the same kind of apron Mamma did, with a pocket to hold the wooden spoon on the right. The only difference was Angela wore a white-and-green checkered apron; Rosa’s was white-and-red.
She soon became one of the guys. She was around so much we gave her a name—Angela “No Tits” Catrino—though no one would dare say it in front of Mamma Rosa. Angela had become “off limits” with Mamma. She was as protected as Paulie Shoes was from Doggs.
Everyone called her “No Tits” for the obvious reasons. Aside from missing the two lumps on her chest most teenage boys found a necessity before striking up a conversation with a girl, and besides the fact that her father would have killed anyone who touched her, she was a nice kid. Cute, too. As the months rolled by, I grew accustomed to seeing Angela at Tony’s house. Pretty soon her name went from No Tits to Angela, then to Angie. Before long, I was getting pissed at the other guys for teasing her.
On the first hot Saturday in late spring, we went swimming then headed to Tony’s house. Being wet, we had to use the back door, so we rounded the corner and headed up the alley, a two-and-a-half foot wide strip of concrete between Mr. Ciotti’s ever-present stone wall and the back side of chain-link fences. The wall was five feet high but loomed above us like the Iron Curtain. On the left, the fences ran back-to-back, clotheslines strung from the houses to steel poles buried in a lump of concrete at the end. Occasionally there was a young kid tied to the pole to keep them from running away while their mother draped laundry over the line, giving it that fresher-than-heaven smell. The houses were only seventeen feet wide, so it didn’t take long to get to Tony’s house. His was the fifth on the block.
We popped open the gate and raced up the sidewalk, the whole backyard filled with the wonderful aroma of Mamma Rosa’s sauce and meatballs. A smile covered my face long before we burst through the back door, still in our swimsuits.
“Hey, Angie, you cooking meatballs?” I reached into the pot and grabbed one. It was hot as hell, so I had to bounce it from hand to hand to keep from burning.
“Get out of there, Nicky.” Angela swung the spoon at me. She must have missed on purpose, because the kitchen was so small I could barely squeeze by without bumping into her, which wasn’t bad.
I bit the outside of the meatball. “Pretty good.”
“ Pretty good?” Angela stared, her hands planted on an apron covered with sauce. She looked like a young Mamma Rosa.
“Could use some more cheese in the sauce.”
She splashed water on me from the sink, then went after me with the spoon again. I ducked into the basement, laughing. I went down a few steps then crept back up and watched through the door. Angie dipped her spoon into the pot and tasted one. “He’s right. It needs cheese.” She whispered it, almost to herself, but I heard.
Rosa sat at the table, silent. She watched as Angela added Parmigiano to the sauce. “Pay no attention to that boy.”
“I think he’s right. It needs cheese.”
Rosa smiled ear to ear. “Whatever you think, dear.”
After that, I found more reasons to be at Tony’s house, particularly when Angela was there. I was thirteen and in love, and my dick ached every time I saw her. I couldn’t help it. She wasn’t gorgeous like Sandy Miller, but there was something special about Angie. The way she smiled. The way she laughed. I particularly liked the way she twirled her hair around her index finger whenever she was thinking or nervous. And the way she gave me shit right back when I teased her. Come to think of it, I liked everything about her. Soon, I worked up the nerve to ask her out, which meant hanging out at the park or on the corner with the guys. It was nothing formal, but to Angie that was fine. She said a trip to Delmonico’s in New York couldn’t have been better.
After that day the word was out. Angie was under my
She soon became one of the guys. She was around so much we gave her a name—Angela “No Tits” Catrino—though no one would dare say it in front of Mamma Rosa. Angela had become “off limits” with Mamma. She was as protected as Paulie Shoes was from Doggs.
Everyone called her “No Tits” for the obvious reasons. Aside from missing the two lumps on her chest most teenage boys found a necessity before striking up a conversation with a girl, and besides the fact that her father would have killed anyone who touched her, she was a nice kid. Cute, too. As the months rolled by, I grew accustomed to seeing Angela at Tony’s house. Pretty soon her name went from No Tits to Angela, then to Angie. Before long, I was getting pissed at the other guys for teasing her.
On the first hot Saturday in late spring, we went swimming then headed to Tony’s house. Being wet, we had to use the back door, so we rounded the corner and headed up the alley, a two-and-a-half foot wide strip of concrete between Mr. Ciotti’s ever-present stone wall and the back side of chain-link fences. The wall was five feet high but loomed above us like the Iron Curtain. On the left, the fences ran back-to-back, clotheslines strung from the houses to steel poles buried in a lump of concrete at the end. Occasionally there was a young kid tied to the pole to keep them from running away while their mother draped laundry over the line, giving it that fresher-than-heaven smell. The houses were only seventeen feet wide, so it didn’t take long to get to Tony’s house. His was the fifth on the block.
We popped open the gate and raced up the sidewalk, the whole backyard filled with the wonderful aroma of Mamma Rosa’s sauce and meatballs. A smile covered my face long before we burst through the back door, still in our swimsuits.
“Hey, Angie, you cooking meatballs?” I reached into the pot and grabbed one. It was hot as hell, so I had to bounce it from hand to hand to keep from burning.
“Get out of there, Nicky.” Angela swung the spoon at me. She must have missed on purpose, because the kitchen was so small I could barely squeeze by without bumping into her, which wasn’t bad.
I bit the outside of the meatball. “Pretty good.”
“ Pretty good?” Angela stared, her hands planted on an apron covered with sauce. She looked like a young Mamma Rosa.
“Could use some more cheese in the sauce.”
She splashed water on me from the sink, then went after me with the spoon again. I ducked into the basement, laughing. I went down a few steps then crept back up and watched through the door. Angie dipped her spoon into the pot and tasted one. “He’s right. It needs cheese.” She whispered it, almost to herself, but I heard.
Rosa sat at the table, silent. She watched as Angela added Parmigiano to the sauce. “Pay no attention to that boy.”
“I think he’s right. It needs cheese.”
Rosa smiled ear to ear. “Whatever you think, dear.”
After that, I found more reasons to be at Tony’s house, particularly when Angela was there. I was thirteen and in love, and my dick ached every time I saw her. I couldn’t help it. She wasn’t gorgeous like Sandy Miller, but there was something special about Angie. The way she smiled. The way she laughed. I particularly liked the way she twirled her hair around her index finger whenever she was thinking or nervous. And the way she gave me shit right back when I teased her. Come to think of it, I liked everything about her. Soon, I worked up the nerve to ask her out, which meant hanging out at the park or on the corner with the guys. It was nothing formal, but to Angie that was fine. She said a trip to Delmonico’s in New York couldn’t have been better.
After that day the word was out. Angie was under my
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