The Supreme Macaroni Company (24 page)

I saw rage rise deep within my husband. “You are not only selfish, you’re cruel. Who told you about my business?”

“Your father, through my grandmother, told me what happened.”

“And you bring it up now?”

“I should be asking the same thing of you. You shut me out, and then you’re hurt when I keep things from you. Well, here’s what I’ve been keeping from you—I have no intention of moving to Italy. It’s fine for vacations, but here’s the deal. I plan to stay right here on this block, in this house, with this view, forever.”

“Good to know,” he said.

Gianluca turned to go down the stairs.

“Where are you going?” I demanded.

“The baby needs diaper cream.”

Gianluca went down the stairs. I realized that I had no idea that my baby was out of diaper cream—but give me a break, I had presented the new line of shoes today and had other things on my mind. Was it too much to ask that I could rely on my partner to do the shopping? Why should I feel badly about that for a second? Why have a husband if he’s not going to participate in the day-to-day raising of our child?

A
lfie was dressed in her traveling ensemble, pink pants and a jacket with duck buttons made from a vintage chenille bedspread, when she went on her first car trip.

The Supreme Macaroni Company was set to open in Youngstown, and the entire family would be there for the ribbon cutting on the new factory.

We pulled up to the building on the main drag of Smokey Hollow. The facade of the building had been painted red, white, and green, in blocks, like the Italian flag. I loved it already. The building stood out against its drab, industrial neighbors like a giant Popsicle. Our logo was in a circle in the center of the wall. The
r
’s in Supreme Macaroni Company were upside-down boots. This was Pamela’s idea, and we ran with it. There was a bright red ribbon across the entrance door.

I turned to Gianluca. “The Italian flag is for you, honey.”

Gianluca smiled.

My brother and sisters were waiting for me by the entrance. My parents were standing back, taking in the exterior renovation. Their kids were running up and down the sidewalk. They were dressed up for the ceremony, just like Alfie.

My parents were beaming, so they must like it. Gianluca helped me out of the car and took the baby. Charlie and Don came around the side of the business and joined us.

“I’m going to take you all on a tour before the official ribbon cutting,” Charlie said. “Are you ready?”

Charlie held the ribbon to the side as Don propped the door open. My family filed into the vestibule.

This day had been months in the making. When Charlie returned from Argentina, he waited for the equipment to be shipped to Youngstown. He came out for a couple of months, bunked with Cousin Don, and put the whole thing together.

My brother-in-law was the best hire. He poured himself into the factory, and now we were seeing the fruition of his months of hard work. While Charlie was working with the mechanics, Bret and Alfred were working over the local banks with Don. Alfred carved up some crazy deal with Carl McAfee that helped us get a loan from the bank. Hopefully, when we started turning a profit, we’d be able to pay off our loans quickly. My husband kept reminding me that this was the price of doing business.

My family stood in the vestibule, which was repainted and well lit, with a new clock to punch.

“Hey, this is like when we went in the Haunted House at Great Adventure. Remember how they crammed us in?” Tom laughed.

“This time the floor won’t fall out from under you,” Charlie said. “I poured the concrete myself.”

“Is everybody ready?” Don wanted to know.

“Yes!” we shouted.

Cousin Don pushed the door open; we filed into the main room of the factory. The Supreme Macaroni Company had been restored to its former glory, but instead of ravioli presses and pasta machines, the enormous and glorious equipment used by our great-grandfather and his brother, protected and maintained by our cousin Roberta, was back home in the United States of America.

The presser, with its new steel rollers, glistened at the center of the room. The cutting table, with a state-of-the-art automatic motor and blade, was lit by a series of tin-capped lamps painted red, white, and green.

The buffer, with a ramp and conveyor belt that would deliver the shoes to finishing, took up the entire back wall. The finishing department consisted of four long worktables, stools lined up underneath on either side, where fifty employees would snip threads, polish heels, and glue embellishments on the shoes on their way to shipping. I felt as if I were inside the gears of a Swiss watch. Each operation was dependent upon the one before it.

Charlie had taken one of my sketches and, with Pamela’s help, framed a series of operations in the factory, from the impulse to design a shoe to the creative end, when the shoe is worn by the customer. To see the steps dramatized on the wall, in order, and with such reverence, brought tears to my eyes.

Gabriel joined me as I looked up at them. “These are the stations of the cross for anyone who has accepted shoes as their religion.”

“What do you think?” Charlie asked me.

I threw my arms around him. “You weren’t just a guy who sold alarms, you’re an artist.”

“Nah. You’re the artist. I’m just a pretty good mechanic.”

My brother Alfred joined us. “And thank you, Alfred!” I gave my brother a hug.

“Let’s thank the money gods.”

“Carl McAfee?”

“For one. We got lucky. When we needed an infusion of cash, it showed up. That’s how we do it.”

“Hey, everybody! They want us outside for the ribbon cutting. Mayor Ungaro is out there! And we got Monsignor Cariglio to bless the joint!”

My family joined the mayor and the monsignor outside the factory. A small crowd had gathered on this special day, and we were happy to have them.

“You like it?” Gianluca put his arms around me and the baby.

“It’s a miracle. I can’t believe it all came together. And that you and I didn’t fall apart in the process.”

“You have angels all around you, Valentina.”

“Yeah, well, I like the tall one with the blue eyes.” I kissed my husband.

As the mayor cut the ribbon, I leaned over and whispered to Cousin Don, “Where’s Carl?”

“He doesn’t do spectacle,” Cousin Don said. “He’s a behind-the-scenes guy.”

Don turned toward the camera and beamed. That’s the shot that made it into the
Youngstown Vindicator
.

That night Don threw us a big party at the Lake Club. There was an Italian spread that would put the best restaurant in Little Italy to shame. Lou Fusillo went in the kitchen and whipped up a polenta appetizer that had the crowd begging for more. The night began with antipasto and ended with chocolate soufflés and Napoleons.

My mother walked the grounds, marveling at the gorgeous view behind the dining room. I have decided that my mother loves catering halls as much as double-point days at Saks Fifth Avenue.

My husband, father, and brother were enjoying a cigar on the veranda. I loved seeing my husband relax with my family.

Cousin Chrissy had found a fabulous team of local girls to babysit the kids. Alfie would sleep through the fun, but she was safe and happy. For the first time, the new parents were free. We decided to make a real party of the opening of the Supreme Macaroni Company.

I handed Gabriel a glass of wine by the lake.

“What the hell are we doing here?” Gabriel asked.

“In our small way we are revitalizing manufacturing in the United States.”

“You never think small, do you?”

“What’s the point?”

“I never thought I’d set foot in Youngstown, Ohio,” Gabriel said. “Steubenville, yes. I’m a Dean Martin fan. But Youngstown? Never.”

“So, what do you think?”

“Well, they’re our people, aren’t they? You got more Italians here than you do at the soccer finals in Calabria. I feel at home here.”

“Good. Because we’ll be spending a lot of time here.”

“Yes, we will. We have to take care of the Cathedral of the Shoe.”

“Let’s pray for good profits.” Don Pipino laughed as he passed us on the way to the bar. “Because, let’s face it, I’m not in this for my health. I’m in it for the green. Or should I say, the red, white, and green.”

G
ianluca and I stayed in the same room at the Marriott we’d stayed in when we first visited Youngstown, except this time, in addition to extra towels, we requested a crib. Alfie was fast asleep when I poured my husband a glass of wine in a plastic cup and then one for myself.

I toasted him. We sipped and kissed.

“Thank God that’s over.”

“Val, it’s just beginning.”

“I know. But it’s built, and it’s going to run.”

“You should be very proud.”

“Thank you for everything you did for me. For us. For Alfie.”

“I learned some things along the way. I want this to work.”

“The factory will make it.”

“No, I mean us. Our marriage.”

“It’s going great, Gianluca. You know what I dream about?” I asked him.

“Tell me.”

“Our house on the ocean. Once the factory is in full operation, let’s take time to go and enjoy it with Alfie.”

“When do you want to go?”

“Soon.”

“But you love springtime in New York.”

“I do. But I love our house in Santa Margherita.”

“It’s just a house.”

“It’s a palazzo on the Mediterranean Sea!”

“It’s just an ocean.”

“The most beautiful ocean in the world.”

“When did you fall in love with Italy?”

“When I saw it with you. Besides, Alfie’s going to start talking, and you know she’s going to be speaking Italian too, so when we go, she can practice. And so can I.”

“We’ll see, Valentina.”

“Hey, I’m telling you I want to go to Italy.”

“Alfie’s little, we should stick close to home. You love her pediatrician.”

“Good point. Dr. Papadeas is the best anywhere.”

“See? Italy isn’t going anywhere.”

“And how about you?” I asked.

“Me? Where am I going? I love you and Alfie. If you wanted to live in a cave, I’d find one.”

“You really want me to be happy, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Everything changed when you stopped putting pressure on me.”

“Was that it?”

“That, and the postpartum hormones cleared out.”

“Don’t forget the hormones.”

“I couldn’t.”

Gianluca kissed me and pulled me close. He fell asleep quickly, as men do when they have clear consciences. Even in small ways, I learned from him. He might exasperate me sometimes, but the truth was, there was always something to learn from him. He had wisdom, and of all the things I thought I would treasure in my husband, that had not been high on the list. But now I know it might be the most important thing, because it’s exactly what saved us.

11

“G
ianluca!” I called out from the kitchen. He often took the baby to the Hudson River Park, but usually he left a note.

“We’re down in the shop!” he called up the stairs.

“I thought you went to the park.”

“Not yet.”

Gianluca was pressing a sheet of white leather while Alfie chewed on a plastic serving spoon and jumped up and down in a bouncy chair. Occasionally she would laugh, then go back to her chewing.

“What are you making?” I asked.

“Alfie’s first shoes. She’s going to be walking soon.”

“The tanner makes shoes now?”

“I always have.” He shrugged.

“Why didn’t I know this?”

“You make all the shoes around here.”

“Show me what you got.”

If I had to go back and pinpoint the moment I fell in love with Gianluca Vechiarelli, I know it was for sure when I saw him press leather for the first time. His hands smooth and drape leather skillfully. He has a command of the delicate—he can do the smallest detail work—and yet he can lift and cut and press and roll with strength of purpose.

When he holds our daughter with his hands, I feel no harm will ever come to her.

“Why are you watching me?” he asked.

“I’m falling in love with you all over again.”

“Someday when Alfie is older, you have to show her how to roll leather.”

“You can show her.”

“What if she’s forty when she asks?”

“Neither of us will be here to show her.”

“You more likely than me.” Gianluca smiled.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Imagine all the things she won’t have.”

“It’s my job. I’m the father. I have to be practical. I’m building her shoes, aren’t I?”

“That’s practical,” I admitted.

“Maybe I worry about Alfie because I want her to have everything that I had, and there’s no way to be two places at once. Our lives are here, and yet I want her to know Italy.”

“When the new line is complete, we’ll go,” I promised him.

“It’s all right, Valentina. We’ll go when we can.”

“You’re okay with it?”

“You’re happy here.”

“And how about you?”

“I can’t lie. I miss the light and the quiet and the long afternoon naps in Italy. I’ve traded them for the setting sun over New Jersey, the noise of the trucks, and the naps interrupted by our baby when she wakes up. But no place gives me what you and Alfie provide. We’re a family, and wherever you are, I am home. That’s all I need. I really don’t need a country. I just need you.”

“But we can have both!”

“Valentina, you have your life with us and your work. Italy doesn’t need to be in the top three.” He kisses me.

“Oh, you two with the romance.” Gabriel placed his messenger bag in the cubby. “Still in love, what’s it been? Almost a year?”

“Two in February,” I corrected him.

“What do we have here? Don’t tell me. Baby shoes?”

“Papa is making his daughter her first pair of shoes,” I explained.

“How lovely. What’s next? We cut our own hair?”

“Done it,” I admitted.

“Gianluca, do you need my help?” Gabriel asked.

“Do you want to help?” He smiled.

“Of course. I am always looking to work a little harder around here.”

“Then cut the soles for me.”

Gabriel traced the sole on the pattern paper. He took a penknife out of his pocket and carved the soles perfectly. Two little soles for our little girl.

“You know, someday we’ll be sitting around and I’ll be able to tell your daughter about her first pair of shoes.”

“Oh, Gabriel, will you please remember everything? Gianluca is really good at it, but my brain holds no new information.”

I took Alfie out of her swing and held her as her father fitted the shoe to her foot. There’s an old expression, “The shoemaker’s child always goes barefoot.” Not this time, not in this house, not this child. Her father has seen to it that she’ll have everything she needs.

My cell phone rang which caused Alfie to jump up and down in her bouncy seat. “Val, are you planning to go to Italy anytime soon?” my mother asked when I picked up her call.

“I don’t know. I’d like to, but Gianluca doesn’t think it’s a good time.”

“Oh, Lord, we’ve Americanized him!”

“We have the factory to think about,” I reasoned.

“Cousin Don has it under control.”

“I have a feeling if we left the country, something would go wrong.”

“Well, trust your instincts then.”

“I do.”

“I’m trusting mine! We’ve got to go and see my mother.”

“Does Dad want to go?”

“Are you kidding? He doesn’t even like a day trip to Coney Island. No, it’ll be me solo unless I can twist your arm.”

“I dream of our house in Santa Margherita. Ma, why don’t you take Gram and Dominic and go and stay there?”

“I’ll ask them.”

I hung up the phone and turned to Gianluca. “Honey, we have to make a plan. Let’s buy our tickets right now. New Year’s Eve in Italy.”

“You want to go?”

“We need to go.”

“I’ll book the travel, then.” Gianluca took out his phone.

“Oh, honey, on second thought, let’s not buy the tickets just yet. It’s cold on the coast that time of year. Summer would be better.”

Gianluca switched off his phone and put it in his pocket. “Good point.”

I
stopped on Jane Street and picked out our Christmas tree. I would have liked to make this a family outing, but it looked like the good trees were going fast, and I didn’t want to take the time to go home and come back out, fearing I’d miss the best tree for our home. I paid Mr. Romp and gave him my address for delivery.

“Honey!” I called out, throwing my keys on the counter. Gianluca came out of the nursery and put his finger to his lips.

I tiptoed back to him. Alfie was lying in her crib. Her big blue eyes were wide open, staring at me. She reached for me, and I picked her up.

“I almost had her down,” Gianluca said. “We were seconds away from Dreamland.”

“I’m sorry.” I kissed him and then kissed our baby.

“What are you reading?”

“
Pinocchio.
”

“Do you think she understands it?”

“Every word,” he promised me.

“Just so you know—I studied Goldoni in college. And it was a challenge.” I gently laid Alfie back in the crib. She fought to keep her eyes open, but soon she was fast asleep.

We went into the kitchen. I unwrapped a pair of steaks that I’d picked up at the Chelsea Market, threw some olive oil into the skillet, diced up mushrooms and onions, and added them in with a little butter. I drizzled cream on top until there was a gravy. I put the steaks in the pan and covered them with a lid.

Gianluca brought his laptop over to the counter. “Look at Francesco,” he said as he brought up pictures of his grandson. He had the same black hair and blue eyes as our Alfie.

“What a beautiful baby.”

“I wish he lived next door.”

“Gianluca, we’ll get there.”

“Let’s see where life takes us.” Gianluca smiled.

“We’re going to do the Feast of the Seven Fishes here this year. Is that okay with you?”

“I’ll order the fish.”

“And get the sausage at Faicco’s for Christmas Day.”

“Absolutely.” Gianluca opened a bottle of wine and poured us each a glass.

I made a salad of baby spinach, artichoke hearts, and slices of fig, drizzled with olive oil and salt and a little fresh lemon juice, exactly as Gianluca liked it, set the table, and lit the candles.

Gianluca went to check on the baby. When he came back, he gave me a thumbs-up and sat down at the table. I served him steak and mushrooms and his favorite salad.

“How’s your steak?” I asked.

“Perfetta!”

The doorbell rang. “Oh, that’s the Christmas tree.”

“You bought it without us?”

“Sorry. They were getting picked over.”

Gianluca went down the stairs and let in the deliveryman. He tipped him, then carried the tree up himself.

“You’ll hurt your back.”

“Too late.”

“We keep the tree stand in the spare room,” I told him. “It’s in the bottom of the closet.”

I cleared the dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher. Gianluca returned with the tree stand while I looked through a stack of bills from the day’s mail. “Do you need my help?”

“No, it’s all right,” he said as he wrangled the six-foot tree into the metal stand. I went and stood by him and the big tree anyway.

The doorbell rang. It was almost eight o’clock. I pressed the intercom.

“UPS,” the voice said.

“I’ll get it.” Gianluca went down the stairs.

A few moments later, he appeared in the living room, hauling a big, heavy box. “What the hell did you order?”

“That’s your Christmas present.”

“Did you buy me a box of rocks?”

“That’s funny. I did.”

Gianluca put the box near the undecorated tree. I grabbed the scissors to open the box.

“You’re going to open it?”

“Why not?”

“It’s bad luck,” Gianluca said.

“I also got you a tie.”

Gianluca laughed. “You can’t keep a secret, can you?”

“Not as well as you.”

“You think I have secrets?” He laughed.

“I don’t know.” I ripped into the box. Gianluca lifted out a simple bluestone carved with inlaid words:

PALAZZO VECHIARELLI

“Do you like it? American stone, Italian carving.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Now, don’t go out and buy me a rock for Christmas unless that rock comes in a small blue box from Tiffany’s.”

“Got it,” he said. “Where are we going to put this?”

“For now, let’s put it on the roof, and when we go to Italy, we’ll bring it to the house in Santa Margherita.”

Gianluca smiled.
“Va bene.”

“Alfie and I start ABC Music and Me tomorrow at the Chelsea Day School.”

“You think I’m too advanced with the reading, and you have her learning music?”

“Don’t get too excited. It’s banging on boxes and shaking maracas.”

“I love you,” he said, pulling me close.

“You’d better,” I told him.

We tiptoed past the nursery where Alfie slept and into our bedroom. When Gabriel moved out, I’d taken the master bedroom and redecorated it for Gianluca and me. I gave Tess Gram’s old bedroom suite and replaced it with a king-size bed and a chaise. As we undressed, I remembered that I owed Cousin Don an e-mail about a shipment to Neiman’s.

“I forgot to e-mail Don,” I began.

“Forget it. He’s at the club having a scotch. It can wait until the morning.”

Gianluca’s tone told me not to push it, so I dropped the idea of running to answer the e-mail. He kissed me. The kisses trailed down my neck.

It was hours until morning, and Alfie slept through the night. As Gianluca kissed me, I surrendered and closed my eyes, remembering the room in Santa Margherita and how blue the sea was in the sunlight. I pictured our house every night before I went to sleep. I wonder if Gianluca did the same.

The place held such sweet memories. We made love to the music of church bells and the early-morning whistles of the fishermen as they loaded their boats. It was a time I would never forget. I wanted to go back to our home by the sea, with Alfie, with my new family.

At three a.m., Gianluca was fast asleep. I went and checked on the baby. I stopped in the bathroom and was on my way back to bed. I knew I had the class in the morning. Gabriel had some leather to cut for a prototype, so the shop schedule was set. Alfred had a conference call with Don and a shipping meeting with Tom.

I didn’t want to spend the class on my phone answering
e-mails, so I grabbed the laptop, sat down at the kitchen counter, and commenced answering e-mails. I was lost in my work when Gianluca appeared in the doorway.

“You’re impossible,” Gianluca said.

“Sorry.” I snapped the lid of the laptop shut as though I had been caught in a lie.

Later I thought about this small interaction. Had I gone back to bed, or had I kept answering e-mails? I would look back at this moment, and I wouldn’t be able to remember. I even went back through the e-mails of that morning to see. All I know is that when I finally went back to bed, Gianluca was fast asleep.

Later, I felt the warmth of my baby as she crawled over me. Gianluca lay down in the bed with the baby between us. “What a great way to wake up in the morning,” I told him.

“C
ome on, Alfie.” I wiggled her legs into pink tights with red hearts on them, pulled a soft red chenille jumper over her head, and brought her into the kitchen. “How do we look?”

Gianluca looked at the baby and me. “I don’t know who is more beautiful. So I choose . . .
me
.”

“You would.” I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “We’ll be back for lunch. Unless of course, there’s some young, hunky daddy yum yum at ABC Music and Me.”

“Where is this class?”

“Chelsea. Oh, right, good point. He’ll be gay. A my-two-daddies situation.”

“It is always wise to lower your expectations.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Here, hon. Hold the baby for a second.”

Gianluca took Alfie into his arms and kissed her. Her jet-black curls and blue eyes were a killer. I knew I was biased, but she photographed like Elizabeth Taylor in
National Velvet
. I tried not to get too excited, because she also had my Roncalli nose.

“Say cheese,” I told them.

I took a snap with my camera and checked it. “It’s not the Christmas card, but it’s cute.”

Gianluca kissed Alfie and handed her to me.

I loaded Alfie into the stroller in the foyer. There was still some snow on the ground from the last storm. I navigated around the sheets of ice on the sidewalk and the melted mud at the corners. Alfie, under a curtain of clear plastic, was playing with a yellow plastic monkey that spun on the handlebar.

As I pushed the stroller, a million things I had to do before Christmas swirled through my head.

Do I have enough silverware for the Feast of the Seven Fishes?

Do I need to borrow Mom’s tureen for the cioppino?