The apartment over Mrs. Viglione’s garage behind her house on Garibaldi Avenue consisted of one large room, with an alcove in which three single beds were made with white cotton coverlets. A round table and four chairs were set up under a large half-moon window. A door led to a small bathroom tiled in white. The kitchenette had a sink and a toaster oven.
“The kitchenette is tiny, but you’ll be taking all your meals outside, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Mrs. Viglione lives alone in the front house. Should you need anything, she has a telephone.”
“Good to know. Do any Negroes live in Roseto?”
Cha Cha shook her head.
“Not one?”
“Not that I remember. The closest we go outside of Italy are the Greeks, and we only let in one family because they make the candy.”
“You have to have candy.”
“I’ll make sure to bring you some.”
“I’m the first colored person you’ve ever met.”
Cha Cha nodded.
“So what do you think?”
“You’re very cultivated, Mrs. Mooney. But you do work for Mrs. Roosevelt, and she is a world traveler.”
“She didn’t pick me up on the continent. I’m from Philadelphia.”
“I didn’t know where you came from.”
“About an hour south of here. Have you been to Philadelphia?”
“To the zoo. Here’s the key. We’ll be by to pick you up for the dinner around six.”
“Thank you. Will I be sitting with my hostess?”
“Mrs. Viglione? No. She never leaves her house.”
“Never?”
Cha Cha leaned in. “Not for years. She goes in the garden and sits on the porch, but no further.”
“She has a malady?”
“Not of the body,” Cha Cha said, and tapped her head.
*
Hortense hung her good suit on a hanger. She examined her shoes, relieved to see that the black leather was still polished and barely scuffed, and stepped into a simple cotton day dress and a pair of sandals.
She wrote a note to leave on the door. She took the key, left the note outside, and walked through Mrs. Viglione’s garden to the house. The small footpath was lined with irregular slabs of slate, in muted shades of blue and purple. She observed that the lady of the house was a serious gardener; she used every inch of earth to grow plants, wasting very little on the walkway or decorative elements.
The garden was not without its charms, however. Hortense walked under a trellis woven from branches of birch wood, which over time had faded to a calico finish of gray, white, and soft pink. The delicate pale green leaves that would eventually shield the summer grapes had twisted through the branches, which gave her an idea for a hat.
Hortense knocked on the back door, which was screen on the top half, wood below, with a solid door behind it. She tapped lightly at first, then put some muscle behind it.
Finally Mrs. Viglione opened the door.
“Mrs. Viglione, I’m staying in your guest apartment over the garage.”
“Is there a leak?”
“No, there’s no leak. In fact, it’s lovely.”
“Thank you.”
“I wanted to come and introduce myself. I’m Hortense Mooney, with the United States.”
“Aren’t we all with the United States?”
“Government. I’m with the United States government.”
“Cha Cha said you worked with Mrs. Roosevelt.”
“Yes.”
“I voted for her husband four times.”
“I will tell her.”
“How is she getting along as a widow?”
“Up and down. You know, up and down.”
“I hate it. Being a widow is just terrible. Are you married?”
“Many years.”
“Good for you.”
“I hope so. Well, I just wanted to say hello and introduce myself.” Hortense turned to go.
“Would you like to come in?”
Hortense smiled. “Thank you. That would be nice.”
Minna Viglione opened the door. She was small and thin, her white hair pulled back by two simple braids, attached to a low chignon. She was close to eighty years old, but she had a youthful energy that was obvious in the way she kept her garden and home. Her day dress was simple gray-and-white-checked gingham, zippered up the front, with deep pockets. She wore flat gray leather lace-up work shoes and stockings.
Hortense stepped into her immaculate kitchen. The walls were covered in white marble and the floor pebbled with smooth, soft blue stones. The round kitchen table had an elaborate ceramic top, painted with the artwork of an old map.
“What a lovely kitchen.”
“I’m in it most of the day.”
“I would be too, if it were mine. Where did you find this table?”
“It was sent from Italy. My husband and I went to visit our families on our honeymoon, and I saw it and had to have it. It’s my favorite piece of furniture in the house.”
“I can see why.” Hortense ran her hand over the smooth tiles.
“Please.” Mrs. Viglione invited Hortense to sit. “Are you hungry?”
“I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
“It’s almost supper time. Are you waiting for the dinner this evening?”
“I won’t be attending.”
“Don’t you have to go with the ambassador?”
“I’ve done enough for him today.”
Mrs. Viglione laughed. “Is he difficult?”
“He has his moments.”
“They all do, don’t they?”
“He is a man, after all.” Hortense chuckled “Are you going to the dinner?”
“No, no. Will you join me for dinner here?”
“That would be lovely.”
“You’ll miss all the excitement,” Minna warned her.
“I think my ticker has had enough of that for one day,” Hortense promised her.
*
Nicky looked at himself in the mirror of his guest room at the Tutololas’ house, feeling as though he had landed in a jar of women’s cold cream. The four-poster bed was draped with a crocheted canopy. The bedspread was made of ruffled pink organza. There was a white rug, an antique pink dresser, and a lamp whose shade looked like the bottom half of a ballerina. Every surface was covered with a doily.
He folded back the coverlet, careful not to wrinkle the ruffles, and then stepped out of his pants and hung them up in the small closet stuffed with boxes of Christmas ornaments. He was hanging his suit jacket on the same hanger when there was a knock at the door.
He opened the door a crack and peeked out into the hallway.
“I pressed your uniform for the dinner this evening,” Cha Cha said from behind his pressed suit, holding it above her head because it was twice as long as she was.
“Grazie, signora.” Nicky reached one arm through the door to take it from Cha Cha, but she attempted to push her way into his room with her free hand.
“I am not dressed!”
“Oh my.” Cha Cha tried to peek inside. “I wanted to show you the closet.”
“I-uh find it. Grazie.”
“Is there anything else you need?”
Nicky was close enough to Cha Cha’s face through the crack in the door to see that she’d drawn her black eyebrows on over a few sparse white hairs. She felt his stare and patted the left one. “We’ll give you a knock when we’re ready to leave tonight.”
“I will take a rest.”
“You do that.”