Tony's Wife

by Adriana Trigiani

  There was something compelling about that young man even though he was obviously already taken. She liked his confidence. The way he put his arms around the girl was romantic, not handsy like some of the fellows she had dated. He had the swagger of a sheik, but she liked that he was an Italian kid, just like her. He was around her age, too, which made her feel like her own music career was possible, or maybe it meant that she wished it was she in the arms of such a man. She quickly erased the image from her mind. He belonged to someone else, and she would never set her cap for some other girl’s fellow. That kind of danger wasn’t something she knew. Yet.

  Chi Chi shivered. She wished she had brought her cashmere shrug. Sometimes shore nights got cool, even in July.

  As the lights went down, Rita snapped open her compact. If she hadn’t needed to powder her nose before she took off with Chi Chi, she certainly did now. She delicately patted her face with the chamois puff as the Osellas shifted their seats to get the best view of the stage from their table.

  Buzz Crane, the master of ceremonies and the most famous DJ on their strip of the Jersey shore, took the stage in a beam of peach-colored light to introduce the Roccaraso Orchestra. The musicians filed in and took their seats to a round of applause. As they launched into their opening tune, Chi Chi thought the band could swing. Barbara nudged her when Rosaria Armandonada took her seat ringside with her cousin Joozy.

  Rod Roccaraso emerged from the shadows, took the microphone center stage in the spotlight, and introduced the band. The brass section stood up and blew a fizzy jazz riff as the drummer tore up the skins. Two spotlights intersected. In one of them was the young lady on the banister, a cool blonde, and in the other was the masher Chi Chi and Rita had caught on the veranda. He was a handsome Calabrese kid. He pushed his thick curls back with his hand. That fellow could be any good-looking Italian American boy from any family in Sea Isle.

  Chi Chi craned her neck to catch Rita’s eye. Rita winked at Chi Chi.

  Gladys Overby and Saverio Armandonada had a smooth act: strictly love songs, a romantic pas de deux that was musically light, but perfect fodder for a dance band. Couples took the floor as the lights lowered. Chi Chi could feel the wooden floor sag under the weight of the couples as she watched them glide past in their ice-cream suits and sundresses. She closed her eyes and listened to Saverio’s vocals. He had an original sound, a lush tenor. Gladys was a typical whiskey alto. Their voices didn’t mesh particularly well, but they were good enough for this level of orchestra and entertainment.

  Buzz took the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve been told we have a lot of Italians here on the Jersey shore, so we brought along a little marinara to spike the evening. Say hello to the Gay Sisters, all the way from balmy North Providence, Rhode Island. Don’t miss their recording of Pistol Packin’ Mama on J & J Records.”

  Three of the most glamorous young women Chi Chi had ever seen stood before the microphones. In their chic, fitted Greek-style cocktail dresses of gold lamé, anchored with an enormous bow on one shoulder, they looked like three platinum swizzle sticks. Chi Chi felt ten years old and about as chic as a dinner napkin in her homemade madras sundress.

  “I’m Helen DeSarro,” the green-eyed blonde introduced herself.

  “I’m Toni DeSarro.” The petite comic redhead waved to the audience.

  “I’m bored.” The sultry brunette looked out over the crowd as they laughed.

  “Maybe we should sing Marie,” Saverio offered.

  “Only if it’s about me. By the way, it’s Anne. Anne Stasiano.”

  “What about Gladys?” Helen asked.

  “She’s taking a Lucky Strike break.”

  “Oh, okay.” Helen shrugged. “It’s just the Gay Sisters and Savvy.”

  The girls gathered around Gladys’s microphone stand as Saverio stood before his. The band hit the downbeat to the introduction of Oh Marie.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Rod said into his microphone, “let’s swing.”

  The Gay Sisters tapped out the beat with a slight shimmy onstage as the patrons moved away from the bandstand. This go-round, the couples were so tightly packed on the dance floor that they resembled canned peaches. Saverio led the tune, and the girls followed with a repeat verse and provided the echo in perfect three-part harmony.

  Barbara danced with Charlie, while Lucille took to the floor with the youngest of the Osella boys. Chi Chi shook one of Charlie’s cigarettes out of the pack he’d left on the table and lit it off the candle on the table. She could take cigarettes or leave them, but tonight she needed the distraction. The sight of the Gay Sisters had given Chi Chi the pea greens, a Donatelli-style stomachache that came from plain envy.

  After all, the Donatelli Sisters had sung this old chestnut, too, at least a hundred times, in their share of wedding halls and Sons of Italy lodge meetings, and at more than a few church celebrations up and down the shore. Chi Chi’s sisters knew their harmonies and sang together on key, whether the piano was tuned or the saxophone player was missing half his pads. Why couldn’t they get a shot singing with a big band? Why couldn’t they get fancy dresses, decent hairdos, and lacquered nails, and travel with a band that had brass and sass?

  Chi Chi decided that nothing would ever come between the Donatelli Sisters and a hit record. Everything mattered when it came to their act—the song choices, the arrangements, the costumes, and especially their sound. Every song Chi Chi wrote had the potential to catapult them from obscurity into the spotlight. Chi Chi perspired as she schemed. It was as though she were pulling stones to build the pyramids alone.

  Chi Chi observed Saverio, who was at ease onstage. He stood back and allowed the Gay Sisters to do the heavy lifting. He tapped his foot as he looked out over the dance floor, assessing the level of interest in the song, putting just enough effort into it when necessary and holding back when it wasn’t. The lead singer could always afford to relax onstage. Not the girls. They had to emote, move, and draw the crowd in.

  Rosaria moved through the crowd as the orchestra wrapped up Oh Marie. She took Chi Chi by the hand. “I want you to meet my son,” she said.

  “Oh, that’s all right, Mrs. Armandonada. He’s busy.”

  “He has a break.”

  “I’m sure he wants to relax.”

  “He has time for that. Come with me.”

  Chi Chi was mortified as Rosaria pulled her through the crowd. Chi Chi was convinced she had on the wrong dress and sandals. The curls in her hair had gone limp. Her nose had gotten sunburned that afternoon when she was cleaning up the yard. This wasn’t how she had planned to look when she made her big break into show business. Plus, there was no polite way to tell a mother that her son had been making love standing up to the girl singer in the band shortly before the show started.

  “Saverio, this is Chi Chi Donatelli,” said Rosaria. “I was at her home for lunch today.”

  “Hi, Saverio. Lovely set.”

  “Grazie.” Saverio was pretty attractive when he smiled. His brown curls hadn’t gone limp. His nose was a little off-center, but it didn’t matter. He was gracious and polite, every Italian mother’s dream. Rosaria returned to her table as Chi Chi took her seat to watch the rest of the show.

  Saverio stood at the microphone as the band fired up for the final set of the night. Chi Chi watched intently when Gladys joined him in the spotlight. She had changed her costume and it was a high-style confection, a diaphanous off-the-shoulder gown of honey-colored silk shantung, gathered at the waist with a waterfall of crystals that sparkled in the light. Saverio extended his hand to her. She accepted it. He bowed, and when he straightened, they belted By the Sea into the microphone.

  Chi Chi was interested in the crooner and girl singer’s stagecraft. She paid attention to the songs they chose and how they made specific tunes work in the overall show. There was an alchemy in the way they fronted the orchestra. It wasn’t simply a matter of their sound and delivery. They weren’t shiny objects in a shop window, intended to
lure the customer in to listen to the band; they were, in youth and beauty, the essence of the message. Gladys and Saverio were in love, and that helped the act; their connection was as smooth as a silk stocking. Their chemistry was part of the show.

  * * *

  Chi Chi walked home alone from the Cronecker under a moon that slipped in and out of the low fog like a half note. The time gave her a chance to think about all she had heard and seen that night. She begged off when Mrs. Armandonada invited her to stay for dessert with Joozy and her son. Chi Chi wasn’t in the mood. She was practically the same age as Saverio, and she still hadn’t made the leap from amateur to professional. Sometimes, and this was one of those nights, it felt as though her music career might never happen. The last thing she wanted to do was spend time with someone who had the career of her dreams.

  As she pushed open the screen door on the front porch, she could hear her family talking in the kitchen. She threw her purse on the sofa and slipped out of her sandals. The scent of fresh coffee, cinnamon, and butter coffee cake filled the house.

  Every seat at the kitchen table was filled. Her mother, father, sisters, and Charlie Calza were having a robust discussion about the parking lot going in at the pavilion. Chi Chi pulled the work stool from under the sink over to the table and squeezed in between Lucille and her mother.

  “Where were you?” Barbara poured her sister a cup of coffee.

  “No doubt she was working over the singer.” Lucille passed Chi Chi a slice of cake and a fork.

  “I was properly introduced. Sort of.”

  “I knew it.” Lucille sipped her coffee. “She worked him over.”

  “If we want to get on the radio, we need to make connections.”

  “He’s kinda cute, that Saverio,” Lucille admitted.

  Barbara dug into her pound cake. “Awful skinny.”

  Charlie patted his stomach. “I’m happy you like a little meat with your potatoes.”

  “And your pound cake.” Mariano passed Charlie the cream for his coffee.

  “Thank you, Mr. Donatelli.”

  “I need you girls up bright and early to rehearse in the morning.” Chi Chi picked the topping off the cake with the prong of her fork. “I want to try to cut another record before the orchestra leaves town. It would be nice to have the Donatelli Sisters on that bus when they pull out—at least in vinyl.”

  “I’m out, Cheech.” Lucille propped her face in her hands. “I’m tired. I have burns from Aunt Vi’s grease fire, and we just got the backyard cleaned up from the family party. Let’s rehearse on Friday.”

  “I need your vocal for the harmony.”

  “Pop, make Chi Chi cut it out,” Lucille groused. “Tell her it’s a hobby.”

  “Not to me.” Chi Chi stood firm. “We’ll never get to the big stages if we don’t rehearse.”

  “Give the kid a break,” Barbara said to Chi Chi. “Not all of us are as ambitious as you.”

  “You should be. You girls are good,” their father reminded them. “You’d be better if you listened to your sister and practiced on the weekends.”

  “Sister acts are like grains of sand in Sea Isle,” said Barbara. “They’re everywhere. And they can even import them. Those girls tonight were wonderful. They travel all over the place and pick up work wherever they can get it. I’m sorry, I’m not cut out for that kind of a life. I like to be home.”

  “We’re so close to getting noticed, all we need is a little more practice and a break,” Chi Chi pleaded.

  Lucille cleared the dessert dishes. “All we do is work hard. Ever notice that? Maybe I don’t want to spend my weekends moonlighting.”

  “So what,” said Chi Chi. “We work hard at the mill anyway. If we can hit it in show business, it’s better money. And then we can have all the things in life we really want. Barbara wants a Ford coupe, you want to go to secretarial school.”

  “What do you want, Chi Chi?” her mother asked.

  “The world.”

  “It’s already taken by the rich people. Don’t be greedy.” Lucille ran the water in the sink.

  “I’d like to be greedy with my time and work at something I like to do. Okay, I like nice clothes and shoes. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Enjoy those things while you’re young, because when you get to be my age, you don’t want them anymore.”

  “Is that really true, Ma?”

  “You want other things as life goes on,” Isotta assured them. “And it doesn’t come in a jewelry case or a hatbox.”

  “Like what?” Chi Chi asked.

  “Time.”

  “Oh, that. Well, we have plenty of time.” Chi Chi gave her mother a quick hug. “I can account for every minute when I’m working at the mill. But I think there’s more to life than working the line at Jersey Miss Fashions.”

  “It’s good to have big dreams,” her father said.

  “And to back those dreams up with a weekly paycheck,” Barbara reminded her.

  “Barbara is practical,” said Charlie. “It’s one of the things I love the most about her.”

  His declaration of love sounded like the beginning of an important speech. The Donatelli family sat back and waited.

  “Charlie has something he wants to say.” Barbara jabbed her boyfriend with her elbow. “We waited for you to get home, Cheech. We wanted to have the whole family together.”

  Chi Chi folded her arms. “So, what’s the story?”

  “It’s not a story . . . Well, it will be a story.” Charlie took Barbara’s hand. “Our story. I spoke with your father tonight, and he’s given me permission to marry Barbara.”

  “That’s wonderful news!” Lucille left the stack of dishes at the sink and embraced her sister and Charlie. “I’m going to be a bridesmaid! Please choose blue. And I’d like to wear a picture hat with ribbons! June Allyson wore one in the picture I saw last week.”

  “Give your sister time to think and time for me to sew!” Isotta chided her youngest daughter, but she looked elated.

  Chi Chi was stunned. The announcement seemed to come out of nowhere, but she knew what it meant. Her heart sank.

  Isotta leaned over. “Congratulate your sister.”

  Chi Chi’s legs could barely move. She used the wheels of the stool to propel her back a few steps before standing up; she went to her sister and Charlie and embraced them as her father poured a round of sweet wine to toast the couple. Her mother handed out the full crystal glasses.

  As they raised their glasses, Chi Chi raised hers, too, and forced a smile. She was happy for her sister and Charlie; she knew they loved each other.

  Going forward, Barbara would devote herself to the planning of her wedding and, once she was married, to her husband, like every other Italian American girl in New Jersey. The hobby that had been their singing act, with its costumes and props, would be packed away with the books and dolls of their childhood, stored in an old trunk in the attic where their efforts would be remembered only when their children needed an outfit for a school play.

  Chi Chi could see the future and it was grim. Barbara would move out and take her lilting high soprano with her. Lucille had other interests; she was determined to go to school and get a desk job. Her smooth alto would benefit the church choir at St. Joseph’s and not much more. Chi Chi’s show business dream would remain one on the night of her sister’s engagement. If Chi Chi wanted to write, record songs, and sing them with a band, she would have to go solo and come up with another plan—just when she was sure nothing could stop them.

  “Do not antagonize, Chiara,” Mariano said quietly to his daughter.

  “Too late, Dad.”

  “Your sisters aren’t going anywhere. You’ll see.”

  Chi Chi wanted to believe him but she knew how the world in Sea Isle worked. Every girl she knew made a trade for the diamond ring. She vowed she would never be one of them.

  3

  Capriccio

  (Whimsical)

  Union Vacation Week 1938
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br />   Chi Chi and Rita found a patch of clean, rippled gray sand below the bluffs on Sea Isle Beach. The expanse of the shore filled quickly on the Thursday morning of the union vacation week as families trudged past, chose their spot, and staked a claim by plunging the long poles of their beach umbrellas into the sand and opening them.

  Underneath the canopies, the routine was the same for vacationers up and down the shore. Blankets were unfurled, picnic baskets placed, and transistor radios played as folks settled in for a day of sun, surf, and amusements on the boardwalk. The girls could not remember a holiday week with such excellent weather. The days had been deliciously long, under a glittering sun that punctured the cloudless sky like a brass button.

  “You are so brown, Chi Chi,” Rita marveled as she rubbed coconut oil on her legs.

  “It’s the suit,” her friend assured her. Chi Chi wore a white cotton pique two-piece bathing suit. The top tied halter-style behind her neck in a bow that showed off the glistening tanned skin on her shoulders and back. “It’ll fade the minute we’re back to work.”

  “Don’t say that word. Ugh.” Rita tightened the belt on her black maillot. Rita was trim, with a heart-shaped face and sweet smile. Her dark brown hair was chopped in a bob, and the sun had streaked it with strands of gold.

  “We have three days until we’re back on the machines,” Chi Chi said as she rubbed the oil into her legs methodically. “You know what I love about the job?”

  “I can’t imagine.” Rita reclined on the beach towel.

  “The paycheck. And I really like it when I’ve done piecework and there’s an extra two dollars on the gross. I get giddy.”

  “What do you do with the extra money? Besides buy bathing suits?”

  “I save it up and buy government bonds.”

  Rita sat up. “What are you talking about?”

  “Government bonds. Not the US savings bonds. Those are fine too, but government bonds. Been buying them since I started working four years ago. I get a three-percent return at the top of the market, and no lower than two-point-one when it craters.”