“It’s not about wanting to. I want to. Do you really think I can do the job?”
“I wouldn’t offer you the part. We’ll rehearse so you’re comfortable. We’ll have to work fast—and put some hours in. And Dad is around. He said he’d coach you if you needed help.”
“He’d do that?”
“Sure. He’s been meeting with Tony for years. Norma too. A couple other actors in the company stop by and meet with him for tune-ups.”
“I didn’t know.”
“There’s a lot more to acting than rehearsals.”
“Now I’m scared.”
“You should be.”
“Are you the same director that just hired me?”
“If you weren’t scared, you’d be a lousy actor. And if I wasn’t scared, I’d be a terrible director.”
Nicky sat down on the work stool.
“You okay?” Calla asked.
“This was the worst day, and now you’ve made it the best day. This sort of thing doesn’t happen to me. I either have a good run or a bad run, but not something horrible followed by good news in the same day. This can only mean one thing. Doom.”
Calla put her hands on Nicky’s shoulders. He reached back and placed his hands upon hers. “May I tell you something?”
Calla sat down next to him.
“A man died in my cab today. A heart attack. I took him to the hospital. The doctor, the nurses, they brought him inside. I guess they revived him, and he lasted for a few hours. I stayed until the end.”
“It was kind of you to make sure he wasn’t alone.”
“His wife was with him. She was with him the whole time. I stayed in the waiting room.”
“Did she ask you to stay?”
“No. She was surprised I was there when she came out.”
“Why did you stay?”
Nicky felt he might cry. He never cried, so he willed himself not to. “I’m not sure. What do you think?”
“Maybe you thought you could help.”
“Do what, though?” Nicky looked at her.
“Have you ever been somewhere, like a party, and you thought, if I leave, this whole shebang will fall apart without me?”
Nicky laughed. “Maybe.”
“Maybe you thought if you left, he’d die.”
“But he did.”
“But not right away. Have you ever been with anyone when they died?”
Nicky shook his head that he hadn’t.
“I was with my mother. My sisters had gone out to get a cup of coffee. My dad had gone outside for some air. And something told me not to leave the room. So I didn’t. So right at the end, her eyes opened, and the last person she saw on earth was me. And I made sure not to cry. I smiled really big, as big as I could, because I wanted her to have a happy end.”
“I wanted Mr. Allison to live.”
“But that’s out of your hands.”
“He didn’t think so.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a small thing and I can’t be sure of it. He didn’t say anything, but he looked at me and the way he looked at me told me he didn’t want to die. He wasn’t ready.”
“You can’t worry about that now,” Calla said softly. “It’s not his decision any more than my mother’s passing was hers.”
“I couldn’t save him.”
“That’s right. No one could.”
Calla got up and went to the cupboard. She pulled a bottle of whiskey, hidden in a wooden box marked “bobbins,” off the shelf. She picked up two clean glasses off the prop cart parked in the corner. She poured them each a shot.
“I knew it. You’re a lush.”
“Keep it to yourself.”
She held up her glass. He clinked his glass against hers. “Cent’Anni,” they said in unison before throwing back the shots of whiskey.
“Calla? I’m going to need ten bucks a show. It’s going to cut into my hours as a hack.”
“I can only do five.”
“What if I’m really good?”
“Five.”
*
The walls, floor, appliances, and regulation moppeens in the Palazzini kitchen were white, and except for the streaks of gray in the Carrara marble on the countertops, the only color in the room came from the food as it was prepared. Whatever time, day or night, you walked in, the place was neat and clean.
There was a large window over the sink that overlooked Aunt Jo’s garden in the backyard. The sill was lined with a row of small terra-cotta pots where she grew herbs year round. She grew basil, which she used liberally in her traditional gravy, or shredded by hand over fresh mozzarella drizzled in olive oil. There was mint, which she used for medicinal purposes, making a tea whenever anyone in the house was ill; but she also used it to make Nicky’s favorite meal, spaghetti with fresh peas and mint. The garden was just like Aunt Jo’s kitchen. Neatly plowed rows were organized by vegetable, her tools were kept in an orderly fashion in a covered potting shed, and the garden hose was coiled carefully in a circle on a hook. The entire operation was guarded by a weather-beaten scarecrow that resembled Peter Lorre.
Aunt Jo’s kitchen could have been a professional restaurant operation. She believed in using the best appliances, utensils, and ingredients to get the best results. At his wife’s request, Dom purchased the first icebox on Montrose in 1926, and the first dishwasher when it was available at Martinelli’s in 1948. If Dom splurged, it was for Jo’s kitchen.
A white linoleum-topped table and matching leather booth wrapped around the corner by the door to the mudroom. Nicky and the boys ate their lunch on this table on weekends when they were little. Aunt Jo also used the table as her office. She sorted bills, worked her crossword puzzles, and talked on the phone mounted on the wall behind the booth. The black telephone had an extra-long cord, so she might move around the kitchen as she talked with a friend.
The dining room, situated through the swinging portal doors beyond the kitchen, was the center of the home and the largest room on the main floor. Jo had enlisted the help of her sister-in-law, Nancy, to help her decorate it. The dining room was completed shortly before the falling-out, and it was sad to Jo that she’d never had Nancy, Mike, and their sons over to enjoy it.