The Cousins Party

Joe Clement & Jim Wardle	The old bar at Russo’s Restaurant

“Are you guys going to be done soon?” Bill Breakell loomed over his stepson Jim Wardle and his nephew Joe Clement and waited for them to answer. The two teenage boys were hard at work at the old butcher block table tucked into the corner of the kitchen at the Gingham club Restaurant rolling out a stretch of dough to make raviolis. Finally, Jim looked up and met his stepfather’s gaze.

“No, Dad. It looks like we might be here for a while. We still have to make gnocchi’s.”

“Alright, then,” said Bill. “Make sure you turn everything off and lock up before you go back to the house.”

“Yes, sir,” said both boys, without looking up. When he was gone the two boys let out a breath. “Man, there is so much work to do,” said Jim. “I can’t believe how many dinners we served tonight.” “Not to mention the pizzas and hoagies,” replied Joe. “What time is it, about eleven?” “Try twelve o’ clock,” answered Jim. “Even the bar is closed.”

They worked in silence for a while, diligently closing the edges of the dough around the mixture of ricotta cheese and basil at the center of the ravioli’s and then placing each one carefully on a tray. Their goal was to make enough to satisfy the request of another uncle, Harry Santaniello, to cover the next evening’s dinner hour. Then, it was on to the gnocchi’s, where they expertly applied a two-fingered snap of the hand to create the snail-shelled shape of dough that tasted wonderful with a red tomato sauce and meatballs. At last they finished and had cleaned up for the night and were about to lock up and go upstairs to the house next door to catch some shuteye before the cycle started all over again in a few hours. As they were going through the kitchen for one last security check, Joe had a sudden thought and said to Jim,

thought and said to Jim, “Did you say that even the bar was closed?” They carefully poked their heads around the swinging doors, like little children about to enter a haunted house, and whispered, “Is anybody here?” No one answered; not Pop Russo, or Tootsie, or Uncle Joe. They tip-toed out and turned on a light switch, revealing the cornucopia of temptation that they now had all to themselves. Joe was the first to jump behind the bar and he tied an apron around his waist while Jim ambled up and swept a stool off of the bar and placed it on the floor. “Barkeep,” he announced in an Irish brogue, “I’ll have a shot of your finest whiskey.”

And then they switched places. Joe chose to sample some bourbon in his role as the customer and on it went in this manner, the two of them playing customer and bartender, for some time as the two teenage boys took great advantage of their unexpected fortune. After the sampling of more spirits while debating amongst themselves on a variety of topics, their subject of conversation turned to music. They decided that it was better to sing than to argue and they chose as their opening number a Tommy Edwards tune which they delivered in a fearless, yet off- key manner:

“Don’t want your lo-o-o-o-ove anymore,

Don’t want your ki-i-i-i-isses, that’s for sure...”

Next on their list was: “Many a tear has to fall, But it’s all in the game...”

...which placed them in a somber mood, so their impromptu concert concluded with a rousing rendition of what many consider a classic song by the Everly Brothers and a staple amongst the love struck young men of the time: “I’ve been che-e-e-eated, been mister-e-eeated, when will I be loved?”

Standing behind the bar in a spirited embrace, their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders and leaning back to engage the full capacity of their lungs, they brought it home, “WHE-E-E-EN WILL I-I-I BE-E-E LO-O-O-VED?” They were hailed not by applause but by a thumping noise on the ceiling above them and some muffled shouts that were unintelligible yet threatening enough to cause them to skip the curtain call, quickly close up shop, and retreat to their grandmother’s house.

That morning Jim and Joe, the aspiring crooners and teetotalers, were summarily grilled and reprimanded by a succession of elders, beginning with Nanny Russo and moving through the chain of command of Mothers, Aunts, and Uncles, about their disturbing the sleep of the tenants who resided above the Gingham Club and thus, their tenure as unsupervised prep cooks was quickly brought to an end.