When Hell Freezes Over, Chapter 2: GIONISTAS UNITE!
"Hey, Betty, you noticed that Michelle bitch won 'Hell's Kitchen'?" Hilda waved her newly polished nails in Betty's direction. Scarlet red, nothing less.
"Uhum," Betty tried to show no emotions, as she was fully aware of where Hilda was heading.
"I never thought she was worthy of reaching the finale." Hilda didn't look straight at her sister. "Just think of how she treated Gio…"
"Gio is old and ugly enough to take care of himself," Betty cut Hilda off. "He signed for the show. He knew it wasn't like 'Sesame Street'. I'm sure he knew what he was in for – and I hear he got farther than any of us would have expected him to…"
"You hear?" Hilda lifted one beautifully picked brow. "Honey, I know you watched every episode of 'Hell's Kitchen' while Gio was on. I know, because I know you, and I know because I never got through to you on the cell during the shows…"
Betty twisted her mouth. She didn't know what to say. Sisters were dangerous. They knew you too well. Of course she had watched every minute of this recently completed season. Till Gio was told to go, anyway. He was a friend. Had used to be. They'd been close. She had wanted him to win, she was no monster. She wasn't ready for a relationship, she didn't love him the way he – had – loved her, but she wished him well. She wished him luck and happiness and… everything good. Ducklings in the garden, kittens in his laps, little birdies sitting on his shoulders…
She was no monster.
"Have you heard from him since? Was he very disappointed? Oh, he must have been. Poor Gio! He so decerved that restaurant, don't you think? I thought I'd save and travel to SF had he won, and just dine there one eve, and like when the waiter brought the menus, tell him to say 'hi!' to Chef Gio from one of the NY Suarez' girls. I reckon he would have come running from the kitchen to check which Suarez sister was present! Now that would be a sight!"
Hilda laughed full heartedly.
"Why would I hear from him?" Betty asked, her voice rising. "He didn't even tell me he casted for 'Hell's Kitchen'. I was just as surprised as you when he turned up on screen. He sold the deli without telling me. I have not heard from Gio. No. I am not his keeper!"
"Well, that Michelle will never see this foxy lady in her restaurant!" Hilda gave her nails a third coating. "That's a true 'Hell's Kitchen' for you. I read she gave Zac a job there. Not one little devil overlooking the stoves, but two!"
Again she laughed, but her sister wasn't equally amused.
"Where do you read such useless gossip?" Betty demanded to know.
"Where? At the Hell's Kitchen message board, of course! I'm SandwichGirl."
"You actually post on that board?" Betty pushed her glasses almost in place. Twice.
"Well, of course! I'm proud to say I was one of the hardcore Gionistas who built up Gio's fan base! And I tell you, we are getting more and more worried, 'coz he hasn't given any interviews after he left the show – well, was kicked out, and no one seems to know where he is. That Michelle bitch, you know, she said she'd like to employ him as well in that fancy restaurant – rub it in, bitch!! - but he had left no address and his phone was like switched off all the time, so she tried to reach him through the board… I would become queen of the Gionistas had I come up with hot news. I so hope he is OK. You never know – must have been a trauma for him to be kicked out like that when the whole country was sure he'd win. That stress syndrome – you never know when that comes kicking in. I've seen it on ER – or 'Grey's Anatomy' – wherever. You sure he hasn't contacted you?"
"I'm sure."
Betty rolled her eyes. Gionistas!! Sisters didn't know each other as well as she had imagined after all.
"I'm the last person he'd contact. And quite frankly, I don't care. He's the last person who occupies my mind."
Betty wouldn't have been human had she not looked up the message board the minute she enjoyed the privacy of her own flat. She even pulled the curtains.
She had never visited the web page – she hadn't dared to, and she was unprepared for his smiling face beneath the red, harsh cross out mark. That big smile and glittering eyes still made her toes curl – and she noticed her arms were covered in goose bumps.
That was sheer chemistry. Superficial attraction. A poster of James Dean resulted in the same itch – and he was dead! It had nothing to do with real emotions. Nothing to do with love.
There were photos from the kitchen events. Betty was helplessly drawn to click to watch. Gio had somehow managed to weasel himself into a good fifty percent of all photos. He had women all over. If anything he showed his true nature. He'd told her she'd broken his heart, but he didn't seem to be suffering much – only weeks later; damsels and bitches draped all over his well known, muscled body.
There were videos. Her fingers searched and found, she had no will power left – or she just wanted to see what this former mate had been up to. Deleted scenes were tempting. Betty blushed while watching. She obviously was no average Gionista!
'Hell's Kitchen' wasn't exactly a family show, too much foul language, but the undertones in these deleted scenes would have sent it to adult pay TV! She heard his voice, saw him move, heard that laughter that sent chills of pleasure up her spine. Oh yes, she was ever so lucky to have escaped a relationship with him! Sweat covered her upper lip. She escaped once more, exploring a link to some innocent (she hoped) fan videos on youTube.
Too late she discovered that the internet had developed to a pit of sin!
Betty ended up with a video where Gio repeatedly flashed his chest – not because he'd done that multiple times, but because the creator of the video had looped the same 8 second sequence to last a good minute and clipped it together with zooming in and out on Gio's upper arms, both biceps and triceps, Gio's lower arms, his chest – nipple zoom in, nipple zoom out, same Gio's belly, concentrating on his belly button. And she realized he had a way of sitting broad legged…
She truly honestly hadn't seen that before! But this Dolores Dickinson-woman obviously knew a crotch when she saw one. She seemed to have a thing for butts as well. At least she had the decency to end her work of art with a shot of his smile. Gio smiling ear to ear while waving the knife at the camera.
Holy Mary – that smile!
All followed by "Desire". Betty could never listen to that song again. Who was this woman who openly flagged her – lust for Gio, a guy she didn't know, a total stranger?
Betty was disgusted. She didn't understand this, but to fully explore the nature of female filthy imagination, she bravely returned to the web page covering the kitchen dramas and navigated herself to the message board.
That was worse than expected, even worse than the video.
Practically all was beyond her imagination, and she was after all a writer at heart, she had imagination!
The topic list was a full menu of swooning over Gio, admiring Gio, Gio-desire, more than 50 women wanting to marry Gio – and that was just for starters. The main dish had to be the petition "Gionistas unite!" started by ChefBelinda. So far 2627 women, obviously all ages 12-70, had signed. There was a granny among them! The majority didn't know what they demanded, Betty realized scrolling down, one page after the other.
Her sister (SandwichGirl) was however very clear: "Kick that Michelle cow out of that SF restaurant and let Gio have it as he has deserved it! Gio rocks! Gio as CHEF for HK, SF!!!"
A JusticiaCee threw a verbal tantrum over fourteen paragraphs, and she hadn't even spell checked what she delivered. Betty was shocked.
There couldn't be that many lunatics in America! Reading it all a second time, she realized the lunatics came from Europe and Asia and even Australia, in addition to America - North, Latin and South. The folly had spread worldwide! Only Africa was spared, but then they had enough worries – they didn't need to be infested by Gionistas as well.
Betty's cheeks burned. She hoped he hadn't seen this. He would be…
She didn't know what he'd think or feel or do. For all she knew, he'd totally adore his new celebrity status. He could have a new date every day the next three years, and that was choosing solely between Gionistas. There could be even more – unlisted – women ready to open their kitchens and arms for him.
The thought made her sick.
How could women humiliate themselves like this?
There was a post obviously from Michelle, the winner this season. She'd signed in as Queen_Michelle. Yeah, right! And she obviously had some schooling.
"Gio, where art thou? Your Queen hopes you will be in touch, as that job I promised you will always be open for you. No hard feelings on my account, darling! I will always enjoy a man of your capacity in my kitchen…"
("…and not only there!" Betty thought.)
"…You will be royally rewarded should you return, willing and able to add your special flavors to special compositions - under my supervision *giggles and flashes eyelashes*. I hope you're not escaping the government or something, BTW, ha ha. Had some very serious guys at my door, asking all sorts of questions about you. Zac guesses you're gone underground as you're really the son of some dodgy godfather. Zac's sense of humor. Seriously, my Prince – give me a call. I have a chef's outfit with your name on… Ciao!"
My Prince? That was gross. Just as rude as suggesting Gio was involved in organized crime. Most people were so shallow and narrow minded! They had no idea of other cultures or countries or – anything…
Funny Michelle mentioned the serious guys. There had been some serious guys over at Mode as well, just after the deli was sold and Gio had disappeared. They had asked about him – general questions really, and she had just said the same as everybody else at Mode.
"Sorry, I didn't really know . I bought sandwiches at his deli from time to time, but I can't really tell you anything about him…"
After all – she didn't want to get him in trouble or anything.
Who had these men in dark suits been? Why had they asked about Gio?
Irrational fear built up in Betty's chest. Her heart pounded, she was close to bursting into tears, but she bit her lower lip till the physical pain was stronger than the pain in her heart.
Gio was a grown man. He owed her nothing. He made his own choices. He'd made his own jump.
"Say something to me in your language, baby! I love the sound of it."
He lay on one elbow, smiling seductively while he slid a finger softly from just below her ear, along her shoulder, back to her neck and slowly, slowly let it follow her spine all the way to where the duvet started and covered most of her hips and buttocks.
"Say what?" she asked and let the blonde waterfall of hair roll towards and over the cushions she crushed under her pale, curved body. She was content, still smiling, still dozy, stretched out on her belly, lazily looking at him – looking with those clear, blue eyes, looking without being shy. She was a woman who knew what she liked. She liked what she saw.
"Anything. You can say just anything," he assured in that hoarse voice.
His voice made her think of summer vacations in Italy when she was a teenager. Inter railing Europe with two girlfriends one eventful summer, they had met a couple of Gio's and Sergio's and Andrea's – and they had collected some memories that didn't necessarily suit in albums. That tiny Italian accent of this Gio's, that low hoarseness in his voice, brought her back to that time – to wonderful summers where a pretty blonde never had to walk alone in any Italian town.
"You can swear for all I care," he said. "It sounds like music, no matter what. I like it. And I'd like to learn your language – another language comes handy. I'm only bilingual, you know. I only speak English and Italian. You outnumber me with your six. I'd really like to learn Swedish. Teach me! Please!"
"I love you begging," she purred. "I could do lots of things for a man who begs…"
"I'm begging!" He humbled himself and stretched to be able to kiss her hip. A loose strand of dark hair fell over one eye, making him look boyish and totally irresistible.
"Jag tycker om dej, Gio," she said softly. Making every word a kiss.
"Once more!"
She said it again.
"Ya ticker um day!" he repeated, and she rolled over, laughing so much that the mattress behaved like a water bed.
"Can't be that funny," he sulked, pretending to be hurt.
She curled up close and kissed him as shamelessly passionately as only Scandinavian women could kiss. All those mags Gio had sort of accidentally browsed through at poorer raised cousins' places, had always indicated that Scandinavian women had no shame when it came to – dealing with men, liberation had reached beyond borders. And my, did she prove the mags right!
"You said it beautifully," she told him, her lips touching his.
"What does it mean?" he asked. "Anything like te amo or I love you?"
She giggled and let her hands caress his warm, smooth chest. She was a lady in no rush.
"Now why would I say te amo to you?"
"You tell me, Anna!" he breathed heavily.
"I said: I like you a lot, Gio…" she whispered into his ear. Her warm breath could have melted the icicles hanging from the roof outside.
"Ya ticker um day too, Anna," he responded.
"Show me how much!"
Those Scandinavian women were full of demands – but Gio had no problems delivering. He had no problems at all.