Cooking Lessons


It was a rare occasion that Frank DeFazio took time off from working at the Pizza Bowl. He'd learned to make time for his special lady friend, Edna. He'd learned to make time for his daughter, Laverne. God help him, he'd do anything for his daughter. But when he left the Pizza Bowl early, in the [mostly] capable hands of his staff, no one would expect that it was because he was making time out for Shirley Feeney.

By now, Shirley was family. He already had a daughter, so it wasn't like she was the daughter he never had. She was more like the finicky Irish daughter he never had. But over the years, through everything Shirley had been through with Laverne, Frank grew to love her, too - like she was his own skinny flesh and blood.

"Mr. DeFazio, I need a teeny tiny bit of advice," she had asked him, earlier that week. She came into the Pizza Bowl as if she was hiding out from someone. It was obvious that she was embarrassed, by the way she kept looking over her shoulder. She didn't want anyone else to know she was here seeking out the counsel of Frank DeFazio.

"Mr. DeFazio, please. I don't know who else to ask." The way her voice pitched at the end made him a little nervous.

"Wadd'ya mean, you have no one to ask... like a father?" Mr. DeFazio asked, dreading some question about sex or other things that good girls shouldn't know about.

"Well-l-l-l..." Shirley screeched, trying to skirt around the topic. "Not exactly like a faaather..."

"Not like a father. Not like a father. Then, like a what?!" Frank raised his staccato voice, as he talked to her across the counter.

"Well-l-l-l-l..." Shirley repeated, an awkward smile growing on her face, as she tried to muster up the words.

"Not like a fa-a-ather..." Frank tried to drag it out of her, with exaggerated gestures to emphasize his question, as if his hands acted like volume dials.

"No..." she followed along, growing ever more nervous as she asked. "Not like a fa-a-ather..." Shirley cringed a bit, not wanting to offend. She fussed about her collar, straightening it out.

"Not like a father...?!" he tried to drag it out of her, again. Pretty soon, he'd beat it out of her if she didn't talk. "You need my advice NOT like a father...?"

"Mr. DeFazio," Shirley finally said straight out. "I need your help... as an Italian."

Although the request shocked him at first, when she explained a bit further, he couldn't turn her down. So they decided to meet at Frank's apartment. There, it would be less likely that anyone would show up to interrupt the two of them.

"Well, thank you very much for helping me out, Mr. DeFazio." Shirley stood at the door with a two brown paper bags in her arms. "Are you sure it's ok, being away from the Pizza Bowl for so long?"

"Eh! Nomi ricord!" Frank began to mumble under his breath, in half Italian, half gibberish. "They gonna burn down the whole place...!!"

Shirley walked into the apartment, balancing the bulging brown paper bags in her arms. Frank, still mumbling, led her to the kitchen.

"Ohhh! This is a lovely kitchen, Mr. DeFazio!"

"Wadd'ya talking about!" Frank said, motioning for her to put the bags down on the metal kitchen table. "You and Laverne had been here a thousand times."

"Well, yes!" Shirley added, polite and proper as always. "But it's still lovely."

Frank DeFazio grumbled as he took out the produce from the bags. A bag of onions. Tomatoes. Garlic. A carrot...

"I really appreciate you doing this for me, Mr. DeFazio," she continued, as she took off her coat, and then helped him unpack. "It's not that I don't know how to cook..."

"Listen," Frank interrupted "cooking Italian, it's not just cooking. Anyone can cook! This! This, you have to have a reason to cook Italian food."

"A reason?" Shirley's voice got higher, and it was obvious that she was suddenly uncomfortable, wondering if she would have to explain her sudden interest in learning how to cook Italian. But before she could continue, Frank did.

"This!" he shouted, as if to stress the point. "This, this about love! Italian food, is family!" He pulled out a cleaver, and slammed the blade down, cutting through an onion. Shirley jumped back a little, unaccustomed as she was to his passionate approach to family matters.

"This!" Frank continued, pulling out a grater and a block of cheese. "This is love!" He quickly rubbed the cheese against the metal, more for affect than anything.

"You understand?" Frank continued to shout at Shirley.

"I keep telling Laverne!" Frank grabbed a few vegetables, and put them in front of his new student. "You gotta know how to cook, in order to get a husband. No one wants to marry a girl who doesn't cook!"

"Oh! But Vernie cooks! Real good, too!" Shirley came to her friend's defense, and she gingerly picked up the vegetable peeler.

"If she cooks so good...?!" Frank's voice was somewhere between aggravated and disappointed. He never finished his sentence. Shirley knew that Mr. DeFazio wanted his only daughter to find a good husband to settle down... maybe give him a grandchild or two.

Frank stopped what he was doing, trying to put his thoughts to words.

"Italians? They cook for Family! For Love! A cook cooks for her family to eat good food!" His voice rose with each point.

But for Shirley, love wasn't found in the aggressive way he chopped onions and celery. Instead, she tenderly peeled a carrot. Frank looked at her hands as if it were a lost cause. He rolled his eyes. Then he took the peeler out of her small, dainty hands.

"Shirley, you wanna be an Italian cook...? Crazy!" Frank said, still half mumbling. "So, come on. What's his name?"

Shirley froze. Was it so obvious that she wanted to win the way to a man's heart through his stomach?

"You meet some Italian guy, and NOW you wanna cook."

"Oh, it's not like that, Mr. DeFazio," she said, over emphasizing each word in the denial, making it all the more of a confession.

"No? Well, what about Carmine?"

Shirley was once again embarrassed.

"Carmine?!" Shirley acted shocked, and then feigned disinterest, as she laughed at the very notion. "Oh, Carmine Ragusa and I, well, you know! We aren't REALLY serious! Carmine and I have an understanding..."

"Eh? It's not Carmine...Well, then WHO!?" Frank's third degree made Shirley jump, as he accentuated the question with the blade of his knife against a stalk of celery.

Shirley grabbed an onion, and then a knife. She waved the knife in the air, with her arms open wide. Her knife waiving was dramatic, not forceful and passionate like Frank's. Instead of force, she used it to casually allude to some guy "from the neighborhood" that she met. Then, she began to meticulously slice the onion.

"Just some guy? SOME GUY!" The cleaver easily halved another onion.

"Yes, Mr. DeFazio," Shirley said, her voice growing squeaky. "Some guy." Shirley began to sniffle, and her eyes began to water.

"Not Carmine?!" Frank yelled at her, trying to break her.

"No... not Carmine," Shirley squeaked. Tears began to gather around her eyelashes.

"No? Then why are you crying?"

"It's the onions," she squeaked again, in the highest voice she had - which was pretty impressive.

"You're learning to cook Italian food, just for some guy..."

Shirley just nodded a few times, as she held her breath. Finally, she exhaled, and dropped the knife on the table.

"Oh, Mr. DeFazio. It IS Carmine! It is!" she confessed. "I figured it was about time that I really learned how..."

"Finally learned how to cook? For him?"

Shirley nodded her head, dramatically. She sobbed a few times, as she tried to wipe her eyes with onion flavored fingers.

"Carmine? You do all this for Carmine?!" Frank asked, still in his loud voice. "You love him that much?!"

Shirley continued to nod, tears pouring down her face by now.

"You do!" Frank said, finally, as he dropped the cleaver on the table. It was clear to Frank that Shirley really did need his advice as a father. An Italian father, maybe, but a father, nevertheless.

Frank grumbled a little, but then walked around the table to where Shirley was standing. He put his arms around her, and gave her a big hug. It was a little awkward, but heartfelt. Finally, Shirley's sobs slowed to a sniffle.

"This!" Frank finally said, lifting his head to point towards the food on the table. "This! You don't need this!"

"But I do, Mr. DeFazio." Shirley bowed her head, a little in shame. "You see, the more I deny my feelings for Carmine...Well, I can't do that anymore. It's obvious. We're made for each other, Mr. DeFazio. I don't want anyone else..."

"So, just tell him!" Frank shouted, breaking the tender moment, and pushing away from his daughter's roommate.

"Go, Hey! Carmine! I love you!" He called out, his arms stretched out in the air.

"Mr. DeFazio, you know as well as I do... I can't do THAT!"

"Why not!" Frank yelled.

"Well, that's not very lady like!" she argued, embarrassed.

"So what!"

"But, but, it's not my style!"

"Not your style. Not your style. Is THIS your style?" Frank asked, pointing at a pile of tomatoes and a rope of garlic.

"Cooking? Why, I love to cook!"

"Eh, but you're not cooking like SHIRLEY cooks! He's not gonna want someone who cooks like Frank! Right!? So, cook like Shirley!" At that moment, Frank DeFazio was transformed into a wise old philosopher.

Shirley smiled again, and nodded.

"So, you really think I should tell him... that we should see each other, exclusively?"

"You just did, Angel Face." The familiar voice came from behind her, and she froze in shock for the second time that night.

"Carmine?" Shirley asked, as she slowly turned around.

"Yeah, it's me. The Big Ragu," Carmine said, a bit shyly. He looked down at the ground, then directly at Shirley.

"But...?"

"I was, uh, hiding in the bedroom."

Shirley turned to look at Mr. DeFazio, a bit stunned.

"I figured..." Frank said, as he shrugged. He was the one who was now embarrassed, this time by his apparent soft spot and secret matchmaking skills.

"What if you were wrong?" Carmine asked, jokingly.

Without hesitation, Frank picked up the cleaver again, and chopped an unsuspecting onion in half.

Eyebrows raised, Carmine just nodded. Then he turned his attention back to Shirley.

"Angel face, did you really mean all of that?" Carmine asked, as he took Shirley's hands in his own. "Do you want to really be mine?"

Shirley smiled, then nodded. "Yes, Carmine. Yes, I did."

Before the moment could be ruined by the chopping sound of an angry cleaver, Carmine held Shirley's soft cheeks in his hands and gently kissed her lips. They closed their eyes, and held the kiss for a small eternity.

As their lips finally parted, Carmine softly whispered.

"So, tell me, Angel Face. What were you going to make for me?"

Shirley never opened her eyes. She just smiled as she answered.

"The only thing I ever wanted, Carmine. Just a big ragu."