was almost identical to Jack’s normal drive home, a few blocks from the baseball stadium at Camden Yards. But that season had ended, again without a trip into the playoffs.
Baltimore’s Little Italy is a rabbit warren of narrow streets and few parking lots, and for Jack, parking his Hummer was not unlike bringing an ocean liner alongside. But in due course he found a spot in a small parking lot and then walked the two blocks to the restaurant on High Street, which specialized in Northern Italian food. On walking in, he saw that his cousins were camped out in a corner booth, with nobody else close by.
“How’s the food here?” he asked, taking a seat.
“The head chef is as good as our grandfather, and that’s high praise, Jack. The veal is really first-class. They say he buys it himself every day at Lexington Market.”
“Must be tough, being a cow,” Jack observed, scanning the menu.
“Never asked,” Brian noted. “Never heard any complaints, though.”
“Talk to my sister. She’s turning into a vegan, except for the shoes.” Jack chuckled. “How’s the wine list?”
“Ordered,” the Marine responded. “Lacrima Christi del Vesuvio. I discovered it in Naples on a Med Cruise. The Tears of Christ from Vesuvius. Took a trip to Pompeii, and the guide said they’ve been growing wine grapes there for about two thousand years, and I assumed they have it pretty well figured out. If you don’t like it, I’ll drink it all,” Brian promised.
“Brian knows his wine, Jack,” Dominic said.
“You say it like you’re surprised,” Brian shot back. “I’m not your typical jarhead, you know.”
“I stand corrected.”
The bottle came a minute later. The waiter opened it with a flourish.
“Where do you eat in Naples?”
“My boy, you have to work real hard to find a bad restaurant in Italy,” Dominic told him. “The stuff you buy on the street is as good as most sit-down restaurants over here. But this place is seriously okay. He’s a paisano.”
Brian tuned in: “In Naples, there’s a place on the waterfront called La Bersagliera, about a mile from the big fortress. Now, I’ll risk a fistfight and say that’s the best restaurant in the entire world.”
“No. Rome, Alfonso Ricci’s, ’bout half a mile east of Vatican City,” Dominic pronounced.
“Guess I’ll take your word for it.”
The food came, along with more wine, and the conversation turned to women. All three dated, but casually. The Carusos joked that they were looking for the perfect Italian girl; for Jack’s part, he was looking for a girl he could “bring home to Mom.”
“So what’re you saying, cuz?” Brian asked. “You don’t like ’em a little slutty?”
“In the bedroom, hell, yes,”Jack replied.“But out in public ... Not a big fan of halter tops and giant tramp stamps.”
Dominic chuckled at this. “Brian, what was the name of that girl, you know the one, the stripper with the tattoo?”
“Ah, shit ...”
Dominic was still laughing. He turned to Jack and said, half conspiratorially, “She had this tattoo just below her belly button: a downward arrow with the words Slippery When Wet. Problem was, she spelled slippery with one p.”
Jack burst out laughing. “What was her name?”
Brian shook his head. “No way.”
“Tell him,” Dominic said.
“Come on,” Jack prodded.
“Candy.”
More laughter. “Spelled with a y or an ie?” Jack asked.
“Neither. Two e’s. Okay, okay, so she wasn’t the brightest bulb. We weren’t exactly on the marriage track. What about you, Jack? What’s your taste? Jessica Alba, maybe? Scarlett Johansson?”
“Charlize Theron.”
“Good choice,” Dominic observed.
From a nearby stool at the bar they heard, “I’d go for Holly Madison. Great boobs.”
The three of them turned to see a woman smiling at them. She was a redhead, tall, with green eyes and a wide smile. “Just my two cents,” she added.
“The woman has a point,” Dominic observed. “Then again, if we’re talking about intellect ...”
“Intellect?” the woman replied. “I thought we were talking about sex. If you’re going to bring brainpower into it, then I’d have to go with . . . Paris Hilton.”
There were a few moments of silence before the woman’s deadpan expression showed a hint of a smile. Jack, Dominic, and Brian burst out lauging. The Marine said, “I suppose now would be the time to ask if you want to join us.”
“Love to.”
She picked up her freshly refilled glass of wine and moved to their table, taking a seat beside Dominic. “I’m Wendy,” she said. “Spelled with a y on the end,” she added. “Sorry, I couldn’t help eavesdropping.” She said to Dominic, “So we know