by J. Palma
Nino asked, "Kidnapping?" He closed the folder and slid it to his brother.
The boss shook his head no and laughed at the same time. "I don't call you two for that."
Vincenzo remained expressionless, unable to look away from the photograph.
The Shoe said, "The job is in America. Vincenzo, you speak good English?"
"Good enough."
The Shoe lowered his eyes to the folder. "Memorize the names and numbers on the list. You can keep the photographs. Nino, what's wrong?" said the boss, suddenly concerned.
Distracted, Nino was already thinking of his new nickname he'd earn for this job. Il Americano.
Neither brother suspected the boss had possibly tasked them on a fool's errand. Nino was confident of their success and that when he returned to Naples he would have the respect and recognition he deserved. The moniker would be his.
Vincenzo started to say something when the waitress appeared and deposited a small demitasse cup and saucer before the boss.
Leaning forward in his seat, Vincenzo asked a series of questions about the upcoming job. The Shoe replied only with a throaty laugh, amused at his concern. With a smile on his lips, The Shoe eased back in his seat and said, "You will be working with another…" He stopped and sighed, rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Let me start from the beginning. Everything has been arranged and carefully planned. The job, like I said, is in America for one of the Five Families." He coughed. "You boys order something. This is going to take some time."
CHAPTER THREE
FROM A WHITE windowless van with the words Tri-State Garment and Linen Service painted on the side, Maria Tavanelli collected Lucina and her single suitcase from the curb at LaGuardia Airport. Maria barked orders in Italian at the driver, a short, doughy bald man. After he placed Lucina's luggage in the back of the van and closed the door, the driver and Maria engaged in a near violent debate over the best route. The driver, staring into his smartphone screen, couldn't decide. Either the 278 to 95 or the 678 to 95. One had tolls, the other had construction. He decided on the 678 across the East River. Lucina sat behind Maria, clutching a large shoulder bag. Outside, the sounds of the city were audible and distinct. Here, life took on a fast and heady pace.
Maria said, "You nervous? Don't be. You Americana now." She lit a cigarette. Slim, in her forties, dressed stylishly in a gray-blue pantsuit, Maria wore her dyed blonde hair in a tight ponytail, accentuating the attractive features of her face. Like many Italians her age, she possessed a cosmopolitan bearing, almost aristocratic.
"Can I have one?" Lucina asked.
"No. This family requested a non-smoker." Maria, as though remembering this detail, flicked the half-smoked cigarette out the window. Like a seat in a cargo plane stripped of any modern convenience or luxury, Lucina found the van utilitarian and uncomfortable.
Without looking at Lucina, Maria said, "I hear the clans are fighting again." After a short time, Maria continued her thought and said, "Idiots. You don't have to worry about such things here. You work hard, keep your mouth shut, and you'll do okay. Better than okay."
They continued in near silence, the van dribbling forward in traffic, punctuated with the driver's muttered profanities in a mix of Italian and English.
"What is it this time?" Maria asked Lucina.
"Excuse me, Signora?"
"The clans. What are they fighting over this time?"
Lucina shrugged, and said, "I read in the paper they're fighting over trade routes. But what do they know?"
Maria nodded approvingly.
"Signora, you Napoletana?” Lucina asked.
Maria made a deflating noise and said, "Milanese. What makes you think I'm a terrone like you?" A small laugh popped from her lips.
Lucina pushed the tip of her tongue against the side of her mouth. She gnashed her teeth at the insult. Her hands tested the door lock.
"You're not a prisoner," said Maria.
"I didn't think I was."
"You could leave at any time."
"Okay."
"But if you did, we'd be forced to notify the authorities." She turned in her seat. "If you violate the terms of your visa, you would be sent back. I don't think you want that."
"No, Signora."
"We're taking you to a job. No more. No less. Are you hungry?"
"Yes, Signora."
"This must be so overwhelming. A new, strange country. A new language. Yesterday you were in Casa di Mora—the dirt under the fingernail of Italy. Today, you are in the greatest city in the world." Smiling, Maria said, "This is like the movie Little Mermaid, no? You are like the mermaid who lives on land. A stranger. A fish out of water, no? Everything is new, a wonder, yes?"
"Children in Casa di Mora have no time for make believe." Lucina answered opaquely.
"Perhaps this is like the movie Pretty Woman? With the Julia Roberts?"
"Wasn't she a whore? Are you telling me I'm to be a whore?"
"That's not what I'm saying. In the movie-"
"A whore meets a man, a Prince Charming who changes her life? I don't need Prince Charming. I don't need fairytales. I need a job. I told you I don't believe in the make believe."
In the rear-view mirror, she caught the driver grinning. The smile on Maria's face disappeared.
"And that is where I'm taking you." Maria hesitated and gave Lucina a long stare before she continued. "I'm taking you to a job. To work. Are you listening? We don't have much time. The family is expecting us this afternoon. I was hoping to review with you for at least a few days. Prepare, rehearse, review etiquette. But we do not have such luxury. All I ask is that you listen to what I say and perhaps you'll do good enough. They're excited to meet you and have asked for you to come right away."
The van was stuck in a river of red brake lights just outside the airport, crawling forward at a snail’s pace.
The driver said, "I knew we should have used the 278. Look at this traffic."
"Imbecile. Shut up and drive." Turning to face Lucina, Maria said, "Try to sleep. You need to rest before we meet the Howells. We have another thirty minutes before we get there since this asshole doesn't know what he's doing."
The van left Queens and followed a maze of highways until the roads got smaller and the traffic less. The buildings changed from high-rise tower apartment buildings to smaller brick-faced store fronts crowded along tree-lined streets. The van pulled into a McDonald's and reversed into a spot beside a late model Honda Accord. Lucina awoke, unsure of where she was, and found her hands tightly around her shoulder bag. The van door slid open with a heavy clang. Maria stood in the parking lot, one hand on her hip; the other held a phone pressed to the side of her head. Still jet-lagged from her flight, Lucina felt terrible. Maria palmed the receiver and ordered Lucina out.
"From here, we'll take my car to the Howells. We are close. We have a lot to do, so you must hurry. We were supposed to pick up others but their plane was delayed. Otherwise, I would have picked you up myself. But we still have time."
Lucina stepped into the New York afternoon, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. Outside, busy roads turned in every direction. Everything looked unfamiliar. She read a few store names sounding them out under her breath. Meanwhile, Maria, no longer on her phone, pulled out a staid red dress with a high collar and a thin belt and a pair of brown clunky shoes. Lucina's eyes widened in disbelief at an outfit the dead would never wear in Italy.
The driver transferred Lucina's suitcase to the trunk of Maria's Honda. Before she could thank him, the driver returned to the van, started the engine, and pulled away.
"Lemme see. This should work." She held the dress against Lucina's body. "Go change."
"Where are the big buildings? The skyscrapers? The Times Square? The Statue of Liberty? Where are these things?"
"Manhattan. That's behind us. We're in Westchester. Very nice here. Very nice. Now go change."
"Where?"
"In the McDonald's. Where do you think?"
Though most
of the restaurant was empty, Lucina expected rude stares. But other than a few curious glances sizing her up, no one cared.
Inside the women's bathroom, she entered an empty stall and undressed. She slipped the dress over her head, adjusting the material at her shoulders, chest, and neckline. The stiff fabric bristled against her skin, constricting her midsection like a corset. After determining that any effort to lessen its discomfort was futile, she smoothed the wrinkled fabric with her palms. She stuffed her jeans and top into her shoulder bag when there was a banging at the stall door.
She froze.
"Lucina, hurry up. What's taking so long? We'll get a new Pope at this rate."
A moment later, Lucina emerged from the stall dressed in her new outfit.
"Let me look at you." Maria's eyes scoured Lucina's body. Her hands pulled at the dress at Lucina’s back and chest. "Stand straight, chin up. Very good." Maria ran a brush under the faucet with cold water and spent a few minutes roughly brushing Lucina's hair. "Let me see you." Again, her hands moved against Lucina's body, probing and pulling. Finally, Maria said, "Well, this is the best we can do. You're two sizes too big for this dress. Maybe three. God have mercy."
Once seated at a remote corner of the dining area, Maria studied Lucina. Starving, Lucina hunched over her cheeseburger and fries, both forearms on the table. Too nervous to eat on the flight, this was her first meal in twelve hours. In between bites, Lucina slurped a strawberry shake.
"Sit straight. Don't slouch. Didn't your mother teach you manners? Remember, it is frowned upon for American women to have appetites. You're embarrassing. Use a napkin to clean your mouth."
Lucina stopped eating. Her dark eyes blazed at Maria.
Maria hesitated before she said, "You have not been hired yet."
"What do you mean?"
"Just what I said. Your employment is pending their final interview."
"I thought I already got the job."
"If the Howells don't like you, no job. Understand?"
"Then what?"
"If this doesn't work out, we have other jobs for you. Less glamorous, of course. Maids. Waitress. Servants. You understand?"
"Isn't that what a nanny is? A servant? Besides, I thought I could leave whenever I wanted."
"And go back to Casa di Mora? Is that what you want? You don't want to go back there. I'm trying to help you."
Lucina put down her food. She appeared interested in what Maria had to say; after all she desperately wanted the job. Anything was better than what she had in Casa di Mora.
Maria said, "You're supposed to be educated and experienced. You're supposed to be cultured and refined. What I see before me is a wild-eyed peasant girl. Have you even read the material Gennaro Livio sent with you?"
Gennaro Livio. The name now belonged to an ancient and faraway place. The very name conjured memories of her past, a past that still hung about her neck like a yoke.
"Well?"
Lucina remembered the blue folder secured with a red rubber band. Inside, along with her tickets, was a doctored curriculum vitae. Her passport, on the other hand, was authentic. During her flight, she had read and re-read her distinguished CV until she memorized the dates and bogus family names for previous employers in London, Rome, and Milan.
Maria spent the next fifteen minutes reviewing her notes, explaining how she should act in the interview. Appearance was everything. Smile, maintain eye contact. Sit upright, maintain a keen posture. Never answer with no. And always smile. Americans loved a positive attitude, and nothing conveyed this better than a smile. If unsure how to answer, politely defer to Maria.
CHAPTER FOUR
AFTER A SHORT delay, Maria drove her Honda through a black iron gate and followed a gravel driveway. She had originally missed the turn as there was no road sign but after not seeing any other possible right-hand turns, she made a U-turn a few miles further and returned to the unmarked street. The driveway wound through a stand of elms and then straightened into a vast green expanse. Here, a grand three-story red brick estate with white trim stood, flanked on either side with tall evergreens. The car came to a stop in a roundabout. A brick walkway went from the curb to the front door. Narrower stone foot paths split from the driveway. One went to a detached five-car garage. Another meandered alongside the house to the backyard and continued to the edge of the Long Island Sound.
Maria turned off the car and Lucina stepped onto the crushed white gravel. Everywhere the young woman looked, her eyes found perfection. Manicured lawns as tight and smooth as a billiards table. Bougainvillea overflowed from terra cotta pots. Flowers bobbed in a slight marine scented breeze. Some were planted in carefully tended beds, others in colored pots. Bronze Greek statues held urns bearing more colored flowers or offered up shallow birdbaths. Closer to the water's edge, a pair of Adirondack chairs beckoned for someone to sit and witness the slate gray waters of the Long Island Sound. A pair of gulls dropped close to the water's surface before rising again.
A man descended the front steps and approached the car. Attired in all white, he said his name was Albert. Fifty-ish, thin, he sported graying hair and a faint smile. Obviously some kind of servant. Albert and Maria shook hands and chatted about the drive while Lucina couldn't stop finding the smallest objects interesting. Albert noticed Lucina's fascination with her new surroundings and said, "This is a Georgian Colonial originally built in 1780 but I promise you, inside is positively modern and sophisticated with every amenity and luxury one could want."
"Georgian Colonial," she repeated, counting the chimneys. "I've never seen such a thing."
"Interesting," said Albert. In a serious tone he said to Maria, "You'll be meeting with the Howells in the sunroom. They do not like to wait."
"This way, Lucina," said Maria.
All the while, Lucina's upturned face darted across the landscape, from roses to daffodils to a small statue holding an urn with a bounty of yellow flowers, bending under their weight. How could she listen to Maria when there was such beauty everywhere she looked? Maria grasped Lucina by the elbow, politely steering her toward the front door, while projecting a big smile.
Lucina followed them into a grand foyer where a sweeping staircase curved above a black and white checkered marble floor. Between the chilly air and the decor, the interior reminded Lucina of a museum. Maria leaned close to Lucina and whispered in Italian, "Please, child, act like you belong." From the foyer, Lucina followed a wide corridor. Every twenty feet, a small sculpture set on a pedestal divided the mahogany paneled walls. The sculptures all looked like the same sculptor made them but set in different poses. Each had a dull, lusterless quality. Eventually, they entered a brightly adorned room in the rear of the house. French doors opened to a large terrace with a narrow pool.
"Here we are," announced Albert. Mr. and Mrs. Howell approached. Impish and petite, Mrs. Howell was dressed in a white dress, a matching coral cardigan, and loafers. Beneath her walnut brown hair, cut into a short bob, a pair of sharp gray eyes inspected Lucina. The two shook hands, Mrs. Howell with a limp hand.
Mr. Howell pointed to the panorama beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows and said, "On a clear day, you can see Connecticut and Long Island." Impressively tall, he wore jeans, boat shoes without socks, and a Hawaiian shirt. His unruly mop of sandy brown hair belied his age.
Albert politely excused himself and like any good servant, he seemed to fade into the decor, no longer needed.
"Let's take our seats and begin," said Mrs. Howell. Her voice was stern and autocratic. The Howells took their seats on a pair of leather wingback chairs; Lucina and Maria sat in two lattice-back chairs brought out for the occasion, positioned with their backs to the water. A small coffee table separated them.
Mrs. Howell looked at her for a long time and said, "How do you pronounce your name?"
"Lucina."
Mrs. Howell repeated: "Low-china?"
"No, no," snapped Lucina. She repeated her name, slower this time. Her sharp tone caught a s
wift glance from Maria.
Mrs. Howell tried again: "Low-china?"
"No. Lucina. Lou-cheeeeee-na." Lucina was prepared to do this all afternoon until Mrs. Howell pronounced her name correctly, but Maria's frosty stare changed her mind.
Mrs. Howell sighed. "Why don't we just call you Lucy?"
"Lucy?"
"Yes. As in, I Love Lucy. The TV show. Way before your time. Mine too, really." Mrs. Howell laughed.
"Lucy?"
Mrs. Howell misinterpreted Lucina’s incredulity and said, "Lucy it is."
With her reading glasses, Mrs. Howell peered down her nose, reviewing Lucina's curricula vitae. "This looks excellent. You've worked in Rome and then London, even Milan. Quite impressive. Yes, this is exactly what we need. How soon can she start?" Mrs. Howell pointed the question at Maria.
Maria smiled at the Howells. "Immediately. Her personal effects are in my car. I have all her required paperwork, including her work visa and passport which you will need for completing her employment and tax documents."
"Fantastic," gushed Mr. Howell.
Mrs. Howell, removing her glasses, said to Mr. Howell, "She really is perfect for the position. Not some frail old lady. No, this is perfect. She'll do." And then, as if remembering, she said, "We have an emergency which requires us to leave for Europe in three days' time, so her—”
Mr. Howell interrupted and said, "You're really helping us out here. The boy's last nanny dropped dead right in the backyard. Can you believe that? Massive heart attack. Ambulance drove up on the lawn and everything. If you know where to look, you can still see the tread marks "
A slight aroma of sea water and flowers hung in the air of the room, something new and almost exotic to Lucina. She tried following along, but everything was so spectacular she found it hard to focus.
