Twist of Fate

by Sheri L. Brown

Giorgio chuckled, “Yes, Sir, they were Italian. I guess you could say they were rooting for me.”

  “Well, then I guess it’s your lucky day, Giorgio, and their rooting paid off.”

  “Ah, Sir, I don’t know a lot about clothing and nothing about sewing, but I can lift things and I can work hard.”

  “Well, then, you can take all the finished clothes and deliver them throughout the city, how’s that?”

  Giorgio was ecstatic, he landed a job his very first day in the big city.

  “I’d like to take you to lunch today, Giorgio, you can start here tomorrow, nine o’clock sharp… and leave your suit at home. Clean up your dungarees and I’ll give you some company shirts you can wear for your deliveries.”

  Giorgio worked hard for Mr. Goldman and was an unabashed dedicated employee, and certainly the most efficient and trustworthy one. He eventually worked his way up in Mr. Goldman’s company over the next few years until he was promoted to manage the entire distribution center at the main facility and a smaller one closer to Madison Avenue. It was a typical fall day and Giorgio was already coordinating the holiday delivery schedule with the garment workers and retailers. He was in his office when Rachel walked in. She looked even more radiant than in the photo that he first saw so many years ago on her father’s desk. It surprised him they’d never met before, but she went to boarding school, then to college and just recently came back to New York to attend law school.

  “Hey, who are you?” She asked bluntly.

  She exuded confidence and Giorgio began to feel a little warm. He knew exactly who she was.

  “My name is Giorgio Alessi, Signorina, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

  “Oh yeah, my father told me about you. You’re the guy with the suit.”

  Giorgio chuckled, trying to hide his obvious attraction, “I am the guy with the suit, yes.”

  “Well, I’m on break right now from school, maybe we should do lunch sometime.”

  “How about today?”

  Rachel hesitated only for a second. Giorgio Alessi was incredibly handsome, successful and had a sexy Italian accent. And her father adored him. He was immediately charming. They went to lunch and fell in love.

  Giorgio asked permission to marry Rachel just weeks after their first lunch date. William was excited for the young couple to start their lives together. Their ethnic and religious differences, William told them, would be something they’d have to work out between them. William wanted his daughter to be happy and no man, as far as he was concerned, was more capable than Giorgio.

  “Daddy, we haven’t been Jewish since Mom died,” Rachel said wistfully in response to her father’s admonishment.

  “Well, I suppose there’s truth to that. Your mother did keep our religious practice consistent. But, Giorgio, you are a fine man and I knew it from the moment we met at the diner downtown. I give you my blessing. I know you’ll make her happy and me proud.”

  Rachel never thought she’d fall in love with an Italian immigrant, but Giorgio was special. And she had to admit, she was set in her ways and extremely independent. Sometimes she thought she’d never fall in love with anyone at all. She ran in stark contrast to the women in her generation, who were interested most in becoming mothers and homemakers.

  Rachel always said Giorgio was the better half of their coupledom—kind, generous, affable and full of energy. Giorgio was larger than life and his spirit was contagious. Rachel knew they were wildly different, but they had kismet, and that mattered most.

  Giorgio and Rachel were married by the Justice of the Peace in lower Manhattan in the spring of 1957. Rachel graduated from NYU Law School and joined a prestigious law firm in Mid-town. She worked for ten years and made her way up to partner before getting pregnant with Sarah. Despite being pregnant, Rachel worked throughout most of the nine months and waited just six months before returning to work. She hired a live-in nanny and was happy with the arrangement. Giorgio couldn’t quite understand why a woman would want to work instead of being at home with her child, but he knew who Rachel was when he married her. She needed to be in the world. And their nanny, Stella, was a wonderful old, Italian widow who needed a steady job and a place to live after her children married and moved away.

  Giorgio might have been Sarah’s father and Regina’s brother, but Sarah didn’t grow up with a lot of Italian stuff in her home—Rachel ran the show and it mattered most to never appear to be too ‘ethnic or religious-looking’—either Italian or Jewish. She wasn’t embarrassed by her heritage or Giorgio’s, for that matter, she simply felt human beings were far too dynamic and complex to have to live with a particular label.

  However, a trace of each of them was evident at their home. A Mezuzah hung at the Goldman-Alessi apartment door entry and a painting of Jesus with his thorny crown greeted guests at the entryway. But upon closer inspection, a curious visitor might notice Jesus was made up of important people throughout history, artfully blended into the body of Christ himself. Martin Luther King, Abraham Lincoln, Babe Ruth and Rosa Parks were just a handful of famous people who were integrated into Jesus’ torso and face. Sarah wasn’t sure what to think of the artist’s rendering when her mother brought it home. And she wasn’t sure what to think of her mother’s intentions in doing so. She guessed Rachel was probably trying to either make a political statement or keep Giorgio happy with some element of his Catholic faith. Either way, the picture still hangs today in the entryway, along with the blessings that come from the now-antiqued Mezuzah.

  Chapter Three

  The last Claire had heard, Grandma Rachel was still working in the city, despite being in her mid-seventies and alone—Papa Giorgio passed away a few years ago when Claire was in junior high school. It was a dark time for Sarah and Rachel and Claire remembered it well. It was the only time she could recall seeing her grandmother cry. And it was one of the few times she saw her mother and grandmother embrace, staying forever burned on her brain. She didn’t hear their exchange of words, but Claire could tell by their body language just how devastating it was for both of them. Their newly discovered need for hugging, Claire thought, was at first a matter of physics, they were simply holding one another upright. But out of the initial structural prerequisite, came the heartfelt empathy and commiseration they both desperately longed for. Claire was certain Giorgio’s death brought mother and daughter together as though he had orchestrated it himself. The family trips to the city stopped for a few years and were replaced with Rachel visiting the family upstate. Even at a young age, Claire could tell Grandma Rachel was like a fish out of water in the suburbs, but she was doing it to make sure she and Sarah could spend time together. They mourned Giorgio’s death together for years. Claire was happy to see her mom and Rachel connect, even though the circumstances were solemn.

  Rachel certainly didn’t need the money after Giorgio died—the longstanding business her father had started and passed off to Giorgio was sold for several million dollars when he retired. Claire was certain Rachel must really love her work or maybe living Manhattan or some combination of the two. Why else, she thought, would an old woman keep working in a big city all alone?

  Claire heard a rumor that Rachel might be coming up for her birthday party. She loved her Grandma Rachel, but was a little intimidated by her if she were honest about it. Rachel was loud, opinionated, funny and very sharp-witted. She had a thick New York accent, wore designer clothes and tons of make-up. Her hair and nails were always perfect and she smoked out of an antique cigarette holder from the 1950’s. In many ways, Rachel looked like she was straight out of a movie from a long-gone era, but she acted so modern. She read at least three papers a day, mingled with New York politicians and was invited backstage for performances throughout the city; the Met, Lincoln Center, Broadway and Madison Square Garden. Claire was fortunate enough to experience a little bit of everything—plays, orchestras, art openings and concerts. By the time Claire celebrated her thirteenth birthday she had seen Rhianna, Beyonce, Maroon Five and
Carrie Underwood perform, too. Rachel might have been a little intimidating, but Claire thought she had the coolest Grandmother out of all her friends.

  Outside of celebrating Hanukkah and Christmas, Sarah never forced Claire or her sisters into a particular organized religion. The girls never thought their upbringing was out of the ordinary, half their friends were Jewish and half were Christian. And they’d never complain about gifts in December for both holidays. But all the immediate talk of Bibles and Catholicism on this particular rite-of-passage birthday and what it meant to really contemplate that something was out there much bigger than what Claire could ever imagine, suddenly got her thinking. She had access to so much history in her family… it was important to ask questions. She made a mental note to ask Rachel more about her Jewish upbringing the next time she had a chance to have a conversation.

  Claire was the oldest of four children. Sarah and Earl had four daughters in less than five years. Less than twelve months separated Claire from her sister, Skylar. They were often called Irish twins and they were both sure it was a term of endearment. The older they got, the more they realized they were connected—reading one another’s thoughts and finishing the other’s sentences before grade school began. The two youngest siblings, Safire and Sadie, who were thirteen and fourteen, respectively, rounded out the Sinclair Clan.

  Claire often wondered early on why her sisters’ names all began with the letter ‘S’ while her’s did not, but upon questioning by Sarah at the age of four or five it was explained Earl liked the idea that his eldest daughter would be Claire Sinclair. Claire was satisfied with the explanation and never spoke of it again. She imagined she’d someday be a famous actress, singer or writer with her very special name. Her diary contained hundreds of practice signatures, so when the time came to give autographs she’d be ready.

  Turning eighteen for Claire was a distinct rite of passage. She felt she was on the verge of arriving… for what exactly she wasn’t sure… but it was coming. Claire Sinclair was officially a woman and ready to take on the world. Something special was about to unfold, she could feel it.

  It was spring in upstate New York on Claire’s special day and the weather was typical in its unpredictability. She woke to soft rain and light winds certain it would bring the party indoors, but by mid-afternoon and just around the time Aunt Regina showed up, the sky parted and had become a beautiful, bright blue. It didn’t faze her that the trees were still without leaves and the grass in the backyard was brown from the freezing temperatures of winter and intermittent blankets of late snowfall. It was a magical day filled with family, love and presents, and Claire was grateful.

  Sarah watched as the last raindrop fell then scurried outside with orange and purple crepe paper, color-coordinated balloons and plastic tablecloths for her daughter’s celebration.

  By the time Claire had made it into the kitchen with Aunt Regina, everyone had scattered onto the back patio and into the yard. Earl Barbequed while Sarah bartended, and guests played badminton on the dead grass.

  “Oh. Moy. Gawd. There she is! Claire! Oh, Claire! My bee-u-ti-ful birthday girl!” Rachel shouted as she stood at the backdoor, cigarette in hand while blowing out a puff of smoke.

  Claire smiled. Rachel was wearing a designer psychedelic one-piece pantsuit with a little bell-bottomy flair that began below her knees. Her platform shoes were fuscia to pick up the color in the outfit and she wore a wide-brimmed hat in the same color on her head. Claire was certain her friends’ grandmothers didn’t dress like Rachel.

  Claire walked to the door and kissed her on each cheek.

  “Thank you, Rachel, it’s really good to see you.”

  “So, you’re graduating from high school and heading off to college… I still remember my college days. Where does the time go?”

  “I don’t know, but it has gone by pretty quickly,” Claire replied.

  “Well, I’m thinking it might be nice for you to spend some time in the city with me this summer… maybe get out of the boondocks for a little while?”

  “Really? You’re so busy, Rachel, I don’t want to impose.”

  “Eh, I think it’s important for you to spend some time in Manhattan. The culture will do you good, I think.”

  “Mom,” Sarah called Rachel from the porch, “don’t pressure her to go hang out in the city with you, it’s her last summer before she has to be a grown-up.”

  “I’d like that very much, Rachel. Let’s plan on it.”

  “Okay, then it’s settled. Let’s say soon, though. You may like it there and want to stay.”

  Rachel looked around the back porch seemingly distracted.

  “Is everything all right?” Claire asked.

  “Oh, darling, everything is fine. Are there adult beverages at this party?”

  Claire smiled. She had forgotten what a character her grandmother was.

  “Yeah, Mom is making drinks right over there for the grown-ups.”

  “Perfect. I’ll go get myself something refreshing and we’ll talk later about your visit.”

  “That sounds great, Rachel.”

  “Oh, Claire, here,” Rachel handed her an impeccably-wrapped gift, “just a little something to start your collection. We’ll shop for what you really want when you come and visit. But this is timeless.”

  Claire smiled and unwrapped the gift, certain it was something fashionable. The box said Hermes on it. Claire raised her eyebrow at Rachel.

  “Go on, honey, open it. You only turn eighteen once.”

  Claire laid the box on the table and lifted the lid. She gasped as she pulled out a vintage Hermes silk scarf with silver bubbles all over it.

  “Wow, Rachel, I don’t know what to say….”

  “Honey, don’t say anything, I want you to have it. It’s from my collection and I know perhaps you’re too young for it now, although the bubbles are kind of hip. Keep it in a safe place and you’ll grow into it. Trust me. Anyhow, the real gift is underneath.”

  Claire looked in the box and pulled a set of Hermes silk-covered journals in assorted patterns.

  “This is what I thought you could use now.”

  “A set of blank journals? I mean, they’re beautiful, but….”

  “But what? You think I don’t know you have a thousand thoughts in your head all the time. We’re more like one another than you think. Write everything down. Write it all down, Claire. You have a lot to say.”

  “I will. I mean, I’ve always dabbled in journaling.”

  “Well, there you go, now you’ll be the most fashionable writer out there.”

  “Thank you, Rachel.”

  “Happy birthday, sweetheart. Please come and stay with me this summer. It’ll be fun, Now let me go find a grown-up drink, alright?”

  “Alright.”

  Claire watched from the doorway as Rachel made her way to the bar. She gathered her gifts from Rachel and brought them inside, thinking the entire time about writing her thoughts on paper. She always thought she was much better at the spoken word, forever dreaming about becoming a translator, negotiator or performer, but writing her thoughts down seemed like a good idea. Maybe Rachel knew her better than she thought.

  Claire came back outside and looked around the crowd to see who had already shown up. Claire’s gaze made a bee-line through the guests gathering on the porch, the lawn and the badminton court Earl had set up for the party. Ryan White had come to her house. She smiled as she felt her heart skip a beat over the new boy in school.

  Ryan had a racquet and was laughing with some friends from school on the sidelines… and in the moment, on her most perfect eighteenth birthday party, he had decided to make an appearance just for her. Everyone and everything else had become temporary background noise.

  She took a deep breath in an attempt to contain everything she was feeling. Her heart might have skipped a beat and her nerves may have had coiled up in some strange way in the pit of her stomach, but it wasn’t that particular physical reaction that best captur
ed what she was feeling. She was euphoric. Claire couldn’t contain herself and was sure her bloodstream was overwrought with adrenaline. She felt herself jumping up and down just a little, clapping her hands together and yelling, “Yay!”

  The sound of her own voice startled her, along with her cheerleader-like reaction, forcing her to tone down her giant smile enough to not make a spectacle of herself. Her family knew she had a goofy side to her, but Ryan didn’t need to see her that side of her. Not yet. Claire had to be cool.

  She took a deep breath and moved forward through the small crowd. Skylar joined her midway to the badminton court, taking two steps to Claire’s one just to keep up with her.

  “Hey, you, you look like you’re on a mission, what’s…?”

  Skylar looked up and followed her sister’s gaze, “Ohhhh… Ryan’s here.”

  Claire shook her head a couple of times before she stopped, turned toward Skylar and whispered, “I know, I know… I invited him yesterday at school not thinking he’d actually show up. I have serious butterflies in my stomach.”

  “Oh, whatever, just go over and have a good time. I’ll come and hang out, too, kay?”

  Claire smiled and nodded, “Of course, yeah, yeah… I need you to be there so I don’t make an ass out of myself.”

  Claire and Skylar strolled onto the edge of the makeshift court. They sat down on the nearest blanket with their mutual friends and watched the game. Claire wasn’t always sure about herself in certain situations and she certainly didn’t have the savvy some of her friends seemed to have around boys, but what she sometimes lacked in self-confidence was compensated for with Skylar being around.

  The sisters had shared many talks over the years about their special connection. And when they were afflicted with their respective self-doubt, or any other emotion for that matter, the other would show up at exactly the right time to make everything better or easier or smoother. They shared memories of each other from past lives and often laughed about and speculated on what they did together as princesses, proselytizers or prostitutes. A day didn’t go by that Claire wasn’t grateful for Skylar and she knew her sister felt the same way. They shared the same interests, friends and tastes in clothes and music. Only a handful of things really differentiated them—Skylar was close to Grandma Rose, their Dad’s mom, in very much the same way Claire was close to Aunt Regina. Skylar never dabbled in Catholicism the way Claire had done, but instead dabbled in a little bit of everything. Claire was generally more reserved in contrast to Skylar’s free-spirited way of being in the world— something Claire had always admired and admittedly hadn’t attempted to emulate enough.