“Yes, I can. Why couldn’t Tracy be more like you? Maybe if she were, things would’ve ended differently.”
“Mrs. Santana, go easy on Tracy. It’s tough figuring out who you are, especially when you’re a teen.”
“I only ever had one wish for that girl, and she couldn’t manage to do that.”
Suddenly, I can see why Tracy had so many issues. Her mother is super-critical and tough to please. No wonder it had been so easy for Tracy to abuse our friendship. How could I have expected her to be more compassionate toward me when her own mother showed so little compassion for her, even now after her death? I suddenly remember the numerous beatings Tracy had suffered at her mother’s hands.
“Just one wish. God couldn’t even give me that. It’s not like I ever asked Him for much.”
Mrs. Santana’s voice is filled with anger and bitterness.
“May I ask what that wish was, Mrs. Santana?”
“I only wanted her to find a decent boy and get married. You think I didn’t know about all those boys she ran around with in high school and all through her twenties? She tried to hide it from me, but I’m not blind—or deaf. I was so humiliated hearing all the gossip about her in the neighborhood. People would think they were talking low enough when they’d see me picking my produce at Top Tomato, but I would always hear every one of their ugly words about my daughter. No matter what, she was still my daughter.”
Tears fill Mrs. Santana’s eyes. I guess she does have some compassion after all.
“But you’re right, Valentina. I shouldn’t be so hard on her. She was finally beginning to get on the right path. About a year ago, the boys disappeared. She was either alone running in Astoria Park or going to the cafés on 30th Avenue with a few of her girlfriends from the hair salon where she worked. I asked her if she was planning on dropping another surprise on me. I thought maybe she had become a lesbian since I only saw her hanging out with girls now. She told me she was taking a long break from guys, but that she hadn’t become a lesbian. I was relieved to hear that, and I was also glad that she wasn’t dating a string of guys at the same time anymore. But I told her she shouldn’t take too long of a break from dating. Her biological clock was ticking, after all. She needed to think about finding a good man to settle down with. And she did. Though at first, I was mad about whom she’d chosen.”
Mrs. Santana brings over my mug of coffee and sits down opposite me at her kitchen table. She takes a long sip of her coffee.
I wait, dying to know if it’s anyone I know. But Mrs. Santana has gone quiet. The poor woman’s brain must be on overload with all that’s happening.
“Who was Tracy dating, Mrs. Santana?”
She jumps. “Oh, I’m sorry. My mind seems to be wandering all over the place. It was Snake God.”
“Snake God?” I’m shocked.
“Yes, yes. I couldn’t believe it either when she told me. But then it seemed to make sense given the rebellious nature Tracy had displayed since she was in high school. I just thought the girl would never change. This is who she was. But Snake God, I mean, Brandon, ended up being a pleasure. He wasn’t the same cocky young man carrying around that stupid python anymore.”
Everyone in Astoria called Brandon McKenzie Snake God because of his penchant for walking around the neighborhood shirtless and keeping Monty, his six-foot python, coiled around his neck. Instead of minding the nickname, he loved it. And it was no wonder. He actually seemed to think he was God the way he paraded around town with his tanned muscled body. Snake God’s best assets were his toned arms, pecs, and washboard abs—and of course Monty, which he used to attract girls. Michael had once told me that Snake God used to say, “Monty’s a chick magnet, dude.” But I couldn’t see it since most girls I knew were terrified of snakes. I always thought Snake God was probably compensating for his lack of, how should I put it? Manly measurements.
“I guess Tracy didn’t mind Monty?”
“Oh, I guess you hadn’t heard. Monty died about a month before Tracy started dating Brandon. He was so upset. Tracy saw him sitting on a bench in Astoria Park one day and crying. Can you imagine macho Snake God crying?”
“No, I can’t.”
“Neither could I when Tracy told me the story, but she said he was blubbering like a little boy who’d just discovered Santa wasn’t real. Anyway, Brandon was just sitting there crying in public, not caring if anyone saw him or what that would do to his macho image. Tracy was on her daily run through the park and walked over to Brandon when she saw him crying. And from that point on, they were inseparable. Tracy helped him overcome Monty’s loss.”
“Wow.” I can’t help noting the sarcasm in my voice even though I hadn’t intended to sound sarcastic. This is all just too bizarre, even for Tracy. I still cannot picture her with Snake God.
Mrs. Santana stands up and goes over to the fridge. She takes a picture off the front.
“Here’s a picture of the two of them this past summer in the Florida Everglades. It was a dream of Brandon’s to go there, and he asked Tracy to go with him.”
I look at the photo magnet. Snake God has changed. Though still muscular, he isn’t sporting the obnoxiously pumped-up muscles I’d remembered. He no longer shaves his head. His hair is now long enough to show its sandy blond color and tousled curls. He has his arm around Tracy, and they’re both smiling. Tracy looks different, too. Her hair is still very long, but she’s wearing very little makeup, taking about five years off her age and giving her a more innocent look. I don’t think I’d ever seen her look this pretty before, even though she’s wearing a baseball cap and a tee that says Snakes Rule. There’s a glow in her face and eyes that I’d never seen. She looks happy. And then it suddenly dawns on me that I’d never really seen her happy.
“What does Brandon do for work?”
“He’s a construction worker. Makes really good money, too. Of course, I had hoped Tracy would’ve married a professional, someone with a fancy desk job, but after what that girl put me through, I was just happy she found a nice boy who she was crazy about. You know she’d never brought any boy home to meet me? Brandon was the first one.” Mrs. Santana shakes her head. “Tracy was smart. She might not have had the school grades, but she had common sense smarts.” Mrs. Santana points at her head as if I don’t know what she means.
“She knew all those other boys were garbage and weren’t good enough for her to bring home. That’s why she waited. And she was right. I just know they would have gotten married if she hadn’t—”
Mrs. Santana breaks down crying. I pat her hand, feeling helpless.
“I’m sorry. I still can’t believe she’s gone. For all the trouble she gave me in her younger years, I still would have her that way if it meant she could be alive. Sure, I was so ecstatic that she seemed to be finally growing up and calming down. But now, she’s gone. It’s as if she wasn’t meant to be good or have some good in her life.”
“Oh, don’t say that, Mrs. Santana. Think of it this way. She was happy the last few months of her life. I’ve never seen Tracy look the way she does in this picture. Isn’t it better that she experienced real love and happiness, even if it was just for a short time? It would have been worse if she died and didn’t get a chance to have some happiness in her life.”
“That’s true. That’s true. Oh!”
Mrs. Santana sniffles, rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands. “I tend to look at the negative too much, I guess. Tracy always told me that. Well, it is what it is. God wanted it this way, and I can’t do anything about it. But it would have been nice if I could’ve just seen my only daughter getting married.”
Mrs. Santana goes back into a trance again. I don’t want to intrude on her thoughts or time any longer. This is harder than I’d thought it would be.
“I should get going, Mrs. Santana. I just wanted to tell you in person how sorry I am and to let you know that if you need anything, please just call me.” I scribble my cell number down on an old business card I find i
n my wallet. As I hand it over to Mrs. Santana, I notice the front of the card. It’s Michael’s business card from Smith Barney. I thought I had thrown all those out.
“Thank you, Valentina. Who knows? Maybe if Tracy were still alive, the two of you would have picked up your friendship again. Ahhh . . .” Mrs. Santana shakes her head.
I’ve always wondered if she’d known what Tracy had done to me. I assumed she did. After all, several people in the neighborhood had seen my bloodied face, including Paulie Parlatone, who would have wasted no time recounting every detail to whomever he ran into. Maybe she does know but is too embarrassed to bring it up. It’s not important now.
Mrs. Santana hugs me for a long time before I let myself out of her house. As I walk out, I notice a framed photograph of Tracy hanging on the wall. Tracy must’ve been no more than six years old, the same age she was when I’d first met her and she had tied my shoelaces. Though she’s smiling in the picture, her eyes seem so sad. Had I misunderstood my childhood best friend all those years? She’d failed me, but I can’t help wondering if perhaps I had failed her, too.
Instead of going home that night, I decide to go to Sposa Rosa. I call my family so they won’t be worried and tell them I’ve decided to stop at Aldo’s, and if they’re too tired, they should just go to bed and not wait up for me. We’ll see each other and catch up in the morning. Of course, Ma isn’t too happy to hear that I want to see Aldo before her. Then, I text Aldo.
HEY! NEED A FAVE. MY FAMILY THINKS I’M HANGING WITH YOU RIGHT NOW. COVER 4 ME IF MY SISTERS CALL U.
WHAT R U UP 2?!!
I ignore his last text. Aldo knows that eventually I’ll tell him. Of course, he will find some way to get me back for not immediately replying.
It’s almost nine p.m. We close at seven p.m. except on Fridays and Saturdays when we close at eight. Since it’s only Wednesday, the store has now been closed for almost two hours. I don’t have to worry about Ma or my sisters working late since I know they’ve been anxious to see me and hear about Venice. Guilt stabs my heart that I’ve lied to them and am keeping them waiting. But I need to do something first before I can go home.
On the walk over to Sposa Rosa from Tracy’s house, I can’t get her out of my mind. I had hoped that I would have found some resolution by visiting Mrs. Santana, but instead I feel worse, especially after hearing about the new leaf that Tracy had turned over. I’m glad she had been dating someone seriously and had stopped going from guy to guy. But hearing what Mrs. Santana had said about Tracy never having her chance to get married has really struck a chord with me. Of course, I can relate only too well.
I let myself into the shop, but before I walk in, I look at what’s featured in the display. My eyes open wide. All three mannequins are wearing PINK! I’m gone only a month, and my mom takes over. I can see one of the display mannequins wearing pink, which is becoming more popular with brides who don’t want to wear the traditional white, but to have three mannequins wearing pink is absurd and cheesy, especially since our shop’s name is Pink Bride in Italian. Also, we never display three mannequins. It’s always just one mannequin to promote our Featured Bride of the Month. I can’t wait to hear how this all came about when I get home.
I enter the shop with some trepidation, fearing what other changes I might find. But from what I can tell everything else seems to be the same. I’ve missed the shop tremendously since I’ve been gone even though I’ve tried not to think about it, hoping to obliterate all reminders of weddings and Michael.
After taking off my coat, I head over to the back of the shop. I’m finally ready to see my wedding dress since my engagement to Michael ended. But the dress isn’t where I’d left it. That’s right. I now remember that when I returned to the shop for the first time after Michael broke up with me, the dress hadn’t been in its usual place in the sewing room. I didn’t question it then since I was a zombie and the last thing I wanted to see was the dress. My mother or sisters must’ve hidden it before I came into Sposa Rosa that day.
After searching for almost fifteen minutes, I start wondering if they’ve sold the dress. But no, they wouldn’t have done that without consulting with me first. Then again, I never thought they would’ve changed the model we were following for our display window without consulting me first either. If there’s anything I’ve learned about my family, they can be quite unpredictable.
Finally, I find the dress covered in a garment bag and hanging in our supply closet. My heart starts to pound as I zip open the black garment bag. Great choice. Instead of using one of the translucent garment bags we normally keep our dress samples in, my family had even thought to bring a black garment bag from home to completely conceal my dress in case I went into the supply closet.
Tears come into my eyes. The dress is as beautiful as I remember it. Suddenly, a thought begins taking shape in my mind. I think about it a little while longer before I make up my mind.
Tracy’s wake is scheduled for Friday evening, and her funeral will be held on Saturday morning. The autopsy has been performed, and the results will be in next week. It seems as if everyone in Astoria is at the wake, which surprises and angers me. I remember all the nasty gossip everyone spread about Tracy when we were in high school. Even though much of it was true, it still bothers me to see so many hypocrites now at her wake.
But wakes are very sacred for Catholics, especially Italians, and whatever ill feelings people might’ve had for the deceased while he or she was living, that must all be put aside. Paying respect to the dead and their family is above all else.
Who am I to talk? Aren’t I a hypocrite, too? I wasn’t able to forgive Tracy when she showed up with her cousin at Sposa Rosa, and here I am.
Ma, Rita, and Connie decide to come to the wake with me, but since the shop closes at eight, we don’t arrive until an hour after the viewing hours have begun. As soon as we step into the room where Tracy’s body is in repose, everyone’s eyes turn to me. I can feel my face burning.
“Why is everyone looking at you, Vee? Sure everyone knows what Tracy did to you, but come on? You’re not a cold-blooded bitch without feelings,” Rita says.
I silently laugh to myself. My family thinks I am this sweet saint incapable of malice when what I really am is a person who held a grudge for fourteen years and couldn’t forgive her childhood best friend.
“Silenzio!“ The Sicilian Gestapo that is my mother shuts up Rita. “You do not speak ill of the dead at a wake! Tracy was just a young girl when that unfortunate thing happened. She was lost and confused. We must remember we are all sinners.”
Rita glances at Connie when she knows Ma isn’t looking and rolls her eyes. My mother seems to be taking Tracy’s death harder than I thought she would. She has been fighting off tears since we walked into the room. The viewing line is long and wraps all the way to the back of the room. We must have at least twenty people ahead of us. Ma pats her eyes with a white lace handkerchief that she told me has been in her family since her grandmother got married.
“Are you okay, Ma? Maybe you should sit down. You can go up after the line gets shorter.”
“Sto bene. Don’t worry, Valentina.” She gives me a brief smile. Then she returns her attention to the front of the viewing room. I follow her gaze, which seems to rest on Tracy’s casket. Sometimes I wish I were a tiny fly, such as a gnat, and could fly into my mother’s ear and go straight to her thoughts. For one never really knows what Olivia DeLuca is thinking about.
Olivia knows she, too, is a hypocrite, since how many times did she call that girl puttana in her head and blame her for giving Valentina the malocchio? She even blamed Tracy’s malocchio for Valentina’s broken engagement. Olivia is ashamed. She has not been acting the way Christ would want her to. And what about all that nonsense over the years of going to the psychic so she could burn candles to protect Olivia and her family from the evil eye? Yes, Olivia thought she would never say this, but she is beginning to lose her faith in the malocchio.
She ca
n’t stop glancing over at Tracy even though she can barely make out the body with all the people waiting to pay their respects to her. All she can see is the girl’s long dark hair, and her face—her very pale face. Tears begin forming in Olivia’s eyes again. It’s not fair. She was so young, and she finally seemed to be straightening her life out by finding love with that Snake Boy. Strange boy, but everyone has his or her soul mate. She’d seen Tracy and the boy a few times walking hand in hand on Ditmars Boulevard. She recognized that look in both of their faces. They were in love. She’d known that feeling with Nicola—and Salvatore. Tracy would probably have gotten married to the Snake Boy if she hadn’t died. And who cast the malocchio on Tracy? Not her Valentina. She wasn’t capable of hurting an ant, or was it a fly? Even after forty years of being in America, she still got confused with all these sayings they had here. Why couldn’t Americans just talk plainly? She sighed.
Yes, it was true. Many people had not liked Tracy because of her loose ways, but she doubted people cared that much to place a curse on her. It was just God’s will. Olivia also remembered the last time she saw Tracy. She was in her car outside of the shop, waiting for her cousin Kathleen, who was having one of her dress fittings. Olivia had no idea Tracy was double-parked in front of the shop. She’d gone over to spray the windows with Windex when she saw Tracy looking at her. As soon as Tracy noticed that Olivia had seen her, she quickly looked down at her purse and pretended she was looking for something in it. Olivia knew Tracy still carried the weight of what she’d done to Valentina all those years ago. Olivia should have gone out to her and asked her to wait in the shop. That would have been not only the polite thing to do but also the Christian thing to do. Yet her stubbornness refused to let her budge. Like Valentina, she hadn’t forgiven the girl and didn’t know if she ever could. Her thoughts are broken as she sees they are finally getting closer to Tracy’s body.
Bella Fortuna Page 33
