Karla Huber – The Godmother

Part One

          There in a dark room we sat, me, my brother, a father asking for justice, and her. Sitting in silence on the dark mahogany rocking chair behind the matching grand desk, our Godmother, Veita Corleone. After time passes the man approaches and kisses our Godmother on the cheek and starts to speak, “you must help me, and my daughter. You see, my daughter was in a baking competition and she was beat in the first round. You must give us one of your recipes so she can win. Justice, we need justice!” Veita with her cheeks sagging gently from being filled with chewed canoliis, let out a sigh and with a gentle rasp in her voice she says, “ you come here on the day my son is to be married and you ask for me to give you my recipes, for money.” The man exclaimed, “I’m here for justice!” In a rally like form Vieta shot back, “that is not justice, your daughter could still win the next competition, but instead you come here not for friendship, but for a favor.” 

She slowly stood up, setting down her dog which she was petting in her lap and walked over to the man. They stood staring into each other’s eyes, “May I be your friend, Godmother?” He spoke with a gentle tremble in his voice, slowly bending down to kiss her hand. Vieta put her hand on his shoulder and said, “yes, good. One day and maybe I may never, I will call you and ask you for an act of assistance, but for now think of this as a gift for my son’s wedding day.” After the man thanked our Godmother and left she spoke to all of us, “there is a company that never paid, go sabotage their goods and if anyone interferes that is what the rolling pins are for, But for now we shall enjoy my son’s wedding.” 

  Later that day after the wedding reception, Vieta ordered us to do the family business. She explained to us, “There is a warehouse which is holding all of the ingredients for the baking competition, you must go in and mess with their flour. We will supply our clients with my own flour, and my own cannoli recipe.” My brother, Alfredo, chimed in “ but Godmother, what will be up against what do we need to take?” She walked over to Alfredo and placed her dainty, yet wrinkly hand on his shoulder. “ My son, take whatever cooking utensil you think you will need, what I recommend is a rolling pin, a whisk, and most importantly take the jumbo egg beater.” He nodded and set out on his way with my other brothers to go and get the supplies. 

Before I could head out my mother called me over, “Michelle come here my daughter.” When the Godmother calls you over there is always a hint of fear, “I have a special job for you, there is a man out in Hollywood who is a producer for cooking shows on the new television. You know Johanna, and her love for cooking, go out there and try to get her a spot eh, and if he resists, sequences will come. Now go, you have a car waiting for you outside.” I gave her a kiss on both of her cheeks and grabbed my bags from my room, which I always leave packed because you never know when you will be on business. 

Upon arriving in Hollywood, I made my way to the film set for the directors cooking show. Walking into the building there was a man around five foot seven, yelling in a thick british accent, at what seemed to be the camera crew. I called out to him, “Excuse me sir, may I have a moment of your time?” He turned towards me and started to walk furiously out of the door, “I don’t have time to talk to you for your paparazzi crap!” I followed him and shot back a reply, “Sir, my client has sent me here to speak with you about a job opportunity.” He shoved open the doors and screamed from over his shoulder, “Yeah, well I don’t give a crap about what your client sent you here for. What are ya, a lawyer?” I grabbed his arm and brought him over to the side, I spoke in a loud whisper, “I’m here on orders from Corleone, surely you of all people know who that is.” His eyes widened as if he knew he made the mistake of talking to me that way. “Ah yes, how has she been lately?” He said, trying to change the subject, before I could even speak he said, “how about you come to dinner at my place huh?” I nod and follow him out of the set warehouse. 

Later that night at his mansion we were eating filet mignon on beautiful china, decorated with a blue floral pattern, completed with a set of the most detailed silverware in all of Hollywood. The meat was tender and filled with juice, seasoned to perfection. When the knife cut through the meat there would be a waterfall of flavor that poured out onto the plate. Upon taking a bite, the meat seemed to almost melt in your mouth when you started to chew. “Wine? I have many bottles. How about a bottle of Domaine Leroy Musigny Grand Cru, one of my finest wines from France,” he explained to me. “Well I am an Italian, I never turn town a good glass of wine.” The waiter came out and layed a crystal wine glass in front of us and started to pour. It was a delicate red wine with a strong sweet scent. I picked up the glass and began to aerate it to further bring out the flavor. The wine tasted like a crisp yet sweet grape jam,  with a touch of sour aftertaste, which paired nicely with the meal. 

As time passed and we ate and drank more I decided it was time to bring up why I came here. “Thank you for inviting me to dinner tonight Mr. Gordon, it’s been a pleasure, but we really should start talking business,” before I could finish my sentence he cut me off. “Ah my friend, call me Ramsey, before we get to business I have something I must show you.” He stood up and led me over to a pad locked vault pantry. “Let me show you one of my most prized possessions,” he opened the safe and there sat a bag of flour which appeared to be very expensive and rare. “This is the most expensive bag of flour there is in all the world, I paid more than Twenty thousand dollars for it. It’s a type of flour they only mill in Nepal from only the rarest of wheat.” I turned to him and said, “So this is what you buy with your riches, flour? I mean you are Ramsey Gordon the producer of all the cooking shows on television, that does make sense since you are a cook.” 

After he closed the safe I turned to him and said, “Now about that business we had to discuss…” He turned to me in a drunken state and clapped his hands. “Ah yes, what was it that brought you here?” I went and poured a glass of scotch on the rocks and sat on the sofa in his living room. “You know Johanna, yes, the wife of my brother Connel. She is interested in your business, most importantly to be on your television in a cooking show.” His expression dropped to a scowl. “No, she will not get a job here. Not at my station, I refuse to hire her! Do you know what she took from me? She took one of the most fabulous chefs from my studio! He made the world’s best piece of steak I’ve ever had!” I could see that there was nothing I could do to change his mind, so I decided to head back to my Godmother and tell her the news. “Well if there is nothing you can do I must be on my way, Thank you for your hospitality and for the lovely dinner. I must be going home now.” With that I was off on my way back to New York. 

When I told my Godmother what Ramsey said she was outraged, she would not take no for an answer so she sent my brothers out to Hollywood to hurt him where it would hurt the most. Ramsey Gordan laid in his extravagant bed with his golden silk sheets and pillow cases, in a deep slumber. He tossed and turned as he started to wake up, he felt a powdery substance on his fingers and all over his pajamas. His eyes slowly opened as he felt around under the covers, he brought his hand up to his face to find there was fine white dust covering his arms and torso. Ramsey lifted up his sheets to find his prized bag of flour from Nepal was ripped open and dumped all over his bed. His screams could be heard throughout all of Beverly Hills. 

Part Two

If only I could have been there to save her that day. The day my poor Sunny was shot and killed. I was in Italy getting married to a handsome man named Apollo, who sadly too also met his end prematurely. Maybe if I was back here in the states would I have been able to protect my sister. This incident all started when Sunny caught wind of our younger sister who was being abused by her husband. She devised a plan to get back at him and put an end to his actions… 

“We need to do something about him. He can not treat our sister that way!” Sunny yelled furiously to the rest of our family. Alfredo spoke in a shaky voice, “Sunny what are we to do, he’s part of our rival baking company, doing anything would violate our truce.” A silence fell in the room and then Sunny was off. She left and that was the last time any of the family saw her alive. Sunny was on her way to confront our sister’s husband and she drove out to the countryside. The other families heard about my sister’s plan and ambushed her at a toll booth. Sunny stepped out of her car as she saw two other cars pull up. Suddenly one of the people shouted, “FOOD FIGHT!” 

They started hurling all kinds of food, tomatoes, pasta, cannolis, cakes, and other various dishes, all towards Sunny. She got struck down to the ground yet she managed to get back into her car. Later when the sun was starting to set, two men approached Sunny’s car, her window was down as she sat there lifeless. One of the guys reached their hand into the car and picked something off of Sunny’s shirt, “Ew Charlie that’s nasty,” the other man said as Charlie put the bit of cannoli into his mouth. “Hey I ain’t never pass up on cannolis.” The other man pointed out the was a box of Vieta’s Cannolis in the back seat which they grabbed as they tossed their rolling pins aside. Charlie spoke to his companion, “Leave the pins, take the cannolis.” From that point on Sunny was left there until found by police several hours later. 

Upon my arrival back to New York, after finding out about Sunny Veita pulled me aside once more and told me there was something very important that I needed to know. I sat across from her mahogany desk and awaited her message. “Michelle My daughter, I might not have much time left in this world. The feud between the families grows thicker, and I fear that I will end up like our beloved Sunny.” I sat in shock at the words I was hearing, unable to speak. I sat and listened further. “ My dearest daughter, you will be the next Godmother of our family, I put my full trust in you.”

 I stood up and started pacing, “But mother I am not ready to inherit such a thing I could never actually be the Godmother..” Before I could finish I felt my mothers hands touch my shoulders. “Michelle you can do it, You are the daughter of Vieta Corleone, you have all of the Corleone family behind you. You will be perfect, my child.” Little did I know my mothers predictions were true. Vieta passed not long after Sunny and I became The Godmother. Running this business is not easy but it is something I must do. 

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