Bella Fortuna (9 page)

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Authors: Rosanna Chiofalo

BOOK: Bella Fortuna
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“So what's up with Antoniella? She seems to be acting very weird toward you.”
“Toward me and all of Astoria. Haven't you noticed?”
I laugh. “She's not terrible to everyone.”
“The only person I've seen her be nice to is you and your family, and that's because you guys have helped promote her business. Something's in it for her.”
I think about the validity of his statement. It bothers me a bit that that might be the case with Antoniella. I shrug the thought away.
“So, Vee, I'm really sorry about seeing you in your wedding dress yesterday. I had no idea you'd be trying it on. I hope you're not too disappointed?”
“No, no. It's okay. It's not the end of the world. You know me. I'm not one of your typical Bridezillas who believes in all that superstitious nonsense.”
I stroke Michael's hand.
“Thank God! I felt horrible. Oh! And your mother! The way she was carrying on, ‘
Malocchio! Malocchio!' ”
Michael wipes his eyes with a napkin as we both laugh hysterically. I notice the Hunchback is glowering at Michael from behind the pastry display.
“My sisters were imitating her all day long. They offered to take me to a fortune-teller to remove the curse from me.”
“Well, I'm sure your mother must still be cursing me out for walking in on you. I'll have to think of something to get back in her good graces.”
“Oh, stop! My mother loves you. She wouldn't want anyone else for me. You know that!” I take a sip of
cappuccino
and clear my throat. “Hmmm . . . so, how much of the dress did you see?”
“I thought you said you didn't believe in that superstitious crap?”
“I don't. But I was just wondering, that's all.”
“Honestly, I didn't see much. All I remembered was that the dress was strapless or almost strapless, and that your legs showed, which doesn't make sense to me since I saw plenty of fabric in the back of the dress. Was the dress temporarily pinned up for some alteration reason?”
My heart sinks a little. Okay, a lot. It sounds like he'd seen most of the dress. I've been praying fervently that he'd hardly seen it, especially since Ma had charged as fast as a wild boar to get him out of the shop. I'm not that superstitious. But what bride wants her fiancé to see her dress before the wedding? I've been looking forward to the expression on his face when he would first see me walk down the aisle in the gown that I'd designed. I notice Michael staring at me, trying to read my thoughts, something he does often. I put on my best phony smile.
“No, the dress wasn't temporarily hemmed up in the front. That was intentional. The front hem is shorter than the back. It's actually my favorite part of the dress. Doesn't it look dramatic with the traditional, cathedral-length train?”
Michael shrugs his shoulders. “I guess.”
“Some of the best couture designers have designed dresses this way, and I love the combination of the traditional train with the daring shorter hem.”
“Really? Your fashion tastes are usually more conservative. If Connie had designed that dress I could see it, since she's more of a risk taker when it comes to fashion.”
“Oh, so I'm boring?”
“I didn't say that, Vee. You know what I mean. I love your fashion sensibility. You wear classics. You have a sophisticated sense when it comes to clothes, kind of like an Audrey Hepburn or Jackie O. That's part of what I love about you. This dress just doesn't seem you. Where did this all come from? It's almost like you're trying to be someone you're not.”
“Yes, it's true. I do like the classics, but I wanted to spread my wings a bit. I wanted to dazzle you with something you wouldn't expect. A wedding dress is supposed to accentuate a bride's best features. Since you've always said my best trait is my legs, I thought, why not show them off?”
“Without a doubt you have the most beautiful, sexy legs that I've ever seen on any woman. I adore those legs, especially when they're wrapped around me while we're making love.”
“Sshhhh . . . She'll hear you.” I glance nervously toward Antoniella, who is spraying Windex on her pastry display.
“Don't sweat over the Hunchback.”
Michael waves dismissively toward her. I hate it when he does that. He often gives me the same dismissive wave when I say something he doesn't take seriously.
“Look, baby, I appreciate your wanting to show me your magnificent legs on our wedding day, but think about it. Is it really appropriate, especially in church?”
I can't believe what I'm hearing. I am utterly shocked. Since when has Michael shown any sign of being old-fashioned? He doesn't even get jealous when other men on the street are eyeing me.
That
has always bothered me.
“You didn't get a good look at the dress before my mother rushed you out of there. The front hem isn't that short. It rests slightly below my knee. As you said, I have a more conservative, classic style. And I'm not an idiot. I'm aware that my dress needs to be respectable for church. But this is the twenty-first century, not the nineteenth century. We're not traipsing around in gowns every day. People wear shorts to Sunday Mass, for crying out loud.”
“In America, people wear shorts to Mass. But you know the churches in Italy won't let you enter unless your knees and shoulders are covered. I remember when I was there the first time so many of the American tourists didn't know this. Maybe they won't appreciate you showing your legs.”
I can feel my pulse pounding feverishly. “My knees
will
be covered. It's just my calves that are showing. Women do attend church in Italy with skirts and dresses. You act like I'm wearing a miniskirt.”
“Okay, okay. The dress isn't that short, but I still think you should drop the hem and cover your legs completely. After all, aren't wedding dresses supposed to be long? What about that dress I saw in Sposa Rosa with the really long, traditional train and high neckline. Can't you design your dress more like that?”
Suddenly it's as hot as a sauna. Michael is referring to Sposa Rosa's featured dress for February: an Oscar de la Renta Alençon lace ball gown with a cathedral-length train and high neckline. The dress sports long sleeves, which are appropriate for winter weddings, but I'm getting married in June,
not
January! The dress is exquisite, but it's more for brides who have to follow strict religious guidelines about baring skin during the wedding ceremony. A lovely Orthodox Jewish girl had put a deposit on the dress last weekend. And I had noticed the girl was staring longingly at the strapless gowns that were all the rage now. Ugghhhh!!! I want to scream and would if we weren't in the Hunchback's bakery.
I let out a deep sigh. “So, Michael, you want me covered from head to toe like a cloistered nun? That's a first.”
“Of course I don't want you to look like a nun! But be reasonable! See it from my eyes. I don't want my future wife to be wearing next to nothing either.”
And he hasn't even seen the deep plunging back. He would really be having a fit now if he'd seen it.
“You're being old-fashioned. This isn't you. Where is this coming from?”
“Valentina, just consider it at least.”
Hunchback or no Hunchback, I'm not holding back now.
“What do you know about women's fashion, let alone bridal fashion? And how dare you tell me what I should wear on my wedding day, especially after you had the nerve to walk in on me! Do you know how many hours I have been slaving away over that dress? What's the matter with you? Have you suddenly turned into a prude?”
Michael laughed. “You're overreacting, and keep your voice down if you don't want the Hunchback telling all of Astoria that I saw your dress.”
“Whatever! I don't care. Look, Michael. I don't appreciate you telling me what I can wear. Pretty soon, you'll pull a Robert DeNiro and go all Raging Bull on me, trying to control every aspect of my life.”
“Who's exaggerating now, Vee? I'm just looking out for you.”
“You're looking out for me? It sounds like you're looking out for
you!
It sounds like you'd be embarrassed to have me by your side in that dress on our wedding day.”
The more I think about it, the more I become convinced that's what this is all about. Michael is worried about his own image.
“You know how people talk, and they
will
talk if you keep that dress the way it is now. I care about you, and I don't want people gossiping about my bride. I'm surprised your mother hasn't said anything to you. I can only imagine what my mother will say.”
BINGO! This is about his mother. Although Michael is very independent, he still defers to his mother on a regular basis. This has annoyed me since I'd first noticed how Michael acted around his mother. A few times while I waited for him to finish getting dressed to go to a family member's wedding or other party, his mother would comment on his tie or shirt. She'd be very passive-aggressive and use the “insult disguised as a compliment” tactic to get to him.
“That's an
interesting
choice of tie for a christening.”
Or . . . “Those shoes are in style now? Really?”
Michael would immediately second guess himself, and though I would reassure him that he looked great, he would end up changing the criticized article of clothing.
In my case, she once said, “I
love
your hair pulled back. It makes your neck look longer.”
I often wonder if Michael will continue to defer to his mother even after we are married. There were plenty of times when Michael asked my opinion, only to then turn to his mother and ask her what she thought. He'd never taken my opinion over his mother's.
“Michael, it's my decision what I'll wear on my wedding day. I'm not telling you what to wear, am I? Thanks for your input. It's late. I need to get going.”
“Okay. Let me pay the bill, and I'll drive you.”
I hold up my hand. “No, don't. I'd rather walk and get some fresh air.”
Michael stands up and kisses me, but I hardly open my mouth. I can't help but note how different this kiss is from the earlier one we'd shared.
As I walk out of the bakery, Antoniella glances my way. I quickly wave to her. She nods her head but then looks away, almost embarrassed. She must've heard the argument.
After walking only a few feet, I begin to wish I'd let Michael drive me home. With the high winds, the temperature feels like it's in the single digits. But I need to get away from him. His comments on my dress have really infuriated me. Maybe he is right. Maybe I'm being irrational and selfish. Did my mother have the same thoughts when she saw the dress but didn't say anything since she knew how hard I'd been working on it? No. I could tell my mother loved the dress, and though she's a traditional Catholic, she's also fashion forward and can respect the more daring modern designs of today. My mother isn't as old school as Michael's mother. I love my future mother-in-law, but she is just so reserved at times, and she's worse than my mother in worrying about what others think.
I dig my fingernails into my hands. I'm still seething at what Michael has said to me. No wonder he'd looked stunned when he saw me in my gown. I thought it was because of the beauty of my gown, but instead, he was horrified. I try to fight back the tears, but it hurts too much.
Maybe I should drop the hem in the front? After all, Ma believes I should change the dress since Michael had seen it. It's just the hem of the dress. But that's also my favorite detail. My head starts to throb as I feel a headache coming on.
Make sure the eggs are fresh before you buy them.
The Hunchback's words come back to me. I now realize what she meant. If Michael has surprised me with this conservative side of him tonight, what else am I in store for?
5
Trashy Trumpet
“
D
id I get the right dress?”
This is the eternal question that brides-to-be ask themselves almost as soon as they've left the bridal shop after purchasing their gowns. And now this is the question I'm grappling with as it swings back and forth in my head, much like a pendulum, hitting each side of my temples and giving me the worst tension headache.
The dilemma started after I had my argument with Michael. Now I'm completely insecure about my dress, which only two weeks ago seemed perfect. Maybe I should just change it completely?
I've taken my tenth order this month for a trumpet- or mermaid-style gown. The trend has picked up steam fast in the past few years. Now there's even a newer twist on the mermaid dress for brides who want a softer, less sexy or body-hugging look than the mermaid offers—the fit-and-flare style. The fit and flare was fitted from the bodice to either the waist or below the waist, but then flared out. It was the right fit for a bride who didn't want to have the fuller skirt of a ball gown or A-line dress, but didn't want the ultra-snug fit that a trumpet or mermaid dress gave her.
I've always preferred the fuller skirt of an A-line. With my petite frame, I don't want an ultra-poofy ball gown that will swallow me up or be hard to move around in. But I have to admit the sleeker version of the fit-and-flare gowns is growing on me. Maybe I should switch?
Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!
I have to keep telling myself to just stop obsessing. I've devoted too much time to my dress to start from scratch again, and that's basically what I would have to do if I decide to switch from my A-line to a fit-and-flare or trumpet gown. I can't believe that I'm falling prey to the same insecurities my clients are known for—even though with Michael's concerns, I have good reason.
I've seen it countless times, and my family and I have always assured our clients it's just their anxieties about wanting the perfect dress and wedding that are making them doubt their choice. We've had brides who forfeited their nonrefundable deposit once we started sewing the dress just so they could order another dress. That doesn't happen often though, since my family and I have become experts at persuasiveness. But sometimes even our arguments fall on deaf ears.
And it's just such a client whom I'm working with now. She'd originally chosen a Vera Wang ball gown dress with a cathedral train from our portfolio. She had wanted it replicated exactly and had wanted nothing changed about the designer's original creation. Now, she doesn't want to even look at our books but instead wants a custom-made design.
“My dress must be the only design like it! I don't want anyone else to have it after I wear it. I'll draft up some papers for you to sign to ensure that you don't sell this design you're creating for me to another client.”
Amy Porter is an attorney—and a typical Bridezilla client. She refuses to work with anyone else at Sposa Rosa but me. When I tried to reassure her that she'd receive the same expert attention from either my mother or one of my sisters, she replied, “I either work with you alone or I take my business elsewhere. And don't think I'm not getting my deposit back from my first gown. I can find loopholes in that agreement you made me sign.”
I definitely don't want to face off with Amy in court. I had Googled her name and learned that she was a litigation lawyer who had won 90 percent of her cases. So I just smile and agree to all of Amy's demands—no matter how over-the-top they are. At the moment, she's telling me that she is getting too old to have a traditional-style ball gown like the one she'd ordered a month ago. Besides, she's just realized that the original gown's design doesn't adequately represent who she is.
“The sleeker silhouette of a trumpet gown doesn't hide anything. And that's me. You see what you get. After all, why have I been killing myself in Bridal Boot Camp at the gym only to hide it underneath all the layers of a ball gown?”
Even though I think Amy is a bit off her rocker, I have to agree her rationale here makes perfect sense.
The pendulum swings fiercely in my head: “A-line or trumpet? A-line or trumpet?”
If I change my dress to a trumpet, that will solve the
malocchio
problem since Michael has seen my dress. My mother can sleep peacefully the rest of her days, and I can just keep the gown long, which would make Michael and his mother happy. Besides, I can't see a shorter front hem working as well on a trumpet gown as it does on an A-line or ball gown, although I've seen that look on some of the couture dresses. That's too avant-garde for my more classical fashion tastes. I have to take some time out tonight when I'm alone to look at my gown's silhouette and see if I have made the right choice.
So I'm finishing up sketching my new design for Amy as she watches over my shoulder, giving me cues as though I were sketching the portrait of a criminal who has just attacked her, when I hear that voice.
Tracy!
My first thought is to flee. I can take my break early. Ugghhhh! I suddenly remember I'm in the shop alone. Rita's taking her break, and Connie is at the dentist with Ma.
What is she doing here? Is she getting married? My stomach is doing somersaults.
As if reading my thoughts, I hear Tracy say, “I'm glad I'm not the one getting married and losing
my
single life. Ha, ha-HAAAAAAA!”
She still has the same annoying laugh she had as a teenager. I've always suspected it's fake and a way for Tracy to add more drama to herself because she always needs to be the center of attention. The way she draws out the “HAAAAA” at the end can't be natural. My thoughts go back to the night of our sophomore dance when I'd caught her making out with Michael in the alleyway. The next day I had called her.
“How could you, Tracy? You knew how much I liked him.”
“I'm sorry, Vee. I didn't mean for anything to happen. It just did.”
“That's supposed to make me feel better?”
“I really am sorry, Vee, that I made out with Michael. I didn't completely know what I was doing. You have to believe me. Don't tell anyone, but I was buzzed. During the dance, I went outside for a cigarette with Ray and Gary, and they pulled out of their suit pockets those little liquor bottles they give out on planes. I drank two of the vodka bottles. They hit me pretty quickly. I wasn't even sure at first it was you staring at me kissing Michael. When I realized you had seen us, I was horrified. But it was too late. You'd run off. Vee, I would never intentionally hurt you. You've got to believe that.”
I didn't know whether she was lying again as usual. I couldn't wipe from my memory the satisfied look she gave me after I caught her kissing Michael. I wasn't going to let her off so easily.
“I don't know, Tracy. You didn't look so hammered to me that you didn't know what you were doing.”
“It was nothing, Vee! It's not like we're boyfriend / girlfriend. It was just a little kissing.”
“A little kissing? It looked like a lot more to me. His hands were all over you!”
“Vee, you're overreacting. Besides, it's not like the two of you are dating.”
This last sentence caused me to see flames with Tracy in the center of them.
“So my not dating him made it okay? You knew how crazy I am about him. You're supposed to be my best friend! Friends don't steal their friends' guys!”
“I'm sorry, Vee. Really, I am. But again, you weren't his girlfriend. If you were, I would've stayed away.”
“No, you wouldn't have. And you kept kissing him even after you saw me watching you. You seemed to take some sick pleasure out of it. It was as if you were rubbing my face in it! I don't believe for a second that you were too drunk to recognize me.”
“I was hoping we could be mature about this whole thing, and you'd see it was just a little making out on one night between two people who had a little too much to drink. It's not like it's going to happen again. Michael is going back to Cornell this weekend. Probably the next time I'll see him will be years from now. He's not even going to remember we made out. Look, Vee. I didn't want to have to tell you this, but I see I'm going to have to. Michael and I talked about you.”
“What? You didn't tell him how I feel about him, did you?”
“No, no! I'd never do that. I'd never betray your secret.”
I wasn't too sure about that either. How could I after what she'd done?
“So why were you talking to him about me?”
“He saw me walking home from the dance alone. He was coming out of McGuinn's Pub. He looked like he'd had a few too many drinks himself. He asked me if we were still good friends, and I told him we were. He told me what a sweet person you were and how he'd always looked out for you when you were a kid. He couldn't believe how much you'd grown up. How pretty you'd become.”
“He said that?”
“Yes, he did. He said all of his friends had the hots for you, but he told them to steer clear of you or they'd have to deal with him.”
“Really?”
“Really. He said he wouldn't trust most of his friends with his little sister if he'd had one as pretty and nice as you. He said he always thought of you as the little sister he didn't have.”
My heart sank. Just when I was starting to think that he might have some feelings for me, my suspicions that he only thought of me as his kid sister had been right all along.
“So when he told me that, I knew he'd never let himself feel anything more for you. He cares about you a lot. That was obvious, Vee. But he doesn't care for you in the way you want him to.”
Tears sprang into my eyes.
“Then he grabbed my hand and told me how sexy I looked. He was staring at me with that intense gaze of his. That did it for me. I was hooked.”
Yes, I knew that gaze. It had undone me on several occasions.
“I tried to let go of his hand, but he kept grabbing it. Then he started running and pulled me into that alleyway. I told him he was just drunk and didn't know what he was doing. He was laughing and said he knew
exactly
what he was doing.”
I didn't want to hear these details, but I couldn't bring myself to tell Tracy to stop. Part of me was envisioning myself running with Michael into that alley instead of Tracy. Michael's hands were all over
my
body,
not
Tracy's. I was feeling his tongue thrusting into my mouth, and his hot kisses were lingering down my neck. I was the one making him crazy with desire,
not
my best friend.
“Before I knew it, he was kissing me. I started to pull away, but then I remembered what he said, that he thought of you as a sister. If I had any hint that he had feelings for you, I would've pushed him off. Honestly, Vee.”
“I don't know, Tracy. I'm having a hard time believing you even tried to resist him. It sounds like you were very willing, and I can't forget the look you gave me. Why did you do that? It was as if you didn't care and you wanted to hurt me.”
Then Tracy started crying.
“Please, Vee! I feel horrible about what happened; you have to forgive me! You've been my best friend since we were kids. I don't know what I'd do without you. I swear I was drunk. It was so easy for me to do what Michael wanted. He wouldn't let me walk away. I was out of it. And I didn't know it was you staring at me. I swear!”
Something about her crying lessened my anger a bit.
“I don't know. I have to think about it.”
I hung up the phone. Part of me felt a little better in knowing that at least Michael had thought I was pretty, but the knowledge that he still only saw me as a little sister overshadowed his thoughts about my looks. I wanted to believe Tracy. If it were true that she'd been drunk and hadn't known I was the one staring at them that would make a huge difference. In the end, just like the other times, I forgave her. But forgetting what I'd witnessed that night was much harder to do. And had I realized that every time I forgave Tracy, I was only allowing her next transgression against me to become graver, I would've never forgiven her. For her next betrayal was too horrible to forgive, and the long friendship we'd had could not survive it.
Now after fourteen years of not seeing each other, Tracy is here in my shop. Realizing there's no escape for me, I know I need to get this confrontation over with. I finish up with Amy and walk over to Tracy. She greets me with the biggest smile though her eyes look nervous.
Tracy is with a young girl, who has to be no more than twenty years old.
“Hi, Vee! It's so good to see you! God, it's been so long!”
“Hi, Tracy.” I cut straight to the chase. “What can I do for you today?”
Tracy frowns for a moment but quickly reverts to her phony mode.

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