Chapter 1
M r. Cicci, are you a fan of Tony Molina? the prosecutor asked as she crossed from her desk in the small courtroom and strolled casually over to the witness box. She was pint sized, barely cracking five feet, and she sported a giant mass of curly red hair on top of her head that threatened to swallow her up whole. She wore a smart gray designer suit and black dress shoes that looked more like what a man would wear. She was a tiny thing, but her abundance of confidence and ferocious, almost predatory attitude gave her an unexpected stature.
Tony Molina was my hero, Carmine Cicci spoke into the microphone that had been set up in front of him. He was plump and bald, wearing a purple tie and pink dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to show off his tattoos of various New Agey phrases and dragons and other symbols that he had collected in his fifty-some-odd years.
When did you first see him perform live? the prosecutor asked.
Nineteen eighty-one at Madison Square Garden. Ill never forget it. I went with my high school sweetheart Antonette. She got the tickets for my eighteenth birthday, and we took the train in from Massapequa Park to see him. When Tony sang, My Heart Beats in Manhattan, I wept. I felt as if I was in the presence of greatness. Tonys God-given talent was just so inspiring and overwhelming.
And for how many years after that night when you first saw Tony Molina in concert did you consider yourself an unabashed fan? the prosecutor asked, leaning forward and placing her small hands on the witness box.
My whole life. I saw all his movies and collected all his music. When I opened my first restaurant in the East Village, I invented a dish called steak Molina, named after him. Even now, seeing him sitting over there, my heart is racing and Im... uh... well... Im tongue-tied.
The prosecutor chuckled. Thats very sweet. But you are famous in your own right, are you not?
Im just a chef lucky enough to have a few successful restaurants around the country, and who also gets to judge a cable TV food competition show for three months out of the year. Tony Molina is a legend. Hell be remembered for generations....
Poppy Harmon, who was juror number four, was perched in the front row of the jury box. She glanced over to where Tony Molina was seated next to his defense teamthree high-powered, impeccably dressed sharks. They all stared at the prosecutor, pretending to be unimpressed with her talents as an attorney. Poppy couldnt help but notice how handsome Tony Molina, now in his midsixties, still was. He didnt appear to be nervous that he was on trial. In fact, he seemed almost relaxed.
Tony noticed Poppy looking at him. He gave her a sexy smile and a suggestive wink. She quickly averted her eyes back to Chef Cicci, who was still testifying.
... Which is why its so heartbreaking what happened, Chef Cicci said quietly, lowering his head and looking down at his feet in the witness box.
Were you expecting Mr. Molina to come into your restaurant that night? the prosecutor asked.
Chef Cicci nodded and slowly glanced back up. Yes, his assistant had made a reservation earlier in the day. Needless to say, I was ecstatic. I wasnt even supposed to be at the restaurant that night. My parents were having a party celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary. But I cancelled because there was no way I was going to miss preparing a dish for the Mr. Tony Molina!
You sacrificed your parents fiftieth wedding anniversary party to cook for Mr. Molina? the prosecutor asked, glancing wide eyed at the jury, as if she was surprised to hear this news and hadnt worked it into her prepared questioning of the witness.
Yes. Of course, my parents understood. They knew how much I loved Tony... I mean Mr. Molina.
Poppy glanced back over to Tony, who sat up straight, a stoic look on his face.
The prosecutor also looked over at Molina and shook her head, disgusted, before returning her attention back to Chef Cicci. Take us through what happened after Mr. Molina arrived with his party.
Well, I greeted them personally and offered them drinks on the house. He was there with his wife....
Tofu.
Yes.
Poppy thought Chef Cicci had suddenly shifted gears to talk about what everyone had ordered before remembering that Tony Molina was married to a woman named Tofu, a songstress best known for singing the theme song from a Timothy Daltonera James Bond movie. Like Cher, Rihanna, and Beyonc, Tofu had at one time been popular enough to go by just one name. Tofu was not in attendance for the trial. In fact, the only family member present was Tonys handsome twenty-something son from his first marriage, Dominick. He sat in the gallery, dutifully loyal with a look of dismay on his face, as if he could not believe his poor father had to go through all this drama.
Chef Cicci continued his testimony. There was also his business manager, Mr. Kurtzman; and the stand-up comedian who always opens for him whose name I forget....
Robby Stone, the prosecutor offered helpfully.
Yes, right, Mr. Stone. Oh, and also Mr. Molinas two bodyguards, a man and a woman. I remember thinking how cool it was that Tony invited two of his employees to have dinner with him. It struck me as very nice and
The prosecutor was not happy with Chef Cicci complimenting the accused, so she promptly cut him off. Then what happened?
I had some calamari sent over and told one of my waitresses, Mary Grace, to go over and take their order. Mr. Molina ordered the steak, not the steak Molina that I had named after him that is on all my menus at all my restaurants. He ordered the steak bordelaise, which is a New York steak with sauted mushrooms, garlic, and a red wine demi-glace sauce.
And how did he request his steak be prepared?
Chef Cicci frowned. Medium well.
And was the steak medium well when it was served to Mr. Molina?
Chef Cicci shrugged. I thought it was. It was slightly pink when I last checked it and so I prepared the plate and gave it to Mary Grace to take it out to him.
The prosecutor folded her arms and shot Tony Molina a knowing look. What happened next?
The next thing I knew Mr. Molina came storming into the kitchen. He was carrying the steak in his hand and started screaming at me that I had overcooked it. Then he threw it against the wall. I thought he was going to bean our busboy Raul in the head but luckily the steak missed him by a few inches.
But you were not so lucky as Raul, were you, Chef?
Chef Cicci glanced around at all the people in the courtroom, embarrassed. No. I tried to apologize to Mr. Molina and I started to tell him that I would cook him a new steak, but he wasnt interested in listening to anything I had to say at that point....