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Chapter 1Eva Conner polished the nesbit on a napkin and stuck itin her mouth. She hated the thing, but it plugged the gapmade by a missing incisor and allowed her to smile. Most ofall she hated it because it reminded her of the hideous caraccident three years before that caused her to lose the toothand left her body shattered and scared. The accident was thetopper to her divorce from the rat husband who walked out andleft her with a dose of clap. Fearful she’d swallow thedamned thing, she wore it only at work, but fearful always itwould pop out into a customer’s scrambled eggs and compromiseher tip. A dentist told her nothing could be done until somemore teeth were removed to anchor a bridge, which she vowedto get once she saved enough cash. But, she did have fun withit some times, especially with her ten-year-old sister,Maddy, who was fascinated by the false tooth. Eva might swingup and down with her tongue like a tiny door, or lay it onher lower lip and cross her eyes. Either way, she’d reduceMaddy to repetitious squeals.

It was six in the morning, and she was at Gus’sTaverna where she worked. Glancing at the window she sawice had formed on the glass from kitchen vapor, catchingcar lights in akaleidoscope. The ice didn’t surprise her. From experienceshe knew twelve below zero in Chicago was colder thantwelve below zero anywhere else she’d lived, especially inFebruary. With her thumbnail she scraped away enough rimeto see outside. Bloated clouds hovered, cars chugged alongHalsted Street, and steam rising from grates in thesidewalk changed into wavy wraiths. “Happy Valentine’sDay, everyone,” she muttered.She came to work at five to help George Chu prep forbreakfast and listen to his complaints and tales of woe inChinese and accented English. Short and chubby, in a crispchef’s coat and toque, he ruled the kitchen. Eva thoughthe looked like an Asian Chef Boyardee and respected hisdomain; even Gus entered cautiously. But, George liked tolaugh a lot, and Eva delighted in that.She returned to filling salt and pepper shakers, herlast chore of the morning. Her first task as soon as shearrived was to start two 50-cup coffee urns, followed byfilling endless tiny glass jugs with cream, one plop at a2

time from a dispenser. Then came butter chips, littlesaucers a tad larger than silver dollars, on which a patof butter was placed, and endless like the creamers.She plated dozens of sweet rolls and placed them in thepie case where they remained until pie replaced thembefore lunch. From blocks of ice she chipped hunks to fillthe ice chest, and then rolled over a hundred service setsin paper napkins, storing them on trays under the counter.By the time she got the restaurant ready for business, shefelt ready for a nap.Gus’s Taverna restaurant was near the Illinois CentralRailroad yard, but it was not the typical greasy spoonfound in industrial neighborhoods. Considered aninstitution on Halsted Street, it was a haven for loversof Greek cuisine as one sniff upon opening the doorrevealed. Bouquets of herbs and spices used in Greekcooking drifted over patrons along with the odor of anisefrom ouzo. If anyone doubted they were entering a Greekplace, a picture of a line of male dancers in fullThracian

Foustanella

greeted patrons.For Eva it was a blast working there. The people weregreat, and the patrons fascinating. In Chicago’s Greek townit was hard to get a job if you weren’t Greek, so she was3