Nicky could see the hurt he caused, but he justified it. He hadn’t known Calla’s situation with big Frank, and since when was he responsible for her? Maybe there wasn’t an excuse—certainly not one that could make up for being a lousy friend to someone who had been a good one to him. The only thing he could think of was that he couldn’t let her or anyone stand in the way of the life that lay ahead. She seemed like a walking conundrum, with her struggling theater and her box of grief that she carried around, reminding him of his own. He didn’t want to be reminded of the pain anymore. He wanted everything in his life to be easy! New! Uncomplicated for a change. He wanted to start over fresh, to reimagine his dreams and create a new life. That was his right. He didn’t want to be anchored to a girl who hung on to an old building and scrubbed the toilets because she couldn’t afford the janitor. He wanted more for himself than that struggle. The decision he had made was not an easy one. It took guts to leave Montrose Street, but instead of giving him credit for being courageous, she whined about some letters she had been sitting around waiting for. Calla Borelli was small-time. Nicky Castone turned and walked out the stage door, vowing to never look back.
Calla watched him go, her pride freezing her in place. She didn’t call or run after him; she watched him go out the stage door and let him, knowing she deserved better than a hack who thought he’d move to New York, and the world of theater would bow down and take him, as though his talent would save them from film and television and whatever else the mad inventors threw in the path of quality. Even the thought of never seeing him again couldn’t make her run after him. Nicky Castone was cleaning out and clearing out—but what he couldn’t know was that Calla had beaten him to the punch.
*
Hortense climbed the steps up to the office. She sat down at her desk and looked out the window into the garage. Car No. 4 sitting empty in its parking spot was a sad sight.
The board on her desk lit up. She picked up the phone.
“Palazzini Cab Company. May I be of service?” she said in her honeyed tone.
“This is Father Leone of Our Lady of Mount Carmel in Roseto, Pennsylvania. I am looking for Mrs. Hortense Mooney.”
“This is she. What can I do for you, Father?”
“I’m calling with sad news.”
“Don’t say it, Father.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Mooney. Mrs. Viglione has died.”
“Oh no. Poor Minna.”
“Very peacefully, though. In her own bed. I was called over to give last rites yesterday afternoon, and she was ready.”
“Thank you Jesus.”
“Yes, thank God. Minna asked me to call you.”
“She did?” Hortense reached into her pocket for her handkerchief, which wasn’t there, so she wiped her tears away with her hand.
“Yes, and she said that you would understand this message.”
“Yes, Father?”
“The message is: one half a teaspoon of nutmeg.”
“Nutmeg?”
“Nutmeg. One half a teaspoon.”
“Are you certain, Father?”
“Absolutely. Minna made me repeat it, and she made me write it down.”
“Well, then, that’s what she means.”
Hortense hung up the phone. She straightened the string of Venetian beads around her neck. She had made a habit of wearing Minna’s gift to her to work every day. The beads were cool to the touch, shaped like pulled taffy candy, in colors that suited Hortense, strung in a length that didn’t interfere with the telegraph machine. The beads served a purpose besides adornment; they were like a string tied on her finger to remind her to push harder and stay focused on the dream. With Minna gone, it would be up to Hortense to define the terms of that dream and reach for it.
A ray of light in the corner of Hortense’s soul dimmed at the loss of Minna. Hortense’s friend would not be here to encourage her on the journey. Hortense was alone now. She had to make her way as best she could on the merit of her own skills, without her mentor. It felt an awful lot like her first day at Cheyney College. This time, Hortense vowed the process wouldn’t take her five years. This go-round, she no longer had the luxury of time, the innocence of youth, and the energy to suffer fools and their silly obstructions to her goal. This time around, Hortense had her wits and the gift that comes with age: patience. She figured a lifetime of experience was as good an ingredient to add to the gravy as Minna’s secret nutmeg, though that, too, going forward, would make it into every pot.
*
Mamie Confalone led the ladies from the Our Lady of Mount Carmel sodality down Garibaldi Avenue to Minna Viglione’s house to provide the sympathy dinner for the grieving family.
Mamie had a white damask tablecloth tied around her waist in a giant bow. Inside the pouch of the cloth she carried the dishes and cutlery. Following behind, the ladies carried the components of the meal, in various pots, pans, and covered ceramic dishes. As they turned onto Minna’s sidewalk, they were met by her son and daughter-in-law.
“Thank you, Mrs. Confalone.”
“It’s our honor to make dinner for you, Mr. Viglione, and for your family.”
Minna’s daughter-in-law thanked Mamie and the ladies and offered her help, which they refused. The ladies followed Mamie into the house and back to the kitchen, where they fanned out and took over every surface to serve the meal. Mamie went into the dining room, untied the bow around her waist, and placed the dishes and utensils on the server. She laid the tablecloth neatly on the dining room table and began to set the table for twelve.
“Need a hand?” Eddie Davanzo came into the room with a small arrangement of red roses for the center of the table. “Marie Poidomani said to place this vase dead center.”
“Always follow Marie’s instructions.”
Eddie placed the flowers on the table. “I wanted to ask you a favor.”
“Sure.”
“Could you teach me to speak Italian?”
“There’s a class at Northampton Community College.”
“I didn’t do too well in school. I’m better one-on-one.”
Eddie’s flirtation caused Mamie to put the soup spoon in the wrong spot on the place setting. Eddie reached over and put it in the correct spot. “What do you say?”
“I’ll think about it.” Mamie turned away so Eddie wouldn’t see her blush, but he caught her reflection in the dining room mirror over the server. When she looked up, her eyes met his. “Don’t you have a beat to walk?”
“I’m on my break.”
“How lucky for me.”
“I’d say so.”
Marie Cascario, a lean blonde, stood in the doorway with a tray of glassware observing the pair. “Am I interrupting something?”
“No, no,” Eddie and Mamie chimed in unison.
“It sure looks like it. And it’s about time.”
“I’ll take those.” Eddie took the tray from her.
“Good. Because I’m boiling penne in there.” Marie turned to go, but not without taking one last look at Mamie and Eddie, and shaking her head.
“Minna thought you’d be a nice boyfriend for me,” Mamie said as she placed the napkins.
“What do you think?”
“I like the idea of a man who can fix a furnace. I almost blew up Chestnut Street last winter when I lit the pilot light.”
“So, you need a man around to fix things?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“I can give you the number for the plumber.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you ever think about me?” Eddie asked as he set the wine glasses on the table.
“As much as you think about me.”
“Then you’re giving me some serious thought, Mamie. I’d like to take you and Augie to the Saint Rocco Feast.”
“We’d like that.”
The ladies of the sodality gathered in the doorway. “We’re ready to serve the meal, you know that’s why we came here.” Marie Cascario stood with her arms folded. “The girls have everything ready.”
“Great. Call the family in.”
“Are we doing this with a butler this time?” Marie crooked her head to indicate Eddie.
“No, I’m on my way, ladies.” Eddie waved on his way out.
“Just checking,” Marie said, annoyed.