“Take the telegram to Roseto,” Gio said. “Or don’t.”
Nicky’s eyes moved like pinballs in his head as he hatched the scheme. “I take the telegram, but I don’t deliver. I deliver me. I become the ambassador. I perform the part, hiding in plain sight. The village gets their Jubilee and their honored guest, and I get the role of a lifetime, and save what’s left of it. By the time I return, Al DePino calms down and realizes he doesn’t want me for a son-in-law anyway, and life goes on as it always has.”
“It’s a terrible idea. It has more plot holes than Cymbeline. Don’t do it!” Calla implored him.
“I have to do something.”
“And somebody has to make this delivery,” Hortense added.
“Take a breath. Stay calm. Think this through.”
“Give me an alternative, Calla.”
“Go back to Peachy. Tell her you’ve made a mistake. Beg her forgiveness. Buy her a piece of jewelry as a penance. Tell her you love her and the wedding is on.”
“Thank you. That’s what I think!” Aunt Jo clasped her hands together. “She’s a nice girl.”
“I’m not marrying her. I’m not marrying anybody. I’m going to be”—he opened the telegram—“Ambassador Carlo Guardinfante of Roseto Valfortore, Italy. I’ll ride in a parade, kiss a couple of babies. How hard could this be?”
“You’ve only acted in one play,” Calla reminded him.
“But it was the right play. Mistaken identity,” Nicky said, feeling empowered by his own talent.
“He was pretty good in it,” Dominic commented.
“I was, wasn’t I?”
“Actors. Filled with hubris or self-loathing, nothing in between. Nicky. Listen to me. You were in a play with words and a plot. This crackpot plan you have—there’s no script!”
“I’ll improvise.”
“You’re stealing someone’s life,” Calla reminded him.
“From the sounds of this telegram, he’s not long for this world anyway. He’s doing me a kindness on his way out,” Nicky rationalized. “He dies so I can live.”
“But you’re not an ambassador. You don’t even know one.”
“I drove the vice mayor of Philadelphia once.”
“You’re not an Italian from the other side.”
“I can do an accent. I’ll just do my impression of Nonna.”
“It really cracks us up at the holiday dinners,” Dom admitted.
Nicky tried it out for them, “ ‘I so happy to be in America.’ See, I can do it. It’s the role of a lifetime. It’s three parts in one—it’s Two Gentlemen of Verona, The Comedy of Errors, and As You Like It. I saw all of those productions directed by your father. I know them by heart. I know how to play a twin. I’ll be in rep for the weekend.”
“You’re not experienced enough to pull this off.”
“Timing is everything, Calla. And I don’t have any. I have to get out of here. Al DePino is not nimble, but he owns a fast car.”
“And bullets move at the speed of sound,” Dom added.
“Are you with me or against me?”
“Against!” Calla folded her arms over her chest.
“Then you don’t get to come. Mrs. Mooney, will you come and play the nurse?”
“I don’t know anything about medicine.”
“You can be the maid, then. Shakespeare was loaded with them.”
“Why does the colored lady always have to play the domestic?”
“Be an attaché, then,” Nicky schemed.
“A briefcase?” Gio queried.
“No, an attaché, a person who assists an ambassador. She is accompanying me as a representative of the US government. Mrs. Mooney worked for . . . Eleanor Roosevelt.”
A collective sigh went up to the heavens from the dispatch office. A mention of Franklin Delano Roosevelt in this working-class household of New Deal Democrats was all it took to swing the vote to full support in Nicky’s direction, except for Dom.
“He never did much for the Italians,” Dom complained.
“He did fine by the Irish,” Mabel countered.
“I like what I’m hearing. Mrs. Roosevelt does like the Negro race. Go on.” Hortense rolled her hand like a hula dancer, as if to pull more information from thin air. “What’s my part?”
Calla turned to Hortense. “You will make the ambassador’s visit look official.”
“Oh, now you’re helping.” Nicky gently punched Calla’s arm.
“You’re nothing without a director.”
“Says the director,” Nicky sniffed.
“He can take the sedan,” Dom suggested.
“Do you have those little Italian flags from Columbus Day and the American flags from the Fourth of July?” Calla asked Gio.
“They’re in the supply closet downstairs.”
“Get them. That will make the sedan look official,” Calla said, surrendering to the stunt. Nicky smiled at her. “What? The ambassador to Guam came to a play during the war. I remember flags.”
“I’ll need my suit,” Hortense said. “My Sunday suit.”
“Let’s go,” said Dominic. “I’ll take Mrs. Mooney to her house. Nicky, pick her up in the sedan on the way out of town.”
Hortense skimmed down the office steps like a dancer as Dominic opened the back door of the cab.
“Tuck in Hortense!” Dom instructed from the landing.
Dom had never called Hortense by her first name before. She shot him a look before she ducked low in the seat as Dominic started the engine and sped out of the garage.
“Fire up the sedan, Gio!” Dom bellowed.
“I need clothes!” Nicky cried.
“I’ll get your suit!” Mabel clunked down the stairs.
“Don’t forget my dress socks, Mabel! And my razor!” Nicky called. “I need a military uniform. An official military uniform. The guy on the banner had a uniform.”
“I have the one we used for Prince Hal in Henry the Fourth. It’s in the storage room in the costume shop.”
“Thirty-four long?”
“It’ll fit.”
Nicky grabbed the telegram off the table and stuffed it in his pocket. “What are you going to do about Al DePino?”
“I’ll take care of him,” Dom said calmly.
“You’re not going to kill him, are you?”
“Of course not.” Uncle Dom cracked his knuckles.
Nicky and Calla raced down the stairs and jumped into the sedan as Mabel ran back into the garage with his suit and shoes and dopp kit. She threw them into the back of the car as though the items were on fire, stepped back, and rubbed her pregnant belly. Dom reached into his pocket and handed Nicky a wad of cash. “Stay out of Philly until you hear from me.”
“Thank you, Uncle Dom. Don’t cry, Aunt Jo.”
“If something happens to you, I won’t be able to bear it.”
“If something doesn’t happen to me, I won’t be able to bear it.” Nicky blew his aunt a kiss before peeling out of the garage.
Calla hung on to the door handle as Nicky sped through the streets. “What did you mean by that? If something doesn’t happen to you—”
“You heard right. If something doesn’t happen to me, this life is all for nothing.”
“What’s wrong with your life?”
“Everything.” Nicky adjusted the rearview mirror.
“Why did you break up with Peachy?”
“I don’t love her.”
“Turn the car around.”
“What?”
“You didn’t mean it. Go to her. Tell her you made a mistake.”