Author's Note: My apologies to anyone who's actually familiar with Little
Italy and New York in general. While I did a basic bit of research on the
area, I freely admit my facts may not be straight and others may be bent to
fit my needs.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Little Italy
Manhattan, New York
Mathilda Lando strolled down Mulberry Street in the heart of Little Italy, taking in the now familiar scenery as she passed by. Old St. Patrick's Church at Prince, with its seemingly out of place big red wooden door. The Puglia Building at Spring, painted in horizontal stripes of green, white, and red in honor of the Italian flag. And the infamous Casa Bella Ristorante at Hester, its unpretentious façade hiding one of the best Italian restaurants in New York.
'But not as good as Tony's,' Mathilda mused silently, stopping at Supreme Macaroni Co. aka Guido's Restaurant. She stepped inside and removed her sunglasses, placing them in her backpack before heading towards the kitchen. Manolo Costa promptly jumped up from where he was sitting with Tony and dashed over to her, nearly tripping himself in the process. He coughed, crossed his arms, and leaned ever so casually against the wall.
"Mathilda, hi, how are you?" he asked, his grin large enough to split his face.
"Hey, Manny, good" Mathilda answered as she passed by, barely glancing in his direction.
"Manolo," he corrected automatically, beginning to follow her. "Listen, there's a new play starting tonight at the Sullivan in SoHo. I was wondering-"Manolo was cut off as the employee's ladies room door was shut in his face. "Oh, well, we can discuss it later," he told the door.
Tony was chucking as Manolo returned to the booth and sat down.
"I don't get it," Manolo began, sighing with frustration, "why doesn't she like me?"
"She doesn't like anyone," Tony told him, thinking it wasn't far from the truth.
Mathilda was an enigma. Tony thought he had seen the last of her the day Leon died. But, no, she returned every week. She pocketed her hundred dollar bill and stayed to chat with him. At first, she begged him to give her a cleaning job, but at his repeated refusals she discussed instead other things. Her life at school, a book she'd read, something she'd seen or heard on the street. But she never mentioned Leon. No, not once.
Besides her weekly stipend, Tony had also started paying her tuition and board at the Spencer School in Jersey. He'd even signed some paperwork claiming to be a distant relative so that the state wouldn't gain guardianship of her. He had a feeling the headmistress at the school was greasing the wheels for him with that. Tony didn't usually go out of his way to help anyone, much less some kid he didn't know, but he felt he owed it to Leon. Guilt was a strong emotion. And what had started out as an attempt to assuage his guilty conscience eventually turned into an honest affection for the girl.
When Mathilda turned 16, she again came asking for a job. But not as a cleaner. As a waitress. Tony was initially surprised, but didn't see the harm. And if he could help her earn some honest money, why not? It ended up working out well for him because, after two years, she was a Guido's staple. The patrons loved her. Cordial, helpful, charming...and beautiful. But it wasn't an inviting beauty. It was a look-but-don't-touch beauty, a distancing beauty. Tony once witnessed a male patron attempt to sneak a feel of her backside. Almost as if she had radar, Mathilda turned her gaze on him. She stared, unblinking, until the guy turned abruptly away, carefully keeping all parts of his anatomy, including his eyes, away from her during the remainder of the meal. And he left a big tip.
Yes, Mathilda was a strange one. In a lot of ways, she reminded him of Leon when he first came to America. Kind of lost, but determined and focused at the same time. Weird combination. Manolo was still bemoaning Mathilda's lack of interest in him as Tony tuned back in.
"Hey, go down to the Mott market and see what's keeping my clams," Tony interrupted.
"Uncle Tony, we have plenty of clams," Manolo told him, confused.
"These are special clams," Tony told him. Manolo just blinked. Tony sighed. "Potential assistant managers need to keep on top of these things." Manolo brightened and sped out the door. 'Honestly, if he wasn't my sister's boy...' Tony thought for the umpteenth time.
Mathilda poked her head out of the bathroom and looked around. Seeing no sign of Manolo, she ventured out, dressed in her waitressing uniform, and started helping the kitchen staff roll meatballs when Tony called to her. She walked over, slid into the seat across from him, and waited.
"Now, kid," Tony began, lighting up a cigar, "why do you have to be so cruel to Manolo? In fact, why can't you CALL him Manolo?" Mathilda appeared to think this over.
"I'm not cruel," Mathilda told him. "And Manolo doesn't suit him." Tony waved his hand in a circle, indicating she should elaborate. "I don't talk to him because I don't want him to think I'm interested. And I don't call him Manolo because that's too macho. Manny fits him better." Tony considered this and then nodded.
"Huh, that actually makes sense," Tony said, blowing a ring of smoke, pausing before his next statement. "You know he's crazy about you, has been since he was 15 and you first started coming around with – well, when you were 12." Something passed briefly over her face at Tony's near slip, something deep and sad. But then it was gone, as if it'd never been.
"Not my problem," Mathilda replied finally, shrugging. Tony nodded, conceding her point. He decided to change the subject.
"He turns 21 next week, we're throwing a big party." Mathilda gave him a rare half smile.
"I know, I'm working that night."
"So you'll be there," Tony exclaimed. Mathilda's half smile turned into a genuine grin and she lowered her eyes, giving him an elaborate nod. He didn't know that she would answer his next question, much less truthfully, but he felt he had to ask anyway.
"Kid, are you happy?" Mathilda immediately lost her smile and looked out the front window at nothing, her gaze softening while she chewed her lower lip briefly. She finally turned back to Tony.
"I'm content," she said softly. Then her half smile returned, not so genuine this time. "Ask me that again when I extract my 18th birthday gift from you." Tony didn't know what to make of that statement and shivered as he felt a chill pass over him.
"What the hell am I paying you for?" he asked in a mock gruff voice. "Get back to work." He raised his hand as if to swat at her, but she was already sliding out of the booth and heading back to the kitchen.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Little Italy
Manhattan, New York
Mathilda Lando strolled down Mulberry Street in the heart of Little Italy, taking in the now familiar scenery as she passed by. Old St. Patrick's Church at Prince, with its seemingly out of place big red wooden door. The Puglia Building at Spring, painted in horizontal stripes of green, white, and red in honor of the Italian flag. And the infamous Casa Bella Ristorante at Hester, its unpretentious façade hiding one of the best Italian restaurants in New York.
'But not as good as Tony's,' Mathilda mused silently, stopping at Supreme Macaroni Co. aka Guido's Restaurant. She stepped inside and removed her sunglasses, placing them in her backpack before heading towards the kitchen. Manolo Costa promptly jumped up from where he was sitting with Tony and dashed over to her, nearly tripping himself in the process. He coughed, crossed his arms, and leaned ever so casually against the wall.
"Mathilda, hi, how are you?" he asked, his grin large enough to split his face.
"Hey, Manny, good" Mathilda answered as she passed by, barely glancing in his direction.
"Manolo," he corrected automatically, beginning to follow her. "Listen, there's a new play starting tonight at the Sullivan in SoHo. I was wondering-"Manolo was cut off as the employee's ladies room door was shut in his face. "Oh, well, we can discuss it later," he told the door.
Tony was chucking as Manolo returned to the booth and sat down.
"I don't get it," Manolo began, sighing with frustration, "why doesn't she like me?"
"She doesn't like anyone," Tony told him, thinking it wasn't far from the truth.
Mathilda was an enigma. Tony thought he had seen the last of her the day Leon died. But, no, she returned every week. She pocketed her hundred dollar bill and stayed to chat with him. At first, she begged him to give her a cleaning job, but at his repeated refusals she discussed instead other things. Her life at school, a book she'd read, something she'd seen or heard on the street. But she never mentioned Leon. No, not once.
Besides her weekly stipend, Tony had also started paying her tuition and board at the Spencer School in Jersey. He'd even signed some paperwork claiming to be a distant relative so that the state wouldn't gain guardianship of her. He had a feeling the headmistress at the school was greasing the wheels for him with that. Tony didn't usually go out of his way to help anyone, much less some kid he didn't know, but he felt he owed it to Leon. Guilt was a strong emotion. And what had started out as an attempt to assuage his guilty conscience eventually turned into an honest affection for the girl.
When Mathilda turned 16, she again came asking for a job. But not as a cleaner. As a waitress. Tony was initially surprised, but didn't see the harm. And if he could help her earn some honest money, why not? It ended up working out well for him because, after two years, she was a Guido's staple. The patrons loved her. Cordial, helpful, charming...and beautiful. But it wasn't an inviting beauty. It was a look-but-don't-touch beauty, a distancing beauty. Tony once witnessed a male patron attempt to sneak a feel of her backside. Almost as if she had radar, Mathilda turned her gaze on him. She stared, unblinking, until the guy turned abruptly away, carefully keeping all parts of his anatomy, including his eyes, away from her during the remainder of the meal. And he left a big tip.
Yes, Mathilda was a strange one. In a lot of ways, she reminded him of Leon when he first came to America. Kind of lost, but determined and focused at the same time. Weird combination. Manolo was still bemoaning Mathilda's lack of interest in him as Tony tuned back in.
"Hey, go down to the Mott market and see what's keeping my clams," Tony interrupted.
"Uncle Tony, we have plenty of clams," Manolo told him, confused.
"These are special clams," Tony told him. Manolo just blinked. Tony sighed. "Potential assistant managers need to keep on top of these things." Manolo brightened and sped out the door. 'Honestly, if he wasn't my sister's boy...' Tony thought for the umpteenth time.
Mathilda poked her head out of the bathroom and looked around. Seeing no sign of Manolo, she ventured out, dressed in her waitressing uniform, and started helping the kitchen staff roll meatballs when Tony called to her. She walked over, slid into the seat across from him, and waited.
"Now, kid," Tony began, lighting up a cigar, "why do you have to be so cruel to Manolo? In fact, why can't you CALL him Manolo?" Mathilda appeared to think this over.
"I'm not cruel," Mathilda told him. "And Manolo doesn't suit him." Tony waved his hand in a circle, indicating she should elaborate. "I don't talk to him because I don't want him to think I'm interested. And I don't call him Manolo because that's too macho. Manny fits him better." Tony considered this and then nodded.
"Huh, that actually makes sense," Tony said, blowing a ring of smoke, pausing before his next statement. "You know he's crazy about you, has been since he was 15 and you first started coming around with – well, when you were 12." Something passed briefly over her face at Tony's near slip, something deep and sad. But then it was gone, as if it'd never been.
"Not my problem," Mathilda replied finally, shrugging. Tony nodded, conceding her point. He decided to change the subject.
"He turns 21 next week, we're throwing a big party." Mathilda gave him a rare half smile.
"I know, I'm working that night."
"So you'll be there," Tony exclaimed. Mathilda's half smile turned into a genuine grin and she lowered her eyes, giving him an elaborate nod. He didn't know that she would answer his next question, much less truthfully, but he felt he had to ask anyway.
"Kid, are you happy?" Mathilda immediately lost her smile and looked out the front window at nothing, her gaze softening while she chewed her lower lip briefly. She finally turned back to Tony.
"I'm content," she said softly. Then her half smile returned, not so genuine this time. "Ask me that again when I extract my 18th birthday gift from you." Tony didn't know what to make of that statement and shivered as he felt a chill pass over him.
"What the hell am I paying you for?" he asked in a mock gruff voice. "Get back to work." He raised his hand as if to swat at her, but she was already sliding out of the booth and heading back to the kitchen.