When Chi Chi arrived at the inn, a porter helped her with her luggage outside. She climbed the steps to the lobby.
“Your room has been taken care of, madam,” the clerk said.
“By whom?”
“By your ex-husband,” the familiar voice said from behind her.
“What?” She turned.
“I couldn’t let you come here alone.”
“I already put our boy to rest.”
Tony put his arms around her. “So we’ll visit him.”
* * *
It was the velvets of Fortuny, that legendary Venetian textile maker, that spoke to Chi Chi. Standing in the showroom in the Giudecca section of Florence, Chi Chi held the weightless saffron fabric etched with fingers of peacock blue. She remembered the colors of summer on the beach in Sea Isle. Yellow light, teal waves, a sun so bright she was blinded, and when she opened her eyes, all she saw were stars.
Had Fortuny seen the same ocean tide, or a similar saturation of color at the same time of day? Had he observed a similar palette on the beaches of the Lido or Santa Margherita or Positano? He must have. This was her youth in texture, color, and form. The shroud material could serve as representing the day she met Saverio Armandonada. This fabric spoke of the time it was, the moment it had been.
“Babe, you want that for something?” Tony asked as he nestled his head into the crook of Chi Chi’s neck, so their cheeks touched. His skin had the scent of cedar, lemon, and tobacco. More memories were conjured for her. She held some, felt others, and now his scent.
“What does this look like to you?” Chi Chi asked. She held the fabric up to the light.
“Am I supposed to know that fabric from somewhere?” he asked.
“What does it remind you of?”
“The curtains in Mount Airy Lodge in the Poconos, 1946.”
“I’m not joking.”
“I’m not either.”
“It looks like the beach at Sea Isle. The day we met.”
Tony squinted. “The blue?”
“Yeah, the blue.”
“Yeah, I see it.”
“Madame, posso aiutarti con il tessuto?” The salesgirl wanted to know how much fabric Chi Chi wanted to purchase.
“Due.” Tony held up two fingers. “You know, Due. Give her a couple yards,” Tony said. As the shopgirl draped the fabric over the table, set the metal ruler, and cut the velvet, Chi Chi observed the process with delight. The girl smiled at Chi Chi. “Che cosa hai intenzione di fare con esso?”
“Yeah, I want to know too. What are you going to make with it, babe?” Tony asked.
Chi Chi leaned on the table and looked at the design. “Something grand.”
The girl folded the fabric carefully. “Va bene. Che bella,” she said.
As Tony paid the bill, Chi Chi sorted through the fabric samples hanging on dowels. She was in awe of Fortuny’s creations—gold velvet etched in pale blue, violet burned with a soft green, a regal red damask. Fabric, she believed, too exquisite to become a gown, a drapery, or a coverlet, almost too glorious to be used for any common purpose. Sometimes it is enough to be near something lovely. It doesn’t require possession; nothing has to come of it, nothing need be created from it. Let its purpose be to exist solely as a thing of beauty and provide joy.
The details of the design and the execution of the patterning inspired her. Chi Chi understood how that same craftsmanship could intimidate and therefore cause the opposite reaction. It might cause a person to lash out and attempt to destroy it, just because it was so stunning. The stories of Fortuny’s competitors looking to put him out of business were legendary. Jealousy almost took down the House of Fortuny.
When Tony Arma took a lover or a wife, it wasn’t because he was inspired by the woman, it was about possessing beauty and the possibilities of what something new might bring. It wasn’t love, after all; it was a man trying to surround himself with beauty in order to feel something, in hopes that beauty would reveal the truth. So far, it hadn’t for Tony. But beauty had, in every way, fueled Chi Chi’s creativity.
“What do you think of this place?” she asked.
“Italy?”
“Fortuny.”
He scanned the room. “Velvet is velvet.”
“But it’s not.”
“You see things I don’t.”
“That’s always been true.”
“And that’s why we’re friends. You see for me, and I see for you.” Tony shrugged.
“What do you see for me exactly?” Chi Chi asked.
“I push you to write music.”
“I was writing before I met you.”
“But not as much and not as well.”
“You’re taking credit for that?”
“Not for your talent, no. But I will take credit for knowing how magnificent you are and making sure you knew it, too. Fair enough?”
Chi Chi didn’t answer. Tony handed her the artfully wrapped yardage, folded into a neat rectangle and tied with an embossed silk ribbon. She held it close to her breast, like a schoolgirl clings to her favorite book.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I like to see you smile, kid.”
* * *
Chi Chi stood on the terrace of her hotel room, with a view of the Dolomites. The salt-covered peaks were so white, they appeared lit from within. The moon hung low and pale pink, like a pearl. There was a knock on the door.
“You have got to be kidding,” Chi Chi said when she opened it.
Tony stood in the doorway with two glasses and a bottle of prosecco. “That’s how you greet your lover? You’re not inspiring much confidence.”
“Go back to your room, old man.”
Chi Chi was about to close the door, but Tony stopped her. “That’s not how this story is going to go.”
“This isn’t a story, Sav. We have already lived it. You already wrote the ending. This is the sequel. We’re good friends, with a lovely family to share. And that’s all we’re going to share.”
“They wouldn’t be here without us.”
Chi Chi looked at Tony. She thought about it. Here she was, in the Veneto, at the foot of the mountains that had so much meaning to her. This was the place her mother’s people were from, the place of her dreams as a girl. Now that she was a grandmother, she had fewer years ahead of her than behind her, and there was no full circle, just a life of fits and starts, mostly because of the man who stood before her. She had been curious through the years why he hadn’t returned to her and begged her forgiveness. She knew he’d tried—there was that moment on the beach after he’d married Tammy, and another time in Rome, when the twins graduated from college, and when Leone played his first professional gig in Los Angeles and he had taken her in his arms impetuously and danced, and she thought for sure he would spend the night. But he hadn’t, and she did not invite him, and that was that. But now that they were alone, just the two of them, the past seemed to dissolve like a chalk message on a stone wall in the rain, as if it had never been written. Whatever was left in her heart for him remained; it had not left with the bitterness that she had released long ago. Under all that pain, disappointment, and regret was love. Love remained when everything else had disappointed them. For the life of her, she could not imagine why. She still loved this man, and while it was completely without logic, it was as real as he was standing before her. Her conscience was clear. Tony was not married; neither was she. So, Chi Chi said, “Come in, Savvy.”
She closed the door gently behind him.
He put the glasses and the bottle down on the table. “Come here.”
“For what?”
“What do you think?”
“I want you to state your intentions.”
“Talking takes the starch out of it, kid.”
“I don’t care.”
“I want to make love to the only girl I’ve ever really loved.”
“That’s a pretty good opener.” Chi Chi went out on the terrace.
Tony foll
owed her.
“You know my problem, all these years, is that I believed you,” she said.
“I figured. You never married anyone else. Why not?”
“That’s a personal question.”
“I’m about to go to bed with you. I think we can get personal.”
“I never remarried because I could never figure out why we couldn’t make it work.”
Chi Chi got that funny feeling in her legs, a weakness she hadn’t felt in years. Her muscles were turning to cake batter. At sixty-nine, she worried; it was hardening of the arteries, the precursor to heart attack and strokes, or perhaps it was a nerve issue. She went back inside and sat down on the bed.
Tony joined her. “What do you say?” He leaned over and kissed her tenderly.
Chi Chi laughed.
“What is so funny?”
She held up her hand. “When our eyes are closed, we’re not old.”
Tony laughed. He kissed her again. “I’ll show you old.”
“I give up.”
On the forty-third anniversary of their wedding, or the twenty-sixth anniversary of their divorce, however they wanted to look at the numbers, Tony and Chi Chi reunited and made love at the foot of the mountains, in the Veneto in the country of their people. And in what would forever be known as the Miracle of the Dolomites, neither of them broke a hip in the process.
* * *
Lee Bowman jogged through the first floor of Bergdorf Goodman on Fifth Avenue like a young girl, inhaling the scents of expensive perfumes, kid leather, and the petals of the long-stemmed fresh roses stuffed into giant crystal urns near the elevators.
Chi Chi waited for her friend and business partner on a stand in front of a three-way mirror in the private shopping area on the eighth floor. Reserved for the most wealthy clientele, the dressing room was a throwback to the halcyon days of custom fittings and design, before women bought lovely couture clothing off the racks.
Chi Chi studied herself in the mirror. She had come around on her looks, deciding not to get a face-lift. She liked the way time had played out on her features; besides, she liked her lips and eyes, they had stood the test of time. When you’re happy, you don’t need a plastic surgeon, but she didn’t want to hurt her sister Lucille’s feelings, who had an eye and neck lift. The great beauties always have the most to lose as they get older. Obviously Tony was still enchanted by her charms, as they were set to remarry at St. Joseph’s in Sea Isle. A proper mass and ceremony. Mort and Betty Luck agreed to come all the way from Milwaukee to stand up for them again. Their children would be their wedding party. Chi Chi’s life had taken a new turn, and she was following the path. All the pain and struggle had somehow been worth it. She thought about writing a song.
Chi Chi heard Lee calling for her in the area outside the dressing room.
“Room seven, Lee!”
Lee made her way down the hallway and pushed the door open. “Oh, Chi Chi,” she said, taking in the dress. “You look gorgeous.”
“Do you think Tony will like it?”
“Absolutely.”
Chi Chi stepped off the platform. Lee helped her with the zipper. Chi Chi stepped out of the dress carefully and hung it on the padded hanger. She stepped back into her skirt and buttoned her blouse. “You know, Lee, you dodged a bullet, never getting married.”
“Did I?”
“Yup.”
“How so?”
“It’s all so unpredictable.”
“I had enough unpredictable in our business.” Lee chuckled. “But I’ve never missed a husband. I had some very nice beaus.”
“You sure did.”
“That was enough for me. Happiness is all about accepting what’s enough.”
Chi Chi gathered up the dress that she would wear as she promised her life to Tony Arma once more. And as dresses go, this one would live up to the moment. Another Italian artist, Giorgio Armani, had made sure of it.
* * *
Three weeks later, Chi Chi pulled on her bathrobe and went to the front door of her apartment in Gramercy Park to collect the newspapers. She put on the coffee, turned on The Today Show, and unfolded the newspapers on the table. As she flipped through the New York Post, an item caught her eye.
Old-school crooner Tony Arma gets hitched to cocktail waitress Ginger Wheedle in Atlantic City. New bride is 23, old groom 72
Chi Chi’s phone rang. Barbara shouted into the phone about Tony’s disgraceful wedding. She cursed, railed, and yelled about how Tony Arma had done nothing but embarrass their family from day one.
Chi Chi hung up the phone. It rang again.
It was Lee Bowman. “I hope to God he was thinking with something besides his crotch! Did she sign a prenup?”
Rosie called. Sunny called. Lucille screamed into the phone. They were shocked. Stunned. But, no one, it seemed, was concerned about Chi Chi’s feelings.
“Why aren’t you angry? I’d kill him!” Rita railed.
“I’ve already been through the worst. Losing my son,” Chi Chi reminded her.
Chi Chi went into her bedroom. She opened the closet door. On the hook on the back of the door, in a dress bag, was the dress she was to wear when she remarried Tony: the gorgeous chiffon chemise in magenta with a seed-pearl collar from Bergdorf’s, Armani privé. Chi Chi stared at it. “Glad I didn’t cut the tags off.”
* * *
Chi Chi sat at her desk in the offices of the BowDon Company on Fifth Avenue, filing paperwork. Lee and Chi Chi had turned their management business into an unexpectedly profitable booking agency for musical acts and orchestras. Even in the era of disco, there remained a demand for swing orchestras.
The receptionist buzzed her. “Mrs. Arma is here to see you.”
“Send her in. And Pam, make the arrangements we discussed immediately, please.”
A pretty young woman in her early twenties, with wild curls, permed brown hair, a trim, small figure, and a high, hoisted bust entered Chi Chi’s office. The shoulder pads inside her silk blouse overpowered her small frame, making it look as if she were wearing shoeboxes under her clothes.
“I’m Tony’s wife,” the young woman announced.
“Ginger, is it?”
“That’s right. You were his first wife?” she blurted nervously.
“I was.”
“He divorced you long ago.”
“Long, long ago. Three wives ago.”
“He’s only my second husband,” Ginger said.
“But you’re twenty-three. What happened to your first husband?”
“He’s in Gracedale.”
“What happened?”
“He had a stroke when he was seventy-six and had to go in a home, and his family turned on me.”
“I’ll bet they did. How did you meet Mr. Arma?” Chi Chi arranged the pencils in the cup on her desk.
“At the bar at the Isle of Capri.”
“In Italy?”
“No, the Isle of Capri restaurant on Third Avenue.”
“Were you a patron?”
“A cocktail waitress. The tips were good. I was sad to quit,” she admitted.
“You quit when you married Tony?”
“He wanted me at home.” She shrugged.
“Mr. Arma is at that stage of life. He needs serenity. He needs naps. Let’s face it. He could use a nurse.”
“That’s cool. It was good at first. The first month was nice. Then he went on the road, and my mother moved into the spare room.”
“You couldn’t be alone.”
“I don’t like it. Ma gets along great with Tony. She plays that record Pacific Songbook every night when she has her highball.”
“I imagine she’ll move on to Jack Jones now that you’ve moved on from Mr. Arma,” Chi Chi said.
“I don’t know about that. She is a big fan of his records. She loves Gravy, Gravy, Gravy. She’s of your generation.” Ginger swallowed nervously. “I’m here for my settlement.”
“What settlement?”
Ginger’s lip quivered. “The money paid to one spouse by the other in cases of abandonment.”
“You’ve been abandoned?”
“In a permanent way. He left me. He said he’d be in Vegas.”
“Why didn’t you go with him?”
“I’m from Queens.”
“I think New Yorkers can travel outside the city limits.”
“But I don’t want to.”
“So Mr. Arma said the marriage was over?”
“He didn’t tell me directly. I just got the papers.”
Chi Chi nodded. “I know.”
“You do?”
“This isn’t the first time.” Chi Chi sat back in her chair. “Where’s your mother?”
“She’s outside in the waiting room.”
“Ginger, if you don’t mind, I’d be more comfortable speaking with your mother. Could you send her in? I’d like to talk to her privately. There’s a small refrigerator with soda in it out in the reception area. If you’re thirsty. Help yourself.”
“Thank you.”
Kloris Wheedle Rinhoffer had a cap of short black hair, and her skin glistened with self-tanner. Her face had a pumpkin sheen. She wore false eyelashes as thick as the bristles on a push broom. She resembled the orange ceramic Siamese-cat ring holder the twins had bought Chi Chi one Christmas, down to the flinty black rhinestone eyes.
“Mrs. Wheedle?” Chi Chi stood and indicated Kloris should take a seat.
“Technically it’s Mrs. Rinhoffer.” She sat down.
“Mrs. Rinhoffer, I’ve just met your daughter for the first time, and I would assume the last.”
“I don’t want to eat up your time,” Kloris said. “What’s your offer?”
“What are you looking for?” Chi Chi asked.
“One million dollars and the New York City apartment at the Melody.”
“Mr. Arma doesn’t have a million dollars, and he doesn’t own the New York apartment,” Chi Chi said.
“Well, he’ll have to come up with it.”
“Mr. Arma doesn’t have it,” Chi Chi repeated.
Kloris smiled. “Then you go get it.”
“I’m his ex-wife, not his mother. And even if I were his mother, I wouldn’t be responsible for his flimflam marriages.”
Kloris ignored the swipe at her daughter. “He sold millions of records.”
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