Tony's Wife

by Adriana Trigiani

  “You must miss him.”

  “My son was named after him.”

  “You had a son?”

  “One boy. A good boy. Toured with me when he turned eighteen. You’re too young to know my music, I guess.”

  “I grew up on Springsteen, Southside Johnny, and Bon Jovi—you know, the shore bands. Hair bands too.”

  “Good for you. Every generation has their own music. That’s how it should be. My wife is from down the shore. Chi Chi Donatelli.”

  “You married an Italian girl.”

  “Divorced her too. Chiara Donatelli. She sang too. Wrote songs. We were of the time of singers like Dick Haymes, Jack Leonard, Dinah Shore: Chi Chi wrote a big hit that Dinah recorded. Yeah, the singers back then, you can’t top them today. You should take a listen sometime. There was Ethel Waters and Ella Fitzgerald. Sinatra of course, and Tony Bennett, Louis Prima and Keely Smith, Perry Como, Dean Martin out of Mingo Junction, Ohio. Let’s see. Jerry Vale. Steve and Eydie, they were a lot of fun, and they came along later. Bandleaders like the Dorsey brothers, Harry James, Vaughn Monroe. Henry Mancini, Jimmie Lunceford, someday take a listen to him. Cab Calloway. Duke Ellington. Nobody should leave this life without dancing to String of Pearls.”

  “Tell me about your son.”

  “Leone could play any instrument he picked up from the age of five. No bull. Settled on the sax eventually, could play the piano and the trumpet, and he hit the skins with ferocity. But he died young, too young, in an accident. He was helping other people on the side of the road. Not far from here, on the West Side Highway. He died in this hospital. How’s that for irony? They brought him here. After he died, I walked to mass here every Sunday in the chapel. It helped me cope. I can’t say that I joined in. I sat in the back. Never went to Communion.”

  “Why not?”

  “Didn’t feel worthy.”

  “Because you were divorced from Chi Chi?”

  “She was the first. I had four marriages altogether. And four divorces altogether. Padre, a bachelor lies before you.”

  The priest whistled. Tony wanted to laugh, but didn’t have the breath. The machine over his head beeped.

  “I’m sorry, Saverio.”

  “That was funny.” Tony shook his finger at the priest again. “The well-timed whistle. It kills every time.”

  “You only had children with your first wife?”

  “Correct. Three with Cheech. I loved that girl from the start. Just liked being around her. There are people like that. They bring you up just by showing up. First as a friend. That’s why I married her. I trusted her. I didn’t have to do a lot of explaining. I think that’s where men step in it. Women want to understand why we do the things we do. If we could explain it, we’d be women. I have a newsflash for the ladies: most of the time, there’s no reason for any of it. I just lived. Men don’t pick things apart—maybe we should. Every woman I ever loved wanted me to explain my feelings, and every time I did, every time I was honest, calamity ensued.”

  “Why was that?”

  “The truth tastes like wine that’s turned. You see, Father, a man lives in debt to a woman who loves him and takes him in, because we know we’re unworthy. But the day comes when we’re presented with a bill, we know we owe the woman and we have to pay, and there’s only a couple ways to do that. One is to give them your life, with the ring, the house, you know: the whole shot, kids, family. And the other is to do them the favor of staying away. That’s right, the big scram. I did it a lot, and I did it in every marriage. I found if I lingered too long, I got on everyone’s nerves, including my own.”

  “So far, Mr. Arma, I don’t see any sin in that.”

  “There isn’t until you step outside your word.”

  “You mean lie?”

  “If you want to call it that. Usually I was just sparing the woman’s feelings.”

  “Chi Chi’s?”

  “I tried not to hurt her.”

  “But you did.”

  Tony nodded. “If you would’ve told me that anger and regret are the two strongest emotions at the end of life, I’d have told you you’re crazy. But it’s true. I’m more alive in here”—he tapped his head—“than I’ve ever been. I’m like a caged animal in a body that doesn’t work anymore, with a sharp mind that does. And now that I’m old and supposedly wise, everybody wants answers. I got twin daughters who want to understand why their father did the things he did, but it’s awful hard to explain the navigation of the human heart to your children, who would prefer you didn’t have such thoughts about anyone but their mother, and even then, they only want you together in peace. I love my kids, I’d die for them, but I don’t live for them any more than they’d live for me.”

  “In my line of work, we like to gently suggest that you live for God.”

  “I fell short on that, too, Padre. I’m a man of this world. I tried to make people happy. Sometimes I hit the bull’s-eye, and sometimes I got a dart in the neck for my efforts.”

  “Isn’t that true of all of us?”

  “I don’t know about that. Chi Chi saw me a certain way, and I told her, you may see me in that light, but that light fades. It moves with the sun and disappears with the moon, so don’t count on it, kid.”

  “She held out hope for you.”

  “I bet she still does. She’s what I call an optimist.”

  “Saverio, you have had last rites and your final confession. Would you like to take Holy Communion?”

  Tony sighed. “It would make my mother happy.”

  “Would it make you happy?”

  “Whatever made my mother happy would make me happy too,” Tony said softly.

  The young priest opened the leather case in which he carried a bottle of holy water, a vial of chrism, the blessed oil, and the pyx, a small gold bowl with a lid containing the consecrated hosts.

  “How are you feeling, Sav?” Chi Chi said, as she entered the room. “Good afternoon, Father.”

  Tony looked up at Chi Chi. “Your hair is white.”

  “I stopped dyeing it.” Chi Chi, still trim at eighty-two, wore a black pantsuit and white pearls.

  “Why?” Tony squinted at her.

  “The same reason you stopped wearing a toupee.”

  “Too much maintenance.”

  “Of course. It got old, Sav.”

  “Padre was about to give me Communion.”

  “And he wants it?” Chi Chi turned to the priest.

  “May I offer it to you?”

  Chi Chi thought about it.

  “Cheech, take the wafer, will you?” Tony said in a raspy voice.

  Chi Chi held the plastic cup with a straw on the nightstand up to Tony’s lips. He took a sip.

  “I was thinking that we didn’t have a mass when we got married.” Chi Chi placed the cup on the table.

  “The war was on,” Tony reasoned.

  “I should have insisted.”

  “We were in a rush, as I remember.” Tony winked at her. “You couldn’t wait.”

  “One of us was.” Chi Chi turned back to the priest. “Yes, I’d like to have Communion, Father.”

  The priest removed the lid from the pyx and gave Communion to Chi Chi. He placed the small white wafer on her tongue. She bowed her head and made the sign of the cross. The priest turned to Saverio and did the same. The three sat in silence for a few moments.

  “Thank you, Father,” Chi Chi said.

  “Where are the girls?” Tony asked.

  Chi Chi looked at her wristwatch. “They will be here any minute.”

  “Nice. Padre can meet them too.”

  “Sav, I want you to do something for me.”

  “Sure.”

  “I want you to tell your daughters that you love them and you’re proud of them.”

  “I don’t need a script, Cheech.”

  “You were terrible at improvisation. You always needed a script.”

  The priest tried not to laugh as he listened to the old couple bicker. He packed up
his sacred kit and placed his prayer book on top of it.

  A bunch of silver helium balloons embossed with the message “Get Well Soon” in purple floated into the room, carried by Rosie, who held the strings. Sunny followed her sister inside. Rosie let go of the balloons when she saw the condition of her father. The balloons floated to the ceiling and gently tapped against it, as though they were trying to escape.

  “What happened, Dad?” Sunny asked.

  “A little heart attack.”

  “Are they fixing you up?”

  “Sure, sure.” He turned to the priest. “These are my daughters. Rosie and Sunny, Father.”

  The priest shook each woman’s hand. He had pictured them much younger, as Tony had called them girls, but the twins were fifty-five years old.

  “Is the priest here to give you last rites?” Sunny wanted to know.

  “Of course,” Tony said. “He’ll give them to you too, if you sit here long enough. Relax, girls. It’s strictly routine.”

  “A sponge bath is routine. Last rites are for the dying,” Sunny said, her eyes filling with tears.

  “Come here, Sunny.”

  Sunny moved close to her father. “You were a funny kid,” he said. “Made me laugh all the time. Not because you were trying to be funny, but because you were trying to seek justice in this world. Well, guess what? The joke was on you. There is no fairness and no justice but I love you for trying. You were adamant that this or that had to be fixed, or that your sister got the better shoes or your brother the better bicycle. But it wasn’t because you wanted the stuff. You wanted everything to be fair. And that makes you wise. I like your husband. And I love you, and I’m proud of you.”

  Sunny kissed her father and sat next to him on the bed, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. Chi Chi stood behind her.

  Tony turned to Rosie. “Rosaria, you were named for my mother. That got you some points out front. You were like her. Beautiful. Too accommodating. Too nice. But that’s a good thing. If there were no angels walking around on this earth, nobody would want to go to heaven. Thank you for my grandson and granddaughter. And for my great-grandson. I love you too, and I’m proud of you.”

  Rosie kissed her father and sat on the other side of him, taking his hand as Sunny held the other.

  “Dad, do you want to say something to Mom?” Sunny said softly.

  “What for?”

  Chi Chi laughed.

  “No, Dad, really.”

  “If you girls need an example of how to be, you look to your mother. She knew me best, and she never held it against me. Not much.”

  The priest stood at the end of Tony’s hospital bed. He had already given Tony Arma everything in his kit, so he offered a final prayer to the family. When he was done, Tony closed his eyes and fell asleep.

  * * *

  As the sun set, Greenwich Village was bathed in violet light. Chi Chi and her daughters held vigil through the cold November afternoon as Tony lay dying.

  Around nine o’clock that night, Chi Chi stood up to stretch. Rosie was curled up on the end of her father’s bed, while Sunny sat holding Tony’s hand as she sat upright in the chair next to him observing his breathing. The room was quiet except for the whirl of the monitors on the machines.

  Tony opened his eyes. Rosie sat up on the bed, and Sunny stood up. Chi Chi leaned in. “Do you need something, Savvy?”

  “Leone,” he said softly. “Leone.” And, as surely as he had been alive, he was gone.

  The three women stood in silence, holding the moment of his passing.

  “Mom, he saw Leone,” Rosie said with wonder.

  “He’s with our brother!” Sunny whispered.

  Chi Chi embraced her daughters. “Isn’t it wonderful? He’s not alone.”

  The twins believed that their father had been reunited with their brother.

  But Chi Chi knew differently. It wasn’t her son who was on the other side to greet her husband. She was certain that when Saverio arrived in the place of all understanding, there was only one man he needed to see, only one soul who could end his suffering, and that man was his father, Leone Armandonada.

  The monitor began to beep, another machine buzzed. Soon the nurse ran into the room. She shut off the machines, checked Tony, and turned to them. “I’m so sorry.”

  Chi Chi sent Rosie and Sunny out of the room when the nurses arrived to bathe and dress Tony. She sat by the window as the nurses prepared him for the undertaker.

  “Mrs. Arma?” The nurse touched her gently on the arm. “You’re Tony’s wife, aren’t you?” The nurse gave Chi Chi the miraculous medal that Tony had worn since their engagement. “He was wearing this. The Blessed Mother never lets me down either.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Mary Ann Sullivan Whalen.”

  “A lot of names for a good Irish girl. Are you devoted to her?”

  “I say my rosary every day.”

  “Not easy—what you do. Here, please take it.”

  The nurse was surprised. “I couldn’t.”

  “There aren’t a lot of young people who appreciate these medals anymore.” Chi Chi pressed it into her hand. “They only work if you believe in them.”

  “Thank you. I will take good care of it.”

  “Thank you for taking such good care of him.”

  The nurse looked over at Tony. “Would you like to remove his wedding ring yourself?” Chi Chi got up from the chair by the window and followed her to Tony’s side. “May I have a moment with him, please?”

  Mary Ann left the room as Chi Chi fumbled for her reading glasses in her coat pockets. As usual, she found them dangling from her neck on a gold chain. She placed the readers on the end of her nose, leaned in to take a close look at her ex-husband. She ran her hand over the top of his head and down the side of his face. She tenderly kissed his cheek. It was cold. It felt like it had when he went outside and had a cigarette with the boys between sets in a place like Chisholm on the Iron Range of Minnesota, places so cold even the thermometers froze.

  She held Tony’s left hand and peered down at his wedding ring, then slid it off his finger. Her own hand began to tremble as she held it up to the light. The inscription read:

  Chi Chi’s Husband

  “I’ll be damned,” Chi Chi said softly to herself.

  Three wives later, and he was wearing her ring at the end of his life. She felt plenty, but she could not cry. She slipped the ring onto her thumb and sat down on the bed next to him. He was beginning to transform in those minutes after life has ended and death takes hold. Tony’s color was changing rapidly; his face no longer showed human emotion. His soul had lifted away. Beauty, truth, integrity, and hope were gone now, his body abandoned by its spirit like any machine that has lost its purpose.

  Chi Chi continued to hold his hand, remembering that day on the beach so many years ago when he offered it to her and she didn’t want to let go. She slipped out of her shoes, climbed into the bed, and lay next to him, as she had done so many times when he crawled home late from a show in the early days, when they found it painful to spend even one night apart. She remembered how he would quickly fall asleep, exhausted from the gig, and how she would try not to move, so as not to disturb him, knowing he needed his rest. When they were young, she would hold him as he slept, just to be near him. Those days had become the nights that had become years that were lost after he left her, or she kicked him out, who could remember? The middle and the end of their marriage was muddy now; only the beginning was clear, when they were happy. Their life together had not been easy. If it were a song, it most certainly was not a ditty, as the band called requests from the audience, tunes that were so simple they required no rehearsal. Nor had their journey together been a chart topper, a song everybody knows but no one much performs anymore. Commitment had not come easily to either them, if she were being truthful. Their song was neither a novelty nor a humoresque. They had meant everything to one another, but like all masterpieces created from nothing, wh
at they had was flawed. A work of art? Sometimes. But not to everyone’s taste. Mistakes? Plenty. Too many to list, and they would cause overtime in a confessional. There was no need for absolution now. She had given it. All was forgiven. All of it.

  * * *

  Chi Chi closed the window in her bedroom, shutting out the cold and the sound of the sirens of the fire trucks on Lexington Avenue. She flipped on the light and stood at the mirror of her vanity and brushed her hair. She leaned in close to the glass and took a good, hard look at her face.

  She opened the jar of expensive night cream that made more promises than Tony Arma before she married him, and gently applied it to her face. She rubbed her hands together to work the cream into them when she saw Tony’s wedding band on her vanity tray where she had left it earlier.

  Chi Chi opened her jewelry case. Lifting out the top tray, she found the rings from her past that chronicled, in gemstones and gold, the important days of her life. She found the diamond chip in a gold chevron her father had given her on her Sweet Sixteenth birthday, the class ring from St. Joseph High School, the engagement ring from Sav with the diamond pavé heart, and finally, her polished yellow-gold wedding band.

  When Tony and Chi Chi had their first hit, Tony took their original bands that he purchased from the shop in California and had them melted into fine gold bands.

  Chi Chi slipped on her reading glasses and checked the inside of the band. It was inscribed:

  Tony’s Wife

  She slipped the wedding ring onto her finger. It had been years since she had worn it. She clasped her left hand as though it were injured, but she was simply protecting it—from all that had gone wrong, couldn’t be made right, and now wouldn’t be. She slid into bed and pulled the coverlet up to her chin. She had the chills. Chi Chi had the same funny feeling she had when she first fell in love with Saverio Armandonada. She was afraid.

  * * *

  Chi Chi hadn’t set foot in the Melody since Tony moved in permanently in 1981 after his divorce from Dora. There was no other wife left to clean it out, or to be truthful, one who felt it was her responsibility. She shook her head at the irony of that. Their game of musical chairs had ended with Chi Chi still standing. She turned the key in the lock and entered the apartment.