Gone Bamboo by Anthony Bourdain Read Free Book Online Page A

here about eight months, with his woman friend. They live under the same roof as this Iannello. You know who I refer to?"
    Henry nodded, trying not to look surprised.
    "Trung tells me they are very close. Yes. He prepares food for the man each day. They talk, they laugh. They are like father and son. Perhaps you could befriend this person. Or your wife. She is not without resources. She could befriend him, his girlfriend. The difference in age is not so very great. You will become great friends. They are, after all, new to the island. You can show them the sights. And you will find a way, together."
    Monsieur Ribiere stood up and began to walk back to the van. "And, at all times, I expect, you will keep me informed."
    "Whatever you say."

7
     
    T ommy? You mean Cheryl's Tommy?" said Frances. She was applying insect repellent, standing naked in front of the double sinks, one leg up on the counter.
    "Tommy," said Henry. "As in Tommy's Tropical. The beach bar." He watched Frances from the bedroom. She had her hair up in a white bath towel; she was still stunning at thirty-six. Henry's eyes wandered over the reflection of her nut-brown body in the mirror.
    "Stop gawking and tell me what the fuck's going on, please," said Frances.
    "Cheryl. That's the girlfriend?" asked Henry, perfectly aware that it was.
    "The cute one behind the bar," said Frances, meeting his eyes in the mirror momentarily. "I have a hard time believing you haven't noticed her." She slipped into a Hawaiian shirt.
    "I've been too enthralled by your own considerable charms," said Henry. "I guess I didn't notice."
    "Too stuttering drunk is more likely," said Frances, searching a shelf for some pants to wear.
    "So you know her? You're friends? When did this happen?"
    "We've hung out a couple a' times. When you're out sailing. The place does no business. I've hung at the bar with her. She's nice."
    Henry shook his head. "The guy's right down on the beach. I have to tell you, I almost shit when he told me. Right there the whole time, a friend of Charlie's. Can't believe I missed it. I mean, the one, two times I've had a beer there, I should have figured something. The guy opens his mouth and you know exactly where he's from."
    "No, no," said Frances with assurance. "He's not like that. I really don't think so. Tommy's not one a' those—"
    "Really?" asked Henry skeptically. "Then how come he's such good buddies with Charlie fucking Wagons?"
    "They house-sit. They live up there at the house, Tommy and Cheryl. I'm telling you. The kid is sweet."
    "He's sweet now. Jesus. What's going on? You put Albert Anastasia on a beach with a panama hat on and you're going to say he's sweet."
    "I'm not kidding," said Frances, brushing her long, dark brown hair. "He was a chef before he came down here. He worked the same restaurant as Cheryl - that's how they met."
    "So, how come he shows up here?"
    "His place went belly-up or something. He had a few bucks, so they came down here. Can you blame him? I mean, that's what we did."
    "What makes him such good pals with Charlie is what I want to know," said Henry, pacing now. "I need a drink. You ready?"
    "Almost," said Frances, sorting through a salt-stained and wrinkled pile of khakis. "Don't worry. The Dinghy Dock's open for hours more."
    "But happy hour—"
    "We have time. Listen. You want me to ask Cheryl a few things? I can do that."
    "Maybe."
    "You want to knowr if Tommy knows Charlie from before, right?"
    "He must have. He must have. I want to know if he's straight. Is he a wise guy, half a wise guy, a snitch, you know."
    "You want my opinion, he's straight. Just a nice Italian boy in love. He's crazy about Cheryl. She's gonzo over him. They're absolutely the cutest—"
    "According to you, everything about them is adorable."
    "What can I say? I'm a romantic."
    Henry stepped behind Frances and tried to hug her as she shimmied into a pair of cutoffs.
    "Stop pawing me, I'm getting dressed."
    "You're being so sentimental. I'm moved,"