Tony's Wife

by Adriana Trigiani

  “There she is. I remember her, Ma.” Chi Chi waved to her mother-in-law from the window as the train pulled into the station.

  “It wasn’t that long ago, was it?”

  “Seven years. People change.”

  “Not that fast. Well, babies do. The time flies. You’ll see,” Isotta promised her.

  “I just want them to stay babies long enough for their father to see them.”

  “Chi Chi, I thought you were crazy to take these babies halfway across the country, but they were good. They practically slept the whole way.”

  “The motion of the train was perfect, lulled them right to sleep.”

  Isotta gathered up baby Rosie and followed Chi Chi, who carried baby Sunny down the aisle. The porter stacked their bags on the platform before helping them off the train.

  Rosaria ran to meet them. “Oh, they’re beauties. Rosaria is like a rosebud, and look at Isotta . . . she’s . . .”

  “Always cross,” Chi Chi whispered. “But she looks like Hedy Lamarr, so let her have a temper. She’ll do just fine in this world.”

  Leone Armandonada lingered by the station entrance. Chi Chi had expected a tall man, perhaps because he loomed so large in her husband’s life, but instead she observed an older Italian man, broad-shouldered and built square and sturdy like a pushcart.

  “Is that my father-in-law?”

  “Yes, that’s him,” Rosaria said.

  “Come on, girls, time to meet Nonno.”

  “Signore Armandonada, please call me Chi Chi.”

  “Buon giorno, Chiara.” He bowed his head quickly and held his hat.

  Chi Chi was surprised by the formality. “Or call me Chiara. This is my mother, Mrs. Donatelli. And I would like to introduce you to your granddaughters, Rosaria and Isotta. We call them Rosie and Sunny. But you can call them Rosaria and Isotta, of course.”

  Leone leaned down and looked at the babies. One, then the other. They looked up at their grandfather and burst into tears.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Leone, you scared them,” his wife chided him. “What did you do?”

  “No, no, it wasn’t you, Signore. They’re hungry,” Chi Chi insisted.

  Isotta shot her daughter a look as they followed Leone and Rosaria to their car. Leone held the door as Chi Chi got into the back seat with one baby, followed by her mother with the other.

  “Signore Armandonada?” Chi Chi asked.

  “Si?”

  “Grazie,” Chi Chi said before he closed the door behind them. “I guess he wants me to call him Mr. Armandonada,” Chi Chi whispered to her mother.

  * * *

  “So, this is Saverio’s favorite dessert?” Chi Chi asked her mother-in-law. “Ciambella, right?”

  “This is it. He couldn’t wait for summer. I used to take him cherry picking, and then we would come home and I would make this fresh for him. But now I can the cherries, so I can make ciambella all year. I’ll send you home with a crate.”

  “First, the cherries. Three pints, pitted and sliced in half.”

  Chi Chi spooned them out of the mason jar.

  Rosaria continued, “Put them on the stove with a cup of sugar and the juice of one lemon, and let them slow-cook, until they’re a little soupy. While you’re doing that, I’m making the dough for the biscuits. That’s what we call them. Some people call it a cake, others a doughnut. You will take three cups of flour, one cup of sugar, two eggs, and one egg yolk, and a tablespoon of baking powder. Now sift all of that together. You’re going to add a teaspoon of vanilla, and then you’ll take two sticks of cold butter and cut it up in chunks and add it to the sifted ingredients. Zest a lemon, and throw it in there.”

  Chi Chi put her hands in the mixing bowl and blended the ingredients. “How am I doing?”

  “Keep going. Mix it, but not too smooth.” Rosaria removed a baking pan from the cupboard and greased it with butter. “Now we take the dough and make a ring. We call it a wedding ring.”

  Chi Chi formed the ring on the pan. Rosaria made a few adjustments to her daughter-in-law’s handiwork.

  “Sorry. I’m not too good at this.”

  “You’ll learn. Now bake it at three hundred and twenty-five for twenty minutes, until it’s golden.”

  Leone entered the kitchen from the back porch, carrying a large brown paper bag filled with artichokes. He placed it on the table.

  “I guess I’m making artichokes for dinner.”

  “I know how to make them,” Chi Chi offered.

  “That’s all right, I can make them.” Rosaria smiled.

  “Let Chiara cook,” Leone said.

  “I can do it, Mama,” Chi Chi said. “Go take a rest. I’ll have Nonno help me.”

  Rosaria laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” Leone asked.

  “You in the kitchen.” Rosaria removed her apron and went upstairs. “Cooking.”

  “Did I get you in trouble, Nonno?” Chi Chi asked.

  “No.”

  Chi Chi sifted through the bag of artichokes, choosing the most firm to prepare. Leone sat at the table and watched her. Chi Chi and her family had been visiting for close to a week, and never once had her father-in-law initiated a conversation or asked her a single question.

  “What do you think of your granddaughters?” she asked Leone as she brought the artichokes to the sink.

  “Bella, bella.”

  “I hope you will come and visit us in New Jersey sometime.”

  “I have to work.”

  “I understand. But maybe sometime, when you’re not working.” Chi Chi cleaned the artichokes, cutting off the long stems. “Saverio is coming home soon. He’s touring again.”

  “You call him Saverio?”

  “When I met him, that was his name.”

  “It is my father’s name.”

  “It’s a strong name. I love it.”

  “When did he become Tony?”

  “A bandleader named him.”

  Leone grimaced. “It’s stupid.”

  “Actually, people remember it.” Chi Chi was careful not to sound too defensive. She lined the artichokes in a baking pan, adding about an inch of water at the bottom. She placed them in the oven to steam them.

  “People are sheep. They remember what is easy, not what is important.”

  “That can be true,” she said diplomatically.

  “It is true. I am ashamed that my son gave up his name.”

  Chi Chi wiped her hands on her apron and sat down with Leone. “That must have been difficult for you.”

  “He can do as he pleases.”

  “It happens in show business. Our Italian names are difficult to say and to spell.”

  “Frank Sinatra didn’t change his name. He said no. He has the name he was born with. He is proud of his family. His region. His origins. Not my son.”

  “But he is proud of his family, and he is proud to be Italian. That’s all he sings. It’s who he is.”

  “If he were proud of his name, he wouldn’t be a singer.”

  “Why do you believe that?”

  Leone shrugged. “Look at the world of show business. Gamblers. Gangsters. Riffraff. Speakeasies. Dens of crime. Those are not people of honor or places that people of honor choose to go.”

  “I don’t know about that, Signore. Your son has sung for plenty of cardinals.” Chi Chi stood to gather the ingredients to make the stuffing for the artichokes. “Maybe if you talked to him about it.”

  “He doesn’t talk to me.”

  “Why?”

  “This is my house. I built it with my own hands. And I live inside these walls a certain way. And I expect my son to live the way I brought him up.”

  “He’s a fine man, Papa. He works hard and he has good morals. He’s a man of fine character. He isn’t any of the things you assume about show business; he is his own man.”

  “If he was his own man, he would have kept his own name.” Leone got up from the table and went outside. Chi Chi watched hi
m as he walked down the path to the garden. Her father-in-law was a man of another time. Chi Chi was compelled to find a way to bring him into the moment—for his son, and for their new family.

  * * *

  All Hallows’ Eve, 1945

  Dearest Husband,

  Mom and I took the train to Detroit. Your mother and father met us at the train station. We stayed with them for a week. Your mother made ciambella (good news, she taught me how to make it for you!). She was a natural with the twins. Between my mother and yours, I actually got a lot of rest.

  Your father was very kind to me. He was sweet with the girls. I know that this is a source of pain for you, and I don’t know what happened, except for the big trouble when you were only sixteen, but he wasn’t an ogre. He was fine. He spoke of you a lot. They have your records and clippings and photographs of you. For the sake of our girls, who only have one grandfather, I would like us to make the peace. With peace in the world coming, we need it in our family. I love you with all my heart and want you to have happiness in all corners of your life.

  Your wife

  Tony was furious that Chi Chi had taken the babies to see his father before Tony had seen his children first. He couldn’t believe that she had not asked his permission or sought his opinion.

  He lifted the photographs of his daughters out of the envelope and placed them in his wallet before he tore up Chi Chi’s letter.

  * * *

  Tony ordered a beer at the Anchor, a bar near the pier in San Diego where the servicemen went on weekends. He leaned on the bar when he caught the scent of a familiar perfume—gardenias, he remembered. He turned around. A woman around twenty-five, with long dark hair, stood holding a drink.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought you were my date.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He’s late.”

  “He’s a dope.” Tony took a swig of his beer.

  She smiled. “You think so?”

  “Leaving you alone was a bad idea.”

  The woman smiled and slipped onto the bar stool next to Tony. She lifted his left hand off the bar. “Ugh. You’re married.”

  “I’m Tony.”

  “Joan.”

  “Nice to meet you, Joan.” Tony paid his bar tab and stood.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Staying out of trouble.”

  “Harder to do than finding it.” She turned away from him on the bar stool.

  Tony moved toward the door when a record dropped in the jukebox. The stale air, heavy with smoke and the stench of spilled beer, was cut with the sound of Jimmy Dorsey’s Blue Champagne. The song was an open invitation to Tony. He was incapable of leaving the bar until the song played through. He walked back to the bar, put his arm around the waist of the brunette, and lifted her off the bar stool to dance with him.

  As they swayed to the music, he pulled her close, and put his hand through her hair. The scent of her filled him up and sent him down the long road of what might be as she pressed against him. Her dress was made of silk or satin, one of those fabrics that felt like skin. Tony ran his hands up and down her back. She responded to his touch by nuzzling into his neck. She whispered something in his ear, but he was imagining the song, the actual notes, inside the charts, marking them in time. He saw himself onstage, singing in front of a big band.

  Tony felt her hands slip under his windbreaker jacket. She kissed his ear and grazed his cheek with her lips.

  He pulled away from her, running his hands down her arms until he was holding her hands. He returned her hands to her, as if they had gotten loose and were out to do damage. The waltz was far from over, but he was done.

  Tony walked out of the bar and into the street. The night air in San Diego had turned cool. He shivered as he began to walk back to the base, and quickened his pace. He couldn’t get back to the barracks fast enough. His hitch was up in a matter of weeks, the papers had been signed, he had his ticket home. Tony would be going home to his wife. He would see his babies for the first time. He had not even met them, and he had almost made a mistake that would affect them. The thought of it sickened him. He was so angry with Chi Chi he could not get past it. It would be too easy to hurt her.

  Tony felt pressure in his chest. He felt feverish. He stopped, leaned against a building, and tried to steady his breathing by taking in big gulps of air. He closed his eyes for a moment to settle his nerves. The pressure subsided. He knew he wasn’t having a heart attack. When he opened his eyes, he remembered this feeling. He’d had it on the submarine. It was claustrophobia. The walls were closing in.

  * * *

  Chi Chi wasn’t the only war bride who stood outside Penn Station to greet her soldier boy home from the war. Thousands of women crowded the streets in midtown Manhattan, waiting for trains. Many had brought their families. Chi Chi saw young mothers cradling infants and others corralling children. As the snow came down, Chi Chi found refuge under a tent selling Christmas trees on the street corner. She had so much to say to Tony, and she wanted to hear everything about how his service had ended. She had barely written any letters since the twins were born. She was nervous. She reached into her pocket and checked her face in her compact mirror. Eventually, Tony emerged from the station carrying his duffel. She threaded through the crowd and into his arms.

  “Welcome home!”

  “Did you come alone?”

  “The babies are at the shore at Mom’s.”

  “What are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

  Tony and Chi Chi climbed aboard a bus to take them down the Jersey line. Tony was quiet on the ride, but the bus was full, and it was unlikely that he would share much in a crowd. Chi Chi laced her arm through his and counted the minutes until they were home and he could meet his daughters.

  Chi Chi put her hand in his and placed her head on his shoulder. She didn’t expect much from her husband based upon all she had read and heard from other wives of servicemen. The women who welcomed home husbands from the war had to be patient as the men made the adjustment from the war front to home. Tony was distant and that was to be expected. Chi Chi reached up and kissed him on the cheek, even though he had fallen asleep on the crowded bus.

  Chi Chi, Barbara, and Lucille had decorated the Donatelli family home with white lights in the front trees and along the porch, and placed small paper American flags in the wreath on the front door. Inside the house, they had put up a large blue spruce tree and decorated it with shimmering ornaments for the twins’ first Christmas. Isotta and the girls had put out a buffet, and the place was full of their family and friends. The Donatellis were back to their prewar parties.

  The guests cheered when Tony entered the house. Wild applause and the pops of champagne corks greeted him, but he heard none of it. “Where are my girls?” he shouted over the din.

  Barbara carried Rosie to him. Lucille brought Sunny. Tony looked at his babies, almost six months old, back and forth, one to the other, delighted, taking them in, the details of their features, their smiles. In moments, he was juggling both of his daughters in his arms. “Aren’t they beautiful?” he said.

  Chi Chi fished her handkerchief out of her pocket. “They’ve gotten so big. I wish you could have seen them when they were tiny.”

  “They’re mine,” he said. “My girls.”

  He kissed each baby and held them close.

  “You always know your father and you never forget him,” Chi Chi said as she fussed with Sunny’s dress.

  Tony stiffened. “You putting the knife in?” he said under his breath.

  “No, honey, not at all. I’m talking about you. Not your father. You.” Chi Chi had a pained expression on her face.

  “That’s why you took my kids to see him before I had a chance to see them?” Tony took his daughters and went upstairs. The party that was prepared for him, in his honor, would go on without him.

  Chi Chi was devastated, but she did not let on. She was certain Tony was tired. After all, he had been traveling for day
s to get home.

  “What’s his problem?” Barbara asked Chi Chi quietly.

  “Don’t start, Barb.”

  “It’s always his show, Cheech. He doesn’t think about what this has been like for you.”

  * * *

  Chi Chi rinsed the last pot and placed it on the drying rack. “Ma, go to bed.”

  “Are you sure?” The arthritis in her hands was acting up, and her joints ached. She kissed Chi Chi good night, untied her apron, and went to her new room.

  Chi Chi had added a small apartment onto the back of the homestead for her mother, so she would not have to go up and down stairs. Barbara and her family were settled down the block; Lucille and Frank lived close by in Ocean City, where they were close enough to run over when they were needed. It was all part of a surprise for Tony. Chi Chi planned to unveil the Manhattan apartment, their pied-à-terre in the city, and convince Tony that the girls needed fresh air and the ocean, too, and that the family could commute between the two. Lee was cooking up a comeback nightclub engagement for Tony in Manhattan. Chi Chi had worked hard to make Tony’s transition from the Navy back into show business as seamless as possible.

  Chi Chi climbed the steps, turning off the lights as she went. Tony’s duffel was in the hallway. She picked it up and brought it to the master bedroom. The bed was as she had left it that morning. She had decorated a small, fresh Christmas tree on the bureau for Tony with trinkets from their past.

  Chi Chi went down the hall to the nursery and pushed the door open. The babies were asleep in their cribs, as their father slept on the floor next to them. He had taken a stack of cloth diapers out of the bureau and used them as a pillow. She checked on the babies, who slumbered peacefully. Her mother had agreed to take the early-morning feeding for her, so she and Tony might sleep in. It didn’t matter now. Chi Chi knelt next to her husband and gently woke him by embracing him. “You’re home, Savvy.”

  His eyes opened.

  “I know you’re angry with me,” she said. “We can talk about it tomorrow. Tonight, you should sleep in your own bed. The babies are fine. Come with me.”