Sofia's Tune

by Cindy Thomson

  “Hmm.” She shifted her shoulders. “Both.”

  “But I’m afraid I have no personal dealings with any padrone. Are you saying an Italian boss sent me these notes?”

  “No, I do not think so. No dealings? I am happy for you. Usually, when there is trouble, it is because of labor, a lack of jobs and money. Who controls these things?”

  “The padrone?”

  She nodded and toasted with an empty coffee cup.

  “Where can I meet such a person, in case he can shed light on the circumstances of my father’s death?”

  “Banca Stabile, of course.”

  “The Italian bank?”

  “Sì.”

  “But it’s closed until tomorrow.”

  “Of course.”

  A bell tolled and the woman scurried away for prayers. Antonio scratched his head. The woman was simple, kind. A nun wouldn’t lie to him, surely. What had her warning to Sofia been about? Was she in some kind of danger? He wondered if perhaps that was why her father had sent her away, to protect her. All kinds of fanciful scenarios came to mind, but of one thing he was sure. He felt affection for the girl and an overwhelming sense that she needed his help. Certainly that’s what the sister was suggesting.

  He decided to take Luigi on a stroll around the neighborhood until Sofia’s school ended. He would look out for the note writer in case he tried to drop another message his way. Two messages had come while he was in Little Italy. The other was delivered at St. Anthony’s. And then there were the men who had come to the theater. Someone obviously knew where to find him.

  A glance at his pocket watch told him Sofia would be no longer than three-quarters of an hour. Even though most of the students lived nearby, many had to rise early for their jobs and would be headed to their beds directly.

  Luigi tugged slightly on his leash. He wasn’t used to it. “It’s okay, boy. Just for looks. Wouldn’t want anyone mistaking you for a stray.”

  Luigi paused and looked back at him, his ears raised at alert.

  “Sorry. No insult intended.”

  They rounded a corner, where music came from a basement window. Accordions, tambourines. Antonio was curious. He stopped a man who was about to enter the building. “What kind of music is that?”

  The man frowned beneath his heavy black mustache. “Musica? No, no. Ristorante.” He slapped Antonio on the arm. “Maccheroni!” Then he descended the steps and went inside.

  Antonio and his dog exchanged glances. “That rice didn’t fill us up, did it?” He tied his dog’s leash to the railing in front of the window. “Wait, Lu.” He trotted down the steps and let himself in the door the way he’d seen the man do.

  When he stepped inside most of the chatter ceased, although the musicians kept playing. Those who had glanced up at him turned back to their plates and their conversations, but in a hushed manner that made Antonio feel unwelcome. He even wondered for a moment if he’d mistakenly wandered into a private home but dismissed the thought because there were diners seated at several tables and no parlor. A young man approached him. “Do not mind us. We do not get many newcomers at Giovanni’s. Would you like pasta e fagioli? Macaroni?” He waved a woman over as he directed Antonio to a table just a few steps away.

  “Thank you, grazie.” Antonio nodded toward the woman. “Whatever you are serving will be fine.” He turned back to the young man. “I am Antonio.” He decided it best to leave off his last name.

  “Sì, I know.”

  Antonio was confused. “We’ve met?”

  “Uh, no. The children. They said you come with your dog.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I am Joey.”

  Antonio pointed to the chair across from him.

  “Grazie, no. I am washing dishes here tonight and as little work as I get, I cannot afford to lose it. Enjoy, signore.” He left, weaving through the tables of male diners—Antonio noted no females save the one who had waited on him. The diners still spoke in hushed voices, and in Italian, which Antonio understood little of so they needn’t have bothered. He gave them sideways glances, wondering if they knew his father, knew what mysterious thing he had done.

  Moments later the woman placed a large platter in front of him. It smelled of rich tomato sauce and spices, much more appetizing than what Antonio had back in his apartment. He smiled up at her and spoke one of the few Italian words he knew. “Delizioso!”

  One corner of the woman’s mouth curled up. She reached behind her and snagged a basket of bread from another table. A few moments later, she returned with a narrow bottle of olive oil and placed it beside the bread. Then she turned to the men at the table who were now without their bread and nodded firmly. They waved their hands as though they hadn’t wanted any anyway.

  Antonio ate and watched the musicians who were assembled in one corner. They were quite talented in their cultural manner and he was thoroughly enjoying himself, and sure he had found a way to fit in, when he heard a clatter coming from outside. The aproned woman appeared again from the kitchen and scurried up to the window, flapping her apron to and fro. She turned to Antonio and said in broken English, “The children, they should be…night…in bed!”

  He realized they were playing with his dog so he paid his check quickly and left, but not before putting a roll into his pocket for Lu.

  As he was freeing his dog from the entanglement of children, he heard his name called. Sofia was waving to him as she approached from up the street. “Let’s go see the lady, Lu.” He headed toward her.

  The leash slipped from his hand and Lu dashed away, as eager to see Sofia as he was. She ordered him to sit and then patted his nose. “He’s such a good dog, Antonio.”

  “He is. Would you like us to walk you home?”

  “Oh, I don’t know about the dog on the trolley.” She glanced down the street. “I must hurry, though. I am not certain when the last one runs.”

  He offered his arm. “You have time still, and the conductors always allow Luigi to ride. I know most of them working at this hour.”

  She slipped her small hand into the crook of his arm. “How is that you are riding the trolley at night?”

  “I am a musician. Most theater is in the evenings, when working folks are out and about.”

  “Ah, that explains why you were in Giovanni’s. To hear the music.” She arched a dark brow.

  “At first, yes, but the food was exceptional.”

  She laughed. “I can make better. Tell me, did my aunt help you with your business?”

  “No, not really.”

  Sofia flung her free arm above her head and then back down. “She is…uh, flibbertigibbet? Is that what you Americans say?”

  He chuckled. “Well, she may be a little distracted. She had to go off to prayers.”

  “It was not the prayers. She is always like that. I have been trying to talk to her myself and cannot talk…uh, converse very well with her. There are rumors in the neighborhood about you. Do you know what it is about?”

  “I would like you to tell me.”

  “I do not know why the people are curious about you. That is why I asked. You do not know?”

  “Before God I tell you I do not, but I came here hoping to find out.”

  “Just talk, then. Nothing to listen to,” she suggested. “I am sure they are fond of your dog.”

  Whether it was the night air or being in the company of a woman he found charming, Antonio didn’t know, but something compelled him to confide in her about his father’s death and how the priest had insinuated that he prove his father had been an innocent bystander when he was killed. He even told her it was Uncle Nicco who had suggested men from Benevento might have the answers.

  After they were seated on the trolley, he noted Sofia’s eyes glimmering in the light of the gas lamps. He had upset her. He bit his lip and allowed silence to open up a space between them.

  The trolley bumped along the shadowy avenue as the riders shifted in unison. Not everyone has to deal with a fam
ily tragedy. He hoped sharing his hadn’t made her shy away from him. Sofia was the one Benevento native he knew best, however she had made it clear she could not help him.

  Finally, she spoke. “I am so sorry to hear about your papà. That is a terrible thing to happen.”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “You must miss him very much.”

  “I do.” No one had ever suggested that Antonio might feel pain over the incident, not even the priest. It was as though feeling anything would be unmanly and weak. He blinked back his own tears. “I have had to adjust to being alone.” He felt Luigi nudge his ankle. “I have my dog, of course.”

  “And he is a good companion.” She invited Lu onto her lap and nuzzled him under her chin.

  “He likes you.” And he had a way of lifting spirits, as he had just done for her.

  The stop closest to Hawkins House was approaching. If he were going to ask, he needed to do so now. “Sofia, your aunt. She seemed to be warning you about something. Is there anything I can do, because I’m more than willing.”

  Sofia drew in a deep breath and then allowed Luigi to jump down where he sat at Antonio’s feet. “Thank you. Very much thank you. But there is nothing.”

  “Are you in any kind of danger? I mean, she mentioned a padrone, perhaps a troublesome one.”

  “My aunt. She is a bit…” Sofia patted her forehead with the heel of her palm.

  “I understand, but—“

  “My troubles are many, but there is no danger. Thank you for being concerned.”

  “May I ask then, have you any idea who might be passing me notes about my father?” He explained the best he could.

  “That is indeed odd. I have never heard your father’s name before I met you. Perhaps someone is…how do you say it?”

  “Playing a cruel joke on me?” Being unwelcome in Little Italy, it was possible. “Why would they come looking for me at the theater, though, if they only wanted to run me out? It seems they drew me to your streets.” His throat tightened. Perhaps his father had also been lured.

  She covered her head with her scarf. “I wish I knew the answers.”

  After they stepped off, Antonio gently took her arm. “You must call on me, Sofia, if you encounter something threatening. I am happy to help.”

  She nodded and paraded down the walk toward the boarding house with the swinging sign out front, marching on those outrageous shoes of hers. He didn’t care if her troubles did not involve personal danger. They were causing her grief and he wanted to help her resolve whatever it was. A woman this beautiful should not be so weighed down with life that her smile stayed forever hidden. He didn’t care anymore about the priest’s meddling. He knew his father had been an upstanding, hardworking moral man. There were people in the world who really needed help, who needed joy in their lives. That was why Antonio took pleasure in playing his music for them. He should invite Sofia to the theater to hear him play. Perhaps then she would forget her troubles and smile again.

  He looked again at the note the nun read to him. What money? If he went to the bank and asked, perhaps he could help both Sofia and himself.

  Chapter 16

  After seeing Sofia home, Antonio headed up to the theater district. Union Square was busy, the streets bulging with vaudeville performers he had to push through. They were all looking for work and many could do his job. Thankfully the manager at the Roman Athenaeum liked him. Without this employment Antonio might have no extra funds for his savings. First he should give the society housing his uncle a hefty donation. He hadn’t meant to insult them the last time he was there. Without them, Nicco might have been killed out on the streets.

  As he neared the entrance of the theater, a man approached them, a manager who had not been there last week when Antonio was hired. He chuckled when he saw Luigi. “The Victor dog, don’t you know. How extraordinary the way he listens to you.”

  “Yes, well, not really. Just resembles him.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m the pianist tonight, Antonio Baggio.” He’d been hired for the late, late shows.

  The man flipped pages on a clipboard. “Have you been booked by the agency?”

  Antonio knew booking agents were everywhere, he’d been approached by quite a few, but the theaters had been moving away from such arrangements, according to Mac and the manager at the Roman he had met last week. “No. Must I be?” Booking agencies required a fee and he didn’t much like dividing his earnings.

  The fellow laughed and handed a female dancer a fan as she scooted past them. “I understand Cox booked you. That’s fine, then. Superb.” He leaned in. “The other performers will despise you should they learn you’ve not paid a booking fee, so I should not discuss it if I were you.”

  “Very well.”

  “What about your dog?”

  “Lu? He’ll wait for me like he always does.”

  “How incredible. Nice pooch.” The man made kissing sounds. Lu growled and the man jumped back.

  Good dog. Keep on letting folks know you can hold your own.

  Later, Antonio watched as the theater manager counted out bills and put them in his pay envelope. “It was a good night, son. A packed house.”

  Antonio had played a mixture of ragtime and classical. It was a compromise he didn’t mind making. He’d enjoyed it. He’d relished the applause. God was blessing Antonio’s plans at last.

  “I…uh…I was wondering. Mr. Cox told me I would work all week. Should I come back the same time tomorrow?”

  “No.” He slapped the envelope into Antonio’s hand.

  He swallowed hard. “Earlier then? Should I come by and check?”

  “I wouldn’t if I were you.” He started to turn away. Luigi growled. “Your dog seems a bit aggressive. Move along. Your work is done here.”

  Antonio put a hand on the man’s arm. “You didn’t like my playing?”

  The man lifted Antonio’s fingers from his navy suit sleeve. “Look, you’re very good. Cox recognized your talent. However, there’s a multitude out there like you.” He smiled. “You’re a good fella. Go down to Longacre Square. Mingle with the performers there. You’ll learn about new opportunities as they come up.”

  “But…you see, the Roman Athenaeum is the kind of place where I want—”

  “You want, huh? They all want to work here. Just a bit of advice. Take it or leave it.” He bent down to pet Lu who immediately jumped up and stood behind Antonio. “Or, if you want steady work you could go over to 28th Street and work as a song plugger.” The manager shrugged and then disappeared into the long, tenebrous hallway.

  Antonio caught a whiff of cigar smoke that nearly choked him. He left the theater thinking about his options. Tin Pan Alley, they called it, the place where sheet music was produced. Antonio cringed to think of working as a plugger, someone who plunked away at a new tune the publisher was pushing to sell. There was no art in that job. No applause or lingering enjoyment by listeners. “Come on, Lu. I need work, so off to Longacre Square we go. We’ll skip Tin Pan Alley for now.” Papà wouldn’t have liked Antonio roaming around the nocturnal city like this, but he wasn’t here now and there was nothing else Antonio knew how to do to pay his rent. His father hadn’t taken anyone’s money. He couldn’t have. There was never any extra. If it weren’t for the mystery of his father being at Cooper Union, Antonio would have dismissed those crazy notes. However, since his father had been there, there was obviously something he kept secret. He glanced at his watch. Still several hours before the bank would open.

  Luigi trailed after Antonio as he paced down sidewalks intermittently shadowed by shop awnings. The businesses themselves were locked up tight for the night, but there was plenty of light spilling onto the street from saloons and billiard halls. Men and women wearing stage powdered faces passed him by, accompanied by normally attired folks. Actors and musicians he assumed. This was the part of the city where they lived and lolled while waiting for work. The Beach, some liked to call it, as though waiting around was akin to a ho
liday. It wasn’t. To be beached meant you were always out here and never inside a theater working.

  He drew in a breath and the smells of ale and cigarettes accosted his senses. Pausing to listen to a singer practice an aria, Antonio thought about that moment of quiet before a curtain is lifted, the time when both audience and performers inhale in anticipation. The revelry out here was lacking that sacred moment, that specialness he craved. Why had God teased him by only seeming to answer his prayers?

  He continued on. The agents also hung out in this area. Those leeches whose only employment consisted of taking money from starving artists for setting them up with theater managers.

  He paused and leaned against a cast iron pillar framing a shop entrance.

  “Is that the Victor dog, Nipper?” A man with a cane came trotting up to him from across the street.

  “Looks a bit like him, people say.” Antonio replied. “His name is Luigi.”

  The man pursed his lips as he stared at the dog. “I thought for a moment, sir, that the dog was looking for a new job.” He laughed and stroked his white beard. “He is about the same size, although his ears are different. Probably his demeanor is what reminds people of that advertisement. Are you looking to get him into an act?”

  Lu turned his whole body away from the man and stared at nothing on the wall.

  “No, he’s not a vaudeville act, sir. I’m not either.”

  “Pity. What are you, then?”

  The diamond pin in the man’s lapel told Antonio this was not an ordinary grubbing agent. He was a successful one. How much cut did he take in a deal? “I’m a musician.”

  The man groaned. “Accordion? Fiddle? Guitar? Listen, son, there’s not much call for that in today’s theater, not unless you’ve got an animal act to go with it.” He tried to pet Lu, but the dog inched away from him.

  “I am a pianist and an organist up at St. Anthony’s.”

  “Well, good evening to you, young man.” The agent marched off, waving to a group of men waiting outside a gentleman’s league.