Authors: Rosanna Chiofalo
Bella Fortuna (26 page)
I wave and call out, “Good morning!”
They wave back. “Good morning, Valentina. How are you?”
That's a first. I've never received a “How are you?” from them before.
“I'm fine, thank you. Have a nice day.”
“You too, Valentina.”
They pity me. Their faces say it all. Even Gus's eyes are mournful. I can feel their stares burning holes through my back as I continue walking up the block. Of course, they always stare, but today it's especially intense.
Our house is at the end of the block. I pray I don't run into any of the other neighbors. As I pass the Mussolini Mansion, I notice Signora Tesca peering through her blinds. A moment later, her old door creaks open.
“Valentina.”
I stop and turn around.
“How are you, child?”
“I'm well, Signora Tesca. How are you?”
“I was so sad to hear about your engagement.”
“Thank you.”
“I know it's hard to hear this now, Valentina. But it was for the best. Imagine if you had married Michael, and then he changed his mind.”
That is supposed to make me feel better? My anger starts surfacing, but I quell it. Signora Tesca is just trying to comfort me. People always think they are helping when they offer words of solace to someone during a tough time, but they don't realize that often what they say just makes one feel worse.
“Yes, yes. You're right. Thank you, Signora Tesca. I'm actually already late for work. Please excuse me. Have a nice day.”
“Oh, of course, Valentina. I didn't mean to hold you up. I'll continue praying for you.”
“Thank you. That's very kind of you. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, Valentina.”
Had I been a bit abrupt with Signora Tesca? Whatever. I have to stop feeling guilty all the time. Ma has done a good job of instilling guilt in me since I was born. “Please, God. No more neighbors,” I murmur aloud to myself.
I walk quickly. I'm just about to turn the corner onto Ditmars Boulevard, thinking that I've managed to escape any other encounters, when I run headlong into Paulie, knocking his bag of groceries onto the sidewalk.
“I'm so sorry, Paulie!”
I bend down to pick up his bag.
“No, no, that's okay. I've got it. It's good to see you, Valentina. How are you doing?”
“I'm fine. How are you?”
“My arthritis in my knee is acting up a bit today. That's probably why you were able to get me by surprise. My reflexes aren't what they used to be.”
“I'm sorry again, Paulie. I was walking quite fast.”
“Nah. Don't sweat it. Where are you off to?”
“I'm running a few errands, and then I'm heading to the shop.”
“So soon? Ahhh, I mean, shouldn't you take more time off?”
“No, Paulie. I'm ready to get back into the swing of things. But thank you for your concern.”
“May I speak frankly, Valentina?”
When has Paulie not spoken frankly? At least this time he's asking for permission.
“I guess so.”
Before he speaks, he sticks his pinky finger into his ear and wiggles it. I've forgotten to mention that in addition to his tooth-picking habit, he also has an ear-picking one. He pulls his pinky finger out of his ear, examines the wax, and then flicks it off his finger. I look away, completely repulsed.
“I always thought you were too good for that Carello character. He proved his true colors by letting such a wonderful girl like you go. What a fool! These young hotshots nowadays think they have the world at their feet, and they can take whatever they want with no consequences. Trust me, he has his coming to him someday.”
I don't know what to say. So I just stand there in silence.
“You'll get over him. It'll take some time, but trust me, there's someone much better out there for you.”
I never thought I'd see the day when the Mayor of 35th Street would be giving me advice on love.
“So what happened, Valentina? Why did he change his mind?”
The nerve! Though this doesn't surprise me coming from Paulie. He never shies away from nosiness.
“It's complicated, Paulie. And I'd rather not talk about it.”
“It was another woman, wasn't it?”
My face burns up. Everyone else is thinking this, too.
“I have no idea, Paulie. And to tell you the truth, I don't care. It's over. He's not a part of my thoughts anymore. Thank you for your concern, Paulie, but if you'll excuse me, I need to be going. Saturday is our busiest day at the shop. Have a nice day.”
“Of course, of course. You take it easy now, you hear me?”
I nod my head and walk away.
Would anyone else have the guts to question me directly as to why Michael had left me? After the scene with Paulie, I don't know if I can stand another encounter like that. But most people aren't as blunt as Paulie. That gives me some comfort. Perhaps it's good that I've run into a few of the neighbors today. I feel stronger now for when I see the others.
I head over to Immaculate Conception. The church's bells are ringing, signaling it's noon. Entering from the side entrance, I walk into the chapel, where various saints' statues are affixed to the walls. When I was a little girl, I read so many books on the saints' lives. The lives of St. Rose of Lima, St. Elizabeth of Hungary, St. Maria Goretti, and St. Theresa were the ones that had fascinated me the most. St. Rose had received the stigmata on her hands and loved to wear a wreath of roses around her head. St. Elizabeth of Hungary had been a princess who cared more about feeding the poor people outside of her castle's gates than material wealth. Sixteen-year-old St. Maria Goretti, the only saint of the four who had lived in the twentieth century, had forgiven her rapist who attacked her because she'd refused to surrender her virginity. St. Theresa, also known as the Little Flower of Jesus, was my favorite. Her story especially had resonated with me because of the miracle she'd performed after she died of sending roses, her favorite flowers, down from heaven. The image of a shower of roses had been a powerful one to the imagination of an eleven-year-old girl who loved romantic stories. And many of the saints' stories were very romantic. That's part of the appeal of Catholicism: all of the religious rituals and symbols; the ceremonial rites in Mass; even the seven sacraments hold a romanticized, mystical element.
As a child, I'd prayed to these saints and others to help me pass my math tests. Math had been my worst subject. I'd even prayed to the Virgin Mary to make my breasts grow. Even then I'd been worried that someone had placed a curse on me, and I wouldn't go through puberty like everyone else. My prayers had always been answered except regarding my father's illness. No prayer had been powerful enough to save him.
Folding up a few dollar bills, I squeeze them through the slit of the donation box. I light five votive candles, two for each of my grandparents on both sides of my family who had passed away when I was in grammar school, and one for my father. I say a prayer for each of their souls and then enter the main church. Choosing the last pew to the back of the church, I kneel down.
I close my eyes to pray, but the words don't come. I want to ask God to make me understand why He's taken Michael away from me. Why is He giving me this cross to bear? It's not the first time I've asked Him this question, for I had asked Him this when my father was sick and again later when he died. But I can't bring myself to have the conversation with God. I'm angry with Him.
Giving up, I sit down on the bench. I've always loved coming to church when there's no Mass in service. Even now that I'm upset with God, I still feel at peace here.
After fifteen minutes have elapsed, I get up and walk slowly to Sposa Rosa. Though I have put up a strong front for my family, I am nervous about going back. When I reach the shop, I notice the Featured Gown of the Month.
I gasp. Instead of a designer knockoff, it's an original design I had sketched a week before Michael broke up with me. My family must've gone ahead and sewn the dress. Tears spring into my eyes. They knew seeing the dress in its completed form would probably ease my return to the shop once I was ready. They're right. It reminds me of how much I love my work and working with my family at Sposa Rosa.
The strapless gown sports an A-line silhouette. It's made of Duchess satin but has a lace overlay with crystal beading throughout. A satin sash wraps around the waist, ending in a small bow on the front of the dress. It isn't a complicated design, but the lace overlay with crystal beading are what make the dress.
Feeling more empowered, I take a deep breath and enter the shop. It's bustling, which is normal for a busy Saturday.
Melanie, our part-time receptionist / cashier, is taking a deposit.
“Hi, Melanie.”
“Vee! Hey! It's great to see you. Your mom told me you'd be coming back to work today. That's great news! We've missed you.”
“Thanks, Melanie. It's good to be back.”
At least Melanie has the sense to not treat me like I'm going to break any second. I walk toward the fitting room area. Rita and Connie are busy with two brides. Rita spots me.
“Hey, Vee! You picked a winner of a day to return. It's insane here. If you want to go back home and come in on a slower day, we wouldn't blame you.”
Rita looks at me. Her brows are knitted furiously together, something she does when she's either stressed out or worried.
“I like it busy. You know that. Where's Ma?”
“She's in the back working on some last-minute alterations for a dress that wasn't fitting quite right for one of our clients.”
I glance around to see where Ma's client is. She's standing right outside the alterations room with her arms crossed in front of her chest and a sneer on her face. Four girls stand by her side. No doubt her bridal party.
“I'll go help Ma. From the looks of this Bridezilla, she's going to need all the artillery she can get.”
I walk over to the irate client.
“Hello. My name is Valentina DeLuca. Can I offer you coffee or water?”
The client shakes her head at me.
“Why don't you take a seat while you wait for the alterations to be done?”
“I'm fine right where I am. If I wanted tea and crumpets I would've gone to the bakery next door.”
Her bridesmaids look mortified but don't dare utter a word.
“I can't believe this is taking so long!”
Her voice keeps getting louder with each complaint.
“What is my mother altering for you, if I may ask?”
“She had to let out the dress. She must not have taken my measurements correctly. There's no way I gained all this weight. The dress was so tight that the zipper didn't budge a centimeter. I knew I should've gone to Kleinfeld for my dress.”
“I understand you're worried about your gown. But my mother has been making and altering wedding gowns for almost twenty years, and she's been a seamstress since she was a child. She's a master at her craft. Trust me, your dress will come out perfect. It just takes a little longer when a dress needs to be let out. Are you sure you don't want to come back another day instead of waiting here?”
“I'm not leaving until I'm sure that dress is right.”
“Okay. Let me go see how much longer it'll be, and I can let you know how it's going.”
“Yeah, that would help.”
“I'm sorry. I didn't catch your name earlier.”
“Ashley.”
“I'll be right back, Ashley.”
“Yeah, we'll see about that,” Ashley scoffs, rolling her eyes. She finally walks away from the alterations room and is examining the headpieces in the display case. Her bridal entourage follows her. I'm surprised she hasn't stormed into the alterations room. The nerve! She has to be one of the rudest Bridezillas I've ever encountered.
Ma's at the sewing machine, pumping the pedal feverishly as she stitches the back of the gown.
“I just met your worst nightmare.”
Ma looks up.
“Ahhh, Valentina. You made it. How are you feeling?”
“Fine, but I really wish people would stop asking me that.”
Ma resumes pumping the pedal.
“That girl is like a wild dog. Or I should say she's treating me like her dog. I've never had a client insist that they wait until a major alteration like this is doneâand on a Saturday, no less. We're going to be so behind. You saw how crazy it is out there.”
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