“Whatever. Believe what you want.” I laugh.
“You wouldn’t believe the fracas at the house yesterday morning over my aunt’s nighttime escapades.” Lorenzo whistles and shakes his head.
“Care to share?” I take out my notebook.
“You can’t write about this or Zia Francesca will disown me as her nephew and have both of our heads on a platter.”
“All right. All right. Off the record.” I put my pen down.
“Edgardo, you know her beefy bodyguard, chewed her a new one again today.”
“I take it he also let her have it right after she got caught?”
“Of course! I could hear them shouting from my bedroom. They were bickering like old lovers.”
“Interesting you say that. I kind of picked up on a vibe from Edgardo the time we had lunch at Trattoria L’incontro. I think he has feelings for her.”
“He’d be a fool to. No offense to my aunt, but we’ve all seen how her past paramours have been crumpled up and thrown in the wastebasket.”
“Now why do you think that is?”
“Because she can. She’s drop-dead gorgeous even in her middle age, and she’s a legendary movie star. No complexity there.”
“I’m not so sure about that, Lorenzo.”
“Ahhh! So you’re playing detective now as well as journalist.”
“In the time I’ve spent with her these past few weeks, I’ve come to see there is much more to Francesca than what she lets the public see.”
“True. But do me a favor. Don’t waste your time digging too much or trying to get her to open up about herself. That would be like breaking down a wall of iron. Now, what do you say we go for a drive?”
“What about our interview?”
“You can ask me questions in the car. Come on! It’s a beautiful day. I’ve got the top down on my car.” Lorenzo gestures toward his car, which I see is parked right out front. It’s a gleaming candy-red Alfa Romeo.
“Okay. But we’re sticking to the topic of Francesca, and it’ll all be on the record.”
“Scout’s honor.” Lorenzo holds up his hand as if taking an oath.
“Zia, I’ll be home a little later,” I call out to my aunt and look over my shoulder. She’s stopped her usual frenetic sweeping and is staring at me with her mouth open. For the life of me, I have no idea why she looks almost shocked. She probably is surprised to see me with a guy other than Gregory. I guess in her day you were only seen with the man who was courting you. And I’m sure women didn’t have friends of the opposite sex.
“Ciao, Pia! Take your time. It’s okay if you get home late. Have fun!”
That’s odd. Since when has Zia not cared about my getting home late? Whenever I go out with Gregory, she’s always telling me to be home by a reasonable hour. Pushing her strange behavior out of my mind for the moment, I step into Lorenzo’s convertible. Once Lorenzo is buckled in, he says, “Get ready for some serious driving.” And with that, he peels away from the curb, screeching his tires. A few pedestrians look at us. I’m a little embarrassed, but soon, I love the way his car takes command of the road. Lorenzo is driving past the old Con Edison plant, where the streets are deserted, allowing him to go much faster than he would’ve been able to on the more crowded Ditmars Boulevard.
He talks to me about himself, and soon, I forget that we’re supposed to be talking about his aunt. Right now, he’s talking to me about his studies in comparative literature.
“Are you familiar with Greek mythology?”
“I just know some of the more popular stories, but I never actually read the Greek myths or studied them in school.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing out on. That’s actually my specialty.”
“You can specialize in Greek mythology?”
“Well, classical literature, which covers the texts of ancient Greece.”
“I did read The Odyssey in high school and enjoyed it.”
“Yeah, The Odyssey is pretty much standard high school or even undergraduate reading. I’ve read it five times.”
“Wow!”
“I find something new to learn from The Odyssey every time I read it. It’s brilliant!”
“So which is your favorite Greek myth?”
“Ahh! I love the story of how Hades, the god of the underworld or hell, kidnaps Persephone, whose mother is Demeter, goddess of the harvest. Overcome with grief, Demeter no longer allows the fields to thrive, but instead they grow barren and cold. The flowers lose their blossoms and wilt, and the trees lose their leaves. All of nature is grieving with Demeter. She threatens to never make the earth green again unless Hades returns her daughter. Zeus commands Hades to do so. Persephone is reunited with her mother. But there’s a catch. Since she’s eaten a few pomegranate seeds in the underworld, she must return, because no one who’s eaten the food of the dead can stay on earth. But Zeus decides to let Persephone stay in the underworld for only one month for every pomegranate seed she’d eaten. So when Persephone is with Hades, her mother grieves and it is winter on earth. But when mother and daughter are reunited, it is spring and they are together until winter sets in.”
“What a beautiful myth and way to rationalize why we have seasons.”
“Yes. That’s probably what I love so much about Greek mythology—their attempt to offer a reason or a lesson for why life is the way it is.”
I like this part of Lorenzo better than the guy who can be so blunt. There’s more to him beneath the surface.
“Why do you think that myth is your favorite?”
Lorenzo shrugs his shoulders. He’s driving much slower now than he was earlier. No doubt he was trying to show off for me.
“I guess because it moves me the most. Nothing can compare to the love between a mother and child. That myth shows how powerful that bond is.”
Lorenzo’s eyes fill with sadness. He must be thinking about his mother and how he’ll lose her soon.
The next three weeks fly by, and the day of Gregory’s show has arrived. I’ve only seen him three times in the past few weeks, and each time it was brief. Gregory finally relented to my visiting as long as I stayed no longer than half an hour, but I could tell his mind was on his work. Though I kept reassuring him that his show would be fabulous and the new paintings would be just as extraordinary as the older ones, he wouldn’t relax. I asked him to stop promising to call me since he kept forgetting to do so. And I went from calling him every other day to twice a week. I couldn’t help wondering if he would be like this every time he’d have a show coming up. He’s definitely been acting like the stereotypical crazy artist who has no life other than his art while he works. All I know is that I’m happy I’ll have him again until his next show.
“Pia, are you still here?” Zia knocks softly on my door.
“Yes, Zia. Come in. I’m waiting for Connie, Rita, and Aldo to pick me up. Connie’s going to drive into the city.”
Zia walks in. She often doesn’t go in to work on Sundays. She trusts her employees to take care of the bakery while she’s gone. She’s wearing one of her favorite housecoats that she likes to relax in when she’s home. Today’s coat is an aqua green with a pattern of small, bright yellow sunflowers. I know it sounds hideous, but it actually looks really cute on her, and the green is a perfect complement to her caramel-colored hair, which today is coiled around foam rollers. A pink scarf holds her roller set in place. Gregory invited Zia to his show, but the thought of traipsing into Manhattan was too much for her. Instead, she’s going to Olivia’s house for dinner.
“Shouldn’t you be more dressed up?” Zia frowns as she appraises me from head to toe. I’m wearing a new pair of Lucky designer jeans, which are a dark-wash denim, making them appropriate for evening. I also treated myself to a new halter top that dips quite low in the back. Instead of my trademark boots, I’m wearing a pair of nude stiletto heels I bought a month ago when I spotted them in the window of a Zara’s boutique near Profile’s offices. I knew they’d be perf
ect to wear to Gregory’s show. I’m going for urban chic as opposed to over-the-top glam. Besides, after the Francesca makeover debacle, I know Gregory will appreciate that I’m staying true to my style.
“It’s an art show. I’m sure a few people will also be dressed casually.”
“Ahh! Va bene. What do I know? I’m just an old lady who hates going into Manhattan unless I must. Tell Gregory I said congratulations and thank him again for inviting me.”
“I will, Zia. Are you sure you won’t change your mind? Even Olivia can come.”
“I’m sure. This is more for young people. Have a good time. You need it. You have been working too much lately between your internship and interviewing that loon!” Zia shakes her head.
“She’s not that bad once you get to know her.”
“Hmph. She is just acting as always. She’s afraid if she continues to behave like a crazy woman in front of you, it will end up in your article.”
“You’re probably right, Zia.” I laugh.
“Pia, I have been meaning to ask you a question, but I don’t want to interfere. Is everything okay between you and Gregory?”
“Of course it is. Why do you ask?”
“I know he has been busy preparing for his show, but I cannot believe he hasn’t made any time to take you out in these past few weeks. And then I see you with Lorenzo not once, but three times over the course of the past month. I see the way he looks at you. Is something happening between you two?”
Zia’s face looks hopeful, and then I suddenly remember her shocked expression when she first saw me with Lorenzo that day we were leaving her bakery. Could it be she wants me to dump Gregory and date Lorenzo instead? But she’s always spoken glowingly of Gregory.
“Lorenzo and I are just friends. He’s given me some insight into his aunt.” I’m lying right now to save myself. Although I have seen Lorenzo a few times as Zia pointed out, he has yet to give me his perspective on Francesca. I tried prodding him, but he has always managed to skirt the subject. I’ve given up since I realized he probably doesn’t have much to offer on an aunt he’s only met in person recently. And Zia’s gotten it wrong. She’s seen me in Lorenzo’s presence three times, but I’ve actually seen him on five occasions. The other two were at the Mussolini Mansion. Naturally, my last interview with Francesca was cut short by her being late and then having an emergency to tend to. So I had to go back again to wrap up the interview. Lorenzo seemed to be waiting for me after both appointments and coaxed me into staying longer to have a drink with him. I did finally fess up about Gregory.
“I just want you to be happy, Pia. Forget that I asked you about all of this.” Zia walks over to my dresser and begins taking out her hair rollers. I can tell she’s embarrassed by having brought up an intimate topic and is now ready to drop the subject.
“Thank you for being such a good aunt by looking out for me.” I kiss Zia on the cheek. Her eyes fill with tears.
“It’s okay, Zia. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” I wrap my arm around her shoulders.
“You don’t need to be sorry. It’s just that I have become very accustomed to having you here. I’m going to miss you when you go back home.”
“I promise I won’t stay away so long this time. And I’ll call you regularly.”
“You don’t need to do that. You’re a young woman with a life of her own. But thank you.” Zia pats my hand.
Now it’s my turn to ask Zia a delicate question that I’ve always wanted the answer to. I asked my mother once a few years ago, but all she said was, “It just didn’t happen for her.”
“Zia, may I ask why you never married?”
Surprise washes over Zia’s features as she stops unwinding her curls. Her lips are pursed tightly together. I’ve angered her. I’m about to apologize when she says, “He was very sick.”
I wait for her to continue. She sits down on my bed.
“His name was Domenico. We fell in love almost immediately. He was a bricklayer, and I met him when I was only twenty-one. Back in the 1960s in Italy, I was already considered old to have not wed yet. We became engaged after three months. Since I was the oldest child and daughter, my parents wanted to throw me a big wedding so we needed time to prepare. We set the wedding date for six months later. I know that might not seem long compared to how Americans plan their weddings for an entire year or even two in some cases, but again, those were different times. To me, it felt like six years. I could not wait to become Domenico’s wife.” Zia takes a deep breath. I join her on the bed.
“If this is too hard for you, Zia, please don’t continue.”
“No, no. You have been honest with me about your personal life, and now I would like to share mine with you. We’re friends in addition to aunt and niece, after all.” Zia gives me a shy smile, and guilt immediately pierces my heart over having lied to her about why I’ve been spending time with Lorenzo.
“About three months before the wedding, Domenico began acting strangely. He told me he was convinced the other workers at his job were conspiring behind his back to have him fired. At first, I believed him, even though I could not understand why they would do that. Domenico was one of the friendliest, nicest people I have ever met in my life. Everyone loved him. Then, he told me his brother, Luigi, was telling him to break off our engagement because I was not good enough for him. Again, I believed him until Domenico came to me one day and told me that the reason why Luigi wanted him to leave me is that he wanted me for himself. I knew that was crazy, and I told Domenico that. Luigi was married. He got married a year before my engagement, and you could see by the way he looked at his wife that no other woman existed for him. When I defended Luigi, Domenico got angry with me and told me I was in love with his brother. We got into a horrible fight, and for the first time, I became afraid of Domenico. He didn’t hit me, but the look in his eyes . . . He looked capable of the worst violence. A week later, he told me he heard a voice, and he was convinced it was God telling him to kill Luigi. I knew then without a doubt that Domenico was very ill. I went to Luigi and told him everything. Luigi admitted to me that he and his parents had been very worried about Domenico for the past few months. He was saying strange things to them as well, and one night, Luigi woke up to find Domenico standing over him with rage in his face.
“The family tried to deny that Domenico was mentally ill until my meeting with Luigi. Also, the day after I talked to Luigi, Domenico’s foreman at his job visited the family and told them that Domenico had almost killed one of the other bricklayers after they argued. The foreman said he had tried to look the other way the past month and had blamed Domenico’s strange behavior on the stress of getting married. The foreman said he now had no choice but would have to let Domenico go after what had happened that morning. He wanted to tell the family first and have them break the news to Domenico. To make a long story short, Domenico’s family had to commit him to an asylum for the insane. At first, the doctors were hopeful they could help him. They said he was in the early stages of paranoid schizophrenia and believed medication would allow him to return to a functional life. So I postponed the wedding and waited. But one month became two and two then became three. Domenico kept getting worse. After a year, I finally gave up.”
Zia wipes her eyes with the back of her hands.
“Is he still alive?”
“Yes. And he is still in that place.”
“I’m so sorry, Zia. You were so young.”
“I know. And I know what you’re going to say. I could have married someone else, but I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“No one measured up to him. I should have known he was too good to be true. He was such a kind person, so generous. My family tried to arrange dates with a few other men from our village, but all I could think about was Domenico. Even after I canceled the wedding, deep down I never gave up hope he would get better. I was a fool.” Zia hangs her head low and stares at her clasped hands.
I’m about to lose it and
start sobbing, but I need to hold it together for her. All these years, I thought she loved work more than having a life. I thought she had no interest in marriage and children. Part of me looked up to her for being such a strong, independent woman who chose her career over a man during a time when women who did so were ridiculed and ostracized. But she was a victim of circumstance just as my sister was.
“You weren’t a fool, Zia. You were smart. Can you imagine if you married one of those other men, how unhappy you would have been? You can’t force someone to fall in love. It’s either there or it isn’t.”
“But I had many friends whose parents arranged their marriages. True, they did not love their husbands at first, but later, the love came.”
“I think some of those women lied to you. I’m not saying it’s impossible to fall in love with someone after you marry, but the chances have to be far fewer. And look at your successful business. You have done so much on your own. You should be very proud of that. I look up to you as a businesswoman.”
“You do?”
“Yes! Even my mother has always said, ‘Antoniella is so strong and smart.’ My mother has always envied you.”
“And I have always envied her because of her children and husband. Sometimes I think my jealousy brought her bad luck, and that’s why she lost Erica.” Zia begins crying uncontrollably. “God, forgive me. I’m a terrible person. Pia, please forgive me.”
I’m stunned by her admission, but more so because I now see other people have carried the guilt of Erica’s death—not just me. I’ve blamed myself for her death, but it never occurred to me that perhaps other members of my family might be feeling the same way.
“Zia, stop it! You’re human. We’re all jealous of someone at some point in our lives. Your envy of my mother did not give her or Erica bad luck. Erica died because it was her time. That’s it. No one is guilty. Not even me.”
My admission is what finally stops Zia’s sobs.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been blaming myself for Erica’s death, too. We got into a horrible fight the morning that she died. That was the last time I saw her.” The last sentence comes out so low that I’m not sure I even uttered it aloud.
Carissima Page 31
