*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaged in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
*Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, using Microsoft Spell-check. You have been forewarned.
*.*.*
Benito's Italian Dining had a head chef that truly knew the dishes, knew the secrets to making the perfect sauce, the marriage of olive oil and garlic and freshly crushed tomatoes. She measured nothing, using pinches, dashes, handfuls.
She didn't even 'eyeball' things when she meted out the ingredients. The totally blind woman relied on smell, feel, and taste.
"Miss Benito, how you do that?" Scarlet, her assistant asked.
"My husband's mother showed me," Lakendra Vangetti smiled as she worked the dough into the perfect consistency for ravioli. "Said, hey, my boy? He going marry a black girl? No, no, I make you Italian."
The large black woman laughed. Then she began rolling the dough flat so she could cut the squares.
"My own momma? She was always so afraid let me in the kitchen. 'Oh no, honey, you going hurt yourself.' But my mother in law? She said, 'Hey! You burn yourself? Bet you don't do it again, eh?' So, I'm in the kitchen, cutting up onion and bell pepper and garlic and grating up cheese. I come home? And my Benito? He all over me! I'm all hot and tired and smelling of onion and garlic and olive oil and he's just pawing away at me. I finally figured it out. It's the smell of food making him hot to trot!"
"Miss Benito!" Scarlet giggled, scandalized.
"So, cher? Every spoon I taste? Every onion I cut up? It's a little kiss to my Benito, a big hug to his momma loved me enough show me how cook for my man. Now, them bread sticks need come out that oven yeah," The woman said, a sad smile on her lips.
Very few in the dining room of the restaurant knew that their authentic dishes were being prepared by a blind African-American woman that had grown up in the heart of DeGarde, Louisiana, had never learned to read nor write.
On the floor, LaSalle Trahan approached a couple that had been seated in her section. The blonde woman eyed her other tables, checking to see if anyone needed a refill of their drinks, needed coaxing to try their delicious desserts, needed their checks.
"Hi, welcome to Benito's," the chubby blonde said to the slightly chubby dark skinned woman at table seven, placing the basket of warm breadsticks in the center.
The woman's hair was long, a shiny black. Her beautiful face was round, with large almond eyes and dazzling white smile.
LaSalle could tell the woman had Asian heritage, but wondered what heritage the dark skin came from. The woman's smile was warm, friendly as she put her menu down.
Then the woman's dinner companion also put his menu down and LaSalle nearly gasped. LaSalle nearly turned and ran for the safety of the kitchen. LaSalle nearly burst into tears.
But the man smiled a warm, genuine smile. He reached out and took his companion's hand.
Kayla? Remember I told you about LaSalle?" Martin asked, voice still a rich, warm baritone, just as she remembered it.
"The beautiful blonde? The one who left you for another...?" Kayla asked, then turned and looked at LaSalle, beautiful eyes opening a little wider.
"Hi, LaSalle, I uh, I didn't know you worked here," Martin said.
LaSalle could tell he meant it. Even as their breakup was under less than friendly terms, Martin Boyd had never been ugly. He had never responded to LaSalle's cutting assessments of his masculinity or his abilities as a lover.
"She is pretty," Kayla agreed, talking to Martin.
"So I uh, so, how's Rachael doing?" Martin asked, voice low.
"I uh, she and I aren't..." LaSalle whispered, face flaming bright red.
"Oh! I I'm sorry. I, that's a shame," Martin said, handsome face twisted in concern.
"Bread sticks are nice and hot; y'all know what y'all want drink?" LaSalle asked.
"Unsweetened iced tea, lots and lots of lemons," Kayla asked, smiling.
"Why not just get lemonade with a splash of iced tea?" Martin teased. "And I'll have..."
"Water, easy on the ice," LaSalle guessed.
"Hey, you're not supposed remember that," Kayla playfully complained, smiling.
LaSalle turned, approached table ten and assured them she'd be right back with their check. Then she hurried to get the drink orders.
She dropped off the check for the four people at table ten, then pasted a smile on her face for Martin and Kayla. She could see her ex-boyfriend and his dinner companion engaged in a conversation. Their fingers were on the table, entwined.
Martin must have sensed her approach; they both looked up and smiled.
"Here, there's five wedges and I brought a bowl of some more if that's not enough," LaSalle said to the young woman.
"Perfect," Kayla smiled.
"Kayla wants to try the tortellini and you know I've never been able to say 'no' to a lasagna," Martin smiled warmly.
By the time Martin and Kayla left, LaSalle's stomach had unknotted and she was able to wish them a good evening. And checking the signed receipt, LaSalle saw that Martin had left her a twenty five percent gratuity.
LaSalle Faye Trahan had been a one hundred and seventy three pound nineteen year old when she'd met the twenty four year old Martin Boyd at First Union Bank. The man had helped the girl fill out all the information for her first checking account. LaSalle knew she was more than fifty pounds overweight for her five foot one inch height. She'd been told enough times that she had a pretty face, but very few seemed to be able to get past her lumps and bumps of fat.
She wore her straight straw colored hair to just below her buttocks. Her round face was pretty, with rich brown eyes, a button nose, and pouting lips. Her right forceps was slightly twisted, but other than that, her teeth were straight, white. She showed them off whenever she smiled.
"And, here, this is my card," Martin said, looking into LaSalle's deep brown eyes. "Need anything? Have any questions? Give me a call, all right?"
"Even if it something stupid?" LaSalle had asked.
"What's stupid to one person might not be all that stupid to someone else," Martin had assured her.
At the sliding glass doors, LaSalle turned and saw that Martin was looking at her. He smiled, coloring slightly at being caught.
LaSalle nervously brushed her long blonde hair back and scurried out of the bank.
He was handsome, in a rough hewn way, with a strong jaw and slightly large nose. His blonde hair was cut very close to the scalp, a military burr and his eyes were a crystal blue.
Home again, LaSalle flipped open her cheap PC Nation cell phone, then flipped it shut again. Even if she did call the handsome man, what would she say?
"I uh, man! Cher, this LaSalle, you ever eat at Manny's?" she practiced.
