It was the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, night time. As always, we had a crowd here in the club despite the upcoming holiday. Mostly it was guys, old boys, who's wives were at home preparing Thanksgiving meals already. I didn't think there would be so many, but they were out in force.

With a happy face, Paulie had met Cha Cha earlier in the evening when I was teaching Cha Cha how to tie the apron properly in preparation for washing dishes. "You tie around your back and then around your waist so you know it's on," I told him smartly, tying it tightly for him. "You don't want that scummy water on your clothes, trust me. There's alcohol in it, it's hard to come out."

"Who is this tiny little thing?" we heard behind us, a soft sort of chirp like a bird.

The rest was history. Paulie immediately loved Cha Cha like a little son. And when he found out Cha Cha wanted to sing and dance like us, he loved him like a daughter. "Oh I'll fix you up real good," Paulie laughed, holding Cha Cha's scared young face in his hands, studying it. "You've got a face, honey."

I left them to talking in back, and securing my own little black waiter's apron around my front, I walked out onto the floor of the club to take drink orders. First thing was first. I had to visit the old man, out of respect. Everyone else would understand, him being the head guy and all.

As I walked towards him, my eyes glanced at the brightly lit stage and my heart skipped a beat. Playing with the band was Frankie, his eyes closed as he swept his hands over the piano, so into the music he didn't notice anything else. Enchantment spread from my toes to my head and made me off balance, dizzy. Oh, how beautiful he was. I blinked several times, bringing myself to, and walked towards his father waiting in his usual booth towards the back along the left wall.

On my tray was a pair of Manhattans, his favorite drink of course. As I neared his table, he started smiling. It occurred to me right then that Eddie wasn't with him which was different than usual. What in the world?

"Buona...sera," he said in his familiar heavy breathing. I could see he already had a big plate of fettucini alfredo in front of him, the bib around his neck lovingly tied. So Paulie had already been here.

"Buonasera, come stai?" I greeted him, asking how he was doing this evening.

"La vita...è bella...molto...bello," he assured me, his eyes like two happy half suns. Life is beautiful, very beautiful.

"Glad to hear it," I beamed at him, setting down his drinks behind his water glass. I saw it was half full. "I'll top off your water glass, one moment," I told him, turning to go.

"Oh...wait..." he said as loudly as he could, which wasn't loud at all. I stopped in my tracks, my eyes going wide. What? This was strange. A flashback to the last time he had told me to wait appeared in my mind and I swallowed my spit. Oh god I hope he wasn't about to ask me to sing another song. Not that I wouldn't enjoy it, especially since Frankie was up there...how wonderful it would be to perform with Frankie in front of his father...but I could not risk it. A prepared answer to such a request was already rolled on the back of my tongue, ready to come out. My face grimaced, but I rearranged it just in time.

"Yes, sir?" I asked.

"Oh don't...call me...sir," he began, going agonizingly slow as to his request. I waited like anticipating for lava to hit me, slowly rolling down a hill. "Call me...Papa..." he beamed at me, his teeth yellow from all the cigars. My heart stopped. I choked. My hand went over my heart but then I acted like I was rubbing away something on my shirt.

"Pardon?" I asked, looking at him wide eyed like a fawn.

"Sedersi...con me," he breathed, started to undo his bib fumblingly. He had asked me to sit with him. I was so confused.

"Let me get it," I said gently, already untying the bib and cursing that I didn't have my press on nails to help me.

"Good...daughter," he smiled contentedly.

I almost lost my balance. Now I had to sit down no matter the request. I held my hand over my racing heart, taking his bib under the table and putting it on the seat beside me neatly.

"Daughter?" I asked him quietly, my voice shaking, in a hushed way so no one could overhear. Especially not in this company around us listening to the band. I prayed for a loud song to start, something bouncy and jumpy so no one would notice us sitting here talking.

"Si...nuora," he nodded, looking immensely pleased.

Daughter in law. I lost my breath but tried to stay composed. I swallowed. The old man moved his plate aside, and reached out, taking my hands in his in a combined fist. He held my hands tightly, lovingly. There were the starts of tears in his old blue eyes.

"You and...my son. It makes...me so...happy...gesù cristo...sopra..." he told me slowly, the liquid of his eyes winking in the low light. "You were...always...my favorite...my favorite...I never...could...imagine....something like...this..."

His favorite? Tears were starting to form in my eyes and my mouth parted, hearing his words.

"My son..." he continued, staring at me with intensity, seriously, "was always...such an...unhappy...kid..."

I gasped internally. Frankie...unhappy? How did it seem possible? But I perked my ears to hear his father better, hanging on to every precious word.

"But you...make him...smile like...a fuckin'...sorry...a clown...he goes...around the...house...sayin'...I've got...Marilyn Monroe...I'm Joe...DiMaggio...I'm Kennedy...he's so...happy," he beamed at me.

I started to laugh hearing this, unable to help it. Oh god, Frankie. Was he really saying that? It felt like sunshine was pouring out of me in all of it's golden, glittery splendor. The old man started to laugh with me, his eyes glittering like the sun I felt in my heart.

"Papa," I said to him in a hushed way, grinning at him, feeling such a gladness in my heart being able to say such a word, especially to him who I had already cared for so much. A small tear fell down from his eye like a falling star, making a wish in both of our hearts. He gave a sniffle and started waving his hand at me, signaling for me to get up and resume my duties around the club, not wanting me to see him cry. "I'll be back to top off your water," I told him kindly, re-tying his bib around him and sliding his plate in front of him again.

"Grazie...mia figlia," he whispered. Thank you, my daughter.

I felt like I was being whisked away on a cloud instead of walking to the bar.

"What was that about?" Carl asked, looking serious. His heavy brow was creased.

"Nothing at all. Fill me a water pitcher, will you?" I asked, my voice still light in the emotion.

Carl looked at me with warning eyes, clearly thinking about what had happened with Mr. Chamberlain. "Did he ask you for something?" he asked me, his back turned. He met me at the counter, filling the half full pitcher with lots of ice from the ice box under the bar.

"No, he didn't," I breathed, trying not to show him how happy I was. I didn't want him to suspect anything. What had gone on between me and Mr. Caselotti was our business alone.

"You're sure?" he asked with that warning tone.

"I'm sure. He didn't ask for anything but water," I nodded, taking the pitcher with both of my hands.

After refilling the old man's water glass, I went around to various tables asking for drink orders. I got a ton, and knew I'd have to get Paulie to help me hand them out. Paulie was a wizard at handing out drinks, so fast, never having an error. I gave Carl my list and swooped in back to the kitchen.

In the kitchen I found a pretty, but inefficient picture.

"What's all this?" I asked, giggling.

"Look at the pretty one," Paulie was cooing like an older sister painting her little brother. In his hand was a pink lipstick and in the other was a little slick lip brush. "I had to do it. Look at the lips on this one, eh? It's the Latin blood. Once I started, I couldn't stop."

Cha Cha was looking immensely happy, beaming at me like a little painted imp. His foundation was all wrong, and I assumed this had to be because it was Paulie's.

"We'll change the colors of course later, but look at him! I could eat him!" Paulie squealed, pinching his cheeks like an enthused grandmother now.

"No time for that. Cha Cha's gotta wash dishes and stuff. We just got flooded with drink orders, Paulie. I need you up front," I laughed, trying to sound serious.

"Nooo, I want to do his hair," Paulie joked, already getting up. He slapped a hand on Cha Cha's shoulder and grinned at him. "We'll continue this later," he assured. Cha Cha nodded eagerly and got up from his chair, too.

"You remember what I told you, right? Wash them in hot. Wear those gloves, it won't hurt you. Watch the stemware," I said, looking at Cha Cha with no nonsense. Cha Cha grinned at me, nodding vigorously. As I turned around I started laughing into my hand. He really did look adorable with that make-up on. We had a looker on our hands.

When Paulie and I got out in the bar area there was a positive parade of all different kinds of drinks, a rainbow of colors, waiting for us. We piled them on our trays, checking the list for corresponding tables, and set out in different directions. First thing was first as always: I set out for the old man's table with another Manhattan for him. I placed it next to his emptying plate by the stem carefully and took his empty two and balanced them on my tray. He looked up at me with those glad blue eyes. "Grazie...mia figlia," he said quietly to me in his way.

My heart pinched and caused my lip to protrude a little, wanting to cry in this sudden, unexpected acknowledgement. Instead, I choked out a "Nessun problema, Papa" and smiled at him. He took my free hand, holding it tightly for a little bit, then let me go on my way. I sniffled away and went on to the next table, handing them the correct drinks even though my mind was still at the old man's booth.

Later on in the night, Frankie had finished with the band and was with us around the bar. The crowd had gone home, and the last customer to leave had been the old man atypically. Both Frankie and I had gone over to him and he had held our hands together from his sitting position at the booth.

"Sono...benedetto," he'd told us sincerely, nearly crying at us, "I am...blessed..."

Frankie had lost it at that, seeing me there trying not to lose it myself.

"It's okay, Pop," he told his father, patting his father on the back, tears streaming from his eyes. "I'll take care of her, don't you worry."

"He's a great man, your son," I told him, assuring him as dearly as I could. "He'll take care of me, don't worry."

"When you...want to...get...married...you tell...me," he struggled at us, his eyes shining again. "I'll...take care...of it..."

Tears sprung to my eyes when he said this and I sniffled. It caused the old man to smile and Frankie hugged me. Those simple words had meant so much, because I knew what he was really saying. He meant he not only wanted to pay for our wedding, but many other things. He'd arrange for us to get married, no questions asked. He'd take care of the legalities of it, not to worry. Just like Frankie had told me, but now it was from the old man himself, no room for falsehoods or claims. It was just his words now, hanging in the air and going into my heart.

We'd helped him get up from the booth, and Frankie walked him to the door. I watched them both exit the building, Frankie going out to help his father into his Lincoln.

Now in front of the bar, Frankie was holding me on his lap on a bar stool. Paulie was fixing Cha Cha's hair under the supervision of Avi. Carl was serving Paulie and Avi drinks, but watered down. "In front of the kid and all," he'd explained. He had slid Cha Cha a soda pop with a fatherly gleam in his eyes.

"This Latin hair," Paulie was chuckling, trying to bend rubber bands around the unruly curls in little pigtails. "Hand me that comb, Avi. No, not that one, the wide tooth- thank you. Fine tooth would pull, and we don't want to pull on his widdle baby head."

"I am not only Latino," Cha Cha started to say. Paulie stopped what he was doing and leaned down, giving him his full attention. "I am half black," Cha Cha finished, blushing up a storm. "My hair is curly like my dad hair."

Carl's hands slapped onto the bar in a boom and Cha Cha jumped violently, his head whipping to him.

"I KNEW IT!" Carl roared with laughter. "Paulie, give me that comb! Like you know how to do black hair! I've been fixing my daughter's hair since she was five!" Carl's hand shot towards Paulie with a 'gimme'.

"Look at how smooth it is! Its not black hair, Carl!" Paulie argued, hugging his wide tooth comb to himself like it was his baby.

"Oh come on, look at those tiny curls!" Carl laughed, making his fingers go in a 'come hither' motion.

"No, no, no!" Paulie protested. Avi started laughing like we all were and hugged Paulie from behind. Even Cha Cha started to laugh nervously, looking very pleased to have people fighting over him.

"What things you do to your daughter hair?" Cha Cha asked Carl in his heavy accent, spinning around towards the bar on his barstool.

"Don't you leave your Mommy, Cha Cha," Paulie wailed fakely, taking him by the shoulders and hugging him dearly like a proud mama. Cha Cha looked a little shocked for a split second, but then his expression warmed and he started to giggle again. A blush clearly rose up in his cheeks. He looked very content.

"I could do lots of things with your hair. It looks short, because of the curls, but its not. I could straighten it out. I bet it's to your shoulders," Carl said, walking over to him. He began to touch Cha Cha's head like a bear looking for food. "Yeah. Look, see?" He stretched one curl out and it did go a surprisingly long way. He let go and it bounced back right into place.

"I wonder how you would look with straight hair," Avi said warmly to Cha Cha. The three surrounded him and Cha Cha looked overwhelmed, but very happy.

Frankie's arms tightened around me and he rested his chin on my shoulder. I breathed out a long sigh in overwhelming happiness. As we watched the three talk about Cha Cha's hair, he whispered a life changing thing into my ear.

"I want you to move out of your place. That hammer thing was no joke. I don't know why that happened or what, but we gotta move you. You're moving in on the Upper East side. We'll call you Emma George, from Jersey. We'll beef up the building with our security, no one will know. You gotta move. My father made the arrangements, so we got his protection. You're moving in tomorrow, 8AM sharp, when everybody is with their families for Thanksgiving and not looking out. I love you, Georgina. It'll be alright."

My heart soared higher than the moon.