”

I ignore him.

Step smiles and continues, undeterred. “Just look at who I’ve made the mistake of frequenting. Goodness, if my folks could see me now.”

Oh, he’s really plumbed all my innermost thoughts. Still, he’s likable. I try not to smile, but it’s more than I can do.

“I nailed it, didn’t I? Come on, tell the truth.”

“No, I was just thinking of what my uncle Ardisio would probably have said.”

“You see? Well, in that case, there was a smidgen of truth in that smile of yours.”

“He would have called you the Prince of Pigs!”

***

“Here she comes now! Hey, Gin!”

I wave to them from a distance. What a strange group they are, glimpsed as a collective with different, clashing heights, dressed so very differently. My brother in jeans and a Nike T-shirt, my mother in a dark flowered dress with a navy-blue shoulder cape over it, my father impeccable in blazer and necktie, and my uncle Ardisio in an orange jacket and a black necktie with white polka dots. It’s incredible where he manages to come up with certain stuff. Television costume designers, or even Fellini himself, would go crazy for him. With his mussed up, tousled hair, white and unmanageable, framing that funny face and counterbalanced by his little round eyeglasses, what a character my uncle is!

“Ciao,” I say, and we all exchange kisses on the cheeks, and Mamma as usual puts her hand on my cheek as she gives me a kiss, as if to impress an extra layer of love on top of that simple, basic kiss, as if she wished to anchor it a tiny bit tighter than any of the other loving greetings. My uncle, on the other hand, overdoes it with his kiss, pulling me forward with thumb and forefinger joined under my chin, forcing me to shake my head right and left.

“Here she is, my little princess.” Then he releases me, leaving me with a lingering pinch of pain. I necessarily have to rub my hand under my chin to smooth it out, and my uncle gets a glance of faint annoyance in return. But it only lasts a second. Then I smile back at his smile. That’s just the way my uncle is.

“Well?” This is how our meals always begin. “Who chose this place?”

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