The Godmothers

by Camille Aubray

  “We’ve agreed to let Ma see if she can reason with Alonza, since it’s already arranged,” he said. “But we are prepared for a fight.”

  There was a sudden scuffle behind the sofa. Frankie had caught Christopher teaching the twins how to shoot dice, or “craps,” and then demanding that four-year-old Vinnie “pay up” what he owed. Chris had held up a threatening index finger and, in a perfect parody of Frankie, fixed Vinnie with a meaningful gaze, saying, “Fork it over, or else you’ll get a little visit from my man Sal.” Vinnie laughed, but Frankie, seeing this, went white with embarrassment, then seized Chris by the shoulders.

  “Hey!” Frankie said severely. “Don’t you try to be a big shot. It is not who you are. You get me?” Chris looked utterly startled, his ears red with shame. Filomena comprehended that Frankie was horrified to see this child emulating the very life Frankie was trying to protect him from, but Chris misunderstood, hearing only that, as a stepchild, he was not, and never would be, accepted as a real member of this family.

  “Gather ’round, everyone!” Amie said quickly, going to a brand-new player piano that had been delivered just this morning, as Johnny’s gift to her. They’d decided to place it here in Tessa’s house for family celebrations. Amie now demonstrated how the rolls of music were inserted, to make the piano keys move on their own, magically, as if a ghost were playing a tune. This fascinated the children.

  The adults stopped what they were doing to cluster around the piano and sing Christmas favorites that they all knew. They sang song after song, and Tessa finally emerged from her study.

  “Where’s Petrina?” Tessa asked, slightly irritated. “I thought I heard her voice.”

  “She’s upstairs, Ma,” Mario said. “I’ll tell her you’re looking for her.”

  “I’ll do it,” Filomena offered. She was the only one who didn’t know the English words to these Yuletide carols, which made her feel slightly alienated. Besides, Petrina’s slumped shoulders had seemed pitiful to her, and she could almost hear Rosamaria’s voice advising, Go help her. You need a female friend in this family. So does Petrina.

  So Filomena slipped quietly upstairs. Petrina’s clothes were lying on the bed that Filomena shared with Mario. A pair of red high heels had been kicked into a corner, near silk stockings dropped in a coil, like snakes. A beautiful beaded handbag was spilled open on the glass-topped dresser. The door to the adjoining bathroom was ajar, and someone was splashing in Mario’s tub. In the stillness, Filomena heard a woman softly sobbing. Filomena hesitated, then knocked on the partially open bathroom door.

  Petrina leaned forward to peer around it. She looked like a little girl, her hair tied haphazardly atop her head with a ribbon, and her face bobbing above a sea of violet-scented bubbles from a bottle that Mario had given Filomena. When Petrina saw Filomena, she didn’t speak. She only covered her face with her hands.

  “To hell with Christmas,” she said in a muffled voice.

  Filomena silently reached for the biggest, fluffiest towel and held it open for her. Petrina sighed and stood up from the billowing bubble bath, her body so beautifully sculpted that she resembled images of the birth of Venus, arriving on the foam of the sea. Regal but disconsolate, she allowed Filomena to wrap the towel around as a servant might. But Filomena automatically did something she vaguely remembered from her childhood: she patted Petrina’s back and gave her a brief hug, as one would do with a baby after a bath.

  Petrina said in surprise, “Mama used to do that.”

  “Mine, too,” Filomena said as she stepped back into the bedroom. Petrina stood there, clutching her towel, her mouth trembling. “Che successe?” Filomena asked softly.

  “What happened? Oh, nothing much,” Petrina said bitterly as she toweled off and slipped back into her clothes. But her next words ended up in a plaintive wail. “My husband doesn’t want me anymore. He wants to marry another woman. He says she makes him feel younger, like he can start all over again.”

  Filomena said, “Bella ragazza! Meritate un principe, non un animale di un uomo!”

  The familiar saying, spoken so maternally, struck Petrina deeply. But her own mother would probably not say so under these circumstances; Tessa would no doubt be as stern as Domenico. “Yes, you’re exactly right!” Petrina cried. “I am a beautiful girl and I do deserve a prince, not that animal of a husband.” She started to laugh but then, with a gulp, burst into tears and sank onto the side of the bed.

  Filomena sat beside her. “Speak, so your heart doesn’t break trying to hold it in,” she suggested. And in fact, Petrina was feeling such an unbearable ache in her chest and throat.

  Unable to hold it back any longer, Petrina spat out, “Oh, God, I’ve been so tired of the strain. What a torturer Richard has been! I knew something was wrong. When I thought it might be an affair, I tried to talk to him, but he kept telling me I was imagining it.”

  Filomena said quietly, “That is a slap in the face.”

  “Yeah, I should challenge him to a duel. That’s what men would do. Women, we just get all the pain and the blame when somebody hurts us. How can I tell my family that Richard wants a divorce? Ma will say I must have done something wrong, been a bad wife. Johnny and Frankie will treat me like a fallen woman. They won’t believe me, no matter what I say. They’re all talkers in this family. None of them are good listeners. Except for you. You see it all, don’t you, with those big eyes of yours? I’ve watched you, watching us. I see that you really love Mario. I wish someone truly loved me like that.”

  Filomena asked tentatively, “Do you still love Richard?”

  Petrina sighed gustily. “I thought he was beautiful. He said he wanted to share his world with me. He told me I was like a movie star, and I would be his guiding star. I thought, Here at last is my chance, I’ll be safe with him. How stupid I was, after all.”

  “Do you want to fight for him, for your marriage?” Filomena asked.

  Petrina shook her head. “I’ve tried. I lost. Now all I have left is my pride.”

  “And Pippa?” Filomena asked. “Will she be all right if her parents are no longer together in the same house anymore?”

  “Pippa is an old, wise soul, and she’s like you—she sees it all,” Petrina said wryly. “Anyway, for the last few weeks my husband and I have hardly been together in that house. So for Pippa, having me and her father live apart will be nothing new. No, I don’t think it will harm her any more than it’s already harmed her.”

  “Then,” Filomena said, “perhaps it’s for the best. Now you will be free to love another man, someone who loves you even more than you could imagine possible.”

  Petrina fell silent for a while, before saying in a low voice, “I already had that love, but I was only a girl. His name was Bobby. He used to sing in a band. He could have been a big star, but I heard he went off to military school. I never saw him again.”

  “Then you’ll find someone else to love. Three is a lucky number,” Filomena suggested. Petrina laughed with genuine appreciation.

  “Oh, Rosa!” she exclaimed. “Maybe you can be the sister I never had. I always wanted a sister.” She looked keenly at Filomena now. “How is it with you and Mario?” she asked delicately. “Are things—all right between you, as they should be with a husband and wife? Will you have children?”

  Although she’d been worrying about this, Filomena said resolutely, “Certo. And when the first baby comes—will you be godmother to my child?”

  Petrina gasped, then seized Filomena’s hand. Filomena could feel her long, sharp nails, painted blood-red, as Petrina said, “You know, Lucy and Amie asked each other to be godmother to their children. Nobody ever asked me. And they really should have. I’m the oldest. But it’s understandable, I guess; they’re afraid of me and Ma.”

  “The children will bring us all together, all in good time,” Filomena declared.

  “Brava!” Petrina said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s go have a merry Christmas—and a better New Year.”

&nb
sp; Filomena smiled, but she harbored a slight superstition from the old country. You would never wish someone a happy New Year until the actual first day of January. Otherwise, you might take some of your old troubles from this year into the next.

  17

  Winter–Spring 1944

  Tessa was a woman of her word, and so she arranged to meet Alonza in a fine tea shop on Fifth Avenue, which was decorated with swaths of pink and white draperies, and marble-topped tables set with fragile china vases and teacups, and a platform where a woman was playing a harp for ladies in large hats and furs—all to discourage men from entering.

  Tessa chose a table in the center of this decorous world, where the murmurs of well-bred patrons were punctuated only by the delicate clink of their teaspoons, thus inducing newcomers to keep their voices low in thoughtful conversation.

  However, Alonza was late, so she came blowing into the restaurant, oblivious to its atmosphere, and she gave her name, loudly and indignantly, to the hostess, who signaled the waiter to hurriedly escort Alonza to Tessa’s table.

  Alonza wore a small fur-piece of an indeterminate animal biting its own tail, and an overblown hat, but no gloves. When she threw back her coat and haughtily handed it to the waiter, Alonza proudly revealed that she was wearing a big, expensive silver necklace with real turquoise stones. “A Christmas present from my loving sons,” she announced, by way of greeting Tessa. “They spent their last dollar on it.”

  Tessa had been feeling genuinely sorry for her, but at the mention of the necklace, she said, “According to my sources, your boys stole quite a bit of jewelry. This might not be the place to parade such a piece. You may run into its original owner.”

  Alonza’s worried expression revealed that she hadn’t considered this possibility. But she recovered and insisted, “All the more reason why my boys need your help and guidance.”

  Tessa said calmly, “We introduced your sons to the best help they can get in the nice, sunny climate of Florida, yet, from what I hear, they failed to appreciate this favor and take advantage of it.”

  “It’s not their fault! Those people in Florida were too tough for my sweet boys,” Alonza whined. “They belong here in New York, and are entitled to be treated just as Gianni’s other sons are.” Reaching for a cream pastry from the gold, three-tiered tray, Alonza demanded, “You must do right by Gianni and take his two sons into your family businesses here in New York, to give my boys a fair share.”

  “No,” Tessa said firmly, “that is simply not possible. I’ve heard that your sons are already going around town telling bookies that our family will back their bets and debts. I want you to know that I have now put out the word that we absolutely will not support them financially, or vouch for them.”

  Alonza, still chewing mightily, sputtered furiously, “You loan money every day to people you don’t know. To criminals! Why not to your husband’s sons? You act so high and mighty. Gianni never treated us like that.”

  Tessa said slowly, “My husband always made a point of being present at the hospital for the birth of all his sons. I doubt that you can make the same claim.”

  “Oh, yes, Gianni was with me!” Alonza pounced on this bit of catnip. “He stayed at the hospital for the entire day that Sergio was born. And he did the same for Ruffio, a year later. He came to my house and drove me to the hospital, both times.”

  Tessa leaned forward. “Sergio was born in July, wasn’t he? And Ruffio was born a year later, that August. Those are the dates on the copies of the documents you gave me. They were signed in New York. But my husband was out of town, with me, at a summer cottage in Maine, during both of those times. This I can absolutely prove.”

  Alonza stopped chewing, and in panic, she hastily gulped her tea. “But he would have been by my side, if he could have,” she cried. “He wanted to be. And he told me to put his name on the birth certificates for him!” Then she recovered her wrath and exclaimed, “If you don’t help Gianni’s sons, you might as well put a bullet in their heads!” Her voice was so loud that the other ladies in furs at nearby tables looked up, startled, and for a moment, even the harp player stopped plucking her strings.

  Tessa said quietly, “My husband never, ever gave any of my sons money to burn. If they needed our help, they had to pay it back, in installments, just like anyone else. No doubt, Gianni told you this when you harassed him on the telephone.”

  Alonza’s guilty glance revealed that she had indeed made such calls, and then, having no other recourse, she burst into tears. “You are not a good woman!” she wailed.

  Undeterred, Tessa said, “You must be an unfortunate woman, to tell such lies to a grieving family. Yet, in memory of my husband, I will give your sons the guidance you asked for, but only in the way that Gianni would do it. I will make one last loan to you—but understand that this is the last one, and that it is indeed a loan, which must be repaid. I myself will not put this money into your sons’ hands. That will be your task. I suggest you give it to them in installments and make sure they understand that it is a loan, not a gift, and that they will have to find good, honest work so they can pay you back, Alonza; so that you, in turn, can repay me in monthly installments, with interest. Now, understand—this is the last time. If they get into trouble again, they are on their own. You must believe me when I tell you that I mean this. If you ever again try to contact my family, or make any trouble, I will demand the full payment immediately, and if I don’t get it, you will all pay the consequences.”

  Alonza had been theatrically dabbing her eyes with her crumpled handkerchief. Now she watched in undisguised fascination as Tessa reached into her purse, pulled out an envelope, and slid it across the table. Alonza pounced on the envelope as if it were raw meat.

  “How much is it?” she whispered, drawing it into her lap.

  Tessa signaled the waiter for the check. The waiter arrived promptly, poured the last of the tea into their cups, and cleared away the empty pot. While Tessa paid the bill, Alonza counted her money. She could not resist a smile of satisfaction.

  “Remember,” Tessa said, “this is a loan. You must repay it.”

  The note of finality in Tessa’s voice seemed to awaken Alonza to the reality. First, she looked panicked. Then, quite deliberately, she spit into Tessa’s teacup before she could drink the last of it.

  When Tessa returned home that day, she unpinned her hat wearily and went into her study. After dinner, she told her children to join her in there. She explained what had happened and how she had tricked Alonza into revealing the truth.

  “I knew she was lying about the sons. But, Mom,” Petrina said softly, “we only went to Maine one summer, you and I—and Pop did not come with us.”

  “That’s right,” Johnny agreed. “I remember, Ma couldn’t stand the heat of the city, so she took Petrina to the seashore to visit relatives up there. You two were away from May until late September, because Ma helped Petrina get started in that fancy New England boarding school. But Frankie and I stayed in town with Pop, and he took us to all the great ball games.”

  “That is correct,” Tessa said shortly. “But Alonza didn’t know this. So she confessed that Gianni wasn’t with her for the birth of her sons. I now believe she’s lied about everything.”

  “Then those idiots aren’t Pop’s kids,” Frankie chortled.

  Tessa said, “It no longer matters. It’s late. Time for bed.”

  Mario went upstairs and relayed this information to Filomena, and he concluded, “The point is, we’re done with the Pericolos. They’ll get no more from us.”

  Filomena asked tentatively, “These loans Alonza says your family makes to other people—is that how your father built his business? And now that he’s gone, your mother has taken over it?”

  Mario said, “No. It’s the one part of the business that my mother was always in charge of. She’s had that loan book as long as I can remember.”

  Filomena said nothing as they turned out the light. But she lay there recalling how
Tessa always covered the left side of her ledger to conceal those pages. Whatever its secrets, that valuable book was always kept under lock and key, and, evidently, nobody but Tessa knew the whole story of what it contained.

  * * *

  One afternoon, as Lucy was hurrying home from work, she passed the local candy store, and the proprietor, a jolly man in an apron, rushed out to speak to her.

  But today he looked stern. “It’s about your son, Christopher,” he said in a low voice, pulling her aside so that others could not hear what he had to say. Lucy’s heart fluttered apprehensively. “That kid’s been passing counterfeit money,” the man continued.

  “What?” Lucy said, then added sharply, “You must be mistaken.”

  The man shook his head regretfully. “No mistake,” he replied. “I’ve been watching Chris, after the first time. He comes in with a fake twenty-dollar bill, buys five cents’ worth of candy, and makes off with the change. That way, he gets some real money in return. I’m not the only one to get hit; other kids have done it to the cigar shop. We think some racketeer gets these kids to make the change for him, and then he pays the kids a little pocket money for it.” He paused. “I haven’t told the police this, Lucy. I know your family and they’ve been good to me. But you need to speak to your boy.”

  Lucy reached into her purse to repay him, then mumbled her thanks and rushed off in a blur of first confusion, then fury. When she got home, she yanked Chris by the shoulder and hauled him into their kitchen. He always looked so angelic, with those bright blue eyes and the sprinkling of freckles across his button nose.

  “Now, what’s this I hear about you passing funny money at the candy store, eh, laddie?” she demanded. Chris looked surprised, then he had the grace to blush.

  “I only did a man a favor,” he said with a broad gesture, in a pint-size imitation of Frankie.

  Lucy took him by both shoulders and shook him slightly. “A favor! Since when do you do what strange, bad men ask you to do? Don’t you know it’s against the law to pass off phony bills as real? You could go to jail!”