“And I’ll be thinking of you.” Chi Chi looked down at her hand. “This is the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen. Thank you.”
“It suits you.”
“It’s too much.”
“So are you.”
Tony kissed Chi Chi goodbye. It had been a few months since he had kissed any girl, and he had almost forgotten how essential kissing was to living. It was breathing for him, better nourishment than food for sure. After years of knowing Chi Chi, he had become an expert on her lips from afar: watching them when she spoke, observing her as she bit them when she wrote a song, or intrigued at how she could swipe them expertly with red lipstick backstage without a mirror, and stay within the lines. “Savvy, are my lips even?” she’d ask before they went out onstage. Occasionally he’d fix the line on the cupid’s bow with his thumb. At the time, he’d thought nothing of it, but now he was going to marry her and someday his children would have those lips and her smile.
“I’m going to buy some thank-you notes tomorrow,” Chi Chi said.
He was used to her pronouncements, so he played along. “What for?”
“Gonna send them to all those girls you kissed on your way to me. Gonna thank them for getting the kinks out.”
“Look around, Cheech.”
Chi Chi looked through the windshield of the Packard. Wives and girlfriends were saying goodbye to their midshipmen. The couples speckled the road like tumbleweed. There were lots of them. They came from the corners, alleyways, and streets, out of cars, off buses and trains, and emerged from the shadows near the base, as the sun rose. Just like Tony and Chi Chi, they were squeezing every second out of their goodbyes.
“There’s nothing to be sad about,” Chi Chi said. “You’ll be home in no time, and by then I’ll have planned our wedding, and the war will be over.”
“Do you know President Roosevelt?”
“Nope. Don’t need to meet the man because I have faith in you.”
Tony kissed her one last time before getting out of the car. The door creaked loudly when he opened it, its rusted hinges in need of oil. They laughed when everyone within the sound of the creaking stopped kissing and turned to see what could possibly be making that awful sound.
“Before you go—”
Tony leaned in the window. “Yeah?”
“Out of all the girls in the world, I’m curious. Why me?”
“Out of all the fellas in the world, why me?”
“Because you’re a good man.”
“You’re the best person I’ve ever known, Cheech. That’s why.”
Chi Chi watched her fiancé follow the men onto the base. He turned around a final time and waved to her before entering the barracks. He kissed the medal and tucked it into his shirt before going inside.
Once he was out of sight, Chi Chi sat in the car and shivered. She had never been so afraid.
* * *
Inside the base, Tony got in line to pick up his uniform. He also had a choice of a book, a deck of cards, or a pack of stationery with stamps provided by the Navy Wives Clubs of America as an amenity. Tony chose the stationery.
Tony would write a long letter to his mother about Chi Chi. She would certainly remember the girl from Sea Isle. His mother had liked her. He would have to explain his feelings, something he didn’t do very often, but tonight he felt it was important to tell his mother what was in his heart. He would explain that he wanted to marry Chi Chi Donatelli because she understood him.
Tony wanted a certain happiness to look forward to after the war. He did not know how to battle the grim thoughts in his head without something and someone to look forward to. He could not wait for his salvation; he had to be sure of it now. Sometimes, when he couldn’t sleep on the sub, he’d imagine his children, a family of his own, but having one seemed impossible; he often felt forgotten and lost, idling inside the ship beneath the surface of the ocean.
Tony would also write to Chi Chi. He wanted to explain the difference between being truly loved by her and having been amused by other girls, to feel less lonely. It had turned out that sex, even when it was satisfying, was a short-term fix for a long-term ache. For most of his life, that had worked out fine for him, but now, when faced with hard truths, he required deeper meaning to his actions. He didn’t know if this change of heart had to do with a fear of death or a fear of ending up like the old singers who tour until they can no longer hear the band and take comfort wherever ladies are willing. Tony observed that misery and was determined to avoid it.
He would try and find the words to tell Chi Chi that the moment he could finally make love to her would be the happiest of his life. Chi Chi was the only woman who had ever taken the time to get to know him. What an odd thing to admit, when he had known so many women. Chi Chi hadn’t rejected him when he did something stupid or didn’t measure up; it wasn’t a painful lesson in shame every time he was human. Her capacity for forgiveness was equal to her ability to love.
And that is why Chi Chi Donatelli got the glittering heart.
* * *
December 23, 1942
San Diego, California
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Armandonada,
I hope this letter finds you both in the best of health.
It is with great joy that I write this letter to you. Your son, Saverio, has asked me to marry him. I have accepted his proposal of marriage. As you know, he is presently in service to the United States Navy as a midshipman operating in the Pacific theater of operations. We have had a chance to see one another, as I have a position with an orchestra in California for the duration.
Mrs. Armandonada, I remember meeting you at my parents’ home with your cousin Joozy. You were a lovely lady, and I have often thought of you since. I look forward to meeting you, Mr. Armandonada. Knowing that you raised such a wonderful son, he must have the world’s best father. I wish you both a very Merry Christmas.
With affection,
Chi Chi Donatelli
Chi Chi
Saverio’s fiancée
P.S. I sent him back to the USS Nevada with a miraculous medal blessed by Father Krause of the Church of Loreto to keep him safe.
8
Marziale
(Regimental)
1943–1944
Lieutenant Tony Arma felt pressure in his ears as he gave the first command to fill the ballast tanks on the USS Nevada with salt water. He heard the clang of the cages as they opened, followed by the soft whirl of the propellers as they slowed to a stop. His ears were as effective an indicator of the timing of the submarine’s descent as any of the gauges he monitored in the control room. He had come to rely on his five senses, as well as the data and intelligence, in the same way his commanding officers engaged sonar to navigate the sub through the dense black tangle above the ocean floor.
The repeat chain of command echoed through the main hull, the engines cutting from a dull hum to complete silence as the sub plummeted into the deep. It was a routine drill, the third one on that day. Tony studied the pressure gauges on the utility wall, recorded the numbers on the ship’s log, when the overhead lights flickered and went out. Typically, the safety electrics fired within seconds of a blackout; Tony gripped the hatch ladder and held on, waited for the lights to return, and listened for a command. He heard the interior clangs of doors being latched within the main hull. Standard procedure: not a cause for concern. There was no callout. The lights on the board returned. Tony exhaled a sigh of relief as the numbers blazed brightly and the gauge needles began to whirl. When no further command was issued, the lieutenant kept his eyes on the numbers before him and waited.
The submarine rocked gently, followed by a rolling sensation. Tony was certain this motion was not caused by the crawl pattern that had been determined earlier by the chief officer on the boat. The COB had outlined a drill earlier that day, but it had not included review of any safety maneuvers during operations that included ballast weights.
Tony heard the sound of rapid footsteps overhead, follow
ed by the snap of the hatch that led to the conning tower. The COB must have called for the operations team to join him from the main hull, Tony reasoned. He heard the hatch snap shut and seal. He heard the soft pads of their steps as they climbed within the tower.
Tony wiped sweat off his forehead and away from his eyes. The heat in the main hull was suddenly tropical, making him perspire so heavily, he could not see. The fans in the electrics and operations went out with the lights but had not resumed. A submarine, essentially a steel box encased in iron, was a hot oven; without fans and air flow, the temperature rose quickly.
Tony pulled his flashlight from his belt and examined the numbers on the grid; they pulsed oddly, and were difficult to read. He heard the sound of more footsteps overhead when the sub dove forward in the bubble, tilting down to the ocean floor. He dropped the flashlight.
The force of the move spun Tony around as he gripped the ladder, throwing his back flat against the control panel. As the ship righted itself, he fell to his knees and groped on the floor for the flashlight. Luckily, it rolled toward him. He grabbed it, flashed the light around the control room, checking for hazard flashers or distress signals. There were none. He thought to try and move up to the tower to join the other men. Instead, he followed the steps he learned in his training. He went over the board, checked his handwritten notes by the beam of the flashlight, and awaited command.
He turned to peer down the tunnel.
Frightened at what he saw, his heart began to race. A lone figure joined him in the doorway, eerily ghostlike and oddly still. Tony shone the flashlight on his pal Barney, who appeared pale in the pin light, with an expression of terror on his face.
“They’ve got us,” Barney said softly. “I saw it on the satellite feed.”
A deafening crash rocked the submarine from side to side. The sound of steel as it rips open and tears away from itself led to the deep rumble of iron as it buckles against a fireball of heat. These sounds were followed by a series of seismic shakes, which felt as though the ocean floor were opening up and swallowing the ship. When the jolts subsided, a wild rush of seawater poured into the outer hull. The rush of the flood hit the electrics. The panel went out, the emergency systems sputtered, crackled, and hummed, wired by a weak generator, plunging the submarine into complete darkness, except for the flicker of the emergency lights that lit the exits.
An earsplitting explosion erupted from the heart of the sub and rocked the ship. The force of an enemy torpedo blew the two men out of the open doorway and sent them careening down the main aisle of the hull, into a pitch-black abyss.
* * *
Chi Chi curled up next to her mother on the sofa in the living room of the Sea Isle house. Barbara worked on the sewing machine nearby, as baby Nancy crawled inside her playpen.
“You want to get married here?”
Chi Chi couldn’t help but notice that Barbara passed judgment on any decision she made, great or small. “I want a traditional shore wedding,” she said. “A football wedding. Live band. Sandwiches. Dance all night. Cookie trays. A genuine Italian festa.”
“What does Tony say?”
“Whatever I want.”
“That’s what they all say at first. Everything is perfect until you disagree with him.” Barbara bit off the dangling thread with her teeth. She checked the seam on the curtain she sewed. “The moment you marry the man, what he says goes.”
“Every marriage is different.”
“Sure.” Barbara lined up the seam and pushed the fabric through under the bobbin. “So is every dish of macaroni, and in the end, it’s still macaroni.”
“I should reach out to the Armandonadas and offer them a room here for the wedding,” Isotta said.
“Where will we put them? We’re packed in over here. Joozy has room. Of course, that means you have to invite the Fierabraccio crew.”
“True.” Their mother thought about it.
“I’d rather have them at Joozy’s. Savvy doesn’t get along with his father,” Chi Chi admitted.
“They’ll work it out by the wedding, no?” her mother asked.
“Tony won’t discuss it.”
“He comes from one of those Italian families that does the deep freeze.”
“Like the Fierabraccios?”
“Yes. Like them.” Barbara flipped the switch on the sewing machine. “They don’t speak to one another when they get angry. It goes to the grave.”
“His mother is very nice. How bad can his father be? She puts up with him.”
“You’ll soon find out,” Isotta said as she picked up her granddaughter. “I want you to go and see the priest as soon as possible.”
“If he’s going to marry you, make it a high mass in the morning,” Barbara said. “Father Rosalia hits the sauce by noon.”
“White or red?” Chi Chi joked.
“Rye.”
The phone rang. Chi Chi answered it, then listened. “I’m Chiara Donatelli.”
“She must have won a ham,” Barbara said. “I put her baptismal name on the ticket in the church raffle.”
Chi Chi hung up the phone. She gripped the back of the chair.
“Who was that?” Barbara asked.
“Tony’s submarine was hit. He’s missing.” Chi Chi grabbed her coat and headed for the door.
Barbara got up to follow Chi Chi out, but Isotta stopped her. “Let her go.”
* * *
Chi Chi trembled, pulling her coat closely around her, and looked down at her hand. The engagement ring did not sparkle as there was very little light. She tried not to take that as a sign. It probably meant nothing; the sun was buried deep behind the thick November clouds. She pulled on her gloves as she took the path to the beach.
Tangled vines laced with seaweed covered the bluffs. Beyond them, the shore was deserted as far as Chi Chi could see. She walked along the water’s edge, where the gray expanse of the sea mirrored the grim sky.
The waves of the Atlantic rippled gently in white folds. She imagined the wild surf of the Pacific Ocean she had seen on newsreels, and felt the distance between them. There was nothing she could do for Tony; she felt useless.
Chi Chi tried to conjure a world without him. She should have prepared for this moment—her friends with boys in the war had advised her to cope with reality by facing it—but she hadn’t prepared for the worst. Chi Chi examined her conscience with the kind of desperation known only to those driven to bargain with God.
I will give up everything to have him come back to me.
Her everything was her ambition, which was also her sin. She had fed her artistic dreams with craft, cunning, and a single-minded determination, to the exclusion of romantic love, deep friendship, and the creation of a family of her own, which made her selfish. She wore Tony Arma’s ring, but she knew it represented the promise of a career partnership as much as it did the preamble to a holy sacrament. The self-recrimination had once been resolve. The only women who survived in the business of the big bands attached themselves as a romantic partner to the most important man in the orchestra, or made like a mother and served him as a secretary. Chi Chi’s plan was to invent her own life. But now, the test arrived.
I never wanted to marry, and now it has been taken from me because I did not value it and I did not love him enough. The work was always more important; it was always the goal. If Tony hadn’t become part of the fabric of my dream, I would not be engaged to him.
We would travel the world, write songs, sing them, and make 78s, one after the other. The records would stack like pizelles, high hats of them, hundreds of them. Hits, hits, and more hits. The songs would be born in the night, rehearsed in the day, and put in the show with a full orchestra behind them the next evening. The routine of our lives would be to create new music, and revel in the process. It would be our version of the factory life, but instead of making blouses and assembling cars, we would write about the desires and dreams of the people who worked the line, and I would set the words to music. We
found the threads of the stories in our families, the table around which we gathered, and the love that bound us together like the binding of a book.
But I got greedy.
Women who want too much are punished for their ambition with a lifetime of loneliness while a man who aims for success is rewarded for it. Only war asks him to offer his life in exchange for the lives of others. A woman is expected to give up everything for the privilege of loving one man.
She folded her hands, bowed her head, and closed her eyes.
I offer everything—my career, my ambition, my future—in exchange for his life.
Chi Chi heard Barbara call her name from the bluffs. Barbara waved to her with both arms crossing over her head, the SOS signal her parents had taught them to use on the beach. She must have news. Barbara shimmied down the bluffs as Chi Chi broke into a run.
“They got him! They found Tony!” Barbara shouted.
“The Japs?”
“No, no, the hospital. He’s in the Naval Hospital in San Diego.”
“How is he? What did they say? Tell me everything!” Chi Chi grabbed her sister by the lapels of her coat.
“I pried as much information as I could out of the nurse. We know he’s alive, and he’s had surgery.”
“He made it. He made it!” Chi Chi let the news sink in. “I have to go.” Chi Chi locked arms with Barbara and began to walk back home. “I have to make this right.”
* * *
Lee Bowman wore her best cranberry wool suit on the Super Chief from Chicago to Los Angeles. She had packed lightly, as she was in a rush, but she knew from her time on the road representing bands that packing was about extra blouses, stockings, and undergarments, not about an array of heavy skirts, jackets, and dresses. She had brought one hat, which she wore on the train, a fetching Tyrolean trilby in salmon pink with a cranberry grosgrain ribbon.
Chi Chi sat across from Lee in her best outfit, a gray bouclé silk suit with a long jacket and matching straight skirt. Her hat, a black felt Italian fedora, rested on her lap. Her dark hair hung in waves loosely around her shoulders.
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