The Countess and The Pool Boy.

She was worried, she knew that he would be crazy and might inspire her to actions. She placed her plastic rain-bonnet into it's well worn, felt case. She would need to preserve her hair-do for at least four more days, until Venice. As she scanned the bookstore, she smelled the leather, wood and dust mixture. She scanned for her contact and moved through the store in cautious strides.

Aahhhh Venice, she mused. Her last trip there had been when she took that 'tumble' down the grand stairs of the Hotel di Venezia, near Piazza San Marco. Tumble. That's what she told the family back in New England. What would they say if they only knew? That Carnival di Venezia proved to scar her more than she planned. What would they say if they knew she was actually thwarting an enemy agent's nefarious plan for the breakfast buffet? What would they say if they knew that she sacrificed her world-class right hook with a shattered ulna so that tourists in t-shirts could safely eat fish? So that waiters could earn extra lira to go blow in a new karaoke bar that nite (singing without being on a gondola was refreshing). Her double life was secure in the fact that when she went down the stairs, toppling Mr. Nottienuff, the Negroni on her breathe would act as alibi and pain reliever. "The crazy American spinster was intoxicated when she tripped over her Manolos slamming that short businessman into the railing. " the bellhop mused.
Never, the family back home would never know.

She looked out the store front. His arrogance is a-typical she thought. The men in his family were headstrong and hellbent for a good time. Children may have slowed his brother and father down a bit, but this nephew hasn't been deterred by progeny yet. She remembered what made their relationship special, their appreciation of independence triumphing the stigma of loneliness. They were on their own, and flourishing around social conformity. Spinster and Spin Doctor? Maybe more like Spin and Martini from the the Mickey Mouse Club.

He was smoking a Marlboro light and wearing sunglasses in the early evening light. The light rain falling didn't bother him in the least. He would exhale small plumes in the fading amber hue with an occasional smoke ring aimed at some tourists. A pod of Japanese tourists were cornering him for directions. With a jaunty little jut of his jaw he inspected their maps and in his own personal blend of the Spanish and Italian languages, merrily sent them on their way. He felt his time in Florence had transformed him into a native. He had more of a strut than before, he laughed with a lion's roar which would scare flocks of pigeons and get them removed from early masses in town. What was she to do with him? Their time together made her want to confess the double life she had been leading. They had an amazing rapport and the laughs they'd shared had been some of the dearest in her life. But confessing at this stage would compromise global security and might even inspire him into some crazy action as well. She couldn't risk that. She had spearheaded the Orient Express operation just readying for implementation. The information stealing ring that had operated for years aboard the luxury railroad was going to be taken down, and hard by some of the toughest aunties in the business. Better to air on the side of caution and continue this lovely trip through Italy.

What to do with him? Probably feed him, as it had been hours since their lunch in the trattoria. The shellfish in the Mediterranean had made him crazy, that he almost ordered a second lunch. His zeal was inspiring and kept the old gal rolling. She completed her mission in the bookstore by delivering the disc to her Florentine operative. Next year she would engage in an operation so filled with action and adventure, JK Rowling will be inspired to add the scene to her next installment of "Harry Potter". For now she would need to keep him safe. She may even need to establish a new cover for him. She noted that the rain had stopped, and made her way out of the bookstore to place her arm in his.

"What's new, lover?"
"Playing with the tourists," he smirked. His breath was ripe with Altoids as he never wanted to offend her with his smoking. "Even in Europe I can't stop playing with the common folks heads. It gives me something to do I guess. Can you imagine if I actually taught kindergarten? I may as well open the Salvador Dali Dog Training Academy and Trattoria."
"I think you are amazing at all you do."
"Goosey, you never get tired of playing cheerleader, do you?"
"Never, ever, ever."

They walked across the Piazza, and rounded the Duomo. Catty cornered was a nice cafe, windows filled with pizza by the pound, pigs, sausages, cheeses and such. They sat and enjoyed their coffee watching the tourists push and shove their way in to the cathedral for photo op's and absolution.

Goosey tossed back her Sambuca. "What do you think all those people think when they look at us?"
"I really don't care what they think, Goose. I'm past living through other people's eyes. They can look all they want."
"No sweetie, what do you think they think when the see this old broad with this young, buck."
The nephew lit a cigarette, surveyed the crowd and let out a short smoke plume. "They probably are saying, 'That must be the Countess and the Pool boy,' ". He laughed heartily, scaring more pigeons.

She smiled and thought to herself, "Out of the mouths of babes". A cover, a conversational device and a con had been born. "The Countess and The Pool Boy, I think that might work." She noted the enemy agent making luscious cappuccino foam and decided that they would go dress for dinner at the hotel, all this work makes a girl hungry.

Rabbit, rabbit. And of course the fool.

Catch this................................I have a tendency to speak before I think. I also have a tendency to release an object before it's placed on a surface; a depth perception condition, but it's not like I'm landing planes in a major airport I'm selling fish to tourists in t-shirts. So I awaken to invoke the magic of 'Rabbit, rabbit' and immediately announce, 'Monkey, monkey'. Can you imagine an April Fool's Joke any more grander than that? I'm dying to see what curse/blessing I've just brought down on my House of Silly.

Sicily Rising!! My fave Aunt Goosey and I will be launching the Rainbow Tour to the isle of our forefathers to see churches, mountains, cousins and pasta. "The Countess and The Pool Boy" Reunion Tour is looking for a slogan, catch phrase, any suggestions?

Curtains.

After nearly 12 years on Broadway, the producers of Rent have announced that the play that sparked a resurgence in interest for musical theater will close after it's June 1 st performance. The show, an East Village version of La Boheme, won 4 Tony awards, made stars of it's basically unknown cast and inspired a generation of theater goers. The plays author Jonathan Larson died two weeks before the play was to open of an aneurysm, galvanizing the plays central idea; "No day, but today. "

Wow, I'm sad. I always lose my breath at the lyrics, "Will I lose my dignity, will no one care." The show took me out of my twenties and delivered me to my rambunctious thirties. I was really impressed when Goosy and her girls who would make their ways to NYC to see the latest of plays, had nothing but great things to say about the show, language aside.

End of an era.

Air Banada

Banada is a stuffed bread, and an italian favorite. It's not as doughy as a calzone or as commercial. I remember growing up to the aromas of spinach and anchovy (back before I knew what they were) or broccoli and sausage. My grandmother made them and my Auntie Goosey inheirited the talents/task. They were ususally made around Easter and were a warm up course in the marathon holiday meals we used to eat. One big table and the satellite table for the kids. Then more kids arrived and it became two large tables, then eventually buffets took over so people could go eat wherever they wanted (where the deals were being made). Eventually the banada disappeared from view.

When I relocated to the city of angels I found a vacuum for italian culture, albeit any discernable Culture, but I digress. It's taken time and torture to find the niceties that I took for granted back east: cookies, breads, olives, cheezes, meats, opportunities to piss on the french, you know what I'm talking about here, creature comforts. I was seated next to a warm (crazy) italian woman last year on a return flight from the east coast and we were both comparing our premade sandwiches replete with provologne and roasted peppers. Her soppresata was homemade so she got points for authenticity, again I'll make mention that she was crazy and my xanax hadn't gotten to my Kettle quick enough to put off the conversation. We were both packing cheeses and cookies in our carry-ons in lieu of altoids. It turns out, bear with me here, that she went to the same HSchool as my older brother and gave me her email, to pass on to the star football player of her day. John, I'm publishing it below for you and anyother crazy that needs a good woman with a moustache who can knit, kill a chicken, make pasta and raise a family. Email early, email often.

I digress. This year I had such nostalgia and homesickness I nearly broke my cell phone speed dial buttons keeping up with my sib's and fam. It's especially hard for an italian to not be around family on the holidays. Easter time found me crazed and wanting, you heard me. I called Aunty Goosey, more on her and her words of wisdom as he develop here, and said,

"Goose, ya gotta hook it up." She set down her second scotch and oj,
"Sweetie pie, I don't know what that is."
"Goose, ya gotta make me banada."
"Oh, you."
"Serious Goose, I havent had it in years and I need it. Yours is the best and you could bang out two and get them here in time for Easter. Overnite them to me, I'll pay for the whole thing."
"Sweetie pie, I wasn't planning on making any this......"
"Goosie, serious. I need your banada." Begin the manipulation, "If you make it I'll have Carole come pick it up and mail it for you, you won't even have to leave the..........."
"Carole?" Sidenote, there was coldwar (not so much a fatwah, as a spatwah) between the two, "Dont you bother her. I can go to the post office all my own." Prepares third scotch and oj. "Now tell me what's new in California."

It arrived five days later, my carepackage. Overnited, and STILL WARM. She ran from the oven to the post office with it screaming, "Damn the torpedoes, my sweetie needs my banada." Two of the most perfect banadas I'd ever hoped for. I'd hoped that I hadnt promised her I'd go to church or anything silly like that, because I was going to have to eat my words, and for a sicilian, that's a meal.

I promise to tell you about the time Goosey and went cruising in Rome, how she got us thrown out of Florence and her person to person relating skills with female prisoner chain gangs. Until then I'd give you the email of the nice divorcee I met on that fateful plane ride but my lawyers advise against it. Ciao bella.