A Tradition of Christmas Past: Spaghetti Aglio e Olio Recipe, and My Italian Heroine, Based on my Great Grandmother

My great grandmother was the matriarch of the family, the mother of my grandfather. “Josie Red” as she was known in downtown Jersey City was way ahead of her time, as a bootlegger during Prohibition, a real estate tycoon, a small-time loan shark, and according to legend, Mayor Hague’s mistress!

Every Christmas Eve, her daughter, my great aunt Lucretia, a gourmet cook, invited everyone to her basement for an Italian feast. Grandma’s four children were grown with children and grandchildren of their own. Of course this necessitated a ‘kiddie table’ at which I sat until I was tall enough to sit with the grown-ups. Aunt Lucretia always made two types of spaghetti sauce—regular marinara sauce and aglio e olio—but what I remember is it always contained clam sauce, which I wouldn’t touch, so I went for the plain and safe marinara. Her finished basement had a small kitchen so she was able to do all the cooking right there. Kiddies weren’t allowed to, but several adults helped her carry the steaming plates to the long tables set up and covered with holiday-themed tablecloths. She served all the traditional Italian dishes—after the pasta came the ham, then the fruit and nuts, and of course, an array of desserts, always including her famous struffoli (honey balls) and Italian rum cake. My Uncle Eddie tended bar at the other end of the room. Thankfully, he’s still with us at 84.

After dinner, Santa always showed up. My cousin Mike’s father played the part very convincingly—the kiddies scrambled onto his lap for their chance to gush about how good they behaved all year and how deserving they were of his visit later that night to surround their Christmas trees with presents to be torn open the next morning. Someone always had a home movie camera to capture these special moments on film. I remember the lights always blazing like the noonday sun when the camera started rolling.

After leaving the party, I always went to Midnight Mass with my friends and someone always threw a party after that.

Christmas Eves in the basement ended after Grandma left us, but the memories live on!

Vita Caputo, the heroine of my 1894 New York City romance FROM HERE TO FOURTEENTH STREET, is based on my great grandmother. It’s now on audio with the expressive voice of New York native Nina Price.

Purchase FROM HERE TO FOURTEENTH STREET

Recipe for Spaghetti Aglio e Olio 

Ingredients: 

One pound uncooked spaghetti

6 cloves minced garlic

½ cup olive oil

¼ teaspoon red pepper flakes

Salt and ground black pepper to taste

¼ cup chopped fresh parsley

1 cup finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese

 Directions

1. Bring a large pot of lightly salted water to a boil. Cook spaghetti in the boiling water, stirring occasionally until cooked through but firm to the bite, about 12 minutes. Drain and transfer to a pasta bowl.
2. Combine garlic and olive oil in a cold skillet. Cook over medium heat to slowly toast garlic, about 10 minutes. Reduce heat to medium-low when olive oil begins to bubble. Cook and stir until garlic is golden brown, about another 5 minutes. Remove from heat.
3. Stir red pepper flakes, black pepper, and salt into the pasta. Pour in olive oil and garlic, and sprinkle on Italian parsley and half of the Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese; stir until combined.
4. Serve pasta topped with the remaining Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese.

 

A Tradition of Christmas Past: Spaghetti Aglio e Olio Recipe, and My Italian Heroine, Based on my Great Grandmother

My great grandmother (Grandma to everyone) was the matriarch of the family, the mother of my grandfather. “Josie Red” as she was known in downtown Jersey City was way ahead of her time, as a bootlegger during Prohibition, a real estate tycoon, a small-time loan shark, and according to legend, Mayor Hague’s mistress. 

Every Christmas Eve, her daughter, my great aunt Lucretia, a gourmet cook, invited everyone to her basement for an Italian feast. Grandma’s four children were grown with children and grandchildren of their own. Of course this necessitated a ‘kiddie table’ at which I sat until I was tall enough to sit with the grown-ups. Aunt Lucretia always made two types of spaghetti sauce—regular marinara sauce and aglio e olio—but what I remember is it always contained clam sauce, which I wouldn’t touch, so I went for the plain and safe marinara. Her finished basement had a small kitchen so she was able to do all the cooking right there. Kiddies weren’t allowed to, but several adults helped her carry the steaming plates to the long tables set up and covered with holiday-themed tablecloths. She served all the traditional Italian dishes—after the pasta came the ham, then the fruit and nuts, and of course, an array of desserts, always including her famous struffoli (honey balls) and Italian rum cake. My Uncle Eddie tended bar at the other end of the room. 

After dinner, Santa always showed up. My cousin Mike’s father played the part very convincingly—the kiddies scrambled onto his lap for their chance to gush about how good they behaved all year and how deserving they were of his visit later that night to surround their Christmas trees with presents to be torn open the next morning. Someone always had a home movie camera to capture these special moments on film. I remember the lights always blazing like the noonday sun when the camera started rolling. 

After leaving the party, I always went to Midnight Mass with my friends and someone always threw a party after that. 

Christmas Eves in the basement ended after Grandma left us, but the memories live on! 

Vita Caputo, the heroine of my 1894 New York City romance FROM HERE TO FOURTEENTH STREET, is based on my great grandmother. It’s now on audio with the expressive animated New York native Nina Price.

getBook.at/NewYorkSagaBookOne

Recipe for Spaghetti Aglio e Olio

 Ingredients: 

One pound uncooked spaghetti

6 cloves minced garlic

½ cup olive oil

¼ teaspoon red pepper flakes

Salt and ground black pepper to taste

¼ cup chopped fresh parsley

1 cup finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese 

Directions

1. Bring a large pot of lightly salted water to a boil. Cook spaghetti in the boiling water, stirring occasionally until cooked through but firm to the bite, about 12 minutes. Drain and transfer to a pasta bowl.
2. Combine garlic and olive oil in a cold skillet. Cook over medium heat to slowly toast garlic, about 10 minutes. Reduce heat to medium-low when olive oil begins to bubble. Cook and stir until garlic is golden brown, about another 5 minutes. Remove from heat.
3. Stir red pepper flakes, black pepper, and salt into the pasta. Pour in olive oil and garlic, and sprinkle on Italian parsley and half of the Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese; stir until combined.
4. Serve pasta topped with the remaining Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese.

 

A Tradition of Christmas Past, Spaghetti Aglio e Olio Recipe, and My Italian Heroine, Based on my Great Grandmother

My great grandmother (Grandma to everyone) was the matriarch of the family, the mother of my grandfather. “Josie Red” as she was known in downtown Jersey City was way ahead of her time, as a bootlegger during Prohibition, a real estate tycoon, a small-time loan shark, a very good friend of Frank Sinatra's mother Dolly, and according to legend, Mayor Hague’s mistress.

Every Christmas Eve, her daughter, my great aunt Lucretia, a gourmet cook, invited everyone to her basement for an Italian feast. Grandma’s four children were grown with children and grandchildren of their own. Of course this necessitated a ‘kiddie table’ at which I sat until I was tall enough to sit with the grown-ups. Aunt Lucretia always made two types of spaghetti sauce—regular marinara sauce and aglio e olio—but what I remember is it always contained clam sauce, which I wouldn’t touch, so I went for the plain and safe marinara. Her finished basement had a small kitchen so she was able to do all the cooking right there. Kiddies weren’t allowed to, but several adults helped her carry the steaming plates to the long tables set up and covered with holiday-themed tablecloths. She served all the traditional Italian dishes—after the pasta came the ham, then the fruit and nuts, and of course, an array of desserts, always including her famous struffoli (honey balls) and Italian rum cake. My Uncle Eddie tended bar at the other end of the room. Thankfully, he’s still with us at 84.

After dinner, Santa always showed up. My cousin Mike’s father played the part very convincingly—the kiddies scrambled onto his lap for their chance to gush about how good they behaved all year and how deserving they were of his visit later that night to surround their Christmas trees with presents to be torn open the next morning. Someone always had a home movie camera to capture these special moments on film. I remember the lights always blazing like the noonday sun when the camera started rolling.

After leaving the party, I always went to Midnight Mass with my friends and someone always threw a party after that.

Christmas Eves in the basement ended after Grandma left us, but the memories live on!

Vita Caputo, the heroine of my 1894 New York City romance FROM HERE TO FOURTEENTH STREET, is based on my great grandmother. It’s now on audio with the expressive voice of Nina Price.

FROM HERE TO FOURTEENTH STREET in paperback, on Kindle and on Audio at Amazon

Recipe for Spaghetti Aglio e Olio

      Ingredients:

One pound uncooked spaghetti

6 cloves minced garlic

½ cup olive oil

¼ teaspoon red pepper flakes

Salt and ground black pepper to taste

¼ cup chopped fresh parsley

1 cup finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese

Directions:

1. Bring a large pot of lightly salted water to a boil. Cook spaghetti in the boiling water, stirring occasionally until cooked through but firm to the bite, about 12 minutes. Drain and transfer to a pasta bowl.
2. Combine garlic and olive oil in a cold skillet. Cook over medium heat to slowly toast garlic, about 10 minutes. Reduce heat to medium-low when olive oil begins to bubble. Cook and stir until garlic is golden brown, about another 5 minutes. Remove from heat.
3. Stir red pepper flakes, black pepper, and salt into the pasta. Pour in olive oil and garlic, and sprinkle on Italian parsley and half of the Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese; stir until combined.
4. Serve pasta topped with the remaining Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese.

My New York Saga is Now on Audio--Quotes, Songs from Those Days, and the Dream Cast

My New York Saga is now on audio with the expressive voice of Nina Price.

Here are poignant quotes, songs of the day, and the dream cast:

FROM HERE TO FOURTEENTH STREET (1894-5)

Songs:

The Band Played On – Dan Quinn

The Sidewalks of New York – Dan Quinn

The Liberty Bell – U.S. Marine Band

My Pearl is a Bowery Girl – Dan Quinn

My Best Girl’s a New Yorker – Edward M. Favor

Quotes:

Toiling over the mind-numbing work, Vita conjured up her favorite daydream: an elegant brownstone with lacy iron gates, bay windows, polished floors, marble fireplaces. No trash flung down air shafts, no shared toilets, no backyard privies...above Fourteenth Street.

Vita went to mass before breakfast. She sat way in back and didn’t pay much mind to the priest chanting away in Latin. This was her private time for praying and remembering her mother. She looked up in the familiar far corner. The image of an angel with dreamy blue eyes looked down at her. As she pretended that angel was Mama, a protecting comfort always warmed her.

“My cousin Mike was found shot to death next to this building. Your father and brother were arrested for his murder. I’m sorry, Vita. I’m so sorry.” Tom approached her with caution, longing to hold her, to cradle her in his arms. 

* *

 Dream Cast:

Vita Caputo – Rachel Weisz

Tom McGlory – Christian Bale

Rosalia Caputo – Marissa Tomei

Jadwiga Wisen – Debra Messing

Purchase FROM HERE TO FOURTEENTH STREET in paperback, Kindle or Audio (free with your Amazon Audible trial)

BOOTLEG BROADWAY (1931)

Songs:

Just a Gigolo – Ted Lewis and His Orchestra

Minnie the Moocher – Cab Calloway and His Cotton Club Orchestra

Mood Indigo – Duke Ellington

Stardust – Isham Jones

I Got Rhythm – Red Nichols

Quotes:

Billy clasped Pru’s hand, dropped to one knee, and cleared his throat for the most important recital of his life. “You’re the essence of my being. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and even after that. Now you’re carrying my child, and I want us to be a real family. Pru, will you marry me?”

“What did you name her?” Billy couldn’t stop staring. This breathing,

living child nestled in Pru’s arms was his flesh and blood. And he thought his songs were a divine creation!

“Nothing yet.” She looked up at him and smiled. “I thought I’d leave that to you.”

“Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat, I can’t even think straight.” He slapped the side of his head. “I might wind up calling her Zeppo or something. You better name her.”

“I have to go, Billy. It’s my time…”

“No, Pru. Don’t talk like that.” My heart started hammering. I removed my sweaty palms from her arm. “Please. I love you, Pru. You’re my whole life.” I struggled to keep my voice even as I sobbed. “Don’t leave me!” That was an order—the only one I’d ever given her. I turned my head so she couldn’t see me bawling and swiping at my tears.

* *

Dream Cast:

Billy McGlory – Leonardo DiCaprio

Pru Muller McGlory – Gwyneth Paltrow

Greta Schliessmeyer – Scarlett Johansen

Rosario Ingovito – Joe Pesci

Al Capone - Chazz Palminteri

Purchase BOOTLEG BROADWAY in paperback, on Kindle, or Audio (free with your Amazon Audible trial)

FROM HERE TO CAMELOT (1963)

Songs:

Ring of Fire – Johnny Cash

From Me to You – The Beatles

You’re the Devil in Disguise – Elvis Presley

Louie Louie – The Kingsmen

Walk Like a Man – The Four Seasons

Quotes:

“Vikki, it’s Linc Benjamin.” His ragged voice came over the line. “I have terrible news. Jack is dead.”

“What?” She couldn’t have heard right. “What did you say?”

“Jack was found in the bathtub of his hotel room this morning—”

She dropped the phone and slid down against the wall. Her glasses fell off her face. The room spun. Sunlight glared. She smelled the new coat of wax on the kitchen floor.

Vikki read over her father’s transcript, Jack’s voice echoing through her mind. “I’ll find you, you bastard, whoever you are,” she said reverently, like a vow. “If I have to die doing it.”

Al lowered his lips to Vikki’s, and everything converged into a blur. Her arms wound around him. She wept, for her loss, for fear of the future, of the unknown, of this man whose mouth claimed hers. This time she didn’t ask Jack to forgive her. She hoped he was tripping the light fantastic with Marilyn Monroe right now.

Dream Cast:

Vikki McGlory Ward – Christina Applegate

Billy McGlory – Harrison Ford

Aldobrandi Po – Vincent Irizarry

Rosario Ingovito – Edward G. Robinson

Greta Schliessmeyer McGlory – Michelle Pfeiffer 

Purchase THE END OF CAMELOT in paperback, Kindle, or Audio (free with your Amazon Audible trial)

 * * *

An Interview About Me & Audio Books

Tell us about the process of turning your book into an audiobook. 

My publisher, The Wild Rose Press, auditioned some narrators and sent me samples. When Nina finished narrating it, Wild Rose released it and put it on sale with retailers.

Do you believe certain types of writing translate better into audiobook format? 

Adventure and suspense translate well, as long as the narrator has an animated voice. My books, with characters who have different actors, came out really well, because Nina does great accents and different voice inflections.

Was a possible audiobook recording something you were conscious of while writing? 

No, I never thought of it at the time.

How did you select your narrator? 

When I heard Nina’s sample, I knew she was the best narrator for my books.

How closely did you work with your narrator before and during the recording process? Did you give them any pronunciation tips or special insight into the characters? 

We spoke on the phone a few times, and discussed the characters and their backgrounds. When she had a question about the pronunciation of a word, I either spelled it out phonetically or sent her a video of someone saying the word or phrase.

Were there any real life inspirations behind your writing? 

Yes, FROM HERE TO FOURTEENTH STREET’s heroine Vita is based on my great-grandmother, a businesswoman, wife and mother. She was way ahead of her time. I always have historical events as backdrops for my books. BOOTLEG BROADWAY is set during Prohibition, and THE END OF CAMELOT is centered around the John F. Kennedy assassination.

How do you manage to avoid burn-out? What do you do to maintain your enthusiasm for writing?

I pace myself, I write 2500 words a day and sometimes more if I’m on a roll. My enthusiasm never wanes, because I’m a huge history buff, I love doing the research, and my passion for it comes out in my stories.

Are you an audiobook listener? What about the audiobook format appeals to you? 

I listen to audiobooks on long car trips. It’s convenient to listen to books while doing something else, driving, as a passenger in a car, doing chores, etc.

Is there a particular part of this story that you feel is more resonating in the audiobook performance than in the book format? 

The dialogue is very animated and authentic throughout all three books. Nina does great New York and ‘wiseguy’ accents.

If you had the power to time travel, would you use it? If yes, when and where would you go? 

I’ve always wanted to spend a week in ancient Rome, Greece, or Pompeii.

What do you say to those who view listening to audiobooks as “cheating” or as inferior to “real reading”? 

It’s as much cheating or inferior to ‘real reading’ as watching a TV show or a play instead of reading the script.

How did you celebrate after finishing this novel? 

I always celebrate by recharging my batteries—usually by reading my favorite genres, biographies, mysteries, and paranormal novels.

What gets you out of a writing slump? What about a reading slump? 

I’ve never been a slump; I make sure I reach my 2500-word goal every day, even if it’s not my best output. I can always go back and rewrite.

In your opinion, what are the pros and cons of writing a stand-alone novel vs. writing a series? 

A series allows the reader to get to know the characters and become familiar with them. Stand-alones don’t have that advantage.

Have any of your characters ever appeared in your dreams? 

Yes, but they’re historical figures—Richard III and Henry VIII.

What bits of advice would you give to aspiring authors? 

Keep writing. Keep practicing. Most of all, don’t ever give up on your dream. Just having a dream makes you very special. If you get impatient because it’s taking so long, just ask yourself this: Why does 16-year Scotch take 16 years? Some things are worth waiting for.

Do you have any tips for authors going through the process of turning their books into audiobooks? 

Ask your publisher if they do audio books, and if not, remind them that audio books are booming!

.99 on Kindle This Week--ELIZA JUMEL BURR, VICE QUEEN OF THE UNITED STATES

Abandoned at childhood, Betsy Bowen found out she is George Washington's daughter and escaped the streets of Providence to become Eliza Jumel Burr, New York's richest woman. She pursued Aaron Burr, the love of her life, for decades and he finally proposed when he was 80 and she was 56. She divorced him on adultery charges, and he died two days after being served the papers. Who was her lawyer? Alexander Hamilton, Jr., the son of the man Burr killed in the famous 1804 duel.

Eliza believed George Washington was her father. Nine months before she was born, her mother spent one night with the general and became pregnant. Eliza's many attempts to reach her father gained her an invitation to Mount Vernon weeks before his death.

She met the love of her life, Aaron Burr, at President Washington's inauguration. While Aaron was in the capital serving as a senator, Eliza met wealthy wine merchant Stephen Jumel, and faked her own death to get Stephen to marry her. When Stephen fell from a cart and died in Eliza's arms, she was brought up on murder charges, which were dismissed. Aaron proposed to her and she became Mrs. Burr, her lifelong wish.

Eliza Jumel Burr

From Eliza Jumel Burr, Vice Queen of the United States:

July 11, 1804, a day I'll never forget, a Wednesday, I rose early from fitful sleep. Two of my servants huddled in the kitchen, murmuring instead of cooking. They held the newspaper wide open.

When I walked in, they froze as if turned to stone, and held the paper out to me.

"What is it?" Without fresh coffee I was half-awake. But seeing the paper, I trembled. My mouth dried up. "Oh, no." I hid my eyes with my hands, I couldn't bear to look.

"M-Miss Eliza..." Mary stammered. "Vice President Burr shot General Hamilton in a duel."

Too weak to stand, I grabbed a chair and sank into it. "He shot Hamilton?" My head spun, dizzy with relief. But I still didn't know about Aaron. "Is he all right? The vice president?"

"We don't know, ma'am. It just says General Hamilton was mortally wounded."

Without another word, I ran down the hall, threw open the front door, not closing it behind me, and raced to Gold Street in the gathering morning heat. Humidity soaked my clothes. I mopped sweat from my face.

I banged on his door. No answer. "Aaron, open the door, it's me, please, we need to talk!" I banged again. Echoes answered me. He'd fled. But where? When would I see my beloved again?

Hamilton died the next day, and the city fell to its knees in mourning.

The tolling church bells and muffled drumbeats echoed through the sweltering city air.

****

   I saw Mrs Hamilton on Broad Way, head to toe in widow's weeds. I wanted to approach her and offer my condolences, but she knew I was intimate with the vice president, so I kept my distance. Their country home, The Grange, was not far from the Morris mansion I planned to buy. We'd be neighbors someday.

Purchase ELIZA JUMEL BURR from Amazon

FROM HERE TO FOURTEENTH STREET, A New York Romance--Coming Soon for Audio

Book One of the New York Saga

In FROM HERE TO FOURTEENTH STREET it's 1894 on New York's Lower East Side. Irish cop Tom McGlory and Italian immigrant Vita Caputo fall in love despite their different upbringings. They know their love can survive poverty, hatred, and corruption. Can an Italian sweatshop worker and an Irish cop fall in love on Manhattan’s Lower East Side in 1894? 

Vita is based on my great grandmother, Josephine Calabrese, "Josie Red" who left grade school to become a self-made businesswoman and politician, wife and mother. 

Coming soon on audio from The Wild Rose Press, it's for sale on Amazon for Kindle and paperback.

AN EXCERPT:

As Vita gathered her soap and towel, Madame Branchard tapped on her door. "You have a gentleman caller, Vita. A policeman."

"Tom?" His name lingered on her lips as she repeated it. She dropped her things and crossed the room.

"No, hon, not him. Another policeman. Theodore something, I think he said."

No. There can't be anything wrong. "Thanks," she whispered,  nudging Madame Branchard aside. She descended the steps, gripping the banister to support her wobbly legs. Stay calm! she warned herself. But of course it was no use; staying calm just wasn't her nature.

“Theodore something” stood before the closed parlor door. He’s a policeman? Tall and hefty, a bold pink shirt peeking out of a buttoned waistcoat and fitted jacket, he looked way out of place against the dainty patterned wallpaper.

He removed his hat. "Miss Caputo." He strained to keep his voice soft as he held out a piece of paper. “I’m police commissioner Theodore Roosevelt.”

"Yes?" Her voice shook.

"I have a summons for you, Miss Caputo." He held it out to her. But she stood rooted to that spot.

He stepped closer and she took it from him, unfolding it with icy fingers. Why would she be served with a summons? Was someone arresting her now for something she didn't do?

A shot of anger tore through her at this system, at everything she wanted to change. She flipped it open and saw the word "Summons" in fancy script at the top. Her eyes widened with each sentence as she read. “I can’t believe what I’m seeing.”

I hereby order Miss Vita Caputo to enter into holy matrimony with Mr. Thomas McGlory immediately following service of this summons.

HOW FROM HERE TO FOURTEENTH STREET WAS BORN

New York City’s history always fascinated me—how it became the most powerful hub in the world from a sprawling wilderness in exchange for $24 with Native Americans by the Dutch in 1626.

Growing up in Jersey City, I could see the Statue of Liberty from our living room window if I leaned way over (luckily I didn’t lean too far over). As a child model, I spent many an afternoon on job interviews and modeling assignments in the city, and got hooked on Nedick’s, a fast food chain whose orange drinks were every kid’s dream. Even better than the vanilla egg creams. We never drove to the city—we either took the PATH (Port Authority Trans Hudson) train (‘the tube’ in those days) or the bus through the Lincoln Tunnel to the Port Authority Bus Terminal.

My great grandmother, Josephine Calabrese, “Josie Red” to her friends, because of her abundant head of red hair, was way ahead of her time. Born in 1895 (but it could’ve been sooner, as she was known to lie about her age), she left grade school, became a successful businesswoman and a Jersey City committewoman, as well as a wife and mother of four. She owned apartment buildings, parking garages, a summer home, did a bit of Prohibition-era bootlegging, small-time loan-sharking, and paid cash for everything. When I began outlining From Here to Fourteenth Street, I modeled my heroine, Vita Caputo, after her. Although the story is set in New York the year before Grandma was born, I was able to bring Vita to life by calling on the family legends and stories, all word of mouth, for she never kept a journal.

Vita’s hero Tom McGlory isn’t based on any real person, but I did a lot of reading about Metropolitan Policemen and made sure he was the complete opposite! He’s trustworthy and would never take a bribe or graft. I always liked the name McGlory—then, years after the book first came out, I remembered that was the name of my first car mechanic—Ronnie McGlory.

I completed the book in 1995, and my then-publisher, Domhan Books, published it under the title I Love You Because. The Wild Rose Press picked it up after I gave it many revisions and overhauls. My editor Nan Swanson did a fabulous job making the prose sparkle.

CHANGING THE TITLE

When I proposed the story to Wild Rose, I wanted to change the title, since it went through so many revisions. I wanted to express Vita’s desire to escape the Lower East Side and move farther uptown. I considered Crossing 14^th Street, but it sounded too much like Crossing Delancey. After a few more hits and misses, the title hit me—as all really fitting titles do.

A BIT OF BACKGROUND—WHAT WAS 1894 NEW YORK CITY LIKE?

The Metropolitan Police was a hellhole of corruption, and nearly every cop, from the greenest rookie to the Chief himself, was a dynamic part of what made the wheels of this great machine called New York turn. 

The department was in cahoots with the politicians, all the way up to the mayor's office. Whoever wasn't connected enough to become a politician became a cop in this city. They were paid off in pocket-bulging wads of cash to look the other way when it came to building codes, gambling, prostitution, every element it took to keep this machine gleaming and efficient. They oiled the machine and kept it running with split-second precision. The ordinary hardworking, slave-wage earning citizen didn't have a chance around here. Tom McGlory and his father were two of a kind, and two of a sprinkling of cops who were cops for the right reasons. They left him alone because he was a very private person; he didn't have any close friends, he confided in no one. He could've made a pocket full of rocks as a stoolie, more than he could by jumping in the fire with the rest of them, but he couldn't enjoy spending it if he'd made it that way. They knew it and grudgingly respected him for it. He was here for one reason--his family was here. If they went, he went. As long as they needed him, here he was. Da would stop grieving for his wife when he stopped breathing. Since Tom knew he was the greatest gift she gave Da, he would never let his father down.

.99 on Kindle This Week--ELIZA JUMEL BURR, VICE QUEEN OF AMERICA

ELIZA JUMEL BURR, VICE QUEEN OF AMERICA

Abandoned at childhood, Betsy Bowen found out she is George Washington’s daughter and escaped the streets of Providence to become Eliza Jumel Burr, New York’s richest woman. She pursued Aaron Burr, the love of her life, for decades and he finally proposed when he was 80 and she was 56. She divorced him on adultery charges, and he died two days after being served the papers. Who was her lawyer? Alexander Hamilton, Jr., the son of the man Burr killed in the famous 1804 duel.  

Eliza believed George Washington was her father. Nine months before she was born, her mother spent one night with the general and became pregnant. Eliza’s many attempts to reach her father gained her an invitation to Mount Vernon weeks before his death.

She met the love of her life, Aaron Burr, at President Washington’s inauguration. While Aaron was in the capital serving as a senator, Eliza met wealthy wine merchant Stephen Jumel, and faked her own death to get Stephen to marry her. When Stephen fell from a cart and died in Eliza’s arms, she was brought up on murder charges, which were dismissed. Aaron proposed to her and she became Mrs. Burr, her lifelong wish.

Eliza Jumel Burr

****

From Eliza Jumel Burr, Vice Queen of the United States:

July 11, 1804, a day I’ll never forget, a Wednesday, I rose early from fitful sleep. Two of my servants huddled in the kitchen, murmuring instead of cooking. They held the newspaper wide open.

When I walked in, they froze as if turned to stone, and held the paper out to me.

“What is it?” Without fresh coffee I was half-awake. But seeing the paper, I trembled. My mouth dried up. “Oh, no …” I hid my eyes with my hands, I couldn’t bear to look.

“M-Miss Eliza …” Mary stammered. “Vice President Burr shot General Hamilton in a duel.”

Too weak to stand, I grabbed a chair and sank into it. “He … shot Hamilton?” My head spun, dizzy with relief. But I still didn’t know about Aaron. “Is he all right? The vice president?”

“We don’t know, ma’am. It just says General Hamilton was mortally wounded.”

Without another word, I ran down the hall, threw open the front door, not closing it behind me, and raced to Gold Street in the gathering morning heat. Humidity soaked my clothes. I mopped sweat from my face.

I banged on his door. No answer. “Aaron, open the door, it’s me, please, we need to talk!” I banged again. Echoes answered me. He’d fled. But where? When would I see my beloved again?

Hamilton died the next day, and the city fell to its knees in mourning.

The tolling church bells and muffled drumbeats echoed through the sweltering city air.

****

   I saw Mrs Hamilton on Broad Way, head to toe in widow’s weeds. I wanted to approach her and offer my condolences, but she knew I was intimate with the vice president, so I kept my distance. Their country home, The Grange, was not far from the Morris mansion I planned to buy. We’d be neighbors someday.

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Scene 3 of My 1894 New York Romance FROM HERE TO FOURTEENTH STREET

For Third Scene Thursday, here’s Scene Three of my 1894 New York romance FROM HERE TO FOURTEENTH STREET, Book One of the New York Saga.

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It's 1894 on New York's Lower East Side. Irish cop Tom McGlory and Italian immigrant Vita Caputo fall in love despite their different upbringings. Vita goes from sweatshop laborer to respected bank clerk to reformer, helping elect a mayor to beat the Tammany machine. While Tom works undercover to help Ted Roosevelt purge police corruption, Vita's father arranges a marriage between her and a man she despises. As Vita and Tom work together against time and prejudice to clear her brother and father of a murder they didn't commit, they know their love can survive poverty, hatred, and corruption. Vita is based on my great grandmother, who left grade school to become a self-made businesswoman and politician, wife and mother.

Scene Three:

Vita hunched over her piecework, imprisoned in the numbing toil. A hairy hand clamped down on her shoulder. She looked up at Mr. Strozzoni, or “Wrench Neck” because of the way he strained his neck—a nervous tic or something. Sweat stained his celluloid collar. “Hey. A copper come lookin’ for you,” he rasped in his cigar-gruffened voice. “He wait for you outside.”
“What copper?”
He yanked her up by the elbow and dragged her to the door like he couldn’t get rid of her fast enough. Twenty rows of eyeballs followed her out of the workroom. She stumbled, dizzy with fright. Oh, no, Butchie got run in again? Her brother couldn’t stay out of trouble.
Wrench Neck shoved her out into the stairwell. “Don’ you come back here no more. You’re a thief. We don’ wan’ no thiefs here.”
Thief? She’d never stolen a spool of thread. Then it hit her—the blouses she’d dropped in the street. Someone must’ve turned them in—but who knew she’d dropped them?
It didn’t matter now. She was out of a job. Still in shock, she couldn’t think straight.
Her shoes clanged down the metal stairs. She went outside and squinted in the sun.
An imposing figure startled her. Those green eyes, it couldn’t be…the cop from this morning.
He stood before her, arms folded across his chest.
She turned, ready to bolt. But a silent command told her to stay put.
“You dropped some blouses on the street this morning.” His voice was gentler than this morning. So he’d found the blouses! “They have the factory label,” he went on. “I described you to the boss man. He told me he’d never seen you. But I could tell he was lying.” His arms unfolded. His posture relaxed. “I had to wait for you. Why are you out before everybody else?”
She stepped back. Her bottom smacked into the brick wall. “Why do you think? He just fired me. But I didn’t take your wallet. A street arab took it.”
He nodded. “I believe you. I’m not accusing you of anything.”
“Then why are you waiting for me?” She tilted her head, really curious now.
“I just wanted to find you.” He took a step forward. “Look, let me help you get another job. I feel responsible—”
She gaped up at him. The sun formed a halo of light about him. His jawline curved nicely, not too square. “No, you done enough already.” She turned away but needed one last glimpse of those green eyes. As she turned, she tripped over her own feet.
He grabbed her arm to steady her. “I’m just clumsy,” she stammered.
“It’s quite all right,” he said.
No one ever said quite, not around here. A smile frolicked on his lips, as if he knew she’d been staring. Crescent laugh lines cut into his cheeks.
“I really want to help you.” His voice softened with apology.
Shaking her head, she started to leave, but he walked beside her. She sneaked sideways glances at him. The planes of his face weren’t weatherbeaten like the railroad yard laborers. Black hair crowned his head in glossy waves. It reminded her of long-ago nights in Italy, the sky bejeweled with stars. A trimmed mustache rimmed his upper lip. Muscles bulged beneath his blue jacket. His graveness seemed to mask some deeper emotion. She sensed sadness in those eyes that held a spark of streetwise spirit.
Neighbors halted in their tracks and stared with narrowed eyes. Vita Caputo in trouble with the law now? She pictured them saying, Eh, the whole tribe’s a bunch of rowdies…over their purple wine tonight, Mott Street buzzing with gossip louder than the organ grinders. Head held high, she matched them cocked brow for cocked brow. But inside she went on praying—I need another job, I need another job!
“Will you tell me your name? Please?” He drew her from her thoughts. A shiver of alarm coursed through her. Should I tell him my real name or give him a fake one?
“It would be an offense to withhold your identity from a policeman.” He ended that with a smile that sent strange tingles through her belly.
“Miss Caputo. Now goodbye.” She didn’t want him calling her Vita.
His lashes blinked like bats’ wings. “Your father wouldn’t be Lorenzo Caputo, would he?”
“What if he is?” she shot back.
“Then your brothers are Bruno and Vincente.”
He knew them, all right, but not as friends, since they were just Larry, Butchie, and Vinny around here. But cops weren’t on her family’s list of friends, either. To them, cops rated lower than parish priests.
“Does that have anything to do with me?” She steadied her voice.
“No, but they’ve been booked for minor offenses before, and assaulting a policeman twice—my cousin Mike McGlory.” The stern tone returned as he swung his nightstick.
“I know what they did, and I ain’t proud of it,” she admitted. “But here I am, obeying the law, and I get kicked outta my job.”
Her family’s offenses ranged from starting a brawl at a cousin’s wedding to robbing geraniums to assaulting a cop. To them, the first two were none of the law’s business. The fight at the wedding was over whose wine was better. The flower-robbing, in Vinny’s eyes, was legit—“God put them here, so why should I pay for ’em?” was his reasoning. Simple Italian logic.
She looked up at the cop, almost hoping she’d trip again so he’d catch her. But he was still the leatherhead who put her out on the streets.
“I’m Tom McGlory, and I want to help you find another job. Where are you headed, Miss Caputo?” His question sounded innocent enough, but his butting in riled her. She took a deep breath to calm down.
She set her eyes straight ahead at the horse and cart parked by the grocer’s. “It’s none a your business where I’m headed,” she snapped. She didn’t trust cops. Maybe he wanted to use her for something. Cops bamboozled immigrants into doing their dirty work. She wasn’t falling for none of his lowdown schemes.
“Since your visit cost me my job, the only place I can go is looking for another one so I can eat tonight.” Why not sling some guilt his way? Maybe, if he was half human, he’d appreciate what she’d just gone through.
“I’m sorry for the trouble all this has caused you.” Again, his tone gentled. “I can talk to your boss. He should take you back. I’ll head back there right this minute and explain that you stopped a robbery and that’s how you dropped the blouses.”
“Don’t do me no favors, Officer.” She held up her hand. “You don’t owe me nothin’.” She glanced around for a clock so she could figure how much money she’d lost already. She wasn’t about to ask him for the time of day. She had to find another job before she lost a whole day’s pay. Forget a kitchen curtain—that got shoved onto the luxury list. They might have to give up eggs and eat stale bread for a while.
“Then may I escort you somewhere?” he pushed on, his voice casual, yet his eyes sparkled.
She knew hers didn’t, so she avoided his stare.
He gave her agita in her stomach. But he seemed so kind. She’d seen strongarms in action, and he wasn’t one of them. Still, she didn’t need his help. “No, I need to get myself into another wage-paying job. Nobody’s paying me to make chit-chat with a cop.” They halted at the corner as a streetcar rumbled past. “But I have one question first.”
“What is it?” His eyes lit up.
“Why would you wanna help me? I ain’t even Irish.”
She didn’t wait for an answer, cause she didn’t care. She just wanted him to think about it. She turned and walked away, hoping to lose him.
She wished she had a pocket full of rocks, to feast on a sausage sandwich and enjoy this rare stint of freedom. But forget it. Leisure—and big lunches—were luxuries she’d have to wait many more years to afford. Now she had to skip lunch until she found a job.
Walking toward the nearest factory, self-scolding comments fell from her lips: “You’re a fool, letting thoughts of this cop amuse you!” This fantasy was no different from her daydreams at the sewing machine to fight the deadening boredom. But at that rattling machine, she made her lofty plans. In her quest to get ahead, she attended neighborhood meetings for tenement reform with her cousin Baldo, the “mayor” of Mott Street. All the streets down here had unofficial mayors, businessmen on the lookout for the neighborhoods. Baldo, a barber, got along great with everybody. He and Vita badgered the ward heeler, the district boss, and sometimes even a sympathetic reporter for decent living conditions. But she had to do more.
She saw how bosses treated her family, how cops and judges took payoffs from politicians and let criminals off, and how slumlords made their tenants live six families to a flat. But hers was one of the blessed families on Mott Street. They had plumbing.
She dashed down Orchard Street, past the crowded tenements where the poorest souls lived. She had to end the dreaming and get back to the heat, the stench, the real world out there. Hunger for food replaced her hunger for reform.
She pushed Officer McGlory out of her thoughts. The face-off with the cop was over. But his presence still sent tingles down her spine.