~Alicante, Spain~
The sun had set over the horizon; city lights twinkled in the dark Mediterranean night. The Italian restaurant in Spain beckoned patrons with warm lighting, and wide paneled windows.
"Welcome to Lavigna Italiano, Signora, and Signor," a man with a fitted white jacket, and black slacks said, greeting the arriving couple. He studied the two; the woman, a Spaniard, stood taller than her date, a man of darker, mocha-colored skin. "Table for two?" he prompted, pulling two menus from his wheeled stand.
The man nodded. "Sí, dos por favor."
"Follow me please, Signor and Signora," he invited with a nod.
The woman's slender, olive-hued fingers brushed flowing locks of caramel-colored hair from her face.
A cockeyed grin sprawled over the darker-hued face of the man. "Gracias amigo."
Following their host through the small, crowded, yet cozy restaurant, Xiomara's maroon dress billowed at the knees with each stride.
The cozy table was intimately small. Each of the cozy tables had been draped in high-quality cotton tablecloth that cascaded over the sides like a waterfall. The flatware was carefully arranged on folded cloth napkins. The host stopped at one of the few vacant tables. "This is Ricardo, he will be your waiter this evening," he announced, setting the menus on the small table, only to depart wading through the narrow tables.
Manszya pulled the chair out for Xiomara, then sat.
The waiter, Ricardo set out two wine glasses. "Would you care for a sample of house wine, Signora? Only the best of Italy."
"Sí, gracias," Xiomara offered with a warm smile.
Ricardo poured, a light pink wine cascaded like a waterfall. Glancing at the woman's younger date." "Would the Signor care for a glass?"
Manszya shook his head. "No, no gracias, I'd rather take a lager please, whatever you have," he replied, with a shrug.
"Certainly, Signor. I will grab you an Alhambra, and while I am gone, please take a few moments to review the menu," he replied. Departing, he waded off through the crowded restaurant.
Xiomara's slender finger traced the edge of the glass. "Did you notice how Emily was practically drooling over you my darling kitty?"
Manszya raised an eyebrow. "Seriously, at her age? I would have thought Emmalee wouldn't be interested in men," he grumbled.
Xiomara's brows furrowed. "You don't know women very well my manito. Emily's a dangerous type."
"Indeed?" Manszya cocked his head. "If Emmalee's so dangerous, why do you have anything to do with her?"
"Darling, Emily is nowhere near as dangerous as you."
"I should say not; Emmalee couldn't even frighten housecat," Manszya said with a snicker.
Xiomara cocked her head. "Why would Emily want to frighten a housecat? She's not like that at all," she replied.
With an eyebrow raised, Manszya shrugged. "Then... Why's she such a danger?"
"You've seen her, no?"
"Sí, how could I miss that... that chatter-box," Manszya said with a shrug.
"Mark my words manito, Emily's dangerous, especially to herself," she said softly.
Glancing up from his menu, Manszya pursed his lips. "Really? You don't suppose Emmalee would do something, you know... odd? Do you?"
Her eyes roving over the menu, Xiomara shrugged. "Emily's certainly not as odd as you, darling manito."
"How can you say that?" Manszya began, his brows furrowed. "You've met her."
Xiomara cocked her head. "Yes, yes I've met her, and watched her. Which is why I know she's going to be dangerous when she gets older."
"Jeezum crow, how much older does Emmalee have to be to be dangerous?"
Xiomara shook her head. "Emily gives her mother enough stress as it is. I feel sorry for Emily's mother."
"Wow, I didn't even know Emmalee's mother was still alive," Manszya muttered.
Xiomara cocked her head. "You've met her."
"I most certainly have not."
"Yes darling," Xiomara began with a nod. "I was there. It was at the rooftop pool remember?"
Manszya's brows furrowed. "Since when have you had your church ladies in the rooftop pool?"
Xiomara cocked her head, her eyes blinked. "Wait..., no not Emmalee...," she said, her eyes growing wide.
Manszya chortled, "Oh, Emily the ten-year-old, oh, that makes more sense darling. I was worried about a seventy-six-year-old's mother."
Xiomara laughed like a warm summer breeze, a laugh that was light and effervescently warm. Her eyes twinkled with amusement.
Their waiter, in his fitted-jacket, returned with a beer. "Have you had a chance to review the menu? Are you ready to order Signora?" he prompted.
Xiomara smiled. "Sí, gracias. I would like your ham Rotolo, por favor."
Ricardo nodded, pursing his lips. "Signora, um... we're out of the Rotolo. Perhaps something else," he replied.
"Oh," Xiomara faltered. "Okay," she replied returning her gaze to the menu.
Manszya slapped his menu closed. "I'll take your lamb Pappardelle por favor."
Ricardo swallowed shaking his head faintly. "I, I apologize Signore; but we are out of the Pappardelle too."
Xiomara's eyes were wide. "How about your clam spaghetti?"
Smiling, Ricardo nodded. "Ah... the Spaghetti alle vongole," he purred. He blinked. "Uh, sorry Signora, we're out of clams."
Manszya snickered, leading to a chuckle. Inhaling he cocked his head. "How about your chicken agrodolce?"
Ricardo shook his head. "I am truly sorry Signore, out of chicken."
With shoulders heaving, a shrieking cackling laugh erupted from Xiomara's thin lips. Settling herself she inhaled. "Tell me Señor, what do you have?" she pressed.
"Sausage, and pasta, and salad, and soup. Oh, and breadsticks," Ricardo reported.
Manszya rolled his eyes. "Why bother with the menu amigo?"
"Well... people feel more comfortable with the menu Signore. What can I get you?"
"I suppose I'll have a wedding soup por favor," Xiomara began.
Ricardo smiled. "Oh yes, Signora. Will that be large, medium-large, medium-small, or small?"
"What is your regular size?"
Ricardo shook his head. "I'm afraid we don't have a regular-sized soup bowl, Signora," he replied.
Xiomara blinked.
Manszya's chortles grew into a riotous, rumbling laughter at their small table. The soft hum of conversations fell silent as all eyes stared at the two.
"What size do normal people order?" Xiomara pressed.
Ricardo shrugged. "Well Signora, a normal person who's hungry might order a large, but they might even order an extra-large if they were taking some to a whole family."
Xiomara's forehead creased. "What about regular people? You know, normal people at your table? What size would they order?"
Ricardo nodded. "Yes... yes of course, Signora; a normal person might order a small soup with a side of ham Rotolo," he replied with a warm smile.
Manszya cocked his head. "Didn't you say you were out of ham Rotolo?"
"Oh yes Signore," Ricardo said, nodding aggreably. "We are out of ham Rotolo."
Xiomara raised an eyebrow. "So a normal person would order a small-sized soup, and pair it with something you're out of?"
"Yes, precisely," Ricardo offered with a warm smile. "But what size would you like, Signora?"
"Santa Maria! I'll take a medium-regular."
Ricardo nodded. "Bene-bene. But... we don't have a medium-regular Signora, we have medium-large..." he said getting cut off.
"Medium-small, I know, I know. How hard is it to order a soup in Italy? No wonder Spain occupied you. I can't believe we let you go. I'd hate to order a coffee," she grumbled.
Manszya's shoulders still heaved as he clamped a hand over his mouth, holding his laughter in. Peering between his fingers, he watched Xiomara roll her eyes.
She shook her head. "Are your breadsticks fresh?"
Ricardo cocked his head. "What do you mean fresh, Signora?"
Xiomara shook her head. She shrugged. "You know, recently baked?"
Still peering from behind his fingers, Manszya shook his head. "Half-baked?"
"Oh yes, Signora," Ricardo nodded cheerfully. "They were baked fresh this morning."
Xiomara cocked her head. "It's nine o'clock at night Señor. Do you mean they were made more than twelve hours ago?"
His shoulders heaving, Manszya clamped his mouth shut; his hand covered his face.
Ricardo nodded. "Yes, Signora. We have a great baker, she comes in at five."
Xiomara's eyes were wide. "Santa Maria!" She shook her head. "Fine... I'll have a large bowl of soup."
Ricardo nodded. "Bene-bene. And for you Signore?"
Nodding, then shaking his head, following with a shrug, Manszya inhaled. "I'll take a sausage calzone por favor amigo," he replied. "May I get the key to your restroom, as a paying customer?"
Ricardo nodded. "Bene-bene, absolutely Signore. Just get it from the host," he replied glancing over his shoulder to the man greeting customers.
Both men departed, leaving Xiomara at the table. She settled herself into her chair and watched her young man drift through the crowded room. Waiting patiently, her fingers interlaced, her aging lips pressed together.
Her chair jostled as the man behind her shifted. "Perdóname Señora," the man said, apologizing.
Xiomara dismissed his concern with a wave of her slender fingers. "It is no concern Señor, think nothing of it please."
Resting her elbows on the small square table for two, her gaze returned to her man, she rolled her eyes and shook her head. Her man wasn't tall, at five-seven he was a stocky young man half her age. His broad shoulders, hefty biceps, and thighs as wide as small trees weren't the only things she liked about the young man.
"Darling, you forgot to button," she said, still shaking her head as he slid into the chair across from her.
"Oh," Manszya grunted. "I think I clogged the toilet," he said in a hushed tone, while absently shoving his shirt and low hanging fabric into his pants. Shaking his head. "Why can't they set out plungers to use?"
Xiomara shook her head. "That's repulsive darling," she snickered. "You are what you eat, and you eat a lot."
Manszya cocked his head. "You saying darling that I'm full of shite?"
She shrugged. "I'm saying darling kitty, that I feel bad for the next person, and the one who has to clean after you."
Manszya shrugged. "They really should help us help them, ya know. But enough of this topic," he began.
Xiomara chortled. "Thankfully."
Manszya nodded. "I wanted us to just be us tonight darling."
A warm smile graced Xiomara's aging face, she nodded softly. "I know, though with you being you, I wonder what the next shoe will be to drop. But... I, I'm glad you're in my life," she offered, softly.
Manszya nodded faintly. "Despite my challenges?"
"You mean incredibly bad luck?" Xiomara snickered.
Manszya shrugged. "Yes, among others, I'm glad you're in my life too."
With a shrug, Xiomara nodded. "You know the ladies at church can't believe that you'd actually be interested in an older woman."
Wearing a customary fitted vest, without the fitted jacket, the waiter set the collapsible stand near their narrow table. "Here is your soup, Señora," the waiter said, placing a bowl of hot liquid before her. Steam rose from the surface of the broth.
"Gracias Señor," she purred.
Manszya raised an eyebrow. "Bueno, gracias," he offered, as the waiter slid his calzone before him.
His eyes scanned the room, both the patrons and the building. Soft-white, hanging drop lamps gave a warm glow throughout the Italian restaurant. Exposed trellises spanned the ceiling. A mottled appearance of tan and brown brick-faced walls separated by engaged columns wrapped the room in a classical feel. The faux wood laminate flooring glistened under the warm glow of the hanging lamps. A decorative wood hearth gave the room a romantic charm. Wine glasses poured cascading beverages down the throats of dinner guests. Flatware clinked gently on ceramic plates.
He glanced at Xiomara, the immutable laws of time and gravity pulled gently on her flesh. Crow's feet etched into her skin. Manszya shrugged. "I seldom care what others think. Who's business is it what you or I do? I think you're still a fetching woman, and you..., you only get better with age."
A snicker of laughter escaped Xiomara's thin lips. "Please darling...," she said, pausing. "We both know that if it wasn't for a happy accident and a psychotic snake you'd never have given me a second thought."
Manszya shrugged. "That may be true. But we've had many years together, I wanted our evening to be special."
Xiomara's eyes sparkled with amusement as she snorted with laughter. "Special? You've given me all sorts of special headaches my manito."
Manszya chortled. "You don't fare much better my darling."
Lifting the plate the bowl rested on, Xiomara shrugged. "Perhaps darling. But face it, you're just so odd, it's a queer thing that we find ourselves in as much trouble as we do. Before you, I never had such calamity. Now I can't imagine a week without you doing something," she purred, a twinkle of amusement dancing behind her eyes.
Manszya cocked his head. "At least I don't try to cool the whole bowl of soup all at once, darling."
Xiomara shrugged. "One spoonful at a time is too inefficient. I much prefer cooling the whole bowl all at once," she said, blowing over the broth. Steam wafted lazily off the hot liquid.
"Why don't you just use some ice?"
Xiomara raised an eyebrow. "Dilute my soup even more? Or worse yet, make it too cold which means I would have to send it back to be reheated? No thank you my darling manito."
"You know best darling," Manzya cooed, taking a bite of his calzone.
The man behind Xiomara jostled his chair into hers once more. Soup sloshed over the wall of the bowl. "Shit!" she huffed as her arms jerked, pouring liquid down her maroon dress. "Santa Maria!" she gasped, jolting the bowl.
Hot broth cascaded over the table, flowing onto Manszya's lap.
Manszya jerked out of his seat in a dash, the tablecloth still tucked firmly into his trouser waistband. The sudden bolt from the chair yanked the cloth from the table, with it the bottle of wine, the glasses, a plate of half-eaten calzone, and what was left of her soup over the side. The crashing cacophony shattered the quiet thrum of romantically hushed conversation.
Manszya pulled the tablecloth from his pants, he shook his head. "Can you believe what that tablecloth was trying to do to me? I could've been killed," he huffed.
Xiomara giggled. "Come darling, it's the thought that counts. Let's go to the buffet."
A cockeyed grin split Manszya's face. "I like that idea."
Eyes blinked, faces stared, while mouths hung open. The waiter shook his head. "I, I, I could get you a to-go order?"
Manszya cocked his head. "Oh no thank you amigo, we've had enough Italian tonight."
