Chapter 6 [Cap's Dreamscape]
The sun had set over the Brooklyn neighborhood allowing Nocturne and her star studded cloak to envelop the world once more. A few birds still sang in the cooling breezes. The streetlights snapped on. Streetcars and busses ran people from work and to their last errands of the day.
Such was the way for a people transitioning from the workday to leisure affairs once more…..
Steve inspected himself in front of the mirror. After he and Peggy had come back from the market, they'd worked together on their contribution to the Stallones' potluck—two freshly baked apple pies. Then they took their showers and dressed.
He smoothed his white dress shirt and grey slacks. He made sure his tie was straight. Then he pulled his blazer on and combed his hair one last time. He nodded in satisfaction. "You still pass muster, Steve." He glanced out the window toward the hard streets below.
In his mind's eye, he could still see that picked on kid…the one struggling to survive and thrive in the concrete jungle. The one who'd taken countless poundings and beatings.
The one who'd risen to become a hero…America's hero…Peggy's dance partner….
"Remember that, Steve. Remember," he reminded himself somberly. While he didn't want to wallow in the past, he let it keep him humble.
"Remember what, Steve?" she wondered while stepping into view. She wore a white blouse and dark skirt. "Is something the matter?"
"Nope. Just saw a bit of the past. Can't let myself get a swelled head. Pretty hard when I have the best deal in the universe." He smiled warmly at her.
"Not that I'd let you, Captain." She shot him the warm yet pointed glance and a mischievous smirk. "You still pass muster."
"As do you." He kissed her cheek. "Love you, Peggy."
She sighed. "Keep that up and you're going to make my mascara run." She let him see her eyes twinkle in approval. "Come along. We shouldn't keep them waiting. Take a pie and I'll get the other."
"Yes, Dear." He grinned while balancing the pies. "Lock the door?"
"Certainly," she concurred. After they stepped out, she turned the key in the lock and dropped it into her purse. "Now for our treat."
"Great food, friends and good times. Nothing better," he declared as they descended the stairs toward the street beyond.
[Stallones' Flat—twenty minutes later]
Steve and Peggy reached their friends' door refreshed after their stroll through Nature's nighttime theater. They'd enjoyed the backdrop happening around themselves. Their appetites certainly drew them toward the culinary nirvana awaiting them three blocks away.
"Hope we aren't late," he presumed while checking their watch.
"For once, it's all right," she relented although she was rolling her eyes on the inside. She rapped on the door. "Louisa? Antonio? It's Steve and Peggy."
The door opened slowly and an eight year old boy peered out at them. "Good evening, Signora Rogers. Signor Rogers."
"Good evening, Emilio," Steve greeted with a warm twinkle in the eye and a smile for their dark haired greeter. "May we come in?"
"Si." The boy opened the door wider and ushered them inside. "May I take your coats? Mama and Papa are in the kitchen."
After they took off their coats, Steve handed them over to Emilio. "Thanks."
The boy nodded and retreated toward his room with the coats in question.
Steve surveyed the front room. As it had been since he was a boy, the Stallones' flat had remained a simple place. A threadbare couch had supported two generations of family gatherings. The padded chair in the corner had been Antonio's father's first before it was passed to Antonio himself. He chuckled to himself.
"Mind yourself, Steven. Be a good boy. One day, world will open up. No?" a heavy set dark haired man told him through Memoria's eye.
"Steve?" She recognized the far off look as one where he was recalling something.
"I'm seeing Signor Stallone again. He was some man, Peggy. Wish you could've met him," he revealed.
"Papa was that," his boss concurred with a big grin. "Glad you remember."
"I'd never forget your parents, Signor. Never. Thanks for inviting us," Steve expressed.
"Friends treat each other well, no? We all do that. At store—it's Signor. Here we're family. Okay?" Antonio clarified. "Peggy, you look delightful."
"Thank you. I agree with Steve. This was a splendid opportunity for all of us. Where are your other children?" Peggy wondered.
"They are helping their Uncle Mario tonight, Peggy," a dark haired woman explained. "Are those the pies? Mama mia! You outdo yourselves!"
"Nonsense!" Peggy assured her. "What are friends for? Perhaps I can give you a hand in the kitchen while the boys catch up?"
"The cooking is done. Gratze." She accepted the pies and carried them into the kitchen and dining room. "Emilio, set the table please?"
"Si, Mama," the boy concurred. "Excuse me, Signor Rogers." With that he headed for the kitchen where the plates and settings were.
"Emilio's a good boy. He was at Mario's earlier. He always likes being around you both. Hope you it is okay?" Antonio explained.
"He's a splendid young man. I appreciate the help when he comes over to visit, Antonio," she assured the host.
"Can't argue with that. Besides our families have been friends for how long? We're here for each other," Steve chimed in. "This is what we fought for." He smiled at his friend.
"We prayed for you." Antonio noted somberly. He also thought of Bucky but knowing Steve's feelings kept that to himself. "And see? You pull through. You meet beautiful lady. Life is good."
"It is." Peggy agreed readily with a refreshed smile. Everything she had pretty much wanted was in that room.
"Come. We eat," Louisa bade her husband and their guests while motioning them into the kitchen/dining room. "Please enjoy." Her eyes sparkled invitingly toward them. "Sit, relax, manga."
Steve's mouth watered at the fairly bursting table. He saw a warm loaf of star bread on a platter. A large romaine salad with different veggies bathed in a mixed olive oil/wine vinegar wash sat in its own bowl. On the stove, he saw the soup pot with the heavenly ziti in it….
The ziti he remembered from his earliest childhood in this neighborhood. The homemade pasta with chunks of fresh sausage, tomato and carefully rolled meatballs—correction cannonballs was more like it—hiding within the chewy mass.
"You never cease to amaze," Peggy complimented.
Louisa took a second to consider the words before nodding. "You are too kind, Peggy. Thank you. Shall we? Emilio, please join us." When they had sat down, she turned to her husband. "Antonio?"
"Si." He bade them all bow their heads while he said the grace. Within a minute, he was finished with his message of thanks. Then he took the plates and began filling them with good food.
Steve bit into the ziti allowing the taste to melt on his tongue and coat his mouth with the spicy tomato wonder. As it had minutes earlier, his mind slipped back and forth between the earlier times and his present.
…between the generations of Stallones and his own family….
…between the layers of their shared family by choice….
He saw the ghosts of their parents standing by the table and considering them warmly.
"You said life is good, Antonio. This is the best. Be it so humble, it's home," Steve surmised.
"It is good." Antonio squeezed his wife's hand warmly. "Now manga!" He motioned toward the food on his plate. "You eat up, no?"
"I eat up." Steve smirked and dove into his meal..
As he did, the room seemed to warm a bit. A bright light appeared and swept him away.
How would be telling…telling indeed….