“With that train, you’ll need the help.” Lena smiled.
Peachy’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m an only child and I wanted sisters all my life, and now I have them. I can’t believe I’ve waited seven years for this day. I’ll plan plenty of time to dress.”
“You might want to start now. With that train, those buttons, and that veil, you’ll need a fleet of Carmelites to put you together. I hear they farm out the postulates for a donation.” Mabel cut a forkful of coffee cake and ate it.
Concetta clapped her hands. “I thought it would be fun to assemble some confetti bags. At each of your place settings are the tulle squares, the ribbons, and the Jordan almonds.”
“My father broke a molar on the Jordan almonds at my wedding. Bit down. Howled in pain. They should come with a warning,” Mabel commented.
The ladies filled the tulle with the almonds. Elsa tied a ribbon around the netting, making the pouch.
“Who is doing the dolls for the cars?” Lena asked. “It’s my favorite wedding tradition in South Philly. I love to come out of the church and see the cars decorated for the wedding party with dolls dressed like the bridesmaids, and then of course, the doll dressed as the bride on the limousine. You’ll have to be careful with your replica, though—that long train could flap in the breeze and blind the driver.”
“Mabel, I was hoping you could make the dolls. The ones you created for your wedding were so pretty.”
“Yeah. I can do them. How many cars?”
“Twelve.”
“But you only have two girls in the wedding party.”
“The family is coming from Canada,” Peachy explained.
“Nooo. Out-of-town guests don’t get dolls. You’ll start a trend that will never be reversed. Dolls on the hoods of wedding party only.”
“I thought it would be nice. Something special. Something different. They’re coming from so far away.”
“Why don’t we just put dolls on all the cars? Including the ones for sale at Dotta’s car dealership, while I’m at it?” Mabel complained.
“They wouldn’t be special then.”
“Exactly. They’re not going to be very special when you see twelve pink dolls driving by on various hoods hauling a bunch of Canadians around.”
Peachy looked as though she might cry.
“Just do the dolls,” Jo said quietly to Mabel.
“We thought we’d have the bridal shower at Tarello’s—” Lena began.
“Why Tarello’s?” Concetta asked nervously.
“They have the nice garden in the back.”
“Daddy choked on the squid there,” Peachy blurted.
“But the shower is women only. Your dad won’t be coming,” Lena reminded her.
“How about Victor’s Café?” Mabel suggested.
“I suppose,” Peachy mused.
“Well, why don’t you pick? Think about it.” Lena forced a smile.
“I had mine at Echo Lake. Vacation Valley Inn,” Mabel offered.
“The Poconos? That’s a long drive.” Concetta put her foot down.
“Not as long as it’s going to take me to dress a fleet of dolls.” Mabel sighed.
*
Elsa took the wheel of the sedan parked in front of the DePino home. Mabel sat next to her in the front seat. Lena gave a final wave to Peachy and her parents from the sidewalk before climbing into the back seat with Aunt Jo.
Elsa started the car and pulled out onto the street. After a few moments, Lena said, “Poor Nicky.”
“They’re all right,” Aunt Jo said optimistically. “Peachy knows what she likes. Concetta is eager, and she’s a hard worker. It will be fine.”
“If you say so.” Mabel sighed.
Lena searched for something positive to say. “They are very thorough and organized. I’m scared of Mr. DePino, though. He’s a black bowling ball.”
“Stay out of his way,” Mabel advised.
“And not one word about Nicky,” Elsa sighed.
“Yeah, that’s not good, but you won the tongs when we played guess the jelly beans,” Mabel said.
“You won a prize, too,” Lena commented.
“Forgive me if I don’t get excited about a can of foot powder.”
“You guessed how many chocolate-covered raisins there were in the bridge mix. That’s a talent,” Aunt Jo said.
“I actually had the time to count each one while Peachy went into detail about the food at the reception. So many courses! And the Venetian dessert table. How many cannoli stuffings are there, anyway?” Mabel removed a few flakes of pink coconut from her collar.
“All brides are nervous and want every detail to fall into place as they dreamed it. And she’s waited a long time for this. So let’s give her some room,” Aunt Jo said evenly. “Let’s say only nice things going forward, shall we, girls?”
The women rode in silence for a few moments. Then Mabel turned to them and said, “The cream cheese sandwiches were quite tasty.”
*
Calla stood at the entrance of the Palazzini garage and looked around. “Hello?” she called out. When no one answered, she went inside, where the scent of motor oil and cigar smoke hung in the air. She looked down on the floor, where the numbers 1 through 4 were painted in red, indicating parking spots. She heard the soft staccato of a radio show filter down from the office, so she climbed the stairs.
Hortense was sitting at her desk, studying the Burpee seed catalog, when Calla knocked lightly on the open door.
“Excuse me. I’m looking for Nicky Castone.”
“What for?” Hortense asked without looking up from the delphiniums.
“Business.”
“What kind of business?” Hortense raised her head and peered at Calla over her reading glasses.
“Theatrical.”
“You selling tickets? If you are, he’s too old for the circus.”
“No. Nicky works for me. Well, he did. I fired him. And now I need him back.”
“You got the wrong Nicky.”
“I’m pretty sure I’ve got the right one. He says he works here during the day. He’s a hack. Drives Number 4. About six feet tall. Hair brown on the way to red. Blue eyes. Nice smile. Excellent teeth.”
“Not as good as mine.” Hortense forced a smile.
“You do have beautiful teeth.”
“I know. Can’t take any credit. I come from a long line of hard teeth. And, I brush with baking soda and salt every night faithfully. Mornings too.”
“It’s the old remedies that work best.”
“Don’t you forget it.”
“My name is Calla Borelli,” she said, extending her hand.
“Mrs. Mooney.” Hortense shook her hand.
“At night Nicky works at my theater.”
“He’s an usher?”
“Prompter. But now he’s an actor.”
“He’s in the shows?”
“He understudied a part, and now I need him. The actor that was playing the role is out for the rest of the run. His mother broke her hip.”
“That’s too bad. A broken hip is one slip away from the dirt nap.”
“I’ve heard,” Calla said sadly.
“What do you do?”
“I’m the director.”
“A girl?”
“Yeah. It’s a family business. Not that I need an excuse. Do I need an excuse?”
“No, no. Women work. Look at me. Dispatcher. Morse code operator. That’s right. Western Union. But look around. Rosie the Riveter. She made Sherman tanks. You can do whatever you want. The war changed everything for women. Well, for you.”