A Pinch of Cool. Mary Leo

forties and fifties. Lucille Marie Nudi had been one of the top fashion designers in Hollywood. She still clung to the notion that a woman needed to wear a hat and gloves every time she left the house and, apparently, a ball gown at dinner.

      “Ma, we don’t have a piano,” Rita offered.

      “Why not? With all your money, you’d think you could buy this boy a stinking piano so we could have some entertainment once in awhile.”

      Mya tried to make Grammy understand the situation. The poor woman was obviously losing her memory. “Eric lives in Georgia, Gram.”

      “I know that,” she said curtly, then turned to Eric and asked, “Did you bring your piano?”

      “No, but I brought my dog.”

      The dog from hell.

      “Does he do any tricks?”

      Let me tell you about the little trick he did in front of a truck today.

      “He can twirl a basketball on his nose.”

      Mya sat back to listen. This was getting good.

      “That’ll do. Now I can eat knowing that after dinner we have entertainment. I’ve got a nice suit upstairs in my office that I designed for Clark Gable. You can wear that.”

      “It would be my honor,” Eric said, giving a little bow. If you wanted to win Grammy’s approval, all anybody had to do was agree with her outrageous ideas. Eric seemed to know just what it took, because Grammy beamed from ear to ear.

      All of this sucking up was temporary and he would be leaving right after the dog show.

      The dinner table was covered from one side to the other with plates of enticing food. Both Rita and Franko had outdone themselves with culinary treats: pasta with clams, cockles and mussels in a wine, garlic and butter sauce; a sweet-pepper and leek tart; penne with broccoli, anchovies and raisins; homemade focaccia with tomatoes and fresh basil; roasted leg of lamb stuffed with artichokes; a zucchini flan and several bottles of Italian red and white wines.

      “I’ve got some fantastic ideas of how to recreate the show,” Mya announced during a break in the conversation. “I was thinking of a more colorful set. Something along the lines of what’s happening in modern Italy. You need to appeal to a younger audience. The nineteen to thirty-five group. We might even do some shows to target teens. We need to sparkle to appeal to the ‘now generation.’ Maybe add some reds and oranges to the set to go with the kinds of food that are easy, healthy and visually exciting. I think you need to cook some exciting entrées with more panache, more flair for the daring.

      “And, Mom, I’ve planned a makeover for you. Nothing drastic, just a little younger look. You too, Franko. It’s time to get rid of your white apron for simple slacks and a printed shirt. Maybe some sideburns and product in your hair to give it that edge everyone seems to be after.”

      Everyone fell silent at the table.

      Probably too excited to speak.

      She knew she had totally captivated them with her incredibly savvy ideas. That it wouldn’t take long for them to actually stand up and applaud or throw flowers…or maybe not.

      “Maybe this is good. I don’t know, but we should hear what my Eric, he has to say,” Franko added.

      “Eric?” Mya said, completely thrown off course.

      “Yes, dear,” Rita said. “Eric is going to help you. Won’t it be nice with you two working together again? Just like when you were kids. I think it’s a heavenly idea. Don’t you, dear?” Rita waited for Mya to answer. Franko waited for Mya to answer. Grammy waited. Even Eric waited for an answer.

      And during that moment of anticipation, Voodoo barked and something crashed in the kitchen.

      At least that dog was good for something.

       4

      “THIS DOG, HE HAS the good taste,” Franko announced as everyone watched Voodoo consume the last bites of what had to be a perfect peach-and-raspberry tart.