Tony's Wife

by Adriana Trigiani

  “I’ll tell you what. I want you to think about it overnight. And if you still want to get married without the hoopla back in Jersey, we’ll marry here in the morning. There’s a chaplain on standby on the base. I know him and he’s a good fella and he’ll marry us. But if the Italian girl in you wins out and you decide you must have the cookie trays, la boost, and your cousin Joozy to perform her tap-dance routine to Toot Toot Tootsie, then we wait. But whatever we do, you’ll be my wife when we spend the night together.”

  Chi Chi walked him to the door. “All right, okay, I understand. You have a deal, Lieutenant.” She extended her hand. When he took it, instead of a handshake, she pulled him close and kissed him.

  * * *

  Tony pushed through the door of his barracks. He undressed, careful to hang his uniform so it wouldn’t wrinkle. He sat down to write his mother a letter. Instead, he wrote:

  A girl I can talk to

  Is one I’ll take home

  I’ll marry her soon so

  We’ll never be alone

  A girl I can talk to

  Brings nothing but joy

  Because a girl I can talk to

  Is everything to this boy.

  When Tony worked with Chi Chi, he had never written a lyric. He would make suggestions about word changes, but that was the extent of his writing ability. But having written a verse to a song proved something to him, an idea he had been kicking around for years. The girl he was to marry would make him a better man in every way. The love would be so deep, he could be faithful. Her talent would cut such a swath, it would inspire his own originality. Chi Chi was his match.

  Tony lay down on the cot. The truth was, he didn’t want to wait either.

  * * *

  The next morning Tony knocked on Chi Chi’s hotel room door. She opened it wearing a yellow chiffon dress and matching hat. She carried a bunch of daisies.

  He was amazed at the sight of her. “You look like somebody chipped off a piece of the sun.”

  “It’s a lot of yellow.” Chi Chi waved the daisies. “The lady at the front desk gave them to me. Stole them from the dining room.”

  “So you made up your mind.”

  “Yes. I want to get married this morning.”

  “I’ll call the chaplain.”

  “You don’t have to. I called a priest.”

  “That will take weeks,” Tony said.

  “No, I explained the situation. And besides, I had the paperwork from Saint Joseph’s with me for you to sign, and that was good enough for him. Plus, he’s the biggest Dinah Shore fan this side of Memphis. Dream Boy, Dream is his favorite song of the year.”

  “Do you mean to tell me that my future rests in the hands of Dinah Shore?”

  “What’s the difference? There’s a war on. We have to take whatever we can get. We’re collecting tinfoil, my silk stockings have more runs than Joe DiMaggio, and evidently Dinah Shore has more sway with the Holy Roman Church than its lifetime members.”

  “What about your family?”

  “They’ll be happy. You know, with my dad gone, it doesn’t much matter to me to have a big wedding. If he can’t be there to walk me down the aisle, I don’t need anything fancy. Barbara felt that way and I do, too.”

  “Hey, kids.” Mort pushed the hotel door open. “May we come in?”

  “Good morning, young lovers.” Betty smiled. She wore a cornflower-blue silk dress and carried a basket of pink tuberoses.

  Tony looked at Chi Chi. “Our witnesses?”

  Chi Chi blushed.

  “How could you?” Tony asked her, before he turned to Mort. “Sorry to interrupt your honeymoon.”

  “Anything for the cause of true love.”

  “There’s only one snag,” Chi Chi said.

  “We’re Jewish.” Mort shrugged. “But evidently, with the war on, the priest is playing loosey-goosey with the rules.”

  “One of my grandmothers is a Christian Scientist,” Betty offered, “if that’s helpful.”

  “Hon, that’s like a teaspoon of salt water out of the Pacific Ocean,” Mort said. “No matter how your grandmother digressed from the House of David, at the end of the day, we’re Jews.”

  “The word Christian has to help,” Betty insisted.

  “Father Quadrello said it was fine. Mort and Betty are proxies for whoever we were going to choose, and I figured we would choose Barbara and Charlie, just to push this thing through, so I did, and Father spoke to them on the phone.”

  Mort checked his watch. “We should get going. Father Quadrangle isn’t going to wait all day.”

  “It’s Quadrello,” Betty corrected him. “No horsing around, Mort. We don’t want to annoy the priest. These kids want to get married. I would hate for you to be the obstacle.”

  “Watch your tone, Mrs. Luck. I don’t want to get the rep that I’m henpecked.”

  “Too late for that, my friend.” Tony patted his pal on the back as they departed for the chapel.

  * * *

  Chi Chi and Tony stood before Father Quadrello in the sacristy. Betty and Mort stood behind them, as the priest recited the vows. He spoke the prayers in Latin, which threw Mort. Betty shot her husband a look, warning him to behave himself.

  The sacristy was a small, sacred room that held the lingering scents of incense and roses. The sun shone brightly through a stained-glass triptych depicting Saint Ann, Saint Margaret, and Saint Elizabeth, bathing the room in coral light. The polished white marble baptismal font stood empty, but it reminded the couple that they would someday have children now that they were a family.

  Betty’s basket of tuberoses had been placed at the foot of the statue of the Blessed Mother. Tony had purchased two gold bands from a peddler the chaplain knew. Tony’s ring was too tight, and Chi Chi’s was too loose, but they could be sized and engraved later. It would be the first of many adjustments they would have to make, the priest reminded them.

  As Father proclaimed them married, both man and wife were convinced that their love would last a lifetime, and when they kissed, Tony and Chi Chi would have bet eternity on it, too. They craved the security of a partnership, knowing that they understood one another. They believed marriage was the foundation upon which they could build their lives, family, and the music. As they stood before the priest, their witnesses, and God, both Tony and Chi Chi vowed to give one another strength to face whatever fate might bring. Love, they believed, would take care of the rest.

  * * *

  The cove on Malibu Beach had majestic rock walls on three sides, several stories high, which formed a grotto that enclosed a field of white sand where the teal-blue waves of the wild Pacific lapped the shore, hitting the rock wall like a shower of emeralds. Inside the cove, the rock formations resembled drips of candle wax, with folds of silver and gray stone made smooth over time.

  Tony helped Chi Chi climb down the rocky path to the secluded beach. They walked hand in hand to the water’s edge.

  Chi Chi was struck by the serenity of the place. “This is where mermaids come to pray,” she said as she embraced her husband.

  “Are you happy you married me?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what exactly?”

  “If you’re happy.”

  He kissed her. “I might be better than happy.”

  “I should wear yellow more often.”

  “It wasn’t the dress, Cheech. Though you were beautiful. You are beautiful. I’m better than happy because finally I have peace—the kind that comes from knowing where you belong in the world. And I can tell you, I finally know where I belong on November fourteenth, 1944.”

  “You had better never forget our anniversary.”

  “I won’t. This day is the first day in my twenty-seven years on earth that I’ve felt at home. And it’s all because of you.”

  “I haven’t hung a curtain or made you a dish of macaroni yet.”

  “I know you can cook. You’re the only girl I know who travels with her own wheel of Parm.
”

  Chi Chi’s feet sank deep into the sand. She loved when the tide came in, and the foam fringe of the water rolled in and receded, but her feet remained fixed. With each pull of the tide, her feet would sink deeper into the cool sand.

  There was no one on the beach but Mr. and Mrs. Arma. For a girl born and raised by the ocean, her husband had given her what she most required, the longing, restless roil of the sea, the pull of the tides, and the familiar carpet of sand. She was grateful because she didn’t have to ask for it, Tony knew.

  For her husband, the California coast was a dreamscape. He had imagined a place where it rarely rained, never snowed, and the sun stayed close to the earth even in winter. Their childhood dreams merged like the sand and sea.

  Tony spread a blanket on the beach and reached for her. Soon their years of curiosity about one other turned to kisses, and their bodies came together, as naturally as the blend of their voices. As Tony cradled her body in his hands, it was as though she floated above the ground as his embrace held her close to the earth. Tony could see the reflection of the clouds in her eyes as the chiffon folds moved overhead.

  He imagined his past, tinged with regret and shame, wash away beneath them as he held her close. If anyone on earth had the power to change Tony, it was Chi Chi. He wanted to start over again, to baptize himself anew, and to claim what was sacred. He was not certain he was worthy of it, but this was the closest he had come to deserving the best life had to offer.

  For Chi Chi, love presented her with her highest dream, and a pang of sadness as she let go. It had been right to wait for this moment, but it came with regret. She knew her husband, which made it natural to give herself to him. But having waited to do so for so long filled her with sadness. Somehow, even with all the joy she found in this moment, it was not enough. This would be the first day of many that she would find it impossible to trust her feelings.

  Time was wily when it came to Tony and Chi Chi. It seemed not to unfold, but rather to race or evaporate. Whenever they had come close to happiness in the past, something or someone—forces beyond their control—had pulled them apart. There was no pretending they had a guarantee of years of togetherness ahead. She knew better. She had seen the worst happen to her own parents.

  Tony had no doubts about his new wife. He knew her people, and understood her moral code. Her pledge of fidelity to him was eternal.

  Chi Chi thought his lips tasted sweet on their wedding day, but there was a hint of salt water, too, like tears.

  9

  Diminuendo

  (Soft)

  1944–1950

  December 25, 1944

  Dear Mrs. Armandonada,

  Since I’m all alone without you on this Christmas Day, my Cheech, I hauled out the big surname, because it’s yours too now, by state seal and stamp, and you might as well claim it. I hope my gift arrived safely and that you liked it. You’re easy to shop for, honey. It has to sparkle. Because you do. I thought it would be easier to be married and come back to this work, but it’s worse. I just want to be home with you. And I can’t wait to see what you have cooked up for us. You said you were going to surprise me. The memories of our nights together sustain me through the tedium here. The end of a war is like the end of anything that once was an enterprise of detail and scope. As it shuts down, the pieces fall away and all that remains are the broken bits—can’t fix them and they can’t be resold. Melted down for scrap—maybe. We are all sad, somber because we’re full of regret for lost time and our fallen brothers. And men, when they feel helpless in the face of forces bigger than they are, often refuse to forgive but instead engage in a lot of chest beating.

  I love you, my dearest wife.

  Savvy

  * * *

  Chi Chi straightened the tasteful diamond drop pendant around her neck that Tony had sent her for Christmas and smoothed the collar on her white blouse. She leaned into the mirror in the ladies’ room at WJZ and checked her teeth in the mirror before leaving.

  “Come on, you don’t want to miss her!” Ann Mumm Mara waited for Chi Chi in the hallway.

  “We don’t know if she’s even going to sing the song,” Chi Chi said as they rushed down the hall.

  “But if she does, can you imagine? And it’s going national!”

  Ann broke into a run when they turned the corner to the recording studio.

  Chi Chi stopped when she spotted the singer inside the glass box, looking like a corsage of yellow dahlias.

  Dinah Shore stood before the microphone inside the studio wearing her blond hair in a sleek chignon. Her skin was luminous despite the dim lighting. The chanteuse was already hard at work, her hands buried in the pockets of her skirt, a gold velvet dirndl nipped tightly at the waist with a knot of fabric. She wore a white blouse with the starched collar up. A glistening choker of pink pearls caught the reading light on the music stand.

  “She’s a knockout,” Ann said. “You must say hello.”

  “We shouldn’t disturb her.”

  “You wrote a hit song for her. Now is not the moment for humility.” Ann pushed open the door of the studio and motioned for Chi Chi to follow. Come on, Ann gestured with the cock of her head. “Excuse me, Miss Shore. I’d like to introduce you to Chiara Donatelli. She is the songwriter who wrote Dream Boy, Dream.”

  Dinah smiled. “I’m crazy about your song, Chiara.”

  Chi Chi was certain she had never seen a more beautiful smile or whiter teeth. “My song is crazy about you, too.”

  “I thought I’d open with it tonight. I’ll dedicate it to our troops. I figure it would sell a lot of war bonds. Don’t you think?”

  Chi Chi nodded. She was perspiring and felt woozy. Ann noticed. So did Dinah. The engineer looked concerned.

  “Can I get you a glass of water?” Dinah asked her. “Maybe you should sit down.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “She’s parched.” Ann poured Chi Chi a glass of water and handed it to her. “She’s having a baby.”

  “Congratulations! What wonderful news!”

  “I think so.”

  “What does your husband do?”

  “My husband is a singer. Tony Arma. Right now, he’s in the Navy. He’s serving in the Pacific theater.”

  “When’s your baby due?”

  “In the summer.”

  “That’s just lovely.”

  “Miss Shore, we’re counting down to go live,” the engineer reminded her.

  “Good luck, Miss Shore.” Ann grabbed Chi Chi and pulled her out of the studio.

  “Thank you!” Chi Chi hollered before the door snapped shut.

  * * *

  Rosaria fiddled with the station dial to pick up the affiliate of WJZ out of Detroit broadcasting the Dinah Shore Show. She was more likely to get better reception after nine in the evening. “Papa! Andiamo! Come and listen, will you?”

  Rosaria heard the kitchen chair scrape against the floor followed by her husband’s footsteps as he made his way into the living room. He took a seat on the sofa as the announcer introduced Dinah Shore.

  “I am going to sing a song tonight I simply adore. It’s called Dream Boy, Dream. And I’d like to share some happy news at a time where there isn’t much of it. The songwriter Chiara Donatelli is expecting a baby with her husband, the singer Tony Arma. He’s serving in the US Navy. I’m sure they would appreciate it if you would purchase war bonds for the child in your life. I know I will. In the meantime, why don’t we all do a little dreaming?”

  As Dinah sang, Rosaria looked at her husband. “We’re going to be grandparents!”

  “Va bene.” Leone stood.

  “That’s it? Va bene? Leone. It’s time to heal this nonsense.”

  Leone left the room and went up the stairs.

  * * *

  “Did Dinah Shore just tell the world I’m expecting?” Chi Chi looked up at the speakers in the hallway at WJZ.

  “She did.”

  “Tony doesn’t know yet. I just mailed the letter.
”

  “Well, who better to tell a man he’s going to be a father than Dinah Shore?”

  “Oh I don’t know. The mother of his child?”

  “Maybe he’s listening to the Rosemary Clooney Show,” Ann reasoned. “There’s always Western Union.”

  * * *

  The white sun blazed in the tangerine sky over the hills of California as Tony lit a sunrise cigarette on the deck of the USS Carolina. He wondered how Chi Chi was feeling. Tony leaned over the railing on the deck. He had grown to love California. He couldn’t get enough of Catalina Island, the vineyards and the mountains to the north, the snow showers on Lake Arrowhead, and the nightlife in Hollywood. How could he ever convince his Jersey girl to leave the east behind and come west?

  “Lieutenant Arma?” The ensign handed Tony a telegram.

  “Congrats Papa,” it read. “Twin girls: Rosaria 5.1, Isotta 4.9. Mama overjoyed.”

  He wasn’t one for remembering dates, but July 7 held particular significance for the Arma family. It was almost seven years to the day he had met Chi Chi Donatelli; as a card player (a better one since he joined the Navy), the number 7 mattered and was the difference between winning the pot and going home empty-handed. Tears stung his eyes at his good fortune. He was a father. Gemelli! The old Italians believed the birth of twins was good luck. He felt grateful and so much more as he raced to the hatch to go below and call his wife, the mother of his children.

  * * *

  In late autumn, the fallow farm fields of Michigan looked like sheets of old tin. The fall leaves were long gone from the trees, leaving behind gray branches that reached up to the sky like spindly fingers. The corn had been harvested, and the hay gathered; all that was left were the barren hills waiting for snow.

  Chi Chi, her mother, and the twins were settled comfortably on the train from Philadelphia to Detroit, the first and last stop on the grandparents tour. As the train trundled through the countryside, the babies slept, while their mother took a few minutes to think. The scenery flipped past like pages in a scrapbook of her days on the road with the bands. Train stations, bus stops, and road signs reminded her of places she had been, and the venues she had played. She hadn’t found the time to miss her old life in much detail when the conductor announced the Evergreen Park stop in Detroit.