Carlotta B - Audiobook Narration (English, unaccented)
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Dean Martin's that Simona streams through the speakers, a final reminder of my late grandfather, who insisted Italian music created an aura of authenticity in his bakery and delicatessen. Never mind that this one's an American song sung by an American singer, and I have nothing against my deceased grandfather's musical taste, except that our entire repertoire of Italian music spans 33 songs, 33 songs I can and sometimes do sing word for word in my sleep. I turned my attention to the cannoli piping cream into the six dozen hollow shells. Soon the music fades, the smell of pastry vanishes. I am far away in Somerset, England. Lost in my story. She waits on the cleaved on pier, gazing out to sea where the setting sun glitters upon the rippling waters. A voice calls. She spins around, hoping to find her lover, but they're lurking in the shadows. Her rex. I jump when the bell on the wall beside me chimes. I hitch up my glasses and peer through the window. It's Mrs for Tino, bearing a bouquet of orange and yellow gerbera daisies. Her silver hair is pulled into a sleek Shen Yuan and a pair of beige slacks shows off her slim figure from behind the meat counter. My father straightens to his full five foot 10 inch frame and sucks in the belly protruding from his apron. No, now watches her face puckered as if she's just down. Two shot of vinegar. Wander. No, Rosa, Mrs 40 no chirps as she strides past the deli counter. No, not turns away muttering school. Dana, the Italian word for floozy Mrs For Tino makes her way to the mirror, as she always does before approaching my father's meat counter. The mirror doubles as a window, which means that, unbeknownst to her, Mrs 40 no is gazing into the same window I'm peering out of from the kitchen. I step back while she checks her lipstick the same shade of ping gets her blouse and smooths her hair. Satisfied, she wheels around where my dad stands behind the meat counter for you. Low. She smiles and holds the daisies in front of her. My grandmother gives a little huff like a territorial goose, hissing at anyone who so much as glances at her baby Gosling. Never mind that the Gosling is her 66 year old son, in law who's been widowed for almost three decades. My balding father takes the daisies, his cheeks flaming. He thanks, Mrs 40. No, as he does every week and sneaks a peek at my nana. No, no stirs the marinated mushrooms, making believe she's paying no attention whatsoever. Have a nice day. Low, Mrs 40 No says and gives him a pretty little wave. Same to you, Virginia. My father's hand searches for a vase beneath the counter, but his eyes follow Mrs 40. No, down the aisle, my heart aches for them both.