Angelina's Bachelors Read online

  In a medium heavy-bottomed saucepan, combine the remaining 2⅝ cups of the milk with the remaining ⅜ cup sugar and stir to dissolve, about 2 to 3 minutes. Continue to stir constantly over medium-low heat, until the temperature reaches between 160° and 165°F as measured with a candy thermometer, then remove from the heat. Temper the egg mixture with 1 tablespoon at a time of half of the hot milk mixture (about 21 to 24 tablespoons) whisking the egg mixture constantly as you do so. (This is done to equalize temperatures without cooking the eggs.) Return all the liquids to the pot and bring again up to 160°F over medium-low heat (be vigilant because at 170°F the eggs will begin to curdle), stirring frequently with a wooden spoon until you feel a drag on the spoon as the mixture begins to thicken. Cook for one minute. Remove the custard from the stove and whisk in the butter and vanilla extract. Pour into a mixing bowl and allow to cool to room temperature, then chill in the refrigerator for at least 4 hours.

  METHOD FOR THE CAKE

  Preheat the oven to 400°F and arrange two of the oven racks on the middle-most levels. So the batter will cling to the sides, line only the bottoms of six 9-inch round cake pans with parchment paper.

  Sift together the flour, chocolate powder, and baking powder multiple times to remove clumps and to aerate. In a large mixing bowl, use an electric mixer set on high speed and very gradually let the sugar flow into the mixer blades as you beat the eggs until they become light lemony yellow in color and hold soft peaks, about 5 to 10 minutes, depending on the power of your mixer. Sift ⅓ of the flour mixture onto the whipped egg mixture and fold it in. Repeat twice, folding in each addition before adding the next. Over medium-low heat, melt the butter in the milk in a heavy-bottomed saucepot. Immediately fold the hot milk/butter mixture into the egg/flour mixture, combining well but taking care not to overmix. Spoon the batter in even amounts into the six prepared cake tins, spreading as evenly as possible.

  Bake until the top of the cake springs back when lightly prodded, and a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean, about 10 to 15 minutes. Remove the cakes from the oven and use a thin knife to loosen the sides. Let cool 10 minutes in the pan, then flip each one onto a plate and peel off the parchment paper, transferring each to a cooling rack as you do so. Let the cakes cool completely before attempting to fill and frost.

  METHOD FOR THE HAZELNUT FILLING IN SYRUP

  Preheat the oven to 350°F.

  Combine the sugar and cream of tartar in a heavy-bottomed saucepot. Add the Frangelico and ½ cup water, stirring constantly over medium-low heat only until the sugar is dissolved, about 10 minutes. Stop stirring and cook over very low heat until the syrup is hot and has the consistency of thick maple syrup, about 5 minutes. Meanwhile, spread the hazelnuts on a baking sheet and toast them for about 5 minutes. Sprinkle the hazelnuts over the surface of the syrup, remove it from the heat, and let it cool slightly, about 5 minutes.

  To keep the cake plate clean while you are filling and frosting the cake, tear off about six 12-inch squares of waxed paper and fold them corner to corner twice to form wedges. Spoon a small amount of the hazelnut syrup in the center of the cake plate to act as an anchor for the bottom layer. Place the waxed-paper wedges daisy-petal style around the cake plate with the pointed end of each at the center of the plate. (The waxed paper wedges will be held in place by the dollop of syrup.) Then, place the bottom layer of the cake onto the plate and spoon a fifth of the hazelnut filling (about 2 or 3 tablespoons) in dollops onto 5 of the 6 layers (reserving the nicest layer for the top frosted layer), spreading it out evenly with a flat spatula. Let the layers stand with the hazelnut syrup while you prepare the frosting.

  METHOD FOR THE FROSTING

  In a large, heavy-bottomed saucepot, dissolve the salt in the Frangelico and vanilla. Add the butter and half the cream and sift in the cocoa over low heat, stirring continuously until the butter melts, about 3 minutes. Remove from the heat and transfer to a large mixing bowl. Gradually sift in the confectioners’ sugar, mixing well with an electric mixer as you go and combining thoroughly before each addition of confectioners’ sugar until smooth and soft peaks form. Let the frosting cool to room temperature.

  ASSEMBLY

  Divide the chilled pastry cream into 5 even shares and drop each ⅓- to ½-cup portion in dollops over the nut-topped base layer using an offset spatula to evenly spread it to within 1 inch of the edge. Layer the other nut-topped cake layers in turn, filling each the same way, and frost the sides and top of the assembled cake. Use a cheese plane or vegetable peeler to shave curls of white chocolate evenly onto the top of the cake. Keep refrigerated until ready to serve.

  * * *

  Frank walked into the bedroom pulling on a clean white T-shirt. Angelina liked watching him dress, liked the way his chest and shoulders moved as he stretched his way into or, better yet, out of his T-shirts. He ran his fingers through his slightly graying hair, still damp from the shower. He was older than Angelina by about half a dozen years. He’d worn his good looks well over time and seemed to grow into them as he got older, as he became more comfortable with himself. He worked hard for a living, but the work never seemed to wear him down. It tempered him, kept him trim, taught him the value of being able to concentrate on life one step, one board, one nail, at a time, and it had taught him that steadiness paid off over time. He had no really bad habits, though he used to smoke before they were married and she’d made him quit.

  He was the least vain man she had ever met. Tonight, though, he made sure she was watching, then made a little show of turning to look at himself in profile in the bedroom mirror and patting his belly.

  “Uh-oh,” he said, “I think I’m gaining weight.”

  Angelina laughed and played along. “You could use a little weight on you, you worry so much.”

  She reached over and handed him his glass from the night table. They clinked and sipped. He came over and sat on the edge of the bed. “I can’t keep eating the way I ate at dinner tonight,” he said. “But I couldn’t stop. It was too good. I’m going to weigh five hundred pounds if I keep eating like that. You’re gonna have to come and visit me when I’m the fat man in the circus.”

  She got up on her knees and slid across the bed in his direction. “Oh, don’t worry, honey, I’ll grow a beard and we can still be together.”

  He laughed and she hugged him from behind.

  “You haven’t gained five pounds in the five years we’ve been married,” she said. “Besides, I know what I’m doing. You think I’d risk messing up your good looks?”

  “Wow, a good cook and a sweet talker, too? How did I get so lucky to get you to marry me?”

  “I got lucky.”

  “We both did.”

  They kissed, and as happened more often than not, Frank held it an extra moment or two and let her be the one to decide when the kiss was over.

  She sighed. It had been one of the things early on that made her fall madly for him. Angelina clambered back over to her pillows. Frank stretched out full length on his back on the bed and rubbed his chest thoughtfully.

  “I picked up a weird phone call at work today,” said Angelina.

  “Weird how?”

  “It was a lady from the bank, looking for Vince. When I asked what it was regarding before I transferred her over, she said that a ‘deposit’ had bounced in the company account.”

  “So?” said Frank. “He probably didn’t move all that money he’s got to the right account in time.”

  “It wasn’t a check that bounced—at least, I don’t think so. She said deposit. That means it could have been a direct deposit from a builder. That would be bad.”

  “How come?”

  “If Vince has a builder who’s defaulting on a deposit, or God forbid more than one, he could go out of business. Seriously. I see the books once a quarter, he runs that business right on the edge. He likes buying shore houses and vacations for Amy too much.”

  “Maybe she meant to say check.”

  “Maybe.
I’d feel better, though, if we had more money saved up in case something happened.”

  “If you’re really worried, maybe we should skip the party.”

  She looked at him and could see his sincere concern for her feelings. He was so easy for her to read.

  “No, you have one niece,” she gently chided him. “You’re like a second father to her, she adores you. Tina’s only going to turn twenty-one once, you know. I’m doing all of the cooking, so it’s not costing that much. Plus, I already bought all of the food.”

  “Still, if you’re feeling kind of tense about it, maybe I can help with that.” He reached back, fluffed his pillows, and grinned.

  “I don’t know, maybe you better call Amy. Maybe she’ll drive right over with a nice piece of cake for you.”

  He laughed. “I don’t want a piece of Amy’s cake. I want a piece of—”

  Angelina’s eyes went wide. “Don’t be rude!”

  She ran her fingers through his hair. Frank reached past her and turned off the table lamp. He slid in under the covers and they leaned into each other eagerly and melted together, the way they always did.

  2:00 a.m.

  Frank had been tossing and turning for an hour or more. Now he lay staring at the ceiling. His wife was curled up next to him with her back turned, sleeping peacefully, her feet lightly touching the side of his calf under the blankets.

  “Angelina,” he whispered.

  She rolled over and bunched the covers in her fist under her chin. “Hmmph?”

  “I can’t sleep.”

  “I’ll make you some warm milk.”

  “No, don’t wake up, I’ll go do it. You go back to sleep, okay?”

  “’Kay. Don’t touch the cake, it’s for the party,” she said. “Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Angelina nestled deeper into the warmth he left behind in their bed. As she drifted back toward dreaming again, she knew, sure as morning comes, that he was going to try for a piece of cake, and the thought of it made her smile. As she fell back to sleep, she forgave him in advance. He’d never stand a chance with a cake like that.

  Frank winced a little as he made his way down the hall. His left arm had fallen asleep, and he opened and closed his hand to get the blood flowing again. He’d been nursing a pain in his lower back and one in his shoulder all day, which was odd, since he didn’t remember pulling anything lately. Once you break forty, it’s all over, he thought.

  He made his way down the hall in his robe and slippers and down the stairs without turning on any lights. He knew from experience that the bright light in the hallway would do more to wake Angelina up than a whisper in the dark had.

  Frank was a light sleeper, a condition that he felt had been getting worse in the last few months. His father had always had trouble sleeping later in his life, and Frank could remember as a kid hearing him padding around the house at night when everyone else was in bed. The apple never fell far from the tree, he supposed.

  Frank entered the kitchen and a remnant of moon was still shining in the window, so there was enough light without having to turn on the kitchen switch. Something about lighting up the house in the middle of the night worked against ever getting back to sleep. Once he started turning on lights, it was only a matter of time before he’d turn on the TV, and then he was done for—he’d wake up achy and cold on the sofa the next morning, which was a mighty lonesome feeling.

  He opened the refrigerator door and poised silently, motionlessly when he saw it, standing foursquare on the brightly lit top shelf on its pedestal, in all of its majesty. He caught the peripheral scent of chocolate in the air, taunting him, enticing him. He swung the door open and reverently lifted the cake in his hands.

  He placed it on the table and removed the lid, setting it down ever so softly, so that it made no noise at all, even to his own ears. He leaned over, spread his palms on the table-top, and inhaled. If there had been any hope of self-denial left, that incredible aroma finished it off.

  Frank had a technique that he used on Angelina’s cakes, and he had only gotten caught once (or so he thought), so he felt pretty confident in its effectiveness. He would take the big cake knife, cut out a sliver for himself, ever so thin, then skillfully close the gap and cover it over as seamlessly as possible with the leftover frosting Angelina always kept in the fridge for touch-ups.

  He moved to the cupboard, silent as a jungle cat, then slid a small plate and a glass onto the table. He fetched the glass pitcher of milk and plunked it down clumsily beside the cake with a loud thump. He had nearly dropped it; his hand was still half-asleep. He had to be more careful or he’d wake up the whole house. He went to the drawer for the big knife and fork. The fork slipped out of his hand and he cringed as it clattered to the floor.

  “This is ridiculous,” he muttered to himself. He bent over to pick it up.

  That’s when the hot, granite shards exploded and slammed into his chest.

  The room dimmed to black, like the closing of the iris of a camera. The pain, a blazing iron spike in his ribs, knocked him over and he hit the ground hard, fighting to stay up on his hands and knees. As his sight seeped back slowly, his only thought was to get to his feet.

  He was in trouble. He had an overwhelming feeling that if he stayed down, he might not ever get up again. Frank made it as far as one of the kitchen chairs, one that was still tucked under the big table. He tried to raise his arms, to grab for the top of the chair, but could only lift his right arm as far as the seat. He attempted to push himself up, into a standing position.

  The second shocking wave snapped his head back and he whacked it with stunning force against the unyielding underside of the table with a crack. Flashing lights burst through the haze and he would have cried out, but he couldn’t catch a breath.

  Some fierce and unexpected reflex suddenly kicked in and shoved him upright onto his two legs. He was groggy and insensible from lack of oxygen, from the grinding, shutting-down pains in his chest, and now, from a fresh concussion. Nothing looked familiar, nothing looked real to him, and he staggered and tried desperately to find something he could hold on to.

  He focused on the cake.

  Angelina’s cake, framed in a halo of moonlight with a radiant mist around it, beckoned, its icing glistening, calling to him. Frank reeled unsteadily, his knees buckled, and by providence, came to rest in a chair within arm’s length of it.

  Like a child in a high chair, he stretched and extended two fingers the whole long way across the table, scooped out a crumbly, nutty, succulent morsel, and by instinct guided it into his mouth. He smiled a sweet smile.

  Sheer chocolaty pleasure.

  His last breath was a sigh of pure delight.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Life Goes On

  ANGELINA WAS AWAKENED suddenly by the empty place in their bed, as if she’d been elbowed hard in the ribs. It was dark outside; the moon had moved on. Her first thought had been that she would find him on the couch with the TV volume turned down low. She’d have to sneak down and put a blanket on him, which he always forgot to do for himself. When she saw the empty couch, her next thought was to head straight for the kitchen. From the doorway, she saw the cake out on the table and felt a flash of annoyance, which worsened when she looked closer and saw the gash in its side.

  What had he been thinking? When she stepped into the kitchen and saw the outline of her husband in the gloom, head nodded off to one side, sleeping beside the cake, she softened. He looked so peaceful. He must have dozed off in the chair, which meant that she’d have to coax him awake just enough to lean on her, so she could lead him back upstairs.

  Somewhere in the blur of panic that occurred over the next few minutes, she broke a small drinking glass in the sink and cut her hand. She somehow managed to call 911 and say something about “my husband”; she would never be able to recall exactly what. She was able to clean up the remains of the broken glass, but she was shaking so badly that it took longer than it should
have. The cut wasn’t serious at all and stopped bleeding on its own.

  Nothing about the time she waited with him was real; it could have been twenty minutes or twenty hours, for all she knew. She knew that at one point she cried so hard that she was afraid she might have broken something in her chest. She stopped crying and thought she might vomit.

  The feeling subsided by the time she made it to the bathroom. She threw hot water on her face, but couldn’t bear to look at herself in the mirror.

  She returned to the kitchen. She wanted to touch him, not to say good-bye, really, but to make sure … she tenderly wiped the cake crumbs from his lips and felt the fine morning stubble on his chin as she did it. She brushed her fingers against his hair; it felt the way it always had. She rested her hand on his shoulder for a moment, then moved to the sink and numbly looked out the kitchen window. She didn’t want to leave him alone.

  Soon after, the ambulance arrived. A cop named Kenny Devine, who’d heard the call and who had gone to school with Frank, came to the house. At first glance, Kenny looked too heavy and slow to be a cop, but anybody who’d played football with him in high school knew he was sneaky quick and as tough as a two-dollar steak. He took Angelina gently by the hand and led her out of the room while they moved the body. He made her a cup of tea she didn’t drink and stayed with her until the sun came up. Kenny knew the family and made the call to Frank’s mother and brother and broke the news. He waited until Angelina put on some clothes and then drove her over to her mother-in-law’s in his squad car, and that’s where she stayed until the night of the viewing.

  Mamma Gia, Frank’s mother, shielded Angelina from having too many visitors once word of Frank’s death got out. The only people she allowed into the house were her other son, Joe; Father DiTucci; the funeral director from DiGregorio’s; and a couple of close, old family friends, women who were Gia’s age, who knew instinctively when to keep their voices low, when to be in the room and when to stay out. Joe and his wife, Maria, stepped up and had made all of the funeral arrangements. Word spread through the neighborhood quickly, and the expressions of sympathy and offers of food and help were managed by Gia.