The event will also feature a Q&A session with Mr. Muldoon fielding questions from the virtual audience. We encourage you to submit your questions early.
Mark your calendars. You don’t want to miss this exciting event.
A flash of opportunity ignited in Mario’s mind. The AOL Chatroom interview series was the perfect venue to reach out to Trevor. The Muldoons, ensconced in their gated community, were apparently notoriously difficult to access. Their community was a fortress, home to Naples’ wealthy elite who paid a premium to keep uninvited visitors at bay.
This online event, this virtual meeting could be Mario’s golden ticket. It was likely his best chance to persuade Trevor Muldoon to extend him an invitation to his residence for a private discussion.
Chapter 89
May 11, 2000
Thursday, 6:59 p.m.
Naples, Florida
Mario knocked on the back door of Janet’s house. Standing there and waiting, he heard the rhythmic pulse of Mr. Mister’s “Broken Wings” seeping through the door into the night air.
So take,
these broken wings,
and learn to fly again,
learn to live so free.
When we hear,
the voices sing,
the book of love will open up,
and let us in. . . .
“Mario, come in,” Janet beckoned, her voice a warm invitation as she opened the door to her dinner guest. “I was just about to slide the fish into the oven,” she said as she retreated into the kitchen. The mangrove snapper, a local delicacy, had been caught fresh in the Gulf of Mexico by the skilled hands of local fishermen. It would take a mere five minutes in her Breville toaster oven to transform it into a mouthwatering main course.
“Grazie. The smell is delicious.” Mario trailed after Janet into the kitchen. He found himself captivated by her graceful movements as she expertly prepared their meal. Her back to him as she worked the stove, he truly noticed her toned physique for the first time. She was a stunning woman who seemed to harbor a certain fondness for him. Roberto’s wise counsel from beyond echoed in his mind. Dude, she likes you.
“Would you mind uncorking the wine?” She glanced over her shoulder to find Mario appreciating her figure; his eyes were obviously fixed on her firm posterior.
“Sì, ah, mi scusi,” Mario stuttered, caught off guard. He reached for the Napa Valley Pinot Grigio resting on the island and deftly uncorked the bottle. He had opened countless bottles of red wine during Sunday services, but this was his first encounter with white wine.
He filled two glasses with the crisp white wine then navigated around the counter to offer one to Janet. As he neared her, he was enveloped by the scent of roses and a hint of Lancôme Miracle Eau de Parfum. The fragrance was unfamiliar to him, but intoxicating nonetheless. Roberto would have recognized the effort Janet had put into their evening and predicted a promising end to the night—Mario, however, remained blissfully unaware of these subtle cues.
On her way home from work, Janet had made a special detour to Sephora after gathering the dinner ingredients at Publix. She was determined to leave a lasting impression on the intriguing Italian who had unexpectedly entered her life. The local men had lost their appeal; she craved someone more exotic. She was trying to make this as obvious as possible to her Italian guest.
“I forgot to ask yesterday, do you like fish?”
“Sì. I go Ostia for fresh fish sometimes.” Mario spoke of the coastal city near Rome, his voice carrying the rhythm of the sea. “I know fish with bees fresh. Fish with flies old.”
Janet stirred the rice pilaf in the frying pan, her attention captivated by Mario’s explanation. His accent was like a melody, a symphony she could lose herself in for hours.
“Sometimes, fisherman try selling old fish to tourist not know difference.”
“Well luckily, I believe these are fresh.” Janet glanced at Mario and smiled. He was standing so close to her. “Publix sources their fish from local fishermen.”
“It appear fresh.” Mario leaned in, peering through the glass of the toaster oven. “What is seasoning?”
“I use a simple recipe with just three ingredients—salt, Cajun spices, and parsley flakes. I also add red potatoes, yellow peppers, cherry tomatoes, lime, green onions. The oil gives it a crispy exterior and a juicy interior,” Janet said, noting this man was having a similar effect on her.
Mario, oblivious to her hints, felt a strange sensation. To be sure, he didn’t mind the attention from Janet. She was indeed beautiful. Moving to the other side of the island, he perched on a barstool, staying out of Janet’s way as she continued her culinary magic. He had learned from Roberto to stay clear unless he was assisting as a sous chef.
“Maybe I set table?”
“That would be wonderful. The silverware is in that drawer.”
“Piatti?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Mi scusi. . . .” Mario searched for the English word, “Plates?”
“Oh, oh. Don’t worry about them. I’ll prepare the plates and bring them to the table.” Janet giggled at Mario’s adorable Italian question. His presence was a breath of fresh air, a joy she had been craving for a long time.
Mario was delighted to witness her laughter. He felt a warmth around this woman that he couldn’t recall ever feeling before. It was a pleasant sensation. He had seen this in the teenage boys who attended church on Sundays. They would transform into goofy, love-struck adolescents around the girls they fancied. During Mass, their attention would be on the girls seated elsewhere, their ears oblivious to the sermon. Mario would observe these silent exchanges throughout the church—a boy stealing a glance at a girl, the girl giggling quietly when she caught the boy’s gaze, both quickly looking away, hoping the other hadn’t noticed. It was a dance of young love.
As a devout priest, Mario had always suppressed the stirrings of desire, honoring his vows of celibacy. He was no stranger to the frailties of the flesh, a temptation that led many a priest astray. He knew that succumbing to these feelings would result in his expulsion from the priesthood, a fate he couldn’t bear. The Catholic Church was his life. Yet, when the Church severed its ties with him, it was as if a dam had burst within him, releasing a torrent of suppressed emotions. As he set the dining room table, his thoughts were consumed by Janet.
The distant ding of the toaster oven rang through the house. Janet’s voice floated from the kitchen. “The fish is ready.”
