ARROW - 13. Chapter 13

One week later, as they entered the Cafe, they saw the painting in a glass case with a visible alarm. Colin laughed, patting Pete on the back. From that day on, lunch was provided by Pete. His Cafe was featured in the local newspaper, which increased customers. Pete now had to increase his staff, bussers, dishwasher, assistant cooks, and an additional waiter.

We ate free at Pete’s Cafe for the rest of the semester, but we always left a tip that covered what we ate.

Friday nights we spent at the club.

You would think that the girls learned their lesson about eating from Colin and Armand’s plates. “Colin, looks busy tonight.”

“Yes, probably the last bash before finals. Here come the moochers’”

“Let’s leave now. I don’t want to be bothered with them.”

Walking into the hall, getting our jackets, “Colin, where do those steps lead?”

“There are two floors above. They were apartments, and when I bought the building, the people left.”

“Show them to me.”

Walking up the stairs, I was wondering what those apartments looked like. Maybe we could live here. Entering the first apartment, we walked into the kitchen, which led to a living room. A door on the far wall led to two small bedrooms and a bathroom located at the end of the hall. “Does the apartment on the third floor have the same layout?”

“Yes”

“Colin, why don’t we renovate the apartment on the third floor for us? We can fix that apartment for conference room and your office.”

“I have no problem making us an apartment here, but why would we need a conference room?”

“Colin, we need to have a committee to help with the club. Many of the guys didn’t like the way the girls helped themselves. You should have known that. Think about that.”

“You wouldn’t mind living here?”

“No, we need a place of our own.” That got me a kiss.

“Let’s go and have dinner.”

“Not at the Club?”

“No, I know an Italian restaurant that has authentic Italian food.”

We walked into Raffello’s Bistro, and again Colin knew the staff. This was a small family restaurant. “This is my favorite Italian restaurant. The owner’s wife is the chef, and his children are waiters. His youngest son wants to work at the club on weekends, and his dad told him no, he needs him here.”

Looking around the restaurant. “Colin, for an Italian restaurant, the walls are bare. Most Italian restaurants I have seen have photos on the wall showing places people could go and see if they visited Italy. These walls are empty.”

“I know what you are thinking. Just like the Cafe at school, you want to paint something for these walls.”

“When I was in Italy, I went to a village in the south of Italy. There was a plaza with a church at one end and a cafe at the other end, and I could paint that plaza on his wall.”

I watched as he took the back of the menu and sketched his plaza. “You know you could paint that on that one blank wall at the club.” He looked at me and smiled.

The waiter came, and we gave him our order. I ordered the chicken parm, and Armand ordered puttanesca. The waiter looked at him, he smiled, and left for the kitchen.

Within 5 minutes, the owner came out and spoke to his son, who had taken our order. His son pointed to us, and he came over to our table. “Who ordered the puttanesca?”

“I did.”

“Have you eaten this before? You know it’s made with anchovies?”

“Yes, I have had this dish several times. The best I had was in a small village south of Rome. There was a cafe at the end of the plaza that served this on Fridays.”

“What did this village look like?”

I watched as Armand turned the menu over. He had drawn the plaza with the church and Cafe on the back of the menu. The owner looked at the drawing, and I saw tears in his eyes. He took the menu and went to the kitchen. I could hear them talking, but they were talking in Italian.

“Colin, that man is from that village, as is his wife. They are laughing and crying. I don’t understand?”

“Your drawing must have brought back memories.”

“I hope they were good memories. When we go to Europe next year, we will go to that village.”

Our waiter brought out our orders. The starter was a fresh salad followed by our main course. Armand ordered a bottle of wine. “Colin, if I don’t miss my bet, the wine will be homemade.”

“He can’t sell homemade wine.”

“I don’t think he will sell it. It will be the wine the family drinks, you’ll see.”

The waiter brought over two glasses of wine, “My father said this is on the house.”

I had tasted a similar wine in that village, “Colin, they served a similar wine when I was in that village. This doesn’t have the exact same taste but comes very close.”

“This is homemade?”

“Yes, that is why it is complementary.”