Carlo looked around the room. His regimentals hung on the back of the door; his medals dangled off the sash, pulling away from the silk. His trunk stood in the corner of the room.
“I must go. Sono un ospite d’onore di una festa a Roseto, Pennsylvania.”
“No. I won’t allow it. You had surgery. You risk infection if you leave this hospital. I will send a telegram and explain the circumstances of your cancellation.”
Carlo looked into Sister Julia’s eyes. No matter where a man walked in the world, no good would come of arguing with a nun. He pointed. “C’e una lettera nella tasca della mia uniforme,” Carlo sighed. “I miei piani.”
The nun wrote down Carlo’s itinerary and the contact information in Roseto and left his room. She handed the message for the telegram to the nurse on duty.
“Telegram for Roseto, Pennsylvania.”
“Where’s that, Sister?”
“Send it through Philadelphia. They’ll find it.”
TO: CHIEF BURGESS TUTOLOLA: ROSETO PA
FROM: SISTER JULIA DENNEHY ST. VINCENT’S HOSPITAL, NYC, NY
AMBASSADOR ILL. SITUATION DIRE. MUST CANCEL EVENT. SJD
5
The Palazzini family bought the entire Row H in the orchestra, straight across, for Nicky’s debut in Twelfth Night. He had warned the girls about their hats, and they obliged him. Aunt Jo wore her chignon in a snood. Elsa wore a simple black velvet curvette that matched her church coat; Lena a brimless calot hat of peacock-blue satin that adhered to her head like a bandage; and Mabel wore a Scottie hat, the only small hat she owned. Made of emerald-green velvet, the Scottie was out of season, but it qualified as teensy, so it made the cut and was worn to the theater.
Aunt Jo had invited the DePinos, who sat in the center of the row, with Peachy, dressed head to toe in pink, sitting between her parents like a smear of raspberry jam. The trio sat upright like three pillars of granite in a Tuscan tomb.
Nicky wasn’t shy about sharing the hat rule with the DePino women so Peachy wore a band in her hair with a flat pink bow, while her mother, attempting to keep within the bounds of restraint, wore a dark pink roller hat covered in ostrich feathers. The patron who sat behind Concetta in Row R of the orchestra sat on the Philadelphia phone book to see over the feathers.
Dom anchored the row on one aisle, his bad knee extended out into the aisle like a divining rod. Nino sat next to his father. Dominic the son took the aisle seat on the far end of the row, while Gio’s seat remained next to his brother.
Gio stood in the back of the theater, tapping his foot on the floor as he rested his chin on the orchestra wall facing the stage. His face looked like an apple used for target practice in Sherwood Forest. Gio followed Nicky’s rule about two bit hustlers who attend the theater, but his cousin also had claustrophobia in crowds, so whenever he entered a public space, he perspired, choked for air, and checked the exits, camping near one for a quick getaway.
Calla moved through the hallway outside the dressing rooms in the basement as the actors emerged in costume to go up the stairs to take their places onstage for the first scene. She wore a caramel-colored tulle skirt, upon which she had added layers in the costume shop, and a crisp white blouse paired with her mother’s pearls. She ran a brush through her hair as she walked.
“How are we doing?” she asked the star of her company.
“We’re good.” Tony put out his cigarette in the ash can before going up the stairs. Calla pulled him into a corner. “Look out for Nick, will you?”
“He’s got it.”
“You think so?”
“He knows the show better than me.”
“He seems awfully nervous.” Calla wrung her hands.
“My first show—remember?”
“Yeah. You went out the stage door. We had to hold the curtain. Dad found you over on Pine Street in the alley.”
“Terrified.”
“I’ll check on him.”
Calla walked down the hallway to the men’s dressing room and rapped on the door. “Everybody decent?”
She heard a rumble in the affirmative and entered to find Nicky sitting alone at the mirror. “You okay?”
Nicky nodded.
“You’re going to be great,” Calla said supportively.
“I’m shooting for . . . getting through it.”
“You’ll do just fine.”
“My whole family’s here.”
“We have a full house. Your uncle invited everybody from the American Legion, and they paid full price. Rosa is beside herself. She never had to count that much money. She actually used the adding machine. Thank you.”
Calla turned to go, but Nicky grabbed her hand. She looked at him, her heart filled with sympathy.
“You’re ready, Nick. You really are.” She smiled at him.
In that moment, Calla Borelli had the face of an angel. The light from the dressing mirror made her eyes dazzle like black spinel; her hair fell forward to frame her face as if it were a painting. She was golden and pure, hovering over him, protecting him. He felt safe, which meant he could be honest with her. “I’m scared.”
Calla sat down next to him and took his hands into hers. “You know every word. And if you forget anything, Tony and Norma will jump in and cover for you no matter what. Enzo is your rock. He knows every role in the play, he has your back. Josie would like all that’s attached to your back . . .”
Nicky laughed.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of—unless you have a fear of success.”
“I’m getting exactly what I want,” Nicky said softly.
“What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s the first time it’s ever happened to me.”
“Well, it’s about time. You deserve it.”
Frank Arrigo stood in the doorway of the dressing room, observing his girlfriend holding hands with a guy in a leotard, their heads together, whispering, practically cheek to cheek. The moment appeared so intimate, it looked like they might kiss. Frank almost backed away to give them privacy until he remembered that Calla was his girl, and he didn’t like what he saw. Jealousy roiled through him, pea green and nasty. “Hey,” he barked, breaking them apart.
Calla jumped in her chair, and Nicky turned to face him.
“I have some pre-curtain jitters,” Nicky explained.
“Have a nip, buddy. That’ll help.” Frank extended his hand to Calla. She rose and took it.
“You’ll be fine,” Calla assured Nicky. “See you after the show.”
“If I’m feeling generous,” Frank warned Nicky.
Rosa DeNero flickered the lights in the lobby, her mood bubbly for the first time since she’d begun working the box office at Borelli’s. Show night didn’t stretch in front of her like a penance; she actually had something to do. A full house meant a full accounting, which would be her pleasure after a run where most of the velvet seats had sat empty. Rosa returned to the box office to count the money.
Hortense Mooney pushed through the glass doors and walked up to the box office window. “One ticket, please.”
Rosa looked at up her.
“Do you have a colored section?” Hortense asked matter-of-factly.
“The mezzanine, I guess.”
“You guess?” Hortense smiled but her tone was pure annoyance.