Disclaimer: I don't own Wings or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Antoniophiles like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

Rating: T+

Spoilers: Antonio is hopelessly hooked on Casey, Lowell is still with the show, and Helen and Joe are about to be married.

Author's Note: My family is Italian. I am not. I am second-generation American. As a result of close association with immigrant family members, I speak some "Italian," but because they were very much older than I and came here when they were relatively young, they arrived on these shores before a widespread educational system in the nation of Italy began teaching everyone a standardized language and the old dialects began to die out. This is what I speak and understand well, a dialect from the Venetian region in the Italian northeast. I do, however, speak and understand some standardized Italian, and this is what I have tried to use in this story where I can. If you do read and speak Italian I am sure it is quite clunky and maybe even misspelled, but Antonio Scarpacci was supposed to be from a small village from the Naples region of Italy, and if he spoke in his dialect (which apparently he did, as recent YouTube viewings of Wings indicate that, whatever he was speaking, it was rarely standard Italian) then my two characters would never be able to understand each other. As my grandfather Emilio always said, "Walk five miles in Italy and the language changes completely."

Chapter One: Taxi Taxi

It was the slow season on Nantucket Island. Which meant that no one at Tom Nevers airfield had anything to do. Helen Chapel leaned on her spotless lunch counter, which she'd cleaned six times already that day despite the fact that no one had come along to eat there, and Lowell Mather stood nearby, cleaning his ears with a philips head screwdriver. He did this so often that nobody bothered warning him against it any longer. At one of the tables, Antonio Scarpacci sat with his head in his hands, lost in thought.

Donald Trump sembra un grosso, grasso bitorzolo.*

He thought some more.

Donald Trump sembra un grosso, grasso, peloso bitorzolo.*

Roy Biggins slid into the seat across the table. "Scarpacci, you look like a man with a lot on his mind," he said grandly, startling the cabbie from his reverie.

"Oh, you know, just… deep thoughts," Antonio said, with a nervous smile. He quickly changed the subject. "What are you up to, Roy?"

"Same as everybody around here, waiting for business."

"Hey, at least we've got a flight coming in," Fay Cochrane said from the Sandpiper Air counter.

"With how many people on it, Cochrane? Oh that's right, one," Roy said. "Barely worth the fuel."

"One is better than none," Fay said, and her typically relentless cheeriness seemed to falter beneath the dark look she shot the Aeromass owner.

Antonio perked up. "Someone is coming to the island? Maybe they will need a cab."

"And what will one fare do for you, Scarpacci? You're drowning in debt," Roy said.

"Fay is right. One is better than none," Antonio said. "Last night for dinner I ate one of those cheap Banquet frozen meals."

"So?" Helen said.

"I was so hungry, I liked it," Antonio said.

Brian Hackett strolled out of the Sandpiper office, hands in the pockets of his leather flight jacket. "What's shakin', guys?"

"Aw, Brian, we're all so desperate for something to do we've got our hopes hanging on this one person that Joe is flying in. I hope they're hungry and Antonio hopes they need a ride from the airport," Helen said. "Do you know anything about them?"

He reared back. "I don't keep dossiers on our passengers, Helen. All I know is that Joe flew the last bunch of tourists to Boston and got a last-minute passenger from Boston to Nantucket. A woman."

Helen gave him The Look. "A woman? Alone on the plane with Joe? Is she pretty?"

"I don't know, Helen, and it doesn't matter. Joe will have his hands full flying the plane, in case you don't remember."

"I remember there's an auto-pilot feature."

"Do you trust your groom-to-be or not?" Brian said.

Helen rubbed her hands together and chewed her lower lip. "Oh, I do. I do. I just… I can't believe he picked me out of all the women in the world. I guess it makes me jealous."

"Helen, if I may," Antonio said. "You have nothing to feel insecure about. You are a beautiful woman and very smart with a wonderful loving heart. You were a wonderful wife to me and you will be a wonderful wife to Joe. He would be an idioto to ever cheat on you."

"Aw, thank you, Antonio," Helen said, beaming at him. "You're very sweet."

"Of course, men do not always think with their brains when beautiful women are near," he said, blissfully unaware that his mouth was still moving. Helen shrieked and threw her dishrag at his head. Well-honed instincts led him to duck. The dishrag hit Roy instead.

"Watch it, Chapel!" Biggins growled. "You missed."

"Six of one, half dozen of the other," she said, hissing at him. "I hit somethin' worth hittin'."

"Attention… er… everyone, Sandpiper Air Flight 11 from Boston is now arriving," Fay announced over the PA.

"Nobody is here to meet this woman. Maybe she really will need a cab," Antonio said. He didn't let himself sound too hopeful.

"I just hope she wants a bite to eat, first," Helen said. "I haven't sold so much as a tuna sandwich today."

"And I have not had a fare in three days," Antonio said. "You at least always have us hanging around for business."

Joe Hackett, Sandpiper owner and pilot, came through the office door from the hangar, whistling a tune none of them knew.

"Good flight, Joe?" Helen asked, eyes narrowed.

"Oh, great flight. Amazing flight. That woman was incredible, just incredible." He stopped short. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

The front door from the loading zone opened and the passenger entered. Eyes popped and jaws dropped. She had to duck through the seven-foot clearance door. Her long hair was half white blonde, half flaming red, right down the middle like someone had taken a ruler and drawn a line. She wore a black T-shirt, no sign of a brassiere, and homemade jean shorts. Her feet were bare. Her face was tattooed with two dark red dagger-like lines from her eyes down to her collarbones. She had several piercings including a hoop in her nose with six chains that connected to the six rings in her right ear. She was carrying a guitar case.

Helen goggled at the woman for a long moment, then turned to Joe and gestured grandly with one hand. "That, Joe? That was amazing? You threw our wedding over for that?"

"What are you talking about, Helen? She's a musician, she told jokes and played the guitar all the way from Boston. She's really good," Joe said. "Made it seem like a much shorter flight than normal."

Helen dropped her hand, eyes downcast and mouth a tight, thin line. "Oh. Well. What I meant to say is, I'm glad you're back safe and sound, honey. I worry about you every time you go out."

The woman was messing with her return ticket, not paying attention to the crowd of rude onlookers, perhaps deliberately, as she was surely used to being stared at just for the fact that she was well over seven feet tall. Brian realized they were all staring like goobers and stepped forward.

"On behalf of the Nantucket Board of Tourism, Ma'am, I'd like to welcome you to our little island," he said grandly, clapping his hands together once. "It's certainly good to see someone this time of year. As you may know, this is sort of our 'off season' as far as tourism goes, but I assure you there is still plenty to see and do. My name is Brian Hackett, I'm a representative of Sandpiper Air. May I ask what brings you to Nantucket?"

The woman looked up - to her own eye level, high above Brian's head. She looked around in confusion. "Hello? Is someone there? I know I heard a voice," she said. She looked down and started. "Oh, there you are! Hi, my name is Dragon, nice to meet you." She held out a very large hand to him.

Gingerly, his face set in the same expression as a man who has just been slapped, Brian shook with her. She laughed. "Men always get so wound up when I make that joke. I'm not saying you're short, sweetie, I'm saying that when I stand still for too long on the side of the street people start stapling 'Lost Cat' posters to me," she said. "Might as well get the 'tall girl' jokes out in the open. I know everybody's thinking them."

"No, not me, no no," everybody said at once, looking around at each other.

"Didn't I tell you she was amazing?" Joe said, laughing. "You should hear her sing."

"Are you here for a gig, then?" Fay asked. "Going to play in the Club Car or somewhere like that?"

"Oh no," the woman - Dragon, apparently - said. "No, I've got a steady gig in Boston. No, I'm here looking for a place to live."

Everyone shared a look amongst themselves.

"Wouldn't you rather live in… oh, I don't know… Boston?" Helen said.

The woman laughed. "Well, the problem with Boston is that it's a city, and I don't like cities. They're big, and cold and noisy and… full of people. I'd rather commute."

"Nantucket is quite a long commute from Boston," Lowell said, showing one of those rare signs of intelligence that even he showed on occasion.

"Yeah, well, I'm just looking. I've looked around a lot of places and I haven't made my mind up yet. I wasn't going to come here but someone started talking it up to me and it sounded nice and… I do kind of like the idea of living on an island. I don't know why."

"Where are you from?" Roy asked.

"Iowa."

"That makes sense," Lowell said. "You grew up on an island of grass surrounded by a sea of corn, and now Nantucket sings to you."

She appeared to mull that over, though more likely she was wondering whether there was a decent police force on so tiny an island. Finally she looked at Lowell and nodded slowly. "You know, you may be right."

"Don't mind him, he sometimes drinks brake fluid instead of his Dr. Pepper," Antonio said.

"Hey, only that one time, Antonio," Lowell said severely.

"Antonio?" the woman said, in a flawless accent. "Italiano?"

"Si," Antonio said cautiously.

"Where from?" she asked, without any accent at all.

"Napoli. Well, nearby."

"My parents were from Venice. Well, nearby," she said, and flashed a brilliant smile. She had enormous white teeth, very sharply pointed. Antonio felt his heartbeat triple and couldn't quite explain why.

"Do you - " His voice squeaked and he tried again. "Do you need a lift, by any chance?"

She looked him up and down. "Oh, honey, it's sweet of you to offer, and I am kind of tired, but you're what, a hundred and fifty-five pounds? I don't think you could manage it."

Joe laughed out loud. "See? Isn't she a riot?" Everybody looked hard at him, none harder than Antonio.

"I meant that I have a cab," he said, turning back to her.

"Oh! Well, in that case, I have cash," she said brightly, gathering up her guitar case.

Antonio stood up and aside. "My kind of woman," he said, and followed her out the door.


* Donald Trump looks like a big, fat wart.

* Donald Trump looks like a big, fat, hairy wart.