Tony's Wife

by Adriana Trigiani

  “I want you to let Vickie Fleming know I’m not coming back,” Chi Chi said.

  “It’s a little soon to make a decision, don’t you think?”

  “I’m not in a state of mind to tour right now.”

  “Are you worried about how Tony will be when we get there?”

  “I get more anxious as we get closer.”

  “Me too,” Lee admitted.

  “My cousin from Long Island lost his leg in France,” Chi Chi said. “He’s learning how to walk again.”

  “Don’t let your mind go to that place.”

  “You know what I think about?”

  “What’s that?”

  “What I can possibly say, or do, for him to make this better.”

  “You can’t make it better.” Lee sighed. “No one can.”

  “But that’s my role in his life.”

  “You’ll have to pick a new one, because being an angel is an impossible gig. Even I wouldn’t let you sign on for that job at a ten percent commission.”

  “Whatever condition he is in, however awful it is, and whatever it means about the future, I accept it. I’ll take care of him. We’ll get married and he’ll come home with me.”

  “You’re made of the good stuff, Chi Chi. He’s lucky because I’ve seen every kind of show business wife. There aren’t many who would sign on for that life sight unseen.”

  “I am.”

  “And what if he’s fine?”

  “I owe God.”

  “We all do.”

  “I made a few bargains.”

  “Oh, those.” Lee looked out the window.

  “You have to help me try and be a traditional wife.”

  “You can be whatever you want to be. There are wives who stay home and take care of everything, and don’t want to hear about the road. Just bring home the purse, honey, and I’ll keep a log on the fire and a hot meal in the oven for you. Others take care of the home and children too, and they make it to a show here and there, come backstage afterward, and stand on the fringes of the room like fans, not knowing what to say. Think about it, that’s her husband up there, and she doesn’t say anything.”

  “It’s a club, Lee. I know all about it because I’m in it. If you’re not in the band, you’re an outsider. Of course the wives feel out of step.”

  “The wife doesn’t say anything because she doesn’t feel she has the right. It’s his world, and she knows she has no place in it. Occasionally, a girl comes along like you who has dreams as big as the men.”

  “What happens to them?”

  “The smart women never stop working.”

  “Is this your agent way to keep me on the tour?”

  “No. But you have to do something. You have momentum.” Lee reached into her purse. Billboard hasn’t forgotten about you and Tony. Look at this.”

  Of all the duos around, Tony & Chi Chi brought musicality and comedy to the charts before the war. Their ethnic material, firecrackers in the kitchen sink, chili powder in the marinara, is explosive and we can’t wait to see what they cook up after victory is secured. Donatelli, for her part, is a first-rate songwriter. Dream Boy, Dream as styled and sung by Dinah Shore is an instant classic, a song that will stand the test of time as it defines it, note by glorious note.

  “I tried for years to get a line in that magazine for you, and finally they’re taking notice.”

  “I don’t want to quit, Lee.”

  “You may not have the option. If he can’t work, you’ll have to support him.”

  “I’ll take care of us financially too. I don’t mind. No matter what shape he is in, I’ll get him well, and I’ll keep writing.”

  “Good. Because Dinah wants more songs from you. As fast as you can write them.”

  * * *

  The Naval Hospital in San Diego had taken over a warehouse by the shipyard and put up a temporary hospital unit to treat American servicemen and -women injured in battles in the Pacific theater. The nuns of the Poor Servants of God from Ireland ran the nursing staff expertly.

  Lee and Chi Chi looked at one another as they walked through the impromptu facility. Rooms for patients were areas of the floor cordoned off with white burlap curtains, hung with grommets on a system of poles that covered an area the size of a football field. It reminded her of the public ward where her father had been a patient in New Jersey, except that in this enormous room, there appeared to be more nuns tending the wounded than patients in the beds.

  Chi Chi took Lee’s arm as they searched for Tony’s bed. It was a daunting task. They had been at it for half an hour, walking up and down the rows. The sections were constantly changing, which made squaring the numbers difficult. Lee would peek behind the curtains. She had the stomach for it, and could have been a nurse. Chi Chi was the opposite. It debilitated her to see all of the injuries and take in the suffering. She felt weak in her legs, and was worried they would not hold.

  “You can do this,” Lee assured her.

  Chi Chi kept her eyes on the cards pinned outside the curtains, holding the names of the wounded. “There it is,” she exclaimed. “He’s in section 1028.”

  Lee grabbed her hand. “I’ll wait out here. Remember, no matter what, be cheerful. Lift his spirits.”

  Chi Chi took a moment. She feared what she would find behind the curtain. The Navy had given her almost no information on Tony’s health. She imagined the worst, and steeled herself to accept that their life together going forward might very well be different from what she had imagined. She vowed that no matter what condition she found her fiancé in, she would take care of him for the rest of his life.

  Chi Chi opened the curtain and stepped inside. Tony was sitting up in the bed. His nose was bandaged, over a splint. His dark brown hair was in need of a cut, as new curls were fighting for a comeback. He was reading the paper, but dropped it when he saw her.

  Chi Chi ran to him. “What happened to you?” she asked as she put her arms around him and held him close.

  “We got hit.” Tony kissed her tenderly. “You want to know the good news?”

  “Sure.” Chi Chi squeezed onto the bed with him.

  “We didn’t lose one man. It’s a miracle. The torpedo hit the tub in such a way that it ripped the outer shell, but did not penetrate the hull. The second blast was all noise; the torpedo skimmed past us, but on its way ripped the ballast cage which sounded like the end of the world. But, all fifty-five of us made it out. But, I’m a mess. I got this”—he pointed to his face—“and a bad case of claustrophobia.”

  “After months on that tub?”

  “It came on the night of the blast. Hit me like a wave. Right before the first one. I began to sweat. I thought I had a fever. I was scared, sure, who wasn’t? But this came from feeling enclosed. When I go back on the ship, I guess I’ll find out for sure.”

  She held his face. “What happened here?”

  “I broke my nose on impact and passed out. They found my buddy Barney and me a few hours later. Somehow, we wound up in the aft, at the opposite end of the sub. We have no idea how we got there. They think the second shell blast threw us down the hallway.”

  “How’s your friend?”

  “Barney got the worst of it. He got beat up pretty good. They took him to a hospital in Los Angeles. Two broken legs. Broken hip.”

  “Who did your nose?”

  “They set it here.”

  “Oh, Sav.”

  “You know, lots of the boy singers are getting nose jobs.” He grinned. “Well, the Italian ones, anyway.”

  “You didn’t need one.”

  “You’re being kind. Lee thought I needed one, but then she dropped the subject. I told her I would never do it.”

  “She’s here!” Chi Chi remembered. “She’s right outside. Lee?” Chi Chi called for her.

  Lee peeked in through the curtain. “Tony, how are you?”

  “How do I look?” He pointed to his bandaged face. “I did this all for you. I’ll be pretty now.”

>   “My novenas paid off.”

  “And at no cost to me. Uncle Sam paid for it.”

  “You got a hit.” Lee pulled Billboard magazine out of her purse and gave it to Tony. “You’re on the charts with Mama’s Rolling Pin. How about some elation?”

  Tony folded his hands. “Lee, I’m reserving my joy for the end of the war. Pray we get out of this thing, will you?”

  “I will,” Lee assured him. “In no time, you’ll be back on the boards with a new act and a top-tier orchestra and a brand-new nose.”

  “It might be worse under here.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “What a supportive agent we got here.” Tony looked at Chi Chi. They laughed.

  “Your face is your fortune. Well, part of it, anyhow. And that schnozzola of yours takes up about a third of it. So when they take off those bandages, and we’re looking at a nose that resembles an artichoke, if Dr. Plaster Splint of the United States Navy made a mess of it, I know a fine surgeon in Scranton, Pennsylvania, who can give you the Tyrone Power special.”

  “Oh, you do?” Tony’s surgeon, Captain Desloges, stood behind Lee. “Lieutenant, are you thinking of getting your nose reset?” he teased.

  “No, sir. That’s just my agent talking.”

  “Why don’t we take a look first and see if you need that hatchet job in Scranton?”

  “Forgive me, Doctor.” Lee was embarrassed.

  “That’s Captain Desloges to you.”

  The captain lifted the bandages off of Tony’s nose. There was some swelling, and a bit of bruising on his cheeks.

  “It’s a fine nose. Straight. I’d call this one the Robert Taylor.” Chi Chi gazed at the artistry. “Thank you, Doctor.”

  “Better than Tyrone Power,” Lee raved.

  “Would somebody give me a mirror?”

  Chi Chi handed Tony a compact mirror from her purse. He looked at his new nose. “Not bad, Captain. Not bad at all. Thank you.”

  Tony Arma’s new nose was a sleeker version of the original. It had a straight bridge, the bulbous tip was gone, and appeared streamlined and sculpted to fit the rest of his face.

  A nurse entered and applied two small ice packs to the sides of Tony’s new nose. Chi Chi took over the chore as she left to tend to other patients.

  “I don’t think you need any adjustment. Cancel your ticket to Scranton,” Dr. Desloges said before leaving.

  “It’s not like I could go to Scranton even if I wanted to.” Tony reached over to the aluminum nightstand on wheels. He handed Chi Chi the open envelope. “I have my orders.”

  Chi Chi read the letter. “Another six-month hitch.” She gave the letter to Lee.

  “You take care of that new nose, Tony. There’s a place in Hollywood for that mug.”

  Tony laughed. “You think so?”

  “She’s already working on it.”

  “The first order of business is not the movies when I’m out of this. It’s getting married. Right, Cheech?”

  “I’m all yours, Sav.” And now more than ever, Chi Chi meant it.

  * * *

  Chi Chi got off the M-3 bus at Park Avenue and checked her watch. She was right on time. She soon reached the corner of East Fifty-Fifth Street and Second Avenue, where she gazed up at the newly finished apartment building which lived up to the architectural rendering on the offering. The Melody had instant and impressive curb appeal. The modern building stood out against the older high-rises on the avenue, with its cranberry brick facade, gleaming windows with high-gloss black sashes, and an entrance awning in bold stripes of evergreen and white that led to the gleaming marble foyer. The singer-songwriter was well pleased with her first real estate investment.

  Claire Giannamore waved at Chi Chi from under the canopy. “Miss Donatelli!” The trim, elegant fifty-year-old, an interior designer from the B. Altman department store, worked with Chi Chi long distance to decorate the apartment as she toured the West Coast. “I can’t wait to show you the place.”

  “Your sketches were stunning. And I could use some beauty right now,” Chi Chi admitted as they rode the elevator to the tenth floor. “Sometimes I think this war will never end.”

  “It will,” Claire promised. “And when it does, look out. The world as we knew it will have changed.”

  “Hasn’t it already?”

  “You have no idea. I visit showrooms around the country. Dallas. San Francisco. New Orleans. With international clients. When our boys finish off Hitler, and our boys will, there will be an explosion of new business. There’s rebuilding to do. It’s going to be good for everybody, from the farmer to the furrier to you and me. People want to be happy again. To dance, dine, dress up.”

  “And decorate,” Chi Chi added.

  “Of course. But you, young lady, are the wise one. You got in early, and you got a deal. I hope you like what I’ve done.” Claire gave Chi Chi the key to her apartment. “Ten C, madame. C for Chiara.”

  Chi Chi looked down at the gold key in her white-gloved hand.

  “What are you waiting for?” Claire asked.

  “I’m only going to feel this once.” Chi Chi placed her hand on the door. “Everything I have since I began writing songs and went on the road is in this apartment. It’s more than an investment to me.”

  “I hope you think it’s a worthy prize for all your hard work.”

  Chi Chi turned the key in the lock, opened the door into her newly decorated classic six. She stepped into a foyer papered in a vivid pattern of deep-green elephant leaves on a lavender background. A simple crystal bobeche chandelier hung from the ceiling, throwing prisms of light onto the white marble floor veined in gold.

  The living room was a respite of calm with soft lilac walls, elegant Georgian furniture covered in emerald-green velvet, and a jewel-toned crewel work rug underfoot. An upright piano painted in white lacquer, with a table and chair positioned nearby for writing, was set in the living room alcove. Chi Chi stopped and tinkled the keys on the piano before she walked into the all-white kitchen.

  In the dining room, Claire had installed bright yellow silk draperies, a mahogany table and chairs, against walls painted a deep magenta. She followed Claire to the bedrooms down the hallway, which Claire had artfully lined with bookshelves.

  The master bedroom was a cocoon, decorated simply in a peaceful neutral of palest pink. The guest bedroom was decorated in gray. The bathrooms were outfitted in white marble, with a single wall mirrored floor to ceiling. Both were papered in bold prints, the master bath with fig leaves, and ferns in the guest bath, carrying the motif from the foyer through the entire apartment.

  “I put the best-quality materials I could find into your home. The fabrics should outlast you. Let the Schumacher velvets wear, and as they do, they will develop a patina. Let the Scalamandre silks change their luster as the sun moves through and night comes.”

  Chi Chi turned around full circle taking it in. “Claire, thank you! It’s exactly what I wanted. The apartment has a personality.”

  “It’s all yours. Have you told your fiancé?”

  “I will when he comes home.”

  “Do you think he’ll like it?”

  “He’ll have to.” Chi Chi sat down on the comfortable sofa and looked out the window onto Second Avenue below. There was something soothing about the busy street. She could be a part of city life, and yet could retreat to the oasis Claire had created for her.

  Chi Chi had considered Tony’s comfort in the design of the apartment, but she had not asked him to help her purchase the property or contribute to the decorating costs. Lee believed Chi Chi had invested alone because it was necessary for Chi Chi to own it outright, in case something happened to Tony. But that had nothing to do with Chi Chi’s decision; she had another line of thinking entirely.

  Chiara Donatelli was not going to rely on anyone to take care of her. She had her own accounts, portfolio, and real estate investments. She had created the Studio D Company to purchase the apartment, knowing the obsta
cles to doing so in her own name would be formidable, though the legal restrictions on women owning real estate and bank accounts had been loosened for the duration of the war. She took full advantage of the lenient laws. Chi Chi took ownership of her intellectual material as seriously as she did real estate. She alone held the copyrights on all of her songs and kept them separate from her investments. A portfolio of stocks and bonds was kept at the Banker’s Trust Company and another at the Chase Manhattan Bank in New York City. She also kept an account in Sea Isle City, and had a joint account with her mother at the same bank. The amount of cash in these accounts might ebb when the withdrawals needed to flow, but for a show business professional, Chi Chi made saving a priority.

  Chi Chi had learned more than songwriting, arranging, and showmanship in nightclubs as she toured professionally; she had also become a keen observer of financial matters, production, box office, and their abuses. She consoled her fellow songwriters when their royalties melted away like ice in the hands of greedy managers. Entertainers who did not have a financial plan often frittered away their income on vice, gambling, irresponsible relatives, and fair-weather friends. Chi Chi observed Monday mania. Typically, a performer was hit with a financial emergency from a close friend or family member on a Monday after a four-show weekend. The borrower knew the performer was flush with cash from a weekend of work and would go in for the kill. Entertainers, who loved their work so much they insisted they would do it for free, often lost their money because of that philosophy.

  Chi Chi had seen enough and heard enough on the road from her own fiancé. She knew that finances were not his strong suit. Once married, she knew the family budget, bookkeeping, taxes, and savings would fall on her.

  * * *

  Tony was in the conning tower of the USS California near Honolulu, sending signals to the new Pearl Harbor control tower, when a private delivered his personal mail on the desk. The return address read “Barney Gilley. BSG, Va.” Tony removed the note and a small square of tissue paper:

  Saint Valentine’s Day 1944

  Tony My Friend,

  I trust this finds you happy and healthy. How is your nose? One of the perks of my brief desk job for Uncle Sam in San Diego before they awarded me an honorable discharge was the autopsy of the contents of the USS Nevada. They are presently in the process of melting the old girl down. Your pal Edsel Ford transported her in pieces by rail to Dearborn, Michigan. Evidently the steel the Japs ripped to shreds was worth something after all. You might end up driving the old tub someday when they make cars out of it. The irony! Uncle Sam wastes not. God bless the USA!