Tony's Wife

by Adriana Trigiani

  The place was neat but shabby, in need of redecoration. There was evidence that wives along the way had fought to remove certain colors, furniture, and rugs, and won. But for the most part, Tony had held on to Chi Chi’s decor, which meant he had, in his own way, also held on to the original intent for the place.

  She opened the windows to air out the rooms. The scent of tobacco lingered in the air, which meant Tony smoked after he was diagnosed with lung cancer. It wasn’t just a hunch; she confirmed it as she emptied an ashtray into the garbage can in the kitchen. Sunny had been by to pick up the mail and left behind several copies of the Long Island newspaper with Tony’s obituary on the kitchen table.

  OBITUARY

  November 10, 2000

  Crooner Tony Arma, best known for hits sung with first wife Chi Chi Donatelli (Mama’s Rolling Pin) and went on to international success with Gravy, Gravy, Gravy, died in St. Vincent’s Hospital in Greenwich Village after a long illness. The singer was also a featured actor in spaghetti westerns, including Frankie Fedora, where he played Joey “The Foot” Casciole, and had a top 20 Billboard rank with the movie’s theme song. Arma lived the last thirty years of his life in Rome, Italy, before returning to New York City. Son Leone preceded him in death. Twin daughters Rosaria and Isotta survive him, as well as several grandchildren and former wives: collaborator Chiara “Chi Chi” Donatelli, singer Tammy Twiford, actress Dora Alfedena, and restaurant hostess Ginger Weevil.

  November 11, 2000

  Correction: Because of an editing error, the spelling of Mr. Arma’s fourth wife was incorrect. Her name is Ginger Wheedle Arma.

  Chi Chi chuckled to herself. The twins had called Ginger a boll weevil, so perhaps there was a smattering of justice in this weary world.

  Chi Chi went through the apartment slowly. She peered into closets and drawers and cabinets. She found herself in the master bedroom, inside the walk-in closet flipping through hangers holding Tony’s suits, jackets, and pants. There were six tuxedos, one for every decade since the Dorsey Brothers. She spent time pulling out boxes, opening them, and sorting through plastic bins. One of the wives must have hired a professional organizer along the way because bins were labeled with specific items: dress socks, pocket squares, and another was marked Swim trunks.

  A cedar chest full of his neatly folded wool sweaters carried the scent of his Fabergé cologne. His silk bow tie collection lay flat on tissue paper in an Hermès box like puzzle pieces.

  She found a box on the floor of his closet next to his shoes marked Chi Chi. Inside, she found props from the old act. Relics. The original rolling pin she believed to be long gone was wrapped in a Fontainebleau Hotel beach towel. Funny hats, fake teeth, wigs, and eyeglasses, the stuff of sketch characters and stagecraft were jammed into the box. She let out a gasp when she found her paper piano in a roll tied with a velvet ribbon. She placed it on the bed next to her. Maybe one of her grandchildren would appreciate the old thing.

  She made her way back to the living room to get her purse to go. There was too much stuff, bringing up too much of the past, and she was overwhelmed. She was annoyed that he had left all this junk for her to sort through, and that he knew for certain that he could count on her to clean up any mess in the end because she had spent her life taking care of him.

  Chi Chi went into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. She took a few sips and walked into the living room. She sat down at the piano and tickled the keys. At least he had kept it tuned. She wondered why.

  Chi Chi had been writing a song she started when she was thirty-seven that she had not been able to finish. Other songs had come into her consciousness since then, and she composed many of them without impediment, but not this one. She remembered Tony pressed her to get it done, but she had never found the right words. And now, she heard the words and music in her head, but she didn’t have the right instrument.

  Chi Chi got up from the piano and went back to the bedroom closet. She searched through it, emptying it, box by box, until the bed was covered with stuff. She flipped open the lids of the storage boxes, hauled the stool from Tony’s desk to the closet, and stood on it, peering at the contents on the top shelf. She sorted through her ex-husband’s hatboxes, marked Borsalino, and pushed them out of the way.

  Her face broke into a grin. She found what she had been looking for without much fuss. She lifted Tony’s old mandolin off the shelf. The wood had aged to a soft burgundy, the color of her mouth when her lipstick had faded after she had spent the day talking and failed to reapply it. She tucked the mandolin under her arm.

  By the time Chi Chi made it back to the living room, night had fallen. Outside the windows, the city was draped in black velvet. The moon shimmered in the night sky like a shard of a seashell, delicate and silver.

  She found a paper and pen and sat down at the table with her tools and the mandolin. She plucked a tune on the strings, tightening them as she played. She heard the music in her head, wrote the notes down on the paper, and soon the lyrics flowed. Her thoughts moved her hands between the paper, pen, and the strings. She wrote:

  Wait for me

  We need one more chance to talk things through

  Wait for me

  Where time does not rule me and you

  The sand, the sea, the sun, and the snow

  We owned them all, don’t you know

  Stop and think what we once had

  Can’t even imagine it now, all gone so sad

  If there’s a heaven, and you would know

  Might you wait by the gate until I show?

  I may wear lavender or gold or gray

  Will you reach for me then and ask me to stay?

  I want to hold you again, where we live in nothing but light

  This time we’ll be kind and do everything right

  You’ll be true and I’ll show grace

  And when the music plays, I’ll see your face

  Wait for me—Saverio.

  Wait.

  Chi Chi put down the pen. She reached for the mandolin to play the song from the beginning, as was her technique, but she stopped when she felt an odd pain travel down her left arm. Perhaps she had pulled a muscle hauling those boxes from the closet. She rubbed her wrist and forearm, but the pain did not subside. She had butterflies—excitement, no doubt, from having finally finished the song it took nearly fifty years to write. Chi Chi felt a fluttering in her chest as her heart skipped a beat. She put her hand to her heart and left it there, waiting to feel its rhythm resume.

  “Saverio,” she whispered.

  And she smiled.

  The End

  Discography

  Introducing Tony Arma (1948)

  Haven’t We Met

  It Was So Cold, He Proposed

  Samson & Denial

  Jelly Bean Beach (with Chi Chi Donatelli)

  Mama’s Rolling Pin (with Chi Chi Donatelli)

  A Girl I Can Talk To

  Gravy, Gravy, Gravy (with Chi Chi Donatelli)

  One Gold Chain

  The Italian Girl Samba

  Midtown Blues

  Tony Arma: The Pacific Songbook (1950)

  Nothing But Ocean (with Thoughts of You)

  A Tiki Hut for Two

  The Pineapple and Mango Drag

  Ration Our Love

  Baby Call Me from Home

  Island Dream

  Miss My Wife

  Violet Sunrise

  Christmas with Tony & Chi Chi (1955)

  Silent Night

  O Holy Night

  Away in a Manger

  The Little Drummer Boy

  O Come, All Ye Faithful

  Santa Claus Is Comin’ to Town

  Joy to the World

  Mama’s Rolling Pin (Make the Cannoli)

  Tony Arma Sings in the Eternal City (1962)

  Panis Angelicus

  Kyrie

  Ave Maria

  Macaroni Bomboloni

  Meet Me in Roma

  The Hills of Ros
eto Valfortore

  On the Road to Naples

  Prayer of Saint Francis

  Movies Featuring Tony Arma

  Frankie Fedora

  Mr. Mondo

  The Jive Makers of Jersey

  Venus di Vegas

  Serena of Staten Island

  Cocktails, Nibbles & Me

  The Inner Sanctum

  Follies Bare All

  Acknowledgments

  The Perin sisters of Delabole farm outside Pen Argyl, Pennsylvania, were of Venetian descent, born in America and named for Italian queens. Viola (Yolanda), Edith (Enes), Helen (Eliana), and Lavinia are my Mount Rushmore. Ambitious, strong, and emotional, they moved through the world like silver arrows in a blue sky. My grandmother, Viola, mother of four, worked in a factory from the age of fourteen, and eventually owned her own mill with my grandfather. Edith, mother of two, operated a lovely restaurant called the Little Venice with her husband, Tony Romano. Helen Blackton, married to Don, was a beautician who ran her own shop after she served in World War II. Lavinia Spadoni, mother of three, wife of Frank, worked with Viola in her mill, Helen in her shop, and eventually for the people of the state of Pennsylvania as a prison matron (as the position was called when she began). With the passing of Aunt Lavinia this year, I revel in their beauty, strength, faith, and daring. Farm girls fear nothing. They appreciated style, glamour, and nice things. They aspired to the good life but had their own definitions. Viola loved travel; Edith was a fabulous baker and cook; Helen embraced adventure; and Lavinia loved people, whether it was having friends over for a weekly card game or dropping by for a visit. The swing music of the big band era kept the sisters company through their romances, hopes, work lives, and a world war.

  My evermore thanks to the glorious team at Harper led by two of my favorite men: Brian Murray and Jonathan Burnham. Sara Nelson is a total joy, an astute and hardworking editor, and a champion for a good story. Thank you to the team: Dorian Randall, Amber Oliver, Jennifer Civiletto, and Mary Gaule.

  My gratitude to the tireless Kate D’Esmond and Emily VanDerwerken; our marketing wiz Leah Wasielewski; the fabulous Katie O’Callaghan; Jennifer Murphy; Mary Ann Petyak; Tom Hopke Jr.; the queen of the libraries: Virginia Stanley; Lainey Mays; Chris Connolly; and Tina Andreadis.

  The design team is superb: Robin Bilardello crushes the cover art again with a glorious Louise Dahl-Wolfe creation featuring the exquisite Mary Jane Russell; thank you, Jillian Verillo, Joanne O’Neill, Gregg Kulick, Sarah Brody, and Bonni Leon-Berman.

  The most excellent sales force is led by Doug Jones, and I’m grateful to: Mary Beth Thomas, Josh Marwell, Andy LeCount, Kathryn Walker, Michael Morris, Kristin Bowers, Brendan Keating, Carla Parker, Austin Tripp, Christy Johnson, Brian Grogan, Tobly McSmith, Lillie Walsh, Rachel Levenberg, Frank Albanese, David Wolfson, and Samantha Hagerbaumer. Mary Sasso and Amy Baker are the best in paperback, Tara Weikum in YA; the video and studio team are spectacular, thank you: Marisa Benedetto, Lisa Sharkey, Alex Kuciw, and Jeffrey “Scooter” Kaplan.

  I am thrilled that Edoardo Ballerini is the voice of this novel, produced by the great Katie Ostrowka. I adore Danielle Kolodkin, Natalie Duncan, and Andrea Rosen.

  At William Morris Endeavor, I thank the dazzling, darling Suzanne Gluck, the bold and beautiful Nancy Josephson, and the gorgeous and hilarious Laurie Pozmantier, and the best team anywhere: thank you: Andrea Blatt, Ellen Sushko, Eve Attermann, Jill Holwager Gillett, Ilayda Yigit, Jonathan Lomma, Gretchen Burke, Elizabeth Wachtel, Tracy Fisher, Alyssa Eatherly, Fiona Smith, Janine Kamouh, Gwen Beal, Matilda Forbes Watson, Alina Flint, Siobhan O’Neill, Fiona Baird, Jamie Carr, Caitlin Mahony, Tanner Cusumano, Graham Taylor, Will Maxfield, Michelle Bohan, Joanna Korshak, Chris Slager, Liesl Coplan, Alli McArdle, Hilary Savit, Kathleen Nishimoto.

  Thank you, ladies of The Glory of Everything: you are all stars: Lucy Beuchert, Jillian Fata, Alexa Casavecchia, and Emily Metcafe. Thank you to our interns: Oona Intemann and Gabrielle Ho. Thank you, Jake and Jean Morrissey, for your wisdom in all matters from books to movies to parenting. At the Origin Project thank you to the angel, cofounder and executive director: Nancy Bolmeier Fisher; her right arm Ian Fisher; and her wings, Ryan Fisher; thank you, Linda Woodward, for your hard work and vision!

  Evermore thanks to: Richard Thompson, Kim Hovey, Ian Chapman, Suzanne Baboneau, Gina Casella, Mary Ellen Fedeli, Beth Vechiarelli Cooper, Caroline Giovannini, Kenny Sarfin, Phoebe Curran, Christine Freglette, Ron Block, Liz Bartek, Catherine Brennan, Lora Minichillo, Candy Purdum, Debbie Hoffman, Daniel Goldin, Carrie Robb, Kimberly Daniels, Rene Martin, Gary Parkes, Robin Homonoff, Candyce Williams, Robyn Lee, Glen Moody, Jillian Bullock, Glenda Hall, and Nita Leftwich

  My gratitude and devotion to: Ed and Chris Muranksy, Hoda Kotb, Jennifer Miller, Kathie Lee Gifford, Christine Gardner, Kathy Ryan, Tony Krantz, Kristin Dornig, Brian Balthazar, Dorothy and Bob Isaac, Jennifer Bloom and Andrew Kravis, Christine Onorati, Dianne and Andy Lerner, Betty Fleenor, Spencer Salley, Dana Chidekel, Jayne Muir, Connie Shulman, Evadean Church, Larry Sanitsky, Kathryn Drew, Nigel Stoneman and Charles Fotheringham, Monique Gibson, Bunny Grossinger, Kathy McElyea, Mary Murphy, Lou and Berta Pitt, Doris Gluck, Mary Pipino, Tom Dyja, Liz Travis, Dagmara Domincyzk and Patrick Wilson, Dan and Robin Napoli, Sharon Ewing, Eugenie Furniss, Philip Grenz, Christina Geist, Joyce Sharkey, Gail Berman, Cate Magennis Wyatt, Carol, Dominic and Gina Vechiarelli, Jim and Mary Deese Hampton, Jackie and Paul Wilson, Greg D’Alessandro, Mark Amato, Meryl Poster, Sister Robbie Pentecost, Heather and Peter Rooney, Aaron Hill and Susan Fales-Hill, Mary K. and John Wilson, Jim and Kate Benton Doughan, Ruth Pomerance, Bill Persky and Joanna Patton, Angelina Fiordellisi and Matt Williams, Michael La Hart and F. Todd Johnson, Richard and Dana Kirshenbaum, Marisa Acocella Marchetto, Violetta Acocella, Emma and Tony Cowell, Hugh and Jody Friedman O’Neill, Nelle Fortenberry, Cara Stein, Whoopi Goldberg, Tom Leonardis, Dolores and Dr. Emil Pascarelli, Eleanor “Fitz” King and daughters Eileen, Ellen and Patti. Sharon Hall and Todd Kessler, Aimee Bell, Rosanne Cash, Charles Randolph Wright, Constance Marks, Jasmine Guy, Mario Cantone, Jerry Dixon, Judy Rutledge, Greg and Tracy Kress, Father John Rausch, Judith Ivey, Mary Ellen Keating, Nancy Ringham Smith, Sharon Watroba Burns, Dee Emmerson, Elaine Martinelli, Sister Karol Jackowski, Jane Cline Higgins, Nancy Toney, Betty Cline, Max and Robyn Westler, Tom and Barbara Sullivan, Brownie and Connie Polly, Karen Fink, Norma Born, Beata and Steven Baker, Todd Doughty and Randy Losapio, Craig Fisse, Steve and Anemone Kaplan, Christina Avis Krauss and Sonny, Eleanor Jones, Veronica Kilcullen, Lisa Ryskoski, Mary Ellinger, Iva Lou Johnson, Cynthia Rutledge Olson, Mary Testa, David and Michelle Baldacci, Dottie Frank, Joanna LaMarca, Sheila Mara, Louisa Ermelino, Jenna Elfman, Janet Leahy, Susie Essman, Wendy Luck, Elena Nachmanoff, Dianne Festa, Miles Fisher, Becky Browder, and Samantha Rowe.

  Michael Patrick King, I always leave the light on for you.

  My evermore thanks to my brothers and sisters and the Stephenson family. It is a wonder to see my nieces and nephews, the Stephensons: Mallory, Brad, Julianna, and Gabriel; the Noones: Anna, Matt, Ally, and Anthony; and the Trigianis, Luca and Ella take flight.

  Welcome Colette “Coco” Thompson, Willoughby Cash Knobler, and Zoya Lena Athar, rays of light and might.

  With the publication of every book, I will miss Marion Cantone, my honorary sister, who waited for each one and read them into the night; Bill Bombeck, Erma’s tall, handsome, steady husband, was a great guy, and is now with the funniest writer of our times in heaven. Jim Abe Fleenor was a handsome, high-spirited, hilarious boy who grew up to be a wonderful teacher, father, husband, and writer. Karen Watkins Snow was beautiful, funny, and smart, and a fabulous sister. Faith Cox was a great educator, and a dear friend. Lorraine Stampone Coyne was the first friend I ever made, and there’s no replacing her ever. Danny Galloway was hilarious, smart, and a great friend and writer. Ingrid Josephson was a beautiful mother and friend. Terri Albright was a loving mom and a perfect St. Mary’s sister.

&n
bsp; Tim and Lucia, thanks for not changing the locks: Sono la persona piú fortunate che abbia.

  My mother, Ida Bonicelli Trigiani, taught me until the final moment of her life. Librarians never leave a task undone. Nothing will ever be the same without her. When I miss her, and I do, and I miss my dad, and I always will, I listen to String of Pearls and remember them . . . dancing.

  About the Author

  ADRIANA TRIGIANI is the New York Times bestselling author of eighteen books in fiction and nonfiction that have been published in thirty-six countries around the world. She is an award-winning playwright, television writer/producer, and filmmaker. She wrote and directed the film version of her novel Big Stone Gap, which was shot entirely on location in her Virginia hometown. She is cofounder of the Origin Project, an in-school writing program that serves more than a thousand students in Appalachia. She lives in Greenwich Village with her family.

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