Authors: Rosanna Chiofalo

Bella Fortuna (5 page)

BOOK: Bella Fortuna

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“Rita!” she screamed.
“Che stai facendo? Disgraziata! Disgraziata !”

Of course, there was no need for Ma to ask Rita what she was doing. It was plain to everyone at the park. She kept cursing at Rita until she caught up to her. Rita hadn't even heard Ma until she was about five feet away from her. Ma grabbed Rita by the arm and pulled her away. But she stopped after taking two steps and turned around, looking menacingly at the boy Rita was with.

“You come near my daughter again, I kill you!” And then she made the famous Italian gesture of moving her hand across her throat as if she were slicing it.

On the way home, after Ma lectured Rita about being too young to have a boyfriend and her famous, “What if the neighbors had seen you?” line, which was uttered on a weekly basis to one of us, she said, “How could you have not told me you had a boyfriend? I'm your mother. You don't keep secrets from your mother.”

Rita blurted, “Because I knew you'd act like the crazy lady I just saw in the park.”

“Crazy lady, huh? I show you crazy lady. You can't go out with your friends for a year.”

Then there was the time Connie got a tattoo of a small angel on her lower back. That was only a year ago, and though Connie was in her twenties and shouldn't have been afraid of my mother's disapproval, she was. The only time she exposed her tattoo was when she was out with friends. And if the whole family was at the beach together, she wore a one-piece bathing suit instead of her usual teeny string bikinis to hide the tattoo from Ma. But the secret only lasted six months.

Connie had fainted while she was steaming a wedding dress on what was the hottest day in July last year. Our air conditioner was on the fritz and though we had fans blowing until the repairman could come, the heat was stifling. Connie fell face forward, knocking down the enormous tulle ball gown she was steaming. The dress's super-poofy skirt seemed to swallow whole Connie's petite figure. At least she had a good buffer to cushion her fall. Her shirt had ridden up her back, and she was wearing low-waisted jeans. When Ma ran over to help her, she immediately saw the tattoo. At first she thought it was a bug on Connie, especially since she'd left her reading glasses on the sewing machine. She swatted at it. But when it didn't move, she took a step back to get a better view and spotted the little angel.

“Disgraziata!”

She then turned to me. “Did you know about this?”

My face colored, but I ignored her. “Ma, we have to revive Connie.”

We hoisted her up into a chair. Rita ran to the kitchen for vinegar. Connie came to after getting a whiff of the vinegar. Ma barely gave her time to recuperate from her fainting spell as she tore into her.

“What does the Bible say about marking the body? Eh? Eh? How many times I tell you and your sisters tattoos are not for ladies. Only
puttanas
have tattoos!”

Connie was too disoriented to try and lie. “You saw my angel?”

“
Si, si
. I saw your angel.
Stupida! Stupida!
You ruin yourself. What boy is going to want to marry you someday? Eh?”

I tried to defend poor Connie. “Ma, everyone has tattoos now. They're not just for whores and men. Haven't you noticed all the tattoo shops opening on Ditmars and Steinway Street? Even movie stars get them now.”

“Movie stars, they're one step away from
puttanas!
On Monday, I make an appointment to have that tattoo removed from you.”

“But, Ma, I'm not a kid anymore! I'm in my twenties, for crying out loud! You can't make me do something I don't want to do!” Connie was screaming at the top of her lungs.

“If you don't get that tattoo removed, I am taking your name off the will.”

“Go ahead! I don't care!”

The two of them went at it for another fifteen minutes. Then Connie stormed out of the shop.

“Secrets. That's all you girls know how to do. What about you, Valentina? What are you hiding from me?”

“Nothing.” I lowered my head.

Ma stared at me for what felt like an hour. Then she let out a long sigh and walked away, whispering to herself in Sicilian and shaking her head.

“Valentina! What is taking you so long to come out?”

My mother's voice snaps me back to the present. I make my way to the front of the store and kiss her on the cheek.

“I have good news, Ma.”

“Oh no! You're not pregnant already, are you? With just a few months to go before the wedding that would be the death of me!”

“I said
good
news, Ma. Why do you always have to think the worst?”

“I just like to be prepared for the worst so that when it happens I'm not so shocked.”

“Gloom and doom . . . gloom and doom. I should start calling you that!”

“Don't be smart with your mother! Remember, I . . .”

“. . . know best. I've heard that since forever.” I roll my eyes.

“So what's your good news?”

“I'll wait until Rita and Connie get here.”

“Oh, now you're going to make your mother wait. I'm your mother. You can tell me first. They'll understand.”

I bite back a retort. She's right. She does deserve priority. Ma has been my number one fan and my best friend. True, sometimes we get into horrible arguments. But no one can take the place of my mother.

“Okay. I'll tell you. But let's keep it a secret between you and me. I wouldn't want to hurt my sisters' feelings.”

Ma smiles. “
Si, si
. Now, out with it.”

“I finished the dress, and I'm ready to show it.”

“What are you waiting for? Let me see it!”

“I can't. I know you'll start crying once you see it, and then Rita and Connie will know something's up.”

“Ahhhh!!! You are the death of me. Okay, okay. I'll be patient. They should be getting here soon anyway. I'll go make some
espresso
.” She pats my cheek as she walks by. “Have I ever told you . . .”

“. . . I'm a good daughter. Yes, Ma, you have. You're a . . .”

“. . . wonderful mama. I know,
fighita
. I know.”

She winks at me and begins singing her favorite song,
“Maledetta Primavera
,
”
which means “Cursed Spring.” Even her choice in music and movies leans toward the cruel twists of fate life can have. But that's Olivia DeLuca, and I learned a long time ago Ma is set in her ways.

Gloom and Doom

O
livia DeLuca opened a fresh pack of CafÃ© Bustelo. She loved everything about
espresso,
from the special
espresso
coffeepots, to the doll-like cups and teaspoons, to the aroma it gave off as it brewed. The only way to make
espresso
was in her
espresso
pot that she'd received as a gift for her wedding forty years ago. She'd already had a pot imported from Italy for Valentina's bridal shower. She'd rather be struck dead than have her daughter use one of those modern dual coffee/
espresso
machines young brides today fancied. The
espresso
was as good as water when made in those bastardized American contraptions. And forget about getting a nice foamy froth when making a
cappuccino
in one of those.
Merda!
Total crap is what those coffeemakers were.

Olivia cut the twine off of the bakery box that held Valentina's favorite
Palline di Limone biscotti
. She took a bite out of a lemon ball, savoring the intense citrus flavor. She still couldn't get Hunchback, or bakery owner Antoniella, to reveal the secret of her lemon ball
biscotti
. Olivia had tried various recipes from Italian dessert cookbooks for years, hoping to replicate Antoniella's or even to beat them, but none had come close. She'd tried in vain to convince the Hunchback that she'd still buy her
biscotti
. She just liked to experiment in the kitchen every now and then. If she ever did figure it out, she'd stop buying them from the Hunchback even though she'd assured her she wouldn't. It would serve her right, after all the money Olivia had spent in that bakery. She shrugged her shoulders. Someday she'd get that recipe. As she chewed on another lemon ball, her thoughts turned to her daughter.

“Hmmm . . . gloom and doom.”

Valentina's words stung a bit. Could she help it that she was a realist, after all she'd been through? Although Olivia knew she was her usual self, preaching about the realities of life, the truth was that the past few months had been some of the happiest in her life. Her oldest daughter, Valentina, had found a good man and would finally be getting married. She'd worried about her daughter for a long time. Ever since she was a young girl, Valentina had been a bit of a loner. She'd been too sweet and innocent for the tougher kids in their Queens neighborhood. Like wolves circling a lamb, the kids had sensed Valentina was easy to prey on. It was hard for her to make friends, and the one she had ended up backstabbing her. Thank God for Aldo, her best friend.

Valentina met Aldo her freshman year of high school. With a similar love of fashion and gabbing about celebrity gossip, Aldo was like a brother to Valentina. Aldo's parents were from Naples, so he understood the DeLucas' Italian culture. Olivia loved Aldo, but it hurt her that Valentina didn't have a female best friend after all these years. She angrily shook her head. It was the fault of that
puttana
Tracy, who betrayed her when she needed friendship the most.

Olivia had often warned Valentina about Tracy, even when they first became friends at six years old. There was something about the girl Olivia did not trust. She knew it was crazy to be suspicious of a six-year-old child, but it was a feeling more than anything the girl did. And Olivia always trusted her feelings. Their friendship was strange, too. They spoke for hours on the phone every night and saw each other at school, but it wasn't until junior high school that Mrs. Santana, Tracy's mother, finally allowed her daughter to visit Valentina's home.

Valentina always commented on how strict Mrs. Santana was. Olivia felt sorry for the girl after she learned that Tracy cooked her family's dinner every night after her mother went to her night job. Tracy's mother was from Argentina. Italian mothers could be strict, too, and Olivia remembered how harsh her own parents had been with her and her siblings when she was growing up in Sicily. But this was America. Things were different here, and it was a different time.

But Valentina would not listen and still chose to be friends with Tracy. Even Aldo had once told Olivia that Tracy often caused trouble for Valentina by lying to others about things she'd never said. Then, Olivia had heard from some of the other neighbors about Tracy's reputation. The Mayor of 35th Street was the first one, of course, to inform Olivia of how popular Tracy was with the boys in town.

“If I were you, Signora DeLuca, I'd keep my daughter away from the likes of that girl. There's nothing but trouble waiting around the corner where she's involved.”

Olivia didn't want to believe Paulie, since she knew how he exaggerated. But then, some of the other neighbors had also commented about Tracy's questionable moral character.

“Puttana! Puttana!”
the Italian neighbors whispered to Olivia as if Tracy were hanging around and could hear them. “Save your daughter! Before it's too late!”

When Olivia told Valentina what the neighbors were saying, she didn't say anything. Her silence proved to Olivia that Valentina was aware of the gossip swirling around her best friend.

“You don't have to worry about me, Ma. I don't do what the other kids do. I know what's right and wrong.”

That had consoled Olivia, but only briefly. She knew her daughter was a good girl. But she still worried about her hanging out with Tracy. And then when that
puttana
betrayed her daughter, Olivia wanted to kill her.

“Dio mio!”
she whispered, making the sign of the cross several times. “Forgive me, God. I did not mean that. Well, maybe a little bit. But I'm sorry.”

Olivia had tried to forgive Tracy. She had to remind herself that Tracy was still a child with a polar bear of a mother who had beat her and never shown her much love. But when she thought of how her Valentina had looked on that day when her best friend betrayed her, all she felt was rage. How could Tracy and those other kids have been so cruel? Didn't their parents teach them anything about treating others kindly? No wonder her daughter couldn't trust again after what they did to her. It's a good thing Nicola was too sick to know what had happened. He couldn't stand his daughters to be in pain of any kind.

Olivia sighed. Even though it had been fourteen years since Nicola had passed away, she still missed him terribly. She wiped the tears that were forming in her eyes with the back of her hand. That was the past. But she could not forget about that girl who had hurt her daughter so much. Olivia was also convinced Tracy had given Valentina the
malocchio
. Even if she hadn't actually placed a curse on Valentina, just her jealousy would be enough to cast the mighty
malocchio
. For fourteen years, she lit candles and prayed to the Black Madonna of Tindariâher Sicilian hometownâbegging her to lift the curse off Valentina. Her prayers were answered once Michael proposed to Valentina. Lord knows Valentina had had such a hard time finding the right man. But none of that mattered anymore. She would live a happy life with Michael. Her daughter couldn't have chosen a finer young man.

Michael was the son of Joseph and Iva Carello, owners of Carello Accounting. The Italians in the neighborhood only trusted Joseph Carello to prepare their taxes and handle their other accounting matters. Like an obedient son of Italian parents, Michael worked in his father's office in high school and during his breaks from college. But these kids of today have bigger dreams. After graduating, he became a stockbroker for Smith Barney. Olivia couldn't complain too much. At least he'd be able to provide her daughter with a good income. And not only did Michael have impeccable manners, he had impeccable taste in fashion! He'd asked Olivia to make him a few custom-made suits. In fact, Olivia's gift to her future son-in-law would be a custom-made tuxedo. She'd been afraid he would've preferred to buy a ready-made tux, but Michael was thrilled and accepted Olivia's generous gift, much to her pleasure. The boy knew how to warm up to his future mother-in-law! And he never failed to compliment her cooking whenever he came over for dinner. But even Signora DeLuca knew no one was perfect. If Michael's parents were Sicilian, instead of Venetian, then he would've been perfect.

Olivia's nerves had been ruffled a bit that her daughter didn't insist on getting married in Sicily, but she had to be grateful for what God had given her. Michael was a good man from a respectable family. They'd known him since he was a young boy. She had always secretly hoped that one day he would take a liking to Valentina. She could tell her daughter had harbored a crush on him since she was a little girl. Olivia had also noticed how Michael stared at Valentina once she became a beautiful young woman. And the way he'd checked in on her after Nicola had died. He'd taken off from school to attend the funeral, and he'd come to the wake every one of the three nights of the viewing.

But for some reason, they didn't start dating until only two years ago. Valentina was twenty-eight and Michael was thirty-one. Olivia couldn't understand what had made him wait so long to finally ask her daughter out on a date. Hmmm! In her day, when a man liked a woman, he didn't waste any time. Now all anyone did was wait. Wait to get married . . . wait to have children . . . wait to buy a house.

Yes, Michael was a good choice for a husband. And Olivia was still thanking God that Valentina hadn't done the unthinkable by marrying a Calabrese! Even though Calabria neighbors Sicily where it sits at the point of Italy's boot, Olivia would rather have a Venetian as a son-in-law than a Calabrese. They're too pigheaded and
cafone!
All one had to do was take a look at the Mayor of 35th Street, Paulie Parlatoneâa Calabrese himselfâto see
cafone
defined. The steam whistled through the
espresso
pot.

“
Vieni,
Valentina!
L'espresso Ã¨ pronto!
”

Putting her thoughts out of her mind for another day, Olivia sat down for her favorite ritual of the dayâ
espresso
and
biscotti
.

BOOK: Bella Fortuna

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