Fools Rush In (11 page)
Like a pup on a leash, he stood in silence while she tied an apron around his waist. Then he plopped down on the nearest barstool and watched her work. Within minutes, the strains of “Young at Heart” filled the room.
My thoughts were as scrambled as the eggs Rosa whipped up shortly thereafter. Bubba had come to talk about Sharlene and Cody’s wedding. We needed to get to it. But how? With Rosa in the mix, we would never get any work done.
Not that my barbecue aficionado seemed to mind. He paid close attention as she gave her ravioli-making instructions, even going so far as to add, “Wow, I can’t wait,” when she finished. I could tell from the look on his face that he really meant it. Clearly he and D.J. were both alike in this area. They seemed to be genuinely good people who put the needs of others above their own. Who could argue with that?
Rosa smiled and patted his hand. “We will start on the ravioli
after
you eat breakfast,” she explained. “So get busy.”
I put Precious down, then reached for my cell phone to call Jenna. She answered on the third ring. “Thank you for calling Parma John’s.”
“Hey girl, I have a favor to—”
“You’ve got your heart set on Mexican food? He’s in the mood for pizza?” she interjected. “Why not try our South of the Border special—a taco pizza for two. It’s spicy and delectable with just that right kick. Hot meets cold in this amazing new dish from Parma John’s, Galveston Island’s premiere pizzeria. And speaking of hot, why not add two espressos to your order for an additional four dollars.”
Wow.
For a minute I didn’t know what to say. Somewhere between the ravioli, the scrambled eggs, and the South of the Border special, the world had gone crazy.
“Hello?” I heard Jenna say. She sounded agitated. “Is anyone there?”
“Look at the caller ID, Jenna,” I managed.
“Bella!” She giggled. “What do you think of the new pitch? Laz came up with it this morning.”
“I think it’s . . .”
Deep breath, Bella.
“I think it’s great. You guys are really fast. But I’m calling for a different reason.” I filled her in on the news du jour, and she gasped.
“Bubba’s at your house right now?”
“Yeah. I’m about to call D.J. to see if he can meet us here for half an hour during his lunch break. Do you think you and Laz can slip away? We really need to talk about the food for the wedding. It’s coming sooner than you know, and I’m getting nervous.”
“Yes, but do we have to do this today? I can’t imagine leaving during our busiest time of day, especially with our new South of the Border special selling like hot tortillas.”
“Jenna. Just half an hour. Marcella’s there, right? I promise, you can go right back to work after.”
She sighed. “I guess she can take care of things for a few minutes, if you think it’s that important. And Nick and Joey are both here too.”
“It is. I’ve got to get this wedding under control.”
Even as I spoke the words, my heart plummeted to my toes. Reality set in. I’d forgotten to order the cowboy boots for the centerpieces! I’d have to take care of that after handling one more very important matter.
After ending my call with Jenna, I telephoned D.J. I felt pretty sure my opening line would deliver a punch. “I know you’re going to think this is crazy,” I explained, “but Rosa has put Bubba to work in our kitchen making ravioli.”
“Well, he’s in his element then,” D.J. said with a hint of laughter in his voice. “My brother’s a mighty fine cook. He took a blue ribbon at last year’s Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo for his brisket, and his ribs are the best in south Texas.”
“Mmm. You’re making me hungry for barbecue.”
“Well then, I’ll have to take you up to meet my folks when this wedding shindig is over. Maybe for the Fourth of July. We always have a ton of people over.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, we spend the day eating brisket and watermelon and playing chickenfoot.”
Chickenfoot? I didn’t have a clue what that meant but decided not to show my ignorance. If the boy wanted me to play chickenfoot, I’d play chickenfoot. And I’d eat a truckload of barbecue, as long as I could do it with D.J. sitting at my side.
Snapping to attention, I remembered the reason for my call. “Can you meet at my house at noon?” I asked. “You guys can have lunch here. We really need to talk about this wedding. Hopefully it won’t take long, and that way we can kill two birds with one stone.”
D.J. readily agreed, and I hung up, feeling my first glimmer of hope all day.
Then I remembered the cowboy boots.
Excusing myself from the kitchen, I grabbed my laptop. Finding eBay was the easy part. Locating twenty used boots was a bit harder.
Crazy thing about eBay—you have to bid on items. I didn’t have time for that. I needed my cowboy boots, and I needed them now! Still, what choice did I have?
Flying into action, I found a multiboot collection with only twelve hours of bidding left. Bidders weren’t always winners, so I overshot my estimate, then used the company credit card to secure my place in line. Sharlene’s dad could pay me back later.
Afterward, with Precious on my heels once more, I joined Rosa and Bubba in the kitchen. My aunt had rolled out the dough for the ravioli and was explaining the process in detail. Bubba seemed to be an apt pupil. Would wonders never cease?
I’d just opened my mouth to ask, “How’s it going?” when my father plodded into the room in his boxers and undershirt. Nothing like greeting the company in style. I started to make introductions but never had the chance. Pop took one look at our very tall guest and whistled.
“You play basketball, boy?”
Bubba turned to him with the same crooked grin I’d seen on D.J.’s face. “Yes, sir. Played for three years at Splendora High.”
“When you’re done in here, let’s go outside and shoot some hoops.”
Well, terrific. Ravioli and a basketball game.
My father exited the house through the back door, never knowing—or caring—who exactly he’d be shooting hoops with. Or the fact that he’d be playing in his underwear.
My mother joined us—fully made up and looking like a queen in clothes that now matched perfectly. Quite a contrast to Pop, and an odder contrast still to the stocky, un-made-up Rosa, who worked with abandon in her flour-covered apron.
Welcome to the Rossi family.
Just then the music changed. “Strangers in the Night” came on. Rosa stopped her work, her eyes filling with tears. “I love this one,” she whispered. “It’s the song Ol’ Blue Eyes is going to sing to me when I get to heaven.”
For a moment, the entire room was at a standstill as a lone tear trickled down my aunt’s wrinkled cheek. She closed her eyes and began to rock back and forth, as if dancing with an imaginary partner.
With perfect timing, Bubba extended his hand and asked, “May I have this dance?”
Her eyes flew open at once, and a look of wonder came over her. When she nodded, he swept her into his arms, and the two of them began to waltz around the room to the melody of the familiar Frank Sinatra tune. I felt pretty sure my aunt could die right then a happy woman. I might just offer to go with her, to avoid some of this embarrassment.
I observed the action in front of me in a state of disbelief. Rosa sang along with Frank in a voice as clear as crystal, a look of sheer contentment on her face. Bubba joined in, singing in perfect harmony. Who would’ve known hunk-a-Bubba, the barbecue aficionado, was a vocalist? I filed the information away, in case I ever needed someone to sing at Club Wed.
Mama opened the fridge and pulled out a Pellegrino, then took a seat on a nearby barstool with her ankles delicately crossed, looking every bit the royal lady. And Pop . . . through the kitchen window I caught a glimpse of him in the driveway, still dressed in his undergarments, setting up the portable basketball hoop in preparation for his game with our new guest.
I shot an urgent prayer heavenward, pleading with the Almighty to help me. How and when had things spiraled out of control? Was there any returning from the abyss?
From the looks of things, I had my work cut out for me.
Jenna and Uncle Laz arrived at five minutes to twelve, just as my father coaxed Bubba outside to shoot a few hoops. Mama had managed to convince him to put on a pair of slacks—Pop, not Bubba—and the two guys took turns aiming at the basket. Seemed odd, my five-foot-nine father standing next to someone of Bubba’s stature, tossing the basketball around.
Jenna took one look out of the kitchen window at D.J.’s younger brother and froze in her tracks. I’d seen her flabbergasted before, but never to this extent. “W-who is that?” she whispered.
“Bubba Neeley, D.J.’s younger brother.”
“Mama mia.” Her green eyes widened, and she leaned a bit closer to get a better look. “That’s our barbecue guy?” She grabbed a loose red hair and began to fidget with it. I’d never seen her this flustered before.
“Yes, but Jenna, you’re practically engaged,” I reminded her. “Remember David? Your boyfriend?”
“I . . . I know.” She kept a watchful eye through the kitchen window as Bubba sank another shot. “He’s . . . he’s . . .”
“He’s offshore. Working to earn money so he can ask you to marry him.”
“No, I meant . . .” Jenna leaned her elbows on the counter and focused all her attention on Bubba. “Wow, he’s really tall.”
“No, David isn’t tall.”
“David? Hmm?”
Good grief. I’d already lost everyone else to the craziness. Now Jenna?
“Quando il gatto non c’è il topo balla.”
Laz’s animated voice rang out as he observed the expression on Jenna’s face. “When the cat’s away . . .”
“The mice will play,” I finished. “But this is one mouse who needs to stay focused.” I glared at Jenna. She shrugged, then gazed back at Bubba, her eyes wider than the pepperoni on the Simpatico special. With her cheeks flushed pink like this, her freckles were even more pronounced.
Laz peeked out the window. “So that’s the barbecue guy?” He huffed. “Doesn’t look like much of a cook.”
Jenna watched in rapt awe as Bubba shot the basketball through the hoop for the umpteenth time. “Oh, I don’t know . . . looks like he’s cookin’ to me.”
Laz rolled his eyes.
“Why so cynical today?” I asked. “You probably never thought D.J. could make a pizza, and now that South of the Border special is your main attraction!”
“Humph.” He glanced at Rosa. “Speaking of which, what’s for lunch?”
“Ravioli.” She pointed to the stove with a confident look on her face. “Bubba helped. He’s really something.”
With another grunt, Laz opened the cupboard and pulled out a box of antacids. After filling a glass with water, he dropped in a tablet and waited. It fizzled up and he gulped it down, then let out an exaggerated belch. Lovely.
Rosa turned back to her work, muttering under her breath in Italian.
Just then the doorbell rang, and my heart shifted into overdrive.
D.J.!
I tried not to look too anxious as I made my way to the front door. As it swung wide, I gazed into the beautiful eyes of the world’s most handsome carpenter-turned-deejay. His smile sent my heart into a flutter. And those broad shoulders! The man belonged on the cover of
Tool Time
magazine.
Unfortunately, Precious chose that moment to go into attack mode. I scooped up the ornery pooch and did my best to get things under control before stepping out onto the veranda. When the yapping stopped, I brought D.J. up to speed. Number one: Bubba had made Rosa’s day by singing and dancing with her. Number two: His culinary skills were quite good, particularly where ravioli was concerned. Number three: He could shoot a mean basket. Number four: He’d won over my father—no small task.
To prove my final two points, I led D.J. around the side of the house to the far end of the driveway, where Pop and Bubba continued on with their basketball game. Bubba hollered out a greeting, then dribbled the ball our way and passed it to D.J., who took a random but perfectly aimed shot.
“Two points!” we all shouted as it slipped easily through the hoop.
Looked like both of the Neeley boys
were
cookin’ today. And boy, I decided as I fanned myself, were they ever generating heat.
Pop leaned over and put his hands on his knees, panting. I hated to say he was out of shape, but . . . well, he was out of shape. “I’ll be back in a minute, boys,” he explained. “Got something I want to show you.”
As he limped toward the house, I turned to the Splendora duo and shifted the conversation to the upcoming wedding. D.J. and I made plans to meet with Armando on Saturday afternoon. Thank goodness my brother had agreed to come back for a couple of hours and show D.J. how to work the soundboard. Bubba promised to chat with Laz and Jenna about the barbecue over today’s lunch. We’d iron out the details of Sharlene and Cody’s big day in no time. Looked like things were really moving along!
Rosa interrupted our chat with a vivacious
“Venite a mangiare!”
which she hollered out of the kitchen window. Nothing new there.
Still, our guests couldn’t seem to figure out her meaning, so I filled them in. “She’s saying, ‘Come and eat.’ Lunch is ready.”
“Ah.” Bubba nodded. “It’s ravioli time.”
“Right. And it’s better not to keep her waiting,” I whispered. “She gets cranky if the food turns cold.” I reached for the basketball and headed toward the back door, then led the way into the kitchen, where I placed the ball on the counter. My father joined us, holding yet another basketball, this one a brighter orange.
I pondered his logic, especially in light of his earlier limp. “Hey, I thought you were done playing.”
“I am. Just wanted the boys to see my prized possession.”
He tossed the ball Bubba’s way, and Bubba let out a whistle as he read the signature. “Hakeem Olajuwon? Wow.”
“Impressive.” D.J. drew close to look at it. “Hakeem the Dream.”
“Hakeem the Dream?” Rosa looked at him with confusion etched in her brow. “Who’s that?”
All of the men in the room turned to her at the same time, and for a moment I thought there might just be some sort of mutiny. So what if Rosa had never heard of the great Hakeem Olajuwon, former star player for the Houston Rockets? Was it her fault she didn’t follow basketball?