Queen of Secrets, page 7
“You better not get anything on that dress, you hear?”
“I won’t.” I rolled my eyes in her direction.
The party was wall-to-wall family and friends, not to mention all the wise guys. I was pretty sure Pop invited them so Signor Sanna could make safe arrangements with his new rent collectors. These were the same men I’d seen go down into the basement many times before, coming to collect the earnings for the Molanano family week after week. Like Joey Fingers. Tony told me he got his name because he was the best at picking locks. If anyone needed to break into something, he was your guy. Then there were the big guys, like Johnny Rizzuto and Rocco Lombardo, who made their mark in San Jose. They were all part of the Molanano crime family and had been in the papers for racketeering and extortion. I called them Uncle Johnny and Uncle Rocco, and they always spoiled me. On my confirmation, they slid me envelopes stuffed with cash. They felt indebted to my father for all the times he stitched them up or removed a bullet.
Even the mayor was at the party. Anytime Pop got pushback from the cops, from the beer drops during prohibition to petty crimes, he made a call and trouble disappeared.
I said a respectful hello and kissed them on the cheek. When I was little, some of them scared me when I’d see their pistols sticking out from their unbuttoned coats. I’m not sure why their guns scared me more than my mother’s shotgun.
As the night went on, people came from all over. Beers and whiskey flowed. The smell of the sausage on the grill filled the night air. Coiled like snakes, the sausages made popping noises from the heat.
My brother and father ushered the guests to the big house in the back. Sounds of music met my ears and pulled me toward the festivities. Uncle Lorenzo squeezed his accordion, and Uncle Rocco joined the polka with his violin. Uncle Joe held his bright gold trumpet in his hands while his cheeks puffed like small balloons. Together, they made music that brought everyone to the floor, clapping and dancing. The music was infectious.
My uncle yelled, “Viva la Giga. Everbadi dance.”
When the song began, we formed a circle. Zia Lucia reached for my uncle Pete’s arm, and the two of them made their way to the center. As they danced, we clapped to the music. When the chorus came, we grabbed arms and moved around the people dancing in the middle. As much as I wanted to let the music numb my thoughts, something was missing. The one person I wanted to dance with still wasn’t here.
To waste time, I scooped up a piece of my mom’s focaccia bread and sat in the corner of the room. I tried not to get anything on my sister’s dress. My cousins, aunts, and uncles all danced to the music that filled the room.
The song changed. In the doorway of the big room, Gaetano stood alongside his family and the Antonellis.
“Paesani,” my father yelled, a little drunk now. He waved to Signor Antonelli and Signor Sanna and escorted them inside to meet everyone. With a twinkle in his eye and a stogie in his hand, my father said, “After we meet everbadi, I ma gonna show you all da salsiccia. We make all morning for you.”
The men went outside to see the sixty pounds of sausage my family prepared in their honor. My mother and Mrs. Antonelli went straight to the kitchen. Signora Sanna sat with her two daughters and avoided conversation. She scanned the room and stared at the men who embodied the life she’d left behind. Trying to avoid eye contact, she pulled the girls close to her. I understood why she didn’t trust strangers.
Gaetano did what was expected of the men and followed his father outside. He stood around the huge barbecue pit where clouds of smoke moved around him. While he and my brothers joked around by the fire, he scanned for me in the crowd. When no one was looking, he winked.
I smiled back.
His arrival flooded me with a mix of emotions. My heart raced. I wanted to wrap my arms around his waist and kiss behind his ear, as I’d done so often, but my father’s rules wouldn’t allow it. The fact remained that Gaetano and I couldn’t be together. At least, not yet. I broke eye contact with him.
“Everyone, it’s a broom dance,” my cousin, Nino, yelled into the microphone. “We play music, and when we stop, change partners. If you don’t find a partner when the music starts again, you have to dance with this.” He held up a broom and dipped it as if it was a dance partner.
Everyone came in from outside and swarmed the dance floor. I spotted Gaetano across the room. My cousin, Francesca, grabbed his hand.
I felt as though I’d been stabbed in the heart. She was older than me and had earned a reputation with boys.
“Attaboy, Gaetano, look at you,” Tony yelled.
Gaetano caught my stare and turned his face away. To play the part, he held her hand and danced.
Blood coursed through my body. I stood there with my hands on my hips, tapping my toes, waiting for the music to stop. Gaetano flashed Francesca a few fake smiles, and she whispered in his ear.
I was about to cut in when Tony’s friend, Gianni, grabbed my hand and yanked me onto the dance floor. I had no interest in Gianni, but when he came around, he tried to impress me. He had a terrible bout of acne. His face looked like a pizza. He was a nice boy, but I was not at all attracted to him. There was only one boy I wanted to dance with, and he was in someone else’s arms.
Every few minutes, the dancers exchanged partners. At one point, my father led me in the dance.
“Vieni qui, my Violetta. Why you looka so sad? Itsa party.” His breath was thick with whiskey.
“I don’t know, Pop. There’s a lot of people here.”
“Whatcha mean a lotta people? Itsa jus da family and soma friends.”
Impatiently, I scanned the room for a six-foot-tall man with a full head of brown wavy hair. The music stopped. Pop laughed and pulled away to find Mama. The accordion started again, and I had no partner. I kept my head down and trudged toward the broom.
Someone grabbed my arm. I turned and it was him—Mr. Dreamy-eyes, himself.
Gaetano smiled and pulled me into his frame.
He laughed and said, “You almost havta dance wit da broom.”
“Thanks for saving me.”
He drew me close, our clasped hands between our chests, and whispered, “No, Violetta, you da one who saved me.” He kissed my ear.
Afraid that someone else saw, I recoiled. He shot me a coy smile and laughed. We floated across the dance floor. With music in my ears, I shut my eyes and pressed my cheek to his. I was with the man I loved in front of my family. His arms felt natural, safe, familiar. I wanted to stay there all night.
The music stopped. Reality pushed back.
My father studied us, his eyes pressed into lines.
My arms fell to my sides. The dance was over, and I was sweaty from all the dancing.
“Why don’t we find a place to sit?” I asked.
“Si,” Gaetano said, then searched for a place for two chairs in the corner of the room.
We sat next to each other. Zia Tomasina approached the microphone and began to sing her rendition of “Sweet Violette” by the Sons of the Pioneers—a song she sang at every family party. As we listened to the bawdy, rhyming lyrics, which starred nearly all the family members, everyone laughed. Gaetano had never heard the song, but he caught on to the chorus after a few times, and he laughed with the rest of us.
On the other side of the room, my father smiled at me lovingly.
I waved, and he winked.
“You fater, he want you? He looking at you,” Gaetano said.
“No, I’m fine. It’s a father-daughter thing.”
“What? Tell me.”
“When I was little, he joked that this song was for me. He called me his Sweet Violette, just like the song. He hasn’t called me that for years, but whenever my aunt sings it, he lets me know he’s thinking of me.”
“You fater, he love you, and I know how he feels, Violetta. I want so bad to kiss you right here, in fronta everyone.”
“We can’t. Not yet. Soon,” I said, hoping one day Gaetano would court me. Thoughts of Pop saying no made me feel sick.
As the night went on, many of the men got drunk. My father passed around stogies. Big shots sat outside and smoked while the women and children drank coffee and socialized.
Around midnight, my father signaled some of the men to go to the forbidden room—the basement. Once I saw my father usher the last man down, I looked for Gaetano. He stood with my brother and his friends by the pond, drinking beers and laughing. When he caught my eye, I pointed to the barn. He nodded his head. It was the one place we could be alone.
On my way to the barn, I passed the liquor table. Small hairs on the nape of my neck rose and tingled in anticipation of what was to come. I needed something to calm my nerves, so I reached for the bottle of my father’s limoncello. When no one looked, I poured some in a cup and took a big gulp. It was pretty strong going down, but I didn’t care. I took another big gulp, then put it back on the table and raced through the field toward the barn.
At night, the stables were cold. I grabbed a few blankets my father had put aside for the horses and searched for an empty stall. I placed a blanket on the floor and kept one for myself.
Gaetano crept into the barn.
“Violetta, where are you?” he whispered.
Horses snorted in response.
“Over here.” I unbuttoned my dress and propped my clothes on a rusty nail. I grabbed the other blanket and wrapped it around my body. He stopped at the stall where I stood silent. He’d been drinking. The smell of liquor coated his breath.
“What are you doing?” he asked as he looked me up and down and noticed my sister’s polka-dotted dress hanging on the side of the stall.
“I wanted to see you.” I let the blanket fall off my naked body onto the floor.
His legs swayed. He tried to steady himself against a wooden beam. Once he found his footing, he examined me. I wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen a naked woman before or if he was just in shock that it was me. His eyes traced the contours of my body, stopping at my breasts, then glancing at my pubic area.
As the seconds ticked on, the cold night air hardened my nipples. Goose pimples covered my arms and legs. When I shivered, he pulled me close and held me against him. He kissed me, hard. I tasted the whiskey on his breath, and it was wonderful. Limoncello had worked its way through my body, numbing my inhibitions. He moved his tongue away from my mouth and let it slide around my ear and down my neck.
An electric shock soared through my pelvis and made my heart quicken. I breathed deeper and faster as he moved his tongue toward my breasts. He first made circles around my nipples, then nibbled them tenderly. He sucked on my neck and earlobes. It was all too much. My body was about to explode.
Out of pure instinct, we dropped to the floor. I unbuttoned his shirt and undid his belt. He unzipped his pants and the part of his body that was unknown to me sprang forward toward my stomach. I stroked him and became familiar with his stiffness.
As cold as it was in there, we were both sweating and panting with want. He kissed me harder, more deliberately. He moved his mouth from my lips to my pelvis. My heartbeat followed, descending from my chest to my groin.
I reached for the soft locks of hair on his head as he made his way downward, still kissing me and tasting me. His hair tickled my thighs and made me grab onto his ears to steady myself while he continued.
Something startled him, and he stopped exploring me. Half-naked, he sat up and took a deep breath.
“Violetta, my love, we canno do dis,” he said as he tried to regain himself.
“Yes, we can. I want this. You’re leaving soon, and I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again.” I grabbed his face and started kissing his cheeks.
He caressed my hands and pulled them to his chest.
“I respecta you too much. We no married. Letta me marry you first,” he pleaded.
Overcome with shame for coming onto him, I wrapped myself in the blanket.
A ghost of a shiver climbed up my spine. “Marriage? You want to marry me?”
“Si, I do. But I needa help my fater first and den when I make more money, I marry you. Once we settled, I come for you. I talk to you fater for you hand. You deserve to be treated like una regina. I wanna buy you nice tings and be a good husband,” he said and then kissed me with loving intensity.
“You’ve made me so happy, Gaetano. Don’t forget about me. I wanted to know you in this way. I’m sorry if I made things uncomfortable,” I said, discouraged.
“No, my beautiful girl. You no make me feel uncomfortable, you make me happy. Becausa you choose me to do dis wit, I know youa good woman. You no be embarrassed. You so beautiful. I lucky to have you.” He turned and held my face in his palms and kissed me. “I no smart man. I have no money and nutting to give you. But one day, tesoro mio, I will give you da world. When we getta married, I surrender my body and soul to you. I never been in love before, but if it means dat I tink about you when I wake and go to sleep, den yes, Violetta, I love you, amore mio.”
His eyes cherished me in the moonlight. The boy who had my attention from the moment I saw him loved me and wanted to marry me. I thought how close I came to losing my virginity, how amazing it felt to have him touch me in that way. “I’ve never felt like this, either. I want to be with you forever.” I pulled his face closer to mine and gave him one last kiss.
“When itsa safe, I talk to your fater and den I come back for you,” he said, with velvet words.
Tears welled in my eyes as his words wrapped me up in more warmth than the blanket ever could. We sat in silence, our bodies exposed, dissecting and analyzing the commitment we’d made. I held on to every word. He’d pledged his heart and soul to me.
“I want dis wit you. Der will be a time for us, amore mio.”
With tears in my eyes, I smiled at him. We dressed, and I hung the blanket on the hook in the stall. As we were about to walk out of the barn, Tony called for Gaetano.
“Oh my God, it’s my brother . . . Shhh,” I whispered.
Tony crept up behind us. “Hey, Guy, where you been? I think your pop’s looking for you. Your ma wants to go home now,” he said with a wry smile.
“Oh, I was talking to Violetta about da horses,” he answered.
“Horses again, huh? That’s the second time I caught you guys in here. You ain’t doing nothin’ stupid, right, Vi?”
“Of course not,” I fired back with flushed cheeks.
“Yeah, Pop has bred some nice ones. Wheneva I see you next time, I’ll let you ride one, but in the daytime. You ain’t doing nothin’ with my sister, are you?” he interrogated.
“No, no, youa sista, she my teacher, my friend.”
“Okay, shy boy. Let’s keep it that way.” He put his arm around Gaetano’s shoulders.
Numb and almost lifeless, I followed them to the car. In just a few days, everything would change. A single tear fell as I watched them drive away into the darkness.
Pen Pal
Crisp mornings surrounded the foothills. The time had come for the Sanna family to make their way for a different set of hills, a land for the grape growers and the dreamers. Decaying, fermented fruit covered Antonelli farms. A musty, rancid smell permeated the air, and tiny flies swarmed the dirt around the tree trunks.
It all looked how I felt: lifeless and rotten.
Gaetano had confided in me the details of the arrangement. His father made a deal with Mr. Antonelli and some of the Molanano family. Signor Sanna received seed money to begin a wine venture with the understanding that they were to give a certain percentage of their profits to the bigger families. If needed, the company would be expected to fulfill any requests from the Molanano family, including money laundering, like my father’s businesses had done over the years. With this new arrangement, they answered to a higher cause—one that protected them but expected allegiance.
For the Molanano family, the arrangement meant more than making wine. More land meant more money and power. My heart ached for Gaetano and his family. As hard as they’d fought to get away from the Mafia, they were under their control again. Like my family, they realized that coming to America didn’t mean they were free. And like any government, where death and taxes were inevitable, the mob functioned much the same.
Our family stood in a line, like when the Sannas had arrived three months earlier. Tony handed Gaetano a metal lock box that had two pistols for their protection, and then they shook hands. My father nodded at the rest of us, our signal to wish them well.
It was my turn to say goodbye. Because I didn’t want anyone to notice my feelings for Gaetano, I fought back tears. I took a deep breath to temper my emotions. By custom, he kissed me on both cheeks, then whispered in my ear, “I love you. It willa be a little time, and we willa see each udder again.”
“Write me,” I whispered in his ear before pulling away. With a smile, I slipped a note in his jacket pocket. He winked at me, and I moved down the line to his parents and sisters.
After final words and hugs, we stood in the long driveway and waved goodbye. Within minutes, they drove away with my world and heart inside. My only hope was time. If things went as we’d planned, we’d soon tell my parents. Guy needed time to start his life and make the business grow. If Gaetano proved to be a hard worker and helped his father turn his business into something big, maybe my father would approve of the match. But the distance would almost kill me.
A senior now, I stomped the pavement at San Jose High School, ready to finish what I set out to do and be the first of my family to graduate. In the beginning, hours passed like days. With Gaetano gone, subjects that used to interest me became boring. Pride kept me going.
Memories of my time with Guy became a distraction. Sitting at my desk, I fantasized about him and how it would feel when he finally took my body and made me a woman. My mind flooded with questions about his new life. Was he happy? What was it like in the Napa Valley? Was he keeping up with his English? Did he think about me as much as I thought about him? I was obsessed with the possibility of our future.
