Chapter 14: Little Italy

Interlude: 25^th Anniversary

Cindy:

After the fittings, they went to have Italian food in Little Italy. Aunt Francine forgot to mention some other people might drop by. I am told there were 47 major film and theater awards represented. That is, 47 on that night. The count has gone up since. On the other side of the room was Susan Farwell and all the ballet people. As a little girl I loved that Mom danced the Sugar Plum Fairy. Now, consider who she danced it with.

Sheila:

Everyone talks about how much I influenced Christine. That worked both ways. I found myself imitating my so-called submissive, sometimes consciously. I mused that Sean and I had spoken very little that morning. One rarely speaks much to Christine. At Wardrobe the pattern continued. I acquiesced without a word. I found it unusual, but no one had commented

The trip between the islands—Staten to Manhattan—was relaxing. I had a bit of food, but otherwise I was content to watch the byplay between Siobhan and Francine. Siobhan struggling to find ways to manage the flow of Francine's verbiage, with was finding some success by counterpunching. Francine has the soul of a teacher. She loves to lecture, but her favorite style is Socratic. If a well posed question is a jewel to teacher, Siobhan was a diamond mine. They squabbled like siblings or an old married couple.

It was a welcome distraction. I had not been to Manhattan since The Nutcracker and never for pleasure. Nothing I saw that day motivated me to return. Francine arranged parking. Russell escorted us through the streets. Francine let us in a building's side door, then the rear door of a workshop. We met Jonathan, who took us to a quiet work area where I finally saw the finished dress. It was so beautiful I fought tears.

It was like a dress for Galadriel—sleeveless deep forest green with an overlaid carpet of white florets. The white sandals had that sturdy Dance look. The skirts were full and subtly weighted. I could spin-flare them enough to show my garters. The thought of exposing myself like that made me moist. In some ways I really was like Christine. Not all. Sean would never buy this dress like this for Christine.

Over the corset, the dress went on without a problem. If anything, I could let out half an inch. While the bust was quite snug, Francine insisted there was room to work. I bowed to her expertise. Jonathan helped me into the sandals. When he looked up, it was not at my face. Just playing at gay there, Jon? I shook off the thought and donned the white opera gloves. Francine pinned on the old and blue broach. Then she pulled out a pair of emerald earrings. My first instinct was to decline, but it was her moment and I refused to ruin it.

They took many pictures. Francine and Christine bridesmaid's dresses were adorable. Just before I asked someone to fetch Siobhan, she came through the door, angry at being abandoned. She cut a fine figure. The semi-formal suit was an inspired choice. It was an outdoor wedding and the style flattered Siobhan's generous figure. Her breasts tented the jacket. Men's style or not, there was no mistaking Siobhan's sex. I particularly liked the wide silk bow tie.

We all collected for more pictures. My favorite was of Siobhan and Francine, the long and short of it. Sean's favorite was of me with Siobhan. That shot resurfaced ten years later, during an election campaign. I never figured out if Siobhan's opponent had leaked it, or if she had. Whichever, Siobhan won the election.

It was one of the happiest days of my life, but I needed to steel myself for one of Francine's fetes.

Siobhan:

Once I was fully dressed, I went in search of everyone else. My unnamed assistant wanted me to wait for Jonathan. Right. Sometimes being bigger than the guys has advantages. The work area gave me mixed reactions. Many did not react all, costumed characters likely being common. Of those that did react, it was mostly, "You go, girl." The flustered flunky probably contributed to that. Several fingers pointed, so it was easy to find the way, to a point.

The pointing directed me to a hallway. There was only one suitable door, but I hesitated and almost did not open the door. It was a defining moment. When I persevered, the scene appeared scripted—servants attending a fine lady. Francine and Christine were quite fetching in their off-white dresses, with green trim. Jonathan and an assistant were reassuring Sheila. I remember my moment of hesitation at the door, because of what I would have missed. The sight Sheila in her dress has never faded.

How to describe a vision? Sheila compared the dress to something for an elf queen. She has the magic part right. My mind goes more to Titania in A Midsummer Night's Dream. Whether Tolkien's queen or Shakespeare's, Sheila was ethereal. In that dress her uncanny grace seemed inevitable, necessary. The vision lasted only a moment before Sheila embraced me. I always said I would have married her myself.

We spent several minutes posing for pictures, as if Justin would take none at the wedding. That done, all the clothes were rechecked for fit, with the occasional pin or chalk mark added. The measurements we endured on Tuesday proved out. As we left, Francine commented on the accuracy of the tailoring and how well everything went.

We changed back to our street clothes, then left. As we marched back, I wondered if this was all I would see of Manhattan. Silly me. Trust Francine to think of food. Cabs were called. Russell held the door for me. I would not have appreciated the gesture a week before. He must have noticed, because he mumbled something like, "Look real nice." I punched him in the arm, which made him smile. Then he rubbed his arm, which made me smile—until he winked.

We headed south to Little Italy. New Jersey thrives on Italian food and this was the mecca everyone talkrd about. Francine had a room reserved at Civitano Brothers Trattoria, on Cleveland near Canal. It did not seem like we had done much, but the time added up. Nine to Five employees filled the sidewalks. I was glad we were not taking the subway somewhere.

Civitano's is an old name in a new location. Francine's usual running commentary told me that the original brothers had died in the 1930s. The proprietors insisted on serving wine, which required the restaurant front for a speakeasy. Making wine was not safe during prohibition. For generations the restaurant had held a memorial plaque. Francine had seen it, years before. Not much later, a fire gutted the building. Rather than wait for the hulk to be demolished and rebuilt, the Civitano family decided to move a few blocks. They leased the ground floor of an art deco office building.

The restaurant was nearly full when we walked through it. As we passed the bar, Francine threw over her shoulder that there was booze upstairs. We continued past the restrooms and kitchen, climbed a stair at the rear. This opened to a very plush hallway. The open door next to the stairwell read Conference Room. Francine explained that the lawyers who owned the building had an arrangement with the restaurant—preferred rates on catering and private parties in exchange for use of this room after business hours. It may have been after five o'clock on Friday, but there were a lot of lights showing under doors up the hallway.

Inside was a buffet table spread with antipasto, a large table set for eight, several small tables, and a bar with barista. I say barista because of the massive brass espresso machine behind the bar. Francine went straight toward it. I followed to see if they could do a decent Irish coffee in this type of place.

I found Christine at my elbow. I asked what she wanted. She said aguardiente. Where had she picked up that? I asked if she wanted it sweet or straight. She looked confused, but shook off the sweet. It was time for some education. I asked Francine how Sheila liked her coffee. She told me it was covered. I asked for galliano, sambuca, water and ice.

Sheila was seated at the big table, where a waitress was taking her order. I carried my tray over and sat down. Christine slid in beside me. Sheila looked curious, but said nothing. Upon closer inspection, she wore an unusual expression. The closest I could describe it was interested tranquility. After her tension on Wednesday, it was a welcome change. I glanced at Christine, who followed my gaze and showed a trace of a smile. That was something to chew on.

At the moment, I asked what Sheila had ordered. She told me figs were in season. She had ordered a plate of fig based appetizers. Sean had mentioned figs concerning their first date. I told her she was in luck, because I had something that would go well with figs. I poured water into a glass. Into that I drizzled some sambuca. The liquor clouded on contact, which I always thought was cool. So did Christine.