“Maybe the theater is just fine but people would rather stay home and watch their television set.”
Frank leaned across the worktable closer to her. “Or maybe people are idiots and don’t appreciate quality when it’s offered to them.”
“I think you just said that because you want to kiss me.”
“No. I would just kiss you because life could not go on if I didn’t.”
“You should definitely run for mayor. You know how to play to the bleachers.”
Frank came around the end of the table and stood next to Calla. He folded his arms, mirroring hers as she looked at the rack of costumes. “I would only kiss you if you wanted me to.”
She turned to face him and smiled. “I’d like that.”
Frank kissed Calla tenderly.
“Are you hungry?” he asked her.
“Always.”
“Me too. But where does it go on you?”
“I leave it on the stairs between the mezzanine and the basement. If I had one wish . . .”
“Yeah?” Frank said, hoping she was thinking of him.
“I’d put in a lift. A platform elevator.”
“Okay.” Frank nodded.
“I saw a lift at the Philadelphia Opera Company, and I don’t like to think I’m an envious person, but it made me feel that way. I do a lot of hauling around here.” Calla returned the vodka bottle to its hiding place in the cubby of the Singer sewing machine. If she left it out, Hambone Mason would help himself to an intermission cocktail, not just a misting. She turned off the lights in the shop. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“I thought we’d go for a drive.”
“I have my car.”
“We’ll drop yours at home and take mine. Then we’ll go to Palumbo’s for a late supper. Sound good?”
Calla liked that Frank was decisive; she spent her days and nights at the theater making decisions about everything from lighting to costumes to sound to how to remove gum from the lobby floor. It was nice for a fellow to make a plan, and it was even better when she knew in advance that he was a good kisser. Frank Arrigo had potential.
*
Nicky balanced Peachy on the handlebars of his bicycle across South Ninth Street. Peachy held on to her hat with one hand while gripping the bar with the other as Nicky navigated through the traffic.
When they reached Pat’s Steaks, he gently braked to a stop. Peachy jumped off and waited as Nicky leaned the bike against a table. He put his arm around her as they got in line to order their sandwiches.
“I saw you make a friend in the audience.”
“Yeah. Very nice lady. Works at Wanamaker’s too.”
“In accounting?
“Nope. She’s in sales. She gave me her card. Never saw her before, but get this. She’s in Bridal Registry. Is that fate or what? I figured we could go and see her together.”
“Anytime you want.”
“Well, you can’t really make an appointment until you have a wedding day, otherwise they just have a bunch of random people on file who may or may not actually ever marry which makes a lot of paperwork for the department without the benefit of sales. You need an actual guest list to register our china, English Chintz by Royal Albert—”
“Let me guess, it’s pink.”
“Naturally. Then there’s our silverware, Williamsburg by Towle, and the rest of the stuff a young couple on the move needs, like an ice bucket and a cocktail shaker and lead glass beer steins. We need six. But I can’t do anything until we know what we’re doing.”
“Peach. You know what you’re doing,” Nicky teased her.
“Everything hinges on the date.”
“I understand.” Nicky leaned into the window and ordered two cheesesteak sandwiches, hers without peppers, his with peppers, and both with mozzarella, and two bottles of cold birch beer.
“I was thinking October twenty-ninth for our wedding day,” Peachy said gently.
“That’s fine with me.”
“It is?”
“I like the fall.”
“It’s cooler then, and the wedding party can wear velvet. Velvet is my favorite fabric.”
“Whatever you want, Peachy.”
“You know my mom. Her only request was that we marry at a time of year when sleeves are required.”
“Really? That’s her only request?” Nicky joked.
“Let her have some fun. God knows she’s waited long enough.”
“I went over and looked at the houses going up on Wharton,” Nicky admitted.
“You did?”
“I think you’d like them a lot. Nice and new. Backyard with a lot of room. You know, for kids and cookouts. A strong wooden fence. You can paint it whatever color you want, or stain it—a wood finish, pine or mahogany. You could even grow morning glories on it. There’s room enough for a cutting garden. Do you have a green thumb?”
“My tomatoes grow tomatoes,” Peachy assured him.
“Good. And I bet we’d get good neighbors on the other sides.”
“Probably newlyweds like us.”
“Probably.”
Peachy threw her arms around Nicky. “I’m so happy.” Their order appeared in the window. He placed each cold soda bottle in one of his pockets and grabbed the bag of sandwiches. Peachy jumped back on the bike as Nicky pedaled across the bridge to the Fairmount Park and swerved through the Azalea Garden to the Fountain of the Sea Horses.
The Art Institute, a majestic white sandstone building with rows of large windows overlooking the gardens, was fully lit from within, throwing light on the green lawn.
“Hey, our bench is free,” Peachy said, taking Nicky’s arm. “That’s a sign. This is the very spot where I said yes.”
Nicky kissed her. “Everything is going our way.”
“I hope so.”
“Hey, it’s true.”
“I get these black feelings of doom sometimes. I don’t know where they come from—they just move in. You know?” Peachy picked a loose thread off her skirt.
“Well, get rid of them.”
“Not so easy. I worry about us. You’re a flirt.”
“What are you talking about? You’re my girl.”
“I know. I got the ring to prove it.” She held up her hand and wiggled the ring finger fitted with her diamond. “But you, Mister, are very chummy with the girls.”
“What girls?”
“That Stella Corelli.”
“Calla Borelli.”
“Yeah, her. There are some sparks there between the two of you.”
“There are no sparks.” Nicky was glad that Peachy wasn’t a mind reader, because if she was, she would have just seen Calla Borelli dance across the front lobe of his brain in her underpants. He opened the soda bottles and handed one to his fiancée. He took a swig from the other. “No sparks.”
“Better not be. My father was unfaithful to my mother once, and it left a scar.”
“On her or on you?”
“Both of us.”
“I’m true, Peachy. True to you.”
“I have no evidence to the contrary. But don’t test me. I did not come all this way to have you blow us up like a stick of dynamite in a sewer pipe.”
“There will be no explosions. I had enough of those in France. But I hope you take comfort that your mother and father made it through their dilemma.”
“Barely. No charges were filed, but it was close.”
Nicky unbuttoned his collar, feeling the air cut off from his windpipe. “Charges?”