Ed Shaughnessy jumped into his truck and drove off as Calla sat on a bench by the fountain.
Bernini’s sculpture was resplendent in the sun as waves of water cascaded over the tiers of marble in bright blue sheets into the wide pools of stone, held high by the carved sea horses. It was then she saw the future. Calla imagined the fountain toppled to rubble; in a hundred years or less, it would be gone. Sooner than later every available space in the city would be filled with a high rise, streets jammed with cars and sidewalks cluttered with people who were strangers to one another. Borelli’s Theater had no place in such a world, unless someone saw the merit in its existence. Calla surprised herself, as she smiled instead of giving in to the futility of her situation. It was the splendor of Bernini’s creation that changed her mind. The art was worth the fight. If Borelli’s Theater was to survive, then a Borelli had to save it.
*
The members of the Borelli Theatrical Company were gathered on the stage of the theater, under the work lights. A few of the actors sat on folding chairs, others on the stage floor, while the crew stood, but all were waiting for their director.
Calla sprinted down the aisle and leapt up the steps to the stage.
“Thank you for coming today. I want to thank you for being such wonderful friends after the passing of my father. He loved you all and thought the world of you. He was a great teacher. You know there was no better director and producer. He never told you anything that wasn’t true, and I’m going to keep my word to you too. I hope to honor his long legacy in the theater, especially his artistry, which was something to behold. I’m not saying I can ever be as good, but I am saying I will try. There are a lot of rumors flying around, and they’re just gossip. I am determined to keep this theater open. We’re going to do Shakespeare until we’re all too old to play Lear. So, with that in mind, I want you to keep your hopes up, and trust that I’ve got all this under control. I plan to post the next production on the board in six weeks and I hope you’ll all be part of it.”
The company erupted in applause, underscored by a spirited stomping on the stage floor. Calla embraced members of the company and crew one by one. She thanked them for their service. As she reached the end of the line, she saw Frank Arrigo out of the corner of her eye, standing in the wings. She joined him.
“Hey, babe, I made reservations at Palumbo’s.”
“I can’t go to dinner, Frank.”
“You’re busy?”
“No. We’re through.”
“What do you mean?” He was stunned.
“I know all about your scheme. It’s not my charms that reeled you in—it’s this half-acre lot on Broad with the unlimited air space that enchanted you.” The members of the company gathered behind the scrim and listened.
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Frank said defiantly.
“Your plan to buy the building and put up apartments.”
“Honey, I say that about every old building in the city.”
“Well, not this one. Not anymore.”
“Okay. Fine. Keep the theater. Whatever you want.” Frank took her hand in his. “You should know what I want. I’m serious about you. The building is just a pile of bricks. Nails and wood. I don’t care about it. It doesn’t mean anything to me. You mean everything to me.”
“If that’s true, then you’d understand what this theater means to me. It’s not just a pile of bricks.”
“You know what I’m saying. Look, you’ve been through a lot, you’re grieving for your father.”
“That’s true. But I’m not inventing scenarios. Just tell me the truth. You wanted to buy this building.”
“Okay. Sure.”
“If I were selling.”
“Right.”
“And you wanted me and the building?”
“Why not? You’re my girl. And I can build you a theater anywhere in Philly. A new one. With state-of-the-art lighting. Sound. Seating. A lobby. Everything you’d ever want. And better parking.”
“Everything except history.”
“You need a new building. A modern facility. Something new and exciting to bring the people in. Give me a chance to give you everything you want.”
“I have it already. Every time I walk through the stage door, I see my dad. When I look out into the house, I see my mom, sitting quietly during rehearsal sewing the hem on a costume. And I look up to the mezzanine, and see my sisters, little girls, running back and forth across the aisles. I remember every production—the hits, the flops—was equally spectacular to me. My childhood is in this theater and now it’s my life. And it would have been nice to share it with you.”
“We can share it. We will.”
“But I don’t want you anymore, Frank,” Calla said calmly. “You failed the audition. Your performance wasn’t truthful.”
Frank took a moment to think. “You mean it?”
“I do,” she said. Her voice broke. Calla was sad, but resolute.
“You’re making a mistake.”
“Could be.”
“You’ll never survive here without me.”
“Do you think that’s what I’ve been doing here?”
“You’re not making it, Calla.”
“Maybe not on your terms. But I get up every day and come to work and do a job I love. I pay seventeen artists a week, and that goes up to forty artists on the payroll during a large scale production. I think I’m doing all right.”
Frank Arrigo walked out of the theater. It seemed of late as though every man that Calla Borelli loved left her. This time, however, was different. She was the one showing the gentleman the door.
Calla walked backstage to find the entire company waiting for her. From the looks on their faces, she knew they had heard the conversation. Like children overhearing their parents argue through bedroom walls, there was no hiding the truth. Calla was producer, director, and mother to this troupe of talented semi-professionals who loved Borelli’s as much as she did. She knew their secrets and they knew hers. In this moment they needed her reassurance.
By day, an actor might drive a soda truck, a costume assistant might work the steam presser in the blouse factory, an actress might wrangle six kids and work a shift in a doughnut shop—but at night when they came to Borelli’s, they put on their costumes and makeup, they became a company of players who stood in beams of candy-colored light and acted in the plays of William Shakespeare. They lived for the life behind the velvet curtain, where they slipped out of the present and away to another place and time, to make some sense of words written by a man long gone but who somehow understood everything. This wasn’t just a theater, and the process wasn’t simply show business or entertainment to them, it was their chance to be part of the poetry.
Interlude
October 29, 1949
Roseto Valfortore, Italy