“How do you know how to do that?”
“Invest?”
“Yeah. My dad told me to put my money under the mattress.”
“All you’ll get from that is a poor night’s sleep. No interest earned. That’s medieval. That’s off-the-boat thinking.” Chi Chi rubbed suntan oil on her feet. “Put your money in the bank. If I could, and eventually I will, I’ll buy real estate too. Oceanfront. Right now, the safest place for extra dough is in the bank. Earning interest.”
“My dad got spooked by the crash.”
“That’s too bad. An investor should never take the whims of the stock market personally,” Chi Chi advised.
“Says who?”
“The Wall Street Journal. I read it at the library.”
“Get out.”
“Yep. On payday, I go home, endorse my check, reconcile my checkbook, then Dad and I go to the bank. I take whatever cash I need for the week.”
“I do that.”
“I fill an envelope for my folks.”
Rita nodded. “Me, too.”
“I check my account. I always compare the bank’s figures against my own arithmetic. I ask the manager about the market and current instruments. And when I’ve saved up enough, I buy a government bond.”
“I don’t do any of that. Geez.”
“I could teach you.”
“No, thanks.”
“You’re gonna rely on David Osella?”
“He hasn’t asked me to marry him yet.”
“But he’s gonna.”
“If he does, I’ll give him my money. Why not?”
“You can give him your money, but you should know where it’s going.”
“Does your mother?”
“There’s not a lot of extra money lying around at my house,” Chi Chi admitted.
“You girls are hard workers.”
“And Ma. We do all right. But four girls can’t make what one man can pull in. We know. We add it up. I think about that sometimes. I don’t know a man who could do what my mother does—she cooks and cleans and takes in sewing and works the line at the mill. She takes care of us, and Dad, and her parents. She just goes about her business. I wish she would have had a couple of sons. That might’ve helped.”
“Sometimes it only makes things worse. They get married, their wives steal them away, and they make like ghosts,” Rita complained. “You can’t count on the boys.”
“You could if my mother would’ve raised sons. She holds us close.”
“Jim LaMarca was asking for you.”
“That’s nice.”
Rita sat up. “That’s nice? Are you screwy or what? He’s a college man. He’s tall and gorgeous—a genuine sheik, if you ask me. And he’s rich, or he will be when he inherits the family business. You couldn’t do better.”
“How about he couldn’t do better than me?”
“That goes without saying, Cheech.”
“Where was he asking?”
“At the pavilion. He’s going to summer school to pick up extra credits, so he won’t be around. He’ll be back at Christmas. Maybe he’ll write to you.”
“I’ll wait by the mailbox like a bombolone.”
“Maybe you should.” Rita laughed. “You wanna go in the water? I’m burning up.”
“You put on too much oil. You’re frying like a zeppole over there.”
“I’m going in.” Rita stood, adjusted her suit, and trotted down to the water. She waded in slowly before diving into the surf. Chi Chi watched her swim out to the pier by the safety net, where the lifeguard pedaled by in a paddleboat. She opened her rattan beach basket, pulled out her manicure kit, and filed her nails.
“Lady of leisure.” A young man stopped in front of her, blocking the sun.
Chi Chi looked up. “Mr. Armandonada.”
“Can I?”
“Can you what?” she teased.
“Sit down?”
Chi Chi made room on her blanket.
* * *
Saverio sat down and took her in head to toe. “That’s some color you got.”
“It won’t last,” Chi Chi said as she dusted sand off her foot.
“It’s only July. There’s plenty of summer left.”
“Not for me. I go back to work next week.”
“Where?”
“The blouse mill. It’s a grind, but we don’t complain. You wouldn’t know about working the line.”
“Yeah?” Saverio looked out to the sea, where the locals bobbed in the surf like tub toys. He had longed for hot summer days like this during the long Michigan winters. “What would I know about factory life?”
“You’re not missing anything. Consider yourself lucky.” Chi Chi buffed her fingernails. She opened the case to return the manicure kit to her basket. Before she did, she took Saverio’s right hand into her own. “Your nails are a mess. Want me to clean them up for you?”
“Sure.”
Chi Chi took out a nail file and began filing Saverio’s nails gently. “You got nice hands.”
“So do you.”
“Then why are you staring at the ocean?” she flirted.
“Because I can’t get enough of it. I was raised near the Great Lakes, and they’re swell, but they are nothing like this.”
“Is this the first time you’ve seen the Atlantic Ocean?”
“No. We’ve worked the Eastern Seaboard pretty good. I’ve seen the ocean from Florida to Maine. But I never get tired of it. It’s always different.”
“The shore is the only place I’ve ever lived.”
“You’re the lucky one.”
“Summer is nice, but winter in a shore town is like winter anywhere else.”
“What’s it like?”
“It snows. It’s gray as far as you can see. You can’t tell the horizon from the water. And the sun gets lost behind the clouds for months. It makes me sad, if you want to know the truth.”
“Lake Huron and Lake Michigan get fierce in the winter. Whitecaps.”
“On a lake?”
“Yep. But they’re . . . I don’t know how to describe them.”
“Majestic?” she offered. “Majestic whitecaps.”
Saverio broke into a wide grin. “That’s it. Majestic. You got a way with words, you know that?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she joked.
“You do. That’s the sign of a writer. So says Rod Roccaraso. He gets songs submitted to the band all the time, and he says a great songwriter is someone who can write a tune about a girl he’s never met in a place he’s never been about a broken heart he’s certain to endure.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“You should.”
“I like writing about ordinary things.”
“Like what?”
“Love. Family. Home. The things people want, well, the things everyone wants. Everybody wants love when they’re not in it. Everybody misses home when they’re away from it.”
“Not me.”
“You’re a tough guy. Even though your mama follows you around on the road.”
“You must like me. You’re being awful mean.”
Chi Chi tilted the umbrella to cover herself. “I’m just teasing you. And I like you all right. But, you’ve got a girl. And I respect that.”
Saverio scooted under the umbrella and into the shade with Chi Chi. “The other night when you walked in, that was . . . unfortunate.” He said the word carefully, as if he were getting used to the idea of it.
“I was snooping around trying to find Mr. Roccaraso to introduce myself on behalf of the Donatelli Sisters. It’s one of the perks of living on the shore. A lot of bands come through, and I try and take advantage of the proximity.”
“To get your foot in the door?”
“Sure.”
“So you’ve seen a lot of bands?”
“Oh, yeah. And met some of the players. I got Artie Shaw’s autograph. But that was just for fun. I try to meet the business managers mostly. Let’s see. I’ve seen
the orchestras of Wayne King, Gus Arnheim, Ted Blade, Jack Hylton, Jimmie Grier.”
“No kidding. Name bands.”
“You stack up just fine against them.”
“Did I ask?” Saverio was curt.
“You did not,” Chi Chi admitted. “However, I have yet to meet a man who didn’t want to be the best at whatever it is he does. You want to win, whether it’s marbles or the number one spot on the Music Hit Parade. You can relax. You’re right up there.”
“Thanks. Where do you find the guts to go right up to them?”
“I go up before the show. After the show, it’s no longer about business, if you know what I mean. I learned that right away. Too many fans around. Their minds are not on the music.”
“It’s the time to blow off steam.”
“If that’s what you call it. For me, at that hour, a girl approaching a bandleader looks funny. Yeah, my father worries—but I don’t tell him anymore. I just go. I conduct myself professionally, and that’s that.”
“You’ve got moxie, I’ll give you that.”
“When you want something bad enough, you find courage. Or it arrives. However you want to look at it.”
“Tell me about your act.”
“I sing with my sisters. We started out singing at mass, and from there we were asked to sing weddings, so we did standards. And now I write songs for us.”
“You’re all pretty. That helps.”
“When you’re singing, pretty doesn’t get you past the first verse.”
“Pretty can get you through the night,” Saverio said with authority.
“I don’t think so. You have ten seconds to look good, and then you have to sound good or you don’t deserve to be on the bandstand. You have quite the set of pipes.”
“I’d better. I get enough practice. I sing seven days a week.”
“I’d love that! I wish I could get my sisters to concentrate. I know we’d make it if they would just pay attention.”
“Why don’t they?”
“Different dreams, I guess.”
“Why do you want to perform?”
“I love to sing. And I love to write songs just as much.”
“I’d like to hear you sing sometime. You and your sisters.”
“That can be arranged. We’re not as sizzling as the Gay Sisters, and even if you dipped us in gold, we couldn’t pull that off.”
“I bet you could,” Saverio flirted.
“You don’t know me.”
“I’m getting an idea.”
Chi Chi waved the nail file like a magic wand. “What do you think so far?”
“You’re funny.”
“That’s what a girl hopes a nice guy will say to her.” Chi Chi made a face. “Top of my list.”
“You don’t know what a compliment that is.”
“Is it?”
“You’re pretty, but you don’t believe it, and I’m not spending the afternoon convincing you. Let some other guy hammer that one home. You’ll realize it in time.”
“By then I won’t care.” Chi Chi cracked herself up.
“Maybe not. But men do. A pretty girl on a man’s arm is everything to him.”
“Because it makes him look good.”
Saverio nodded. “Sure. Or maybe it’s the same reason a painting or a sculpture draws you in. It makes a man feel good to look at a beautiful woman. A man appreciates line and form—the elements of art and aspects of beauty.”
“I had no idea men looked at women like paintings.”
“It’s about feelings, too, don’t get me wrong. You think about what she might mean to you as you get to know her—and the idea of solving that riddle gets you.”
“Sounds like a line of bull to me.”
Saverio laughed and took his hand away.
“Hey, I’m not done.” Chi Chi took Saverio’s hand again and examined his cuticles carefully. “Pretty or not, funny or boring, you either like someone or you don’t. And that can turn to love, or it doesn’t. If it does, you decide to be true or you don’t. And from that foundation, you build a life with her or you don’t. But the way I see it, no matter the progression of the romance, there’s not much in it for the girl.”
“You believe that?”
“We all end up the same—maids who serve the king. A man can be anything he wants in this life, anything at all. He has no obstacle but himself between where he stands and getting his dream. But if you’re a girl, there’s always a man between you and your happiness, or he is the one responsible for providing it.”
“A man wants to make a woman happy. It gives him a sense of purpose.”
“But what about her sense of purpose? Where is she supposed to find it? When you’re a girl, you can’t even buy a government bond without your father or your husband along to sign for you. Don’t you think that’s wrong? That’s my paycheck, money I earned and saved, and I still have to have my father with me to buy a bond.”
“Nothing about life is fair,” Saverio said. “But maybe the rule protects you.”
“From what?”
“Maybe if your father is with you, you got a second set of eyes on your money.”
Chi Chi considered the notion. “That’s only slightly reasonable.”
“No, it makes sense. Think about it.”
“You don’t understand. Moving through life as a girl is like riding in a contraption that’s jury-rigged, held together with string, cheap glue, and fingers crossed.”
“What do you mean?”
“We have to get lucky to find happiness. Nobody is pulling for the girl to win. I know. I’m in the middle of three sisters. My aunts married nice boys who did all right, and they felt nothing but relief because they were treated well. Relief is the sister of luck. But then I have a cousin who married a guy who hits her, and she has to take the beatings because she has nowhere to go. Her family tells her she made her bed, but she had no idea what was in that bed before she climbed into it. Bad luck.”
“Anything can happen.”
“And it does. My dad lost his job, and my mom, who already has enough to do, had to get a job in the mill alongside Barbara and Lucille and me to help out. The women always step in when there’s a problem and fix it in every family, including mine. I see it all the time. Maybe that’s why I want to sing. I figure I have a talent, and why shouldn’t I spend my life doing something I love instead of settling by making a series of decisions that might, just might turn out all right if I happen to choose a good guy who will do the right thing by me? I don’t want to base my future happiness on luck. If I were gambling, I wouldn’t place a bet with those odds.”
“Awful grim.”
“You said I was funny,” Chi Chi said in mock defiance.
“I take it back. You sound like Margaret Sanger on the radio. My head is about to split open.”
“No time for humor, my friend. We have a limited amount of time, and I want to tell you everything that’s on my mind.”
“Lucky me. Why’s that?”
“We’re simpatico.”
“We are, aren’t we?” Saverio agreed. “But the sun’s out, and we’re at the beach. Can’t we just have fun?”
Chi Chi laughed. “I thought we were!”
* * *
Saverio noticed her mouth. He could practically taste Chi Chi’s lips as he looked at them. There was something different about this girl, unexpected and appealing. She was pretty and smart, but funny, too, the rarest of confluences in the traits of people, especially women. The more she talked, the more interested he became in what she had to say. Saverio wanted to kiss her, but remembered the circumstances of their first meeting, an unfortunate moment when she found him in the arms of another girl. If only she hadn’t seen him with Gladys Overby. Chi Chi almost read his mind, he figured, because she moved away from him slightly as the bright sun illuminated everything else about her—her perfect pins, those curves, and her shoulders, smooth like gold.
“You ever been to the track?” he
asked, scooting closer to her.
“Nope.”
She smelled good. Her hair had the scent of coconut and vanilla.
“I saw Eddie Arcaro win the Kentucky Derby. He’s one of us, you know.”
“Slight of build?”
Saverio laughed. “Italian, you goof. ‘Attaboy Eddie’ he’s called.”
“How’s that headache?”
“Still got it.”
“It might not be me and my yakking. It might be the heat that’s making your head hurt. Maybe you’re hungry.”
“Want to go to lunch? I know a place.”
Chi Chi buffed his nails. “Where is Miss Overby?”
“Doing laundry. The first thing she does in any town we play is find the Laundromat. And after that, the beauty parlor.”
“Smart girl.” Chi Chi whistled. “And what a Sheba.”
“You got a fella?” he asked shyly.
“Several.”
Saverio laughed.
“That sounded stuck-up, didn’t it? Well, it’s my vacation week, and I left my humility at Jersey Miss Fashions on the looping machine.”
“So, the fellas line up for you?”
“It’s more of a rotation. But between us pals, none of them are serious contenders. They aim awful high for what they offer in return.”
“What are they putting on the table?”
“If I am longing to be the wife of Brielle’s best tailor, or the wife of Manasquan’s butcher in line to inherit the shop, or the wife of the man fourth in line to the son of the man who runs Jersey’s largest trucking company out of Passaic, the world is my oyster and I’m on my way to a string of pearls with a diamond bale.”
“Sounds like it.”
“But that’s not what I’m looking for.”
“What do you want?”
“You have the life I want,” Chi Chi said sincerely. “I want to work at music full-time.”
“I wouldn’t mind your life,” Saverio admitted. “We could do an even-steven exchange.”
“You say that.” Chi Chi examined his fingernails.
“I want to live by the ocean with my family.”
Chi Chi looked at him. “I think you mean it.”
“I want to know what it’s like to wake up happy,” Saverio confessed.
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