Tony's Wife Read online

  Saverio gripped the center pole of the trolley car to maintain his balance, but from the point of view of the men, it looked like a microphone stand in any fine nightclub. The men of Rouge who had heard him sing believed Saverio had the comportment and talent of any lead act they’d heard on Sing Out, the most popular radio show in Detroit.

  As Saverio serenaded them, they listened with quiet reverence. As the words sailed over them, especially the phrase redeeming grace, they were soothed. Saverio modulated his performance to match the dips and curves of the trolley tracks, feeling the rhythm through his feet. As he held the final note on peace, he sustained his breath, holding the note to a delicate fade, as if it had been recorded on vinyl. The close was so clean, it was as though it had been sliced in the air with a knife.

  The men gave him a hearty round of applause with whistles and foot stomps, rocking the trolley car back and forth on the tracks.

  “Another one!” one of the men shouted.

  Saverio looked at his father.

  “No,” Leone said definitively. “He is done.”

  “We can pass a hat, Leone, if that’s what’s irking you.”

  The men laughed heartily.

  “Keep your hat,” Leone joked. “And your pennies.”

  * * *

  Saverio practically sprinted from his home to Holy Family Church on Christmas Eve. His clean hair was still wet under his cap, and his face stung where he had splashed lemon water on his cheeks after shaving. There was no need for him to shave twice in one day, but he wanted to look sharp for Cheryl.

  At the corner of Denton, a black DeSoto was parked with the back door propped open. A short line had formed and was moving quickly. Saverio poked his head into the back seat, which was filled with wooden crates of fragrant oranges.

  “How much?” he asked the fruit man.

  “Fifteen for a quarter.”

  “I’ll take fifteen.”

  Saverio grabbed the brown paper sack and climbed the steps of Holy Family Church two at a time. He patted the pocket of his good trousers to make sure the box with the gold chain was safe. There was no greater feeling in all the world than knowing he was about to impress a girl he was nuts about and make her happy.

  As he entered the church, he blessed himself with the holy water and genuflected. The gray marble walls streaked with striae of gold were festooned with garlands of fresh myrtle and evergreen. The main aisle was lit by a series of long candles topped with open brass caps that anchored the flames. The altar was dressed in white linens, lit by a row of shimmering votives in crystal holders. A crèche, with handpainted figurines of the Holy Family, tucked under the altar, was also lit by candlelight. Behind the tabernacle, the wall was lined with fresh, fragrant blue spruce trees whose tips grazed the ceiling. The branches were decorated with small white pouches of tulle filled with red berries and tied with lace. The scene was breathtaking.

  Saverio wanted to remember every detail of this night, no matter how small. It wasn’t every night of the week that he told a girl he loved her, and there would only be one first time. His heart was so full, he could not imagine space within it for anyone else. Cheryl was all he ever wanted, all he ever would.

  As he climbed the steps to the choir loft, he rehearsed what he had planned to say to Cheryl before he gave her the necklace. He had gone over what he wanted to say to her so many times, on the line at the Rouge plant and on the trolley ride, he had practically memorized his speech.

  Cheryl, we’ve sung in the choir together since the Christmas we were eleven, and the truth is, I’ve loved you since then. You were wearing a red corduroy jumper and white blouse. You said your shoes hurt because your older sister had worn them first for a year or two and her feet were smaller than yours but it didn’t matter, the younger sister always wore the hand-me-downs. Well, you don’t deserve hand-me-downs, you deserve the best and everything new and every wonderful thing that’s just for you and just your own. So, I want you to have this gold chain because gold represents the most precious feelings, and you are to me a treasure more valuable than gold, but gold is the best the world makes, and I wanted you to have the best. Merry Christmas.

  Saverio wanted the privilege of walking Cheryl home from choir practice and from school. He wanted to be the only boy who held her hand and kissed her. He wanted her to wait for him by the bus stop on Euclid, like all the girls who went steady with all the guys from his school.

  Saverio wished he could sing these sentiments to Cheryl, but that wasn’t possible. There wasn’t a song written that really expressed what he was feeling, and besides, even if there was, he longed to tell her so there would be no mistaking his intent. When he reached the top of the steps to the choir loft, the singers were mostly in position. He scanned the benches. Cheryl had not yet arrived, so Saverio began handing out the oranges to the choir members.

  “Merry Christmas, Constance.”

  “I’ll save it for Christmas morning.” She palmed the orange like a snowball.

  “Buon Natale, Raphael.”

  “Buon Natale, Saverio. Citrus is good for the pipes.”

  “Merry Christmas, Beatrice.”

  “Thank you!” She tucked it into her purse.

  “Merry Christmas, Mary. Not a lot of girls have a holiday named for them.”

  “Merry Christmas!” She shoved it into her coat pocket.

  “Merry Christmas, Robert.”

  “Thanks.” And so it went, to Kevin, Kimberly, Agnes, Sarah, Philip, Ellen, Eileen, Patty, Eleanor, and Rose, with one to the organist, until only two oranges remained in the sack.

  Saverio took his seat in the first row of benches and picked up his sheet music. He perused it mindlessly, having memorized his parts, until the musical notes began to jump around on the paper like ladybugs. He didn’t think he was nervous, but now that he was here, and the necklace was tucked in his pocket, he was afraid.

  Fear.

  There was no room in his heart for it, but here it was, overtaking his feelings of love. Soon the sister of fear, unworthiness, crept into his thoughts, and he began to question whether he should admit his feelings to Cheryl at all.

  What did he have to offer a girl, anyway? Not much, he didn’t think. He was average in every way, a kind of a loner, not too much of one that it made him an oddball, but enough of one that it was obvious he might be a little backward, maybe sheltered too much by his mother. That’s what they said about only children, he guessed. But if a girl loved him as he loved her, if Cheryl returned his feelings, he knew how to make her happy. He would work hard to give her everything she wanted. His wife would have a nice house with all the modern conveniences. There would be an Electrolux vacuum cleaner and Oriental rugs with fringes to use it on and an Encyclopedia Britannica set in red leather bindings on the bookshelf in the living room. There would be a bed with a sheer curtain over it, and a matching coverlet with ruffles. There would be a proper bathroom with a four-legged tub, a sink with a mirror with lights all around it. They would drive a Ford V8 coupe, of course, though if he could choose the car of his dreams, he would rather have a Packard out of South Bend, Indiana. But it didn’t matter; as long as she was by his side, he would drive anywhere, in any vehicle, no matter how far, to prove his love to his bride someday, the girl who would become Cheryl Armandonada.

  Cheryl.

  A name that sounded at once like a sweet summer fruit and a soft, silky fabric. He would buy her every outfit in Norma Born’s Dress Shop window. She would have gloves to match every purse that matched every hat. Her stockings would be silk, and her hair would be done in a salon once a week. His girl would have all the things his own mother didn’t, because he would pay attention to her desires and make good on her needs. He knew, just from observing, that girls like to talk, and if that was the case, the least he could do was listen, and care about whatever it was she needed to say.

  Saverio knew exactly what kind of man he wanted to be, and what kind of husband that man would become. The gold c
hain was the rope that he would climb to win her, the first gift of many. Eventually he would fill a jewelry box for Cheryl, stuffed with more rings, necklaces, and bracelets than the peddler sold.

  Cheryl Dombroski appeared at the top of the choir loft stairs at last. She did not make a sound, but announced her arrival by the delicious scent of her perfume. She waved at the choir with one of those short choppy waves and a smile so broad and full, it looked like it hurt. Saverio sighed; she was in a good mood, which meant it was an opportune time for talking to her—well, to any girl.

  Cheryl was wearing a short green velvet jacket over a pale blue chemise that had a thin belt. The dress was piped in mint green, and the buttons were green jewels of some kind. Her gloves were pale blue, as was her hat, a cloche of off-white satin. Her auburn hair was clipped back under the hat in long, loose waves. Her eyes were so blue it was as if the roof of the church had blown off, and he were looking at nothing but sky.

  “You look beautiful,” Saverio told her when she sat down beside him. She smelled so good, like roses and lilies and sweet lemons.

  Constance, an alto, leaned down, placing her head between them. “Saverio gave us all oranges,” she told Cheryl. Constance smelled like a menthol cough drop.

  “I have one for you, too.” Saverio fished in the paper bag. “Here.” He gave Cheryl an orange.

  “You’re sweet.” Cheryl leaned so close to his ear to thank him, he could feel her breath. The nearness of her lips to his made his heart pound. He felt himself throwing heat.

  “You all right?” she asked. “There’s something going around. My sister Karol hasn’t stopped hacking since Tuesday.”

  “Sorry to hear that. No, I’m fine.”

  “I have news,” she said as she thumbed through the music.

  “You do?”

  “Come here. I want you to be the first to know.”

  Cheryl stood, taking Saverio’s arm, and led him to the lip of the choir loft. The pews were filled for mass. It was close to standing room only.

  “See him?” Cheryl pointed.

  Saverio saw a young man from the back, in a gray Chesterfield coat. The fellow sensed the stare and turned around. He winked at Cheryl. He had blond hair and broad shoulders. She waved at him in that choppy way she had greeted the choir when she ascended the stairs.

  “That’s him. Ricky Tranowski.”

  “Yeah?” Saverio was confused.

  Cheryl removed her glove and showed Saverio her left hand. “We got engaged tonight.”

  “Engaged?” Saverio’s mouth was dry.

  Cheryl wore a gold ring, with a diamond the size of the dot of the letter i in the word diamond. The smidge of a chip was elevated on four prongs. Four too many, Saverio thought. Cheryl straightened the ring with her right hand.

  “I don’t understand,” Saverio said softly.

  “When I was born, the Tranowskis and the Dombroskis would joke, Ricky is for Cheryl and Cheryl is for Ricky. Well, we see them every summer in Traverse City and every Thanksgiving in Dearborn, and this year something just clicked.”

  “Clicked?” Saverio was hopeless.

  “Yeah. You know.” Cheryl smiled, every white tooth in her lovely head gleaming as she silently snapped her fingers. “Clicked.”

  Finally Saverio got it. “I understand.” He couldn’t look at her, so he stared ahead, steadying his gaze on the empty crib in the crèche underneath the altar.

  “I can’t wait to get out of here. Ricky got a job at the Packard plant in South Bend.”

  “Packard?” Saverio’s heart sank.

  “I know! Your favorite car! I didn’t know this, but Ricky told me when you work the line at Packard, you can get on a list to buy one at a discount. I want a Packard more than I want to breathe.”

  “Everybody wants a Packard.”

  “I know. It’s a dream!” Cheryl squeezed Saverio’s hand.

  “Congratulations.” Saverio felt his heart ache.

  “Are you okay, Saverio? I really think you might be sick.”

  “I could be.”

  “I’m sorry. Should I send my brother for some Brioschi?”

  “No, I’ll be all right. I just need to sit down.”

  Saverio went back to his place on the bench. Cheryl sat down beside him. “We don’t have to duet. I can sing with Constance, you know. You look green. You can lie down in the robing room until you feel better. That’s where Father naps between masses.”

  “Cheryl, I need to tell you something.”

  “Sure.”

  He looked at her. She was as luminous in the pink-gold light of the organ as she was in his dreams, but now she would never be his. He knew for certain that no man could ever love her as much as he did, but he didn’t know exactly how to say it, and the words he had gone over and over in his mind to say to her that evening were moot, and now that she wore another man’s ring, they bordered on something akin to bank robbery. Saverio couldn’t very well claim someone who was no longer available to him. But he had to say something before the moment came when she would no longer listen, so he blurted, “I think you deserve a better ring.”

  She sat back and thought for a moment. “That’s a terrible thing to say to a girl.”

  “If I had to go down in the mine myself and dig until my hands bled, I would find a diamond worthy of you. And it’s not that one.”

  “I don’t care about the ring,” she said defiantly as she twisted it on her finger.

  “You should.”

  “Why are you saying this? Why are you trying to ruin my night?”

  “I don’t want to ruin anything for you.”

  “You certainly are! You certainly have.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m not saying these things to hurt you, but to make you think about what you deserve. Once you’re married, Cheryl, that’s it. Forever and ever. You and whatever lug you choose.”

  “I choose Ricky. And he’s not a lug.” Her blue eyes darted around furtively. “He’s a good boy.”

  “I accept that,” Saverio promised.

  “It doesn’t sound like you do.” Cheryl began to fan herself with the sheet music to O Holy Night.

  “A woman can only go by signs,” Saverio said. “And that ring is not enough for a girl as wonderful as you. Now, maybe tonight you think it’s enough, because you’re caught up in the excitement of the proposal, but there will come a day when that diamond won’t cut it, and you’ll remember what I said tonight, and you’ll think, I should’ve listened to Saverio.”

  “You don’t know me at all,” Cheryl whispered. “I don’t care about things.”

  “We’ll see. And I do know you. I’ve known you all your life, and you’ve known me.”

  “I mean in that way.” Cheryl looked ahead.

  “I wanted to know you better.” Saverio felt emboldened, maybe because Cheryl could not look at him. So he said, “I wanted to be more than a friend. I had hopes.”

  Cheryl clenched her jaw. “Why did you wait so long to confess your heart’s desire?”

  “I’m a slow burn, I guess—an idiot. I should’ve known that the most beautiful rose in the garden goes first.”

  “Well, it wasn’t to be.” Cheryl folded her hands on her lap like Sister Domenica after she passed out report cards.

  “So you never thought of me that way?”

  Cheryl Dombroski had just gone to confession. She was a good Catholic girl, and it was Christmas Eve. She wasn’t about to lie. “Sometimes,” she admitted.

  “But not like Ronnie.”

  “Ricky.”

  “Ricky. Not like him?”

  “I can’t have this conversation with you, Saverio. I’m an engaged woman.”

  Cheryl announced her status in the same way she might admit that she was a Democrat, a Salvation Army volunteer, or had type O blood if queried on a survey. She was resolute. Saverio did not believe her, but he could not convince her otherwise either. If he knew one thing about Polish girls, it was that they were stronger than th
e liquid steel poured at the Rouge plant to make cars.

  He also knew that it didn’t make much sense to stand on an assembly line and bolt cars for the rest of his natural life if there wasn’t a girl like Cheryl waiting outside the gates for him. What would be the point? There had to be a greater purpose to his life. He needed an incentive to get up before the sun, and the only one that mattered was love. He didn’t get excited on payday like the other fellows. Money in his pocket didn’t fill him up.

  What was Saverio’s purpose anyway? What was he working for if not to make a girl happy? He couldn’t imagine choosing anything less than a ring that sparkled like the stars in Orion for the girl of his dreams. Cheryl would have received the pavé heart set in platinum had he asked her to marry him.

  Despite the heaviness in his chest, Saverio stood and sang the mass with the choir as he had done every Sunday, Holy Day of Obligation, and funeral since he could remember. It almost felt good to sing, to put his feelings out into the church instead of holding them inside.

  When it came time to duet Silent Night with Cheryl during the offertory, the trill of her soprano looped around the full-bodied sound of his tenor like a twining vine. He could not look at her as they harmonized, and she kept her eyes on the altar.

  Feelings expressed to the object of a young man’s affection should free him of the weight of the secret, but when those feelings are not reciprocated, it turns a world of wonder into an awkward place. Saverio vowed that Christmas Eve that he would never admit romantic feelings to a girl ever again. It was too dangerous. It also meant the ultimate sacrifice: no more gazing at Cheryl. No more studying every aspect of her, from the curves of her breasts to the cut of her small waist to the smooth swerve of her hips to her ankles, all the way back up to the arc of her straight nose. Cheryl was an architectural wonder all right. Tonight would be the end of their conversations and their long walks home. No more intense discussions about their mutual passion, swing music: Dick Haymes versus Bing Crosby, and Duke Ellington versus Cab Calloway versus The Dorsey Brothers. No more rehearsals in the cold choir loft on Wednesday nights, complaining that Father wouldn’t turn the heat on for them. No more looking forward and hoping.