Tony's Wife

by Adriana Trigiani

  He picked up the envelope, took out the letter, and read it again. Old friend. Tony mulled it over. Chi Chi’s description of him did not sound promising. Maybe she was serious about that LaMarca character. Maybe he was going to be handed his hat at the Hollywood Canteen. Maybe the boy she was dreaming about wasn’t him. After all, the ocean was full of the fine men of the US Navy. That would be a fine how do you do after all this war stuff. That would just be Tony Arma’s luck.

  7

  Crescendo

  (Loud)

  Christmas 1942

  Chi Chi burrowed down under the covers of her bed in her room at the Villa Marquis Hotel. She had left the windows wide open to catch the fresh ocean breezes off the San Diego coast because the scent of the salt water reminded her of home. She was dreaming of Sea Isle when she was aroused from a deep sleep by a persistent knock at the door.

  Vickie Fleming stood before her wearing a purple satin robe, slippers, a hairnet, and a face slathered with cold cream that had another hour of wear to go before it would completely dissolve into her skin. “You have a phone call from the East Coast. I’d like to kill whoever it is on the other end.” Vickie turned and shuffled back down the hall to her room. “If there wasn’t a war on, I’d kill you, too,” she said before she slammed the door to her room shut.

  “Sorry, Miss Fleming,” Chi Chi said on her way to the phone.

  “I’m sorry I’m calling so early,” Lee began.

  “This better be good.” Chi Chi could barely open her eyes.

  “Doesn’t get any better than this. Dinah Shore wants to record Dream Boy, Dream.”

  “You mean it?”

  “She wants an exclusive. You want me to negotiate a bigger apartment on Fifty-Fifth Street? I think you can go for the one with the wrap-around terrace.”

  “Stick with the classic six. I can’t believe this. Dinah Shore!”

  “I told you that song was a hit. I told you! You’re up there with the big boys, Chi Chi.”

  Chi Chi hung up the phone and went back to her room. She slid back into bed and under the covers. The alarm clock said 3:48 a.m. as her head sank into the pillow. She couldn’t wait to tell Tony—she would write to him that afternoon. As she closed her eyes, she let the melody play through her mind, but now it wasn’t simply a sweet tune written for a pal and his mates on a submarine or a ballad snuck onto a song list on any show night—it had something songwriters hope for: Dream Boy, Dream had potential to be a hit song in the hands of an incomparable recording artist. Chi Chi could not believe her good fortune.

  * * *

  The long line of servicemen and -women outside the Hollywood Canteen was wrapped around Cahuenga Boulevard. They were treated to supportive toots of car horns as they waited, and to the occasional rogue young lady who showed her appreciation as she jumped out of a vehicle, kissed a soldier, and would just as quickly get back into her car to drive off into the night.

  As the doors of the Canteen opened, the brave were greeted by Hollywood starlet Linda Darnell, the brunette bombshell. She looked lovely in a red silk cocktail dress and matching hat. The flashbulb pops lit up the night.

  Chi Chi gathered the quartet in a corner of the kitchen and went over the show order.

  “We’ll open with Jelly Bean Beach. Who’s got the jelly beans?”

  Christine rattled the jars.

  “I gave the band the charts, and I told them to give us a good eight minutes of dance time. So we’ll work it like this. Each of us will fan out and pick a serviceman. Take him out on the floor for a spin. When the song gets to the second chorus, return him to his seat, come back to the stage, and we’ll wind it up with some patter. The MC said he’ll get Linda Darnell to pick a grunt from the audience to dance with; once she does, they’ll lower the lights, and we’ll go into Dream Boy, Dream.”

  “Any sign of Tony?” Sheila asked. “And when is Margaret Whiting getting here?”

  “He didn’t write back, so we can’t count on him.” Chi Chi bit her lip. “We’ll do our material and punt to Margaret Whiting. She said she’d show up around nine thirty.”

  “In the meantime, we could do our send-up of the Boswell Sisters and the Andrews Sisters if nobody shows up to relieve us,” Annie offered.

  “If we need to stretch, that’s a great idea.”

  The emcee, Corky Lister, poked his head into the kitchen. “Girls, you’re on. If you sing as good as you look, we got gravy.”

  Chi Chi and the girls followed him to the stage.

  Corky moved into the spotlight on a drum roll. “Servicemen and -women, please welcome, fresh from their West Coast tour, with their all-girl orchestra . . .” Wolf whistles from the men made the introduction impossible to hear. Corky raised his voice. “The four with finesse . . . please welcome the Vickie Fleming Quartet!”

  Chi Chi led the group to the microphone. As they sang Jelly Bean Beach, the dance floor filled with couples. The crowd at the bar cheered when Chi Chi and the girls kept the beat with jars of jelly beans; for a moment, it felt like the old days at the pavilion in Sea Isle City when there was nothing but fun to be had on a Saturday night. They were old enough to remember their summers before the war, and young enough to hope those carefree days would be theirs once more.

  As the ladies finished their song, Margaret Whiting climbed the steps to the stage. She shook out her curls from under her hat, shoving the blond waves out of her eyes. “You girls go take a smoke, I’ll do a couple of songs. Come back in fifteen, twenty tops.”

  * * *

  Tony Arma entered the Canteen unnoticed through the stage door. He stood against the wall, taking in the scene. He removed the cap worn with his uniform and tucked it under his arm.

  The band wasn’t half bad. Margaret Whiting was performing an encore. He liked her a lot. She had a full, honey tone to her voice, and was a fresh song stylist. He watched as she captivated the crowd. She looked like she was having fun. He missed singing in clubs more than he thought he would. Living on the road, moving through the world by bus and living in lousy hotels had made him numb in many ways about a life in show business, but he had never tired of the music. The music was always a joy. Tony missed the audience. They appreciated the songs, too; the music meant something to them.

  The Canteen was packed, surely violating safety codes. But what was a safety code when the lot of them took their lives into their own hands in fighter planes, subs, and fields? There was barely enough room to move, much less dance. Volunteer waitresses shuttled trays of drinks over their heads, navigating through the crowd like the munitions experts who dusted enemy territory for grenades. Dinner was served buffet style by pretty contract players from the studios, who slung the turkey and mashed potatoes onto plates like the best lunch ladies from their school cafeterias back home. Chi Chi wore a form-fitting bias-cut satin gown of shell pink that was shiny like a candy wrapper. “What a shape!” Tony overheard a fellow say, and he would have called him on it, but the man outranked him.

  When the orchestra blew into the instrumental, Chi Chi came off the stage, and enchanted a four-star general when she invited him to dance. The kid that Tony had met on the beach who became a workhorse for the band was now something else altogether. She was no longer just a novelty act, she had the looks and confidence of a lead singer, and was glamorous enough to get out in front and hold the attention of the audience. The war had changed plenty, even those who stayed behind.

  Chi Chi delivered the general back to his table as the girls made the segue into Dream Boy, Dream. Chi Chi joined the girls onstage as Linda Darnell walked to the center of the dance floor and, choosing a fresh-scrubbed middy, wrapped her arms around his neck, rested her head on his shoulder, and made every dream he’d ever had about a beautiful woman in his arms come true. The young man would have a story to tell someday when he made it home to North Carolina.

  Tony snuck around the outside wall of the room and made his way to the stage. He was in uniform, so no one took notice as he climbed up
onto the stage. Chi Chi was looking over the crowd when Tony came up behind her and put his arms around her.

  Chi Chi turned to face him. “Savvy!” She gave him a hug. “You made it.”

  “That’s some dress.” He slid his hands down her back.

  She reached behind and took his hands from her waist. “You’ve been on that sub too long.”

  “Tell me about it.” He kissed her on the nose. “We got a show to do.”

  “You mean it?”

  “How are you gonna stretch this night? You already blew through Margaret Whiting.”

  “She’ll come back and do a few more songs.”

  “Not if she’s at the Copa.”

  “She left?” Chi Chi was annoyed.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know, I can have the band play another dance number.”

  “They’re sweating like animals out there. They need to sit. The general’s been pulling a plow all night. He’s danced with every gal in the joint. You’re no good without me, Cheech.”

  “Do you have an idea?”

  “What’s the show order?” Tony leaned against the piano.

  Chi Chi looked through her notes. “We can do some banter.”

  “Which banter?” Tony pulled her close and studied the notes over her shoulder.

  Chi Chi wriggled free. “The pound-sand material. Which I may have to use on you for real. Loosen your grip there. What’s gotten into you? You’re fresh.”

  “I miss you.” Tony buried his face in her neck.

  “We are here to entertain the troops.”

  “I am the troops.”

  “One troop. See this room? They’re all in need of entertainment.”

  “Who’s going to take care of me?”

  “Why don’t you worry about that after the show?”

  “Why don’t you give me something to live for?”

  Christine, Sheila, Deborah, and Annie climbed up the stairs and joined them onstage. They reached into their evening bags for their compacts.

  “I can’t dance with another soldier. I have no feeling in my right foot,” Sheila complained.

  “Girls, say hello to Tony Arma.”

  “Oh, this is big Tony.” Sheila looked him up and down. “Heard a lot about you.”

  “You have?” Tony was amused.

  “Sheila is a real card. Don’t believe a word she says.”

  “Yep. Chi Chi told us about the time you two were doing your show in Youngstown at the Jungle Room and Chi Chi changed costumes, forgot to zip up her dress in a quick change, and you did it for her.”

  “I remember.” Tony grinned.

  “Chi Chi said it was half awkward and half romantic.”

  “Is that what she said, Sheila?”

  “Scout’s honor. And I made it to cadet level.”

  “I bet you did,” Tony said, without taking his eyes off of Chi Chi.

  Corky Lister charged up the steps. “Okay, kids, the band is wrapping up the number. You’re on.”

  “Are we doing backup, Chi Chi?” Annie asked.

  “What are we doing?” Christine asked, fanning herself. “Add syrup and you could put me on pancakes.”

  “Yes, yes. Backup.” She was flustered. “Tony, over there.” She pointed to the center microphone.

  “What have you got?” Corky hissed from the side of the stage.

  “Introduce Tony Arma,” Chi Chi instructed.

  “Is he here?”

  Tony pointed to himself. “Yeah. The skinny guy in the Navy getup.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Arma. I didn’t recognize you without the hair.”

  Corky took the microphone to the center of the dance floor as the couples drifted back to their seats. “Ladies and gentlemen, a big treat tonight. All the way from the Pacific theater, that’s right, we got him, you love him, the Cosmopolitan Neapolitan, Tony Arma!”

  The crowd cheered. Tony took Chi Chi by the hand and stood before the microphone onstage. He cued the drummer, who underscored his patter. “How about this beautiful Italian girl?”

  The wolf whistles were earsplitting.

  “I found her on a beach in Sea Isle, New Jersey, folks. True story. She did my nails.”

  “I did not.” Chi Chi played along.

  “Yes, you did. You were sitting on a moppeen.”

  “It was a blanket.”

  “You were under a canopy.”

  “It was an umbrella.”

  “I asked you to lunch.”

  Chi Chi feigned disinterest. “I told you I was busy.”

  “I didn’t believe you.”

  “I told you to pound sand.”

  “There was a lot of it. A lotta sand. And I had no place to go. I was a ninety-eight-pound weakling, and there was nobody to take me in. So I followed this one home. Madone! She made me macaroni. We had some homemade wine. And when it came time for dessert, I asked for cannolis—you know, I like cannolis. And so she went to the drawer in the kitchen.”

  “That’s where we keep the cannolis.” Chi Chi rolled her eyes, deadpan.

  “Not really. That’s where she keeps the rolling pin.”

  “Mama’s Rolling Pin,” Chi Chi corrected him. “It’s a kitchen tool.”

  “And it was a hit on the Hit Parade charts. Back us up, ladies.”

  Christine, Annie, Deborah, and Sheila gathered around a second microphone and harmonized the opening riff.

  “Let’s go, boys!” Tony pointed to the band.

  The band exploded with a horn-heavy, vivacious rendition of Mama’s Rolling Pin. Chi Chi and Tony sang their parts, but they were tickled by the odd blast of the brass in the band. It wasn’t quite right in tone—it had a loose, shaky quality to it, and when the trumpet player blew the quivering notes, it made them laugh. They did their best to restrain themselves, but the strange sting gave them a case of the church giggles. The harder they tried not to laugh, the more they broke up. Soon it didn’t matter, as the joy spread from the girls, through the band, and out into the audience.

  Tony jumped off the stage and dared Chi Chi to jump into his arms. She looked perturbed, and then hesitant, and finally resigned as the crowd goaded her to jump. Tony caught her in mid-air, like a bunch of flowers. He spun her around, put her down on the floor, and faked a bad back.

  Chi Chi motioned for the girls to join her on the floor. Tony and the girls formed a line and mimed the rolling-pin dance. Soon, Linda Darnell joined them, and the patrons filled the dance floor, making like rolling pins. The band kept the song going as the crowd was having a marvelous time. They were lost in the music, having forgotten their troubles and the world outside.

  As the band eased into another song, Tony swept Chi Chi into his arms.

  “What is the matter with you?” she asked.

  “We have a hit.”

  “You’re acting crazy.”

  “How do you want me to act?”

  “I don’t know, that’s up to you.”

  “Tell me what you want me to be, and I’ll deliver the goods.”

  “Just be yourself.”

  “This is myself. And those letters I write to you. That’s me too. How about you?”

  “That’s me in those letters.”

  “I thought you got a little romantic with me. Maybe you thought I would get blown up and you’d never see me again, so you got a little cheeky.”

  “I did not,” Chi Chi lied.

  “I don’t think you’d let Monsignor Nibbio read them.”

  “Probably not.”

  “So I’m right. Sheila said you talked about me. Do you talk about me a lot?”

  “Hardly ever.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Tony held her tightly. “You smell good. It’s been too long.”

  “Are you drunk?”

  He laughed. “No.”

  “You’re acting crazy.”

  “Forgive me. I thought maybe.” Tony pulled away to a respectful distance as they danced.

  Chi Chi moved
closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder. “Sav?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You know how I’d always know where you were on the road and you wondered how I knew? Like when I was playing the piano and my back was to the door and you’d come in and you’d say, How’d you know it was me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s your neck. You have a particular scent. Cedar and lemon and leather.”

  Chi Chi had given this some thought, which meant she had given him some thought. He still couldn’t read her though. He had no idea what she was thinking, or where this was going. For all he knew in this moment, she had no romantic interest in him whatsoever. The letters she sent had been funny, entertaining. They weren’t mushy or covered in lipstick kisses or spritzed with cologne like the letters the other fellas received from girls back home. Chi Chi’s letters were written to help him get his mind off things, to ease his burden a little and make him laugh. That kind of a letter is written by a pal and nothing more.

  Chi Chi stopped moving to the music.

  “Did I step on your feet?” Tony asked.

  Chi Chi shook her head that he hadn’t. She took his face gently into her hands. She kissed his cheek, his nose, and his lips softly. If her kisses had been words, they would have been whispers. She rested her cheek against his for a few moments until Tony pulled her closer still, and this time, he kissed her.

  Tony hoped he’d stay in that kiss with Chi Chi forever until the lousy trumpet player hit a bum note. They laughed, they couldn’t help it, though they held on to one another. It was just their luck to have the spell broken, when all they had ever done was try to make that same kind of magic for lovers in every club, dance hall, and lodge on the circuit. Tony was leery that the piker blowing brass had ruined the moment. Was it a sign? But he needn’t have worried, because it was too late to ruin anything. Tony had Chi Chi’s heart. He knew.

  * * *

  Chi Chi folded up the musical charts as the band packed up their instruments. Tony took pictures with the servicemen, but he kept an eye on Chi Chi.