Mafia Chic Read Online Free PDF

ten o’clock the back office phone rang. “Teddi’s,” I answered on line two.
    “Is Teddi there? The owner Teddi?”
    “Who’s calling?” I was used to food and beverage sales guys calling, trying to get our account. Linen companies. Wine sales reps.
    “It’s Robert Wharton.”
    “Robert? It’s Teddi.”
    “Thought that was your voice.”
    I managed to sputter out a hello. A man in Manhattan who actually called when he said he would?
    “You gave me your card,” he offered, as if the reason I sounded a little stunned was I didn’t remember him. As if I could forget his anchorman smile.
    “Of course.” I finally regained my composure. “It’s nice to hear from you, Robert.”
    “Listen…I would love to take you to dinner.”
    “Um…great.” Nit-twit, as Di would call me. So much for witty repartee.
    “What’s your schedule like?”
    “Thursdays are good. I usually work Friday night. My sous chef does Thursday night. I do lunch Thursday instead.”
    “What about Sunday? I’m off on Sundays.”
    I crinkled up my face in a wince he couldn’t see. Sunday was sacrosanct—family dinner in Brooklyn. “Sundays are no good.”
    “Thursday then. Next Thursday okay?”
    “Sure.”
    “I’m a little nervous taking a chef out for dinner. You probably have high standards.”
    “No. I was born in a family of professional eaters. But honestly, I’m not that fussy. I like to enjoy someone else’s cooking for a change.”
    “How about if we meet at a little Japanese place called Yama’s at Fifty-fifth and Seventh?
    “I’ve heard of it.” Heard of it? I’d heard it was one of the priciest new restaurants in the city—and the sushi chef was a temperamental master. I knew I’d love to scope out their menu. Japanese was a style of cooking I’d longed to experiment with. My mother mocked my Manhattan eating adventures. “Raw fish,” she’d once said. “What’s next? Cold monkey meat?”
    “I’ll make reservations for eight-thirty. Okay? Does that sound all right?”
    “Okay. See you then.”
    “I’m really looking forward to it.”
    “Me, too.”
    I hung up the phone by pressing down on the reset button. Then I immediately speed-dialed Lady Di on her cell, which she wore attached to her hip at all times, with a tiny little earpiece set in her ear. Di also carried a Palm Pilot and had her laptop at home perpetually plugged in. Besides dressing to the nines, she was wired to the nines.
    “Diana Kent here,” she answered.
    “It’s Teddi.”
    “Hello there, flatmate,” she said, never getting used to calling me her roommate or roomie.
    “He called.”
    “Who?”
    “Who… him! ”
    “That Robert fellow?”
    “Yes, that Robert fellow.”
    “How fantastic, Teddi! Are you going to see him?”
    “Next Thursday.”
    “Smashing.”
    “I need your help, though.”
    “What?” she asked. “Want to borrow my little black dress? Oh…what about the Roberto Cavalli one?”
    “Too wild.”
    “My Donna Karan. The black wraparound one?”
    “No. That’s not why I called. Well…now that you mention it, that dress might be good. But no…I need you to distract my ‘bodyguards.’”
    “Right-o. No problem.”
    “Don’t you think it’s a little ridiculous that I’m a woman in my mid-twenties and I’m still being baby-sat?”
    “Yes. But one of your baby-sitters is your cousin Tony. And I find him positively delicious. So, for purely selfish reasons, I rather find it amusing.”
    “You’re impossible.”
    “But that’s what makes me so irresistible.”
    “Look, just help me duck out unnoticed.”
    “You can count on me. I always feel all James Bond when we do this, you know.”
    “I feel a little Godfatherish when we do it. But either way, next Thursday keep them busy. I’d like to get in a first date without them looking over my shoulder. And the black dress would be nice, too.”
    “It’s yours.”
    “We have six days to plan.”
    “And plan we shall. Must run