Romeo & Antoinette Read online

  Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Blank Page

  Prologue

  - 1

  - 2

  - 3

  - 4

  - 5

  - 6

  - 7

  - 8

  - 9

  - 10

  - 11

  - 12

  - 13

  - 14

  - 15

  - 16

  - 17

  - 18

  - 19

  - 20

  - 21

  - 22

  - 23

  - 24

  - 25

  - 26

  - 27

  - 28

  - 29

  - 30

  - 31

  - 32

  - 33

  - 34

  - 35

  - 36

  - 37

  - 38

  - 39

  - 40

  - 41

  - 42

  - 43

  - 44

  - 45

  - 46

  - 47

  - 48

  - 49

  - 50

  - 51

  - 52

  - A note from the author -

  ROMEO & ANTOINETTE

  Rob Ziser

  Copyright © 2019 Rob Ziser

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written consent of the author, except in the case of brief quotes embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, Characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is coincidental.

  ASIN: B07WXJXWHW

  ISBN: 9781691813841

  Imprint: Independently published

  V2.0

  Contact:

  [email protected]

  For my Nert.

  Well, well, well…

  PROLOGUE

  In a medium sized town, not too far from a major metropolitan city, two rival restaurant families have been feuding bitterly over which cheese to put on a proper cheesesteak for close to a decade. Cap’s Cheesesteaks does really well with the Whiz - Cheez Whiz that is. But, just down the road a bit, Monty’s promotes only provolone.

  Now, as silly as it seems, this dairy debate has become a full blown curds and whey war, and these two extended restaurant families have been known to come to blows over the smallest altercation.

  Tensions are running even higher today as the town’s annual tasting contest draws to a close. At stake is not only bragging rights but an opportunity to cater the Mayor’s birthday party and a lucrative contract to provide school lunch twice a week for the next year.

  1

  “What do you know?” scoffed Romeo as they made their way through the crowd.

  “More than you,” Marco shot back.

  “Yeah, right. Benny, what do you think?”

  “Um… I…”

  “See. He agrees with me.”

  “He does not.”

  “Benny, tell him.”

  “Don’t put words in his mouth.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Yeah you are.”

  “Aaaaahhhh…” mocked Romeo, dismissively waving off his best friend.

  “Aaaaahhh… yourself,” countered Marco. Then he stopped in the middle of the crowded street. Spread his arms wide and definitively declared, “I’m telling you. You can snort black beans and get high.”

  “What? Like in soup?”

  “No. Not in soup. Dried. You grind them up.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “No I’m not. They grow them down in Mexico. In the same fields where they used to grow peyote. Black beans are the bomb. Why do you think people like Chipotle so much? ”

  “The queso?”

  “No. It’s because it gets you right in the googly cortex.”

  “What the hell is the googly cortex?”

  “It’s the part of your brain that craves pleasure. That makes you all googly.”

  “You’re out of your mind.”

  “You’ll see,” said Marco, getting the last word in yet again. “It’s gonna come out.”

  And that was that. At least for a few minutes. In the meantime the guys made their way through the throng and back to their stand. Marco, who was recklessly brash and cocky took the lead. Romeo, always a little more reserved and even headed, strode confidently a half step behind. And Benny, who just wished he could be more like either one of them, followed.

  The yearly street fair was the town’s biggest summer event and it was currently in full swing. It was wall to wall people flanked with tent after tent and table after table selling a crazy mishmash of buyable goods. Cheesesteaks and curly fries mingled with sweat socks and sunglasses. Chicken gyros and deep fried Oreos sat side by side with summer skirts and a table with nothing but tweezers. Just tweezers…

  Romeo eyed the assortment. “Who needs this many tweezers?”

  “Old ladies with lots of mole hair,” said Marco. “Kids with splinters, Benny to find his johnson.”

  “Hey!”

  “That’s funny.”

  They continued on - laughing, joking, cracking wise. Making their way back to Monty’s. Well, not Monty’s actually. Monty’s, the cheesesteak restaurant, was a few blocks south of the fair. They were headed to the stand Monty’s had set up to sell their stuff.

  And their stuff was good. Monty’s was known for using high quality ingredients like real rib eye, which the cooks shredded into crispy tender ribbons and topped with a nice, sharp provolone. Those cheesesteaks had been the bread and butter of Monty’s for the last ten or so years. They were the best in town. At least some people thought so.

  They were coming up on a table that was piled high with wreaths. Not Christmas wreaths of course. It was, after all, just the tail end of summer. But a table piled high with plastic flower wreaths. Tacky purple, yellow and white ones with dark green leaves and fake brown branches. Your basic Walmart grandma crap.

  Marco pointed. “Yo, you oughta paint those.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the girl selling them is hot.”

  She was. She was smokin’ hot. But Romeo didn’t care. He wasn’t feeling it. He wasn’t feeling it at all lately. Sure, there were plenty of pretty girls in town, and it was never hard for him to find some female company when he wanted. But lately…

  “You just don’t understand art.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’ve got no soul.”

  “Hey. I got soul. Watch this.” And then, of course, Marco busted out into this absolutely terrible James Brown impersonation right in the middle of the crowded street. “Hyeh! I feel good…”

  More than a few people nearby stopped and stared.

  “This is embarrassing,” said Benny.

  “We don’t know him,” said Romeo to anyone within earshot.

  “What?” demanded Marco. “That was good.”

  “That was awful.”

  It was. It sounded more like Lil Jon caught in a bear trap than the Godfather of Soul.

  “Get outta here.”

  “You get outta here.”

  “Just wait. Sometime soon I’m gonna be rich and famous and you’ll be able to say, Oh I’ve known him forever. I’ve seen him perform live.”

  “That was your performance?”

  “Ye
s it was. You owe me twenty bucks.”

  “You’re charging us?”

  “Of course. But that includes the friends and family discount.”

  “I’ll wait for it to hit video.”

  “You’ll see,” said Marco. “You’ll see.”

  Then Romeo stopped short.

  “What’s up?”

  “It’s Perry.”

  “Who?”

  “Perry.”

  “Who?”

  “Perry! Crazy nut job, won’t let it go, goth guy Perry…”

  “Really?”

  “Yup.”

  “That’s him?”

  “Yeah. That’s him.”

  “He looks more steampunk than goth,” suggested Benny.

  “Does that matter?”

  “No. I guess not.”

  Romeo gathered them up and pushed them along. Away from Perry. In the opposite direction. “Come on. Let’s go. This way.”

  “No, lets go talk to him,” said Marco, trying to get around Romeo. Marco, was never one to miss an opportunity to stir the pot.

  “No. I’ve talked to him enough. Let’s just ditch him.”

  It wasn’t that he was afraid of Perry. Romeo wasn’t really afraid of anyone. He just wasn’t up for hearing about it, again. Ditching him was the easiest way to avoid another annoying confrontation.

  Romeo ushered them down the side street with Marco resisting and yelling over his head the whole time.

  “Perry! Perry! Yo! Over here… Perry!”

  But, Perry didn’t hear them. He just kept on walking.

  “Yo Perry!”

  Romeo managed to get them away and then back on track. He walked his friends down the street, around the corner, down that street, around another corner and eventually back up towards the festival.

  “Well that was a big circle,” said Marco. Disappointed he wasn’t able to raise a ruckus.

  “Stop pouting.”

  “I’m not pou-.”

  Marco didn’t finish. Instead he stopped and smiled. Well, not really a smile. More like an evil grin. “Hey, you know where we are?”

  Romeo shrugged. “You mean specifically or in a more spiritual kind of way?”

  Marco pointed. “That’s Cap’s stand.”

  It was. They were back up at the street fair. They’d come up one of the side streets and landed on the back end of Cap’s set up.

  Cap’s was Monty’s biggest rival. Another cheesesteak restaurant about a block and a half away. It wasn’t a clear shot, but each of them could see the other’s restaurant if they stood out in the middle of the road. The semi-open eye line and close-ish proximity undoubtedly helped to feed the feud.

  Cap’s claim to fame was lower prices. Their cheesesteaks were notoriously cheaper. Whatever Monty’s charged Cap’s automatically charged at least a dollar less. It was part of their shtick. The lower price also reflected the lower quality of their product - the meat specifically. Still, plenty of people loved ‘em, all chopped into oblivion and smothered in Cheez Whiz.

  “So?” said Benny, not getting the point.

  “So?! So that means those two cases of onions right there probably belong to them.

  Romeo got it. He just didn’t want it. “In the words of my good friend Benny here let me repeat… So?”

  “So, I say we steal them onions.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not? Come on. It’ll be great. It’ll be fun. It’ll be…” And here Marco paused for dramatic effect and said in a throaty whisper, “Sabotage.”

  “It’ll be a bad idea,” countered Romeo. “Besides, we’re late enough as it is.”

  “Come on! You remember what they did that time? That thing with the hot sauce? And that thing that night at that bar? Benny couldn't walk for a week.

  Then Marco got close to them both. And he said, in a softer, more annoyingly sing songy way, “Might help us win. Might help us win and teach those whiz heads a good lesson at the same time.”

  “It’s a bad idea,” Romeo said again, even though he knew it was a losing battle.

  Most of Marco’s ideas were about this bad, but Romeo always had a hard time saying no to him. Mostly because Marco rarely, if ever, gave up. It was a miracle he was able to keep Marco away from Perry before. He knew he wasn’t going to win this one too. And Benny, well Benny would go along with whatever they said.

  “Benny, you in?”

  “Sure,” said Benny.

  Of course he was.

  So Marco snuck forward, grabbed a case of onions and handed it to Benny. Then he picked the other one up himself. And just as they started to sneak away they heard…

  “Hey!”

  2

  “Hey?! You stealin’ our onions?”

  Two guys confronted them. The one talking with his mouth full, was Tyler. In his hand was a paper plate with the last bite of a greasy, cheesy, sausage and pepperoni pizza slice on it. He had tomato sauce on his cheek and a string of mozzarella hanging from his lip. It flailed around like it had a life of its own with each word he spoke and breath he took.

  The dude next to him was the kind of guy you forget the minute they’re gone. His name was Gary. About the only thing remarkable about Gary was the color of his shirt. It was that vivid, fluorescent, electric green that road workers wear. So bright it stings your eyes.

  Marco was unfazed. “What? These onions?”

  “Yeah, those onions.”

  “These aren’t onions.”

  “Yeah they are.”

  “No they’re not.”

  “It says so right on the box!”

  “No it doesn’t.”

  “Yes it does!” yelled Tyler. The string of cheese straining from the end of his lip, unfurling like the vibrating tip of a paper party blow horn.

  “Benny, are these onions? ”

  “Nope,” said Benny.

  “See.”

  Tyler stepped up. “Oh, so you’re a wise guy, huh?”

  “You’re just figuring that out?”

  He flicked the empty plate at Marco. “How about I kick your ass, wise guy?”

  And this is where Romeo chimed in. He may have been watching quietly, but he knew when things were about to get out of hand. Romeo was a firm believer in calming things down rather than blowing them up. Changing the subject often worked.

  “Hey,” he said, pointing at Tyler. “You got something on your face.”

  “You’re gonna have something on your face,” Tyler shot back.

  And sometimes it didn’t.

  “Wait, just him? What if I want something on my face too?” Marco asked, as obnoxiously as possible.

  “Yeah, me too,” added Benny.

  Which, of course, only made Tyler madder. “You’re all getting awfully close to an ass kicking.”

  Then Marco said something snarky and Benny laughed and Romeo tightened up and while all this yelling and posturing was happening a crowd within the crowd formed around them. Which meant there were a lot of eyes watching them now. Which really upped the ante.

  Tyler puffed up his chest. “Look, why don’t you just make like a shepherd and get the herd out of here.”

  Which made Marco laugh out loud. “You know that’s totally not the way it goes, right? It’s why don’t you make like a shepherd and get the flock out of here.” He paused for a second, then added, “Idiot.”

  Which made the crowd laugh. Which in turn really pissed Tyler off. So he shoved Marco. Then Marco shoved him back. And then Tyler got even more yelly .

  “Are you crazy?! Do you know who I am? Do you know who you’re messing with? Do you know the things I’ve done? Do you know what kind of car I drive?”

  “I do,” said a voice in the crowd. “I know the things you’ve done. I know all the things you’ve done. And I know exactly what kind of car you drive. It’s a wannabe, piece of shit, hoopty beater of a muscle car.”

  “Piece of shit?! It’s a vintage 1983 Ford Mustang Convertible with original leather seat…”

/>   Tyler stopped short, recognizing the face attached to the voice. “Oh, Officer Cole, it’s you. Um… How are you doing today?”

  “It’s a piece of shit and a road hazard,” continued Officer Cole as he made his way toward Tyler.

  “Aw, come on. Why you gotta attack my ride like that?”

  “I should have known if there was one problem I was going to have to deal with today you’d be at the center of it.”

  Tyler ran his fingers through his hair and tried to regain his composure. “Now, Officer Cole that’s not fair. We were all just talking.”

  “I heard yelling.”

  “Well it’s loud. We were just shouting over the crowd.”

  Then a loud, tinny, buzzery kind of sound cut through the conversation. BEEEEEEEP!!!

  “What’s going on here?”

  Heads turned, people moved and the Mayor rolled up. The extraordinarily large Mayor. All three hundred and fifty-two pounds of him propped up on his ubiquitous, top of the line, customized, cobalt blue, limited edition, Rascal Ventura scooter. His finger still perched over the horn/buzzer.

  “What’s going on here?” he asked again as he scooted his way into the thick of things. His right hand man, Patrick, following close behind. Holding a paper plate full of fried calamari and a handful of napkins.

  “Nothing sir, it’s over now,” said Officer Cole. “Nothing going on here, right guys?”

  “That’s right. It’s all good,” Tyler answered quickly.

  “Yeah, well, break it up,” said the Mayor. “You’re disturbing the peace and interrupting the flow of traffic. People can’t get to where they want to go.” Then he strained his neck and looked around. “Patrick?”

  “Yes sir,” said Patrick, appearing at the Mayor’s side.

  “Give me another bite will you.”

  Patrick offered the Mayor the calamari. The plate was slick with tomato, grease and lemon, but the Mayor didn’t care. He just grabbed a whole handful of rings and tentacles and popped them in his mouth.

  A drop of sauce hit his shirt on the way in, mixing and mingling with the smorgasbord of stains and flavors already there. “Oh, that’s good,” he said. And then, “When is the cheesesteak judging?”

  “In a couple of hours,” said Patrick, offering a napkin.

  “Hmmm… That long? Maybe we should get another snack.”

  “Whatever you like sir.”

  Then Whomp! Someone slapped Tyler upside the head.