Avon Calling! Season One Page 7

  A few minutes later, with the washing machine swishing and a platter of sandwiches, desserts and a jug of home-made lemonade in her hands, Betty joined her family outside. It was a beautiful spring day. Betty laid a picnic table where George read, as neighbors greeted each other over fences and children whizzed past on bikes. George was still reading his paper in a porch swing chair as the children rolled and giggled on the grass. It was pure, perfect domestic bliss. Betty hummed happily to the melody on the radio through the kitchen window.

  “Your kisses are the sweetest things -” she sang along, twirling to get George’s attention to feed him a sandwich.

  George looked up at her with a wary smile. Betty beamed. The Polletti job had been a setback. George had been unusually quiet since, and Betty was determined to entirely win him back from his doubts.

  “What a perfect day, George dear!” she said. “Isn’t it marvelous?”

  “Every day is perfect with you, jitterbug,” he replied. He caught her hand, looking anxious. “You are happy, love, aren’t you? We have a good life, don’t we?”

  “The very best, George. All I’ve ever wanted is this perfect life you’ve given me.”

  His brow furrowed. “This old flat tire isn’t holding you back then?”

  “Never dear,” Betty said. “I’d follow you to the ends of the earth.”

  George smiled and reached up to trace her face gently with his thumb. “And I’d carry you home again. What more could a kitten ask for, hey?”

  “Not a thing, dear. In fact, perhaps,” she added, lowering her voice to a whisper and leaning into him, “we can push the beds together again tonight?” Betty rose an eyebrow suggestively. “I’ll put aside your lucky tie.”

  “You’ll be the death of me!” he exclaimed with a broad smile.

  “I certainly hope I’m not, dear.”

  “I knew I married the right girl,” George laughed, giving her a light tap on the backside. Betty giggled and kissed him with genuine affection.

  George, seemingly supplicated, returned his attention to his paper. Betty stepped over to finish the picnic and watch the children play. Her smile dropped immediately. George’s words rung in her ears, but not for the reason he intended. You’ll be the death of me. A darkness of mood fell upon her as she mulled those words over. Uncle Frank had been a symptom, just like her father and the many conspirators that swept a seething tide of violence underneath the city. Blackmail, addiction and death were their favorite side-effects. Treating the symptoms was all well and good, but to have a clean and healthy life, to have a perfect life, you had to remove the disease itself. And in this case, the disease was Donny. Donald Pinzolo, her father’s cousin and boss of the family business for the past thirty years. Not an easy disease to eradicate, bound up as he was in political webs, dark business and silent watchmen. She’d been sloppy with Frank. It was time to play smart.

  Betty began serving food distractedly as she watched the children run back and forth laughing.

  “I’ll do anything to keep our perfect life safe,” she muttered. Her voice turned bitter and her features set as hard as ice. “Anything.”

  George looked up from his paper with a smile. “What’s that, Jitterbug?”

  Betty raised the enormous, gleaming silver knife in her hand and quickly plastered a bright smile back onto her face.

  “Nothing dear. Cake?”

  “Chocolate cake, sonny?” asked a portly woman in a black and white serving outfit to a freckled nosed boy sniffing around the table. In an expansive park in an otherwise derelict, industrial part of town, an elaborately laid picnic table was the center of attention for two hundred of the city’s most influential guests. A fancy white marquee decorated with balloons and ribbons housed a packed dance floor and swinging jazz band, all enjoying the spectacle of an afternoon celebration in the sun. The boy took the plate from the serving woman greedily and ran back to his friends who were kicking a ball across the grass with none other than Mr. Donald Pinzolo himself. The man was putting in a good effort, despite the extra weight and more than sixty years he carried under his belt. He laughed as he gave a good-natured clap to the shoulders of a slightly awe-struck teenage boy who’d kicked a goal. The press lapped it up, flashing their cameras and scribbling into notepads, fighting each other for the best angle and biggest smile.

  Government officials and businessmen were milling around with champagne and pork sandwiches, discussing the current state of affairs with their chests puffed out in as much importance as they could manage. The press junket boasted an odd mix of poor and rich. The former were the residents of St. Augustine’s Home for Unwanted Boys, an orphanage which rose in half-dilapidated splendor behind the marquee. Workmen and machinery scurried to and fro on the renovation site, painting and plastering under orders from the site manager to put on a good show.

  A tall man with keen eyes and quick movements stepped up to a podium as the band finished. He waved away the applause that began for him.

  “As Mayor of New York City, I’d like to welcome you to this auspicious occasion - a happy day for the many boys here today, as well as we folks who care so deeply for their future.” He let the applause come this time, smiling broadly for the press that had situated themselves in front of the podium. “Now, a little over a year ago,” the Mayor continued, “I received a proposal on my desk that I knew would make a big difference to our city. And not just because it came from a darb who can always be counted on to pay the check!” He chuckled along with the scattered laughter from the crowd below him. “No, the offer to fix up St Augustine’s orphanage came from a big heart. A heart willing to make a difference to our community. A businessman with his finger on the pulse of our city. A family man with strong values and a legacy to continue like his father before him. As the mayor of New York City, I take great pleasure in expanding our partnership with Mr. Donald Pinzolo.” The Mayor gestured to the sixty-something man who was holding a soccer ball behind the gathered crowd. “Donny,” said the Mayor, “If you can join us now and leave the fun to the kids -” the crowd laughed. Donald Pinzolo, tossed the ball to one of the orphans he’d been playing with and winked in good humor. He made his way through the guests wiping sweat from his brow, playing to the crowd and waving for the cameras. Two men in dark suits followed close behind him.

  The Mayor stepped away from the microphone enthusiastically and leaned forward to embrace his investor with a handshake and friendly slap on the back.

  “Lose the gunsels, Pinzolo. It looks bad for the press,” the Mayor muttered through a frozen smile.

  Pinzolo glanced to his offsiders. With the tiniest switch of his head, the men stepped back immediately into the crowd. Pinzolo took his place up to the podium.

  “Kind words, Mayor Sutherland, kind words. There’s nothing more important to me, than giving today’s youth something to look forward to, a life of opportunity. So as part of my commitment as benefactor to the St Augustine’s New York City Orphanage I’ll be personally ensuring that each boy gets an apprenticeship within my business network and gets the chance to contribute to the growth of this great city of ours. One day, I’m sure, they’ll make fine fathers for a new generation of Americans.” Donald Pinzolo smiled, then paused. His mouth dropped to a woeful expression. “Now, with Uncle Sam doing his part to keep our good country safe, we all have to pull our socks up to support our boys on the front. I know what it’s like to lose a son, my own boy Marco was taken from me only months ago in an accident,” he paused for a moment with his eyes cast down. “Our young men are more important now than ever before, and these orphaned kids have no one looking out for them. So, I’m going to pay the checks that need to be paid,” a small wink went to the Mayor, “to mold a new generation of New York’s finest under my own men.”

  A hearty round of applause followed as Mayor Sutherland and Pinzolo cut a symbolic ribbon circling a model of the renovated building.

  “Now, please folks,” Pinzolo announced, stepping back in front
of the microphone, “enjoy yourselves at my expense!”

  Another round of applause, laughter and champagne began flowing. Spectators dispersed into conversation as Pinzolo and the Mayor posed for photographs shaking hands. After a few minutes, they disengaged and began their individual ministrations through the crowd.

  A heavyset man in a dark suit approached Pinzolo. He was one of the two that had been guarding him earlier. A jagged scar was left where the top of his right ear had once been. The man leant forward and whispered something to his boss, whose eyes narrowed. He gave the guard a curt nod and then watched him walk away through the crowd. Through a forest of faces, Pinzolo caught the eye of Mayor Sutherland who was engaged in conversation with an enthusiastic woman wearing gaudy pink. The Mayor raised an eyebrow at the guard’s departure and Pinzolo returned him a meaningful look, tipping his champagne glass with a smirk. They both turned away and the band struck up a new tune.

  “Are you warm enough?” Jacob asked with a slight frown. “It’s unseasonably cool tonight.”

  “That’s the third time you’ve asked since I arrived,” Adina replied, laughing. “You needn’t worry, really, I’m a big girl-” but Jacob had already taken off his coat to drape across her shoulders. His fingers brushed the bare skin of her collarbone, and he stepped back, shoving his hands quickly into his pockets. Adina straightened the jacket over her velvet evening dress and short-sleeved shrug, careful not to dislodge the matching navy crocheted calot pinned to her hair.

  “I don’t bite, you know,” Adina teased gaily, bumping her arm gently against him. They continued walking, navigating the pedestrian traffic of Seventh Avenue toward the Roxy Theatre.

  “I’m sorry,” Jacob smiled, “It’s not often I get to take a beautiful woman out to dinner, and to be honest, I’m hopelessly out of practice. If you were a mugger or a scoundrel this would be much easier on me.”

  Adina’s face lit up, then she pursed her lips in mock consideration. “Well perhaps I ought to steal something,” she said, stopping by the windowpane of a jeweler. “I’m happy to become a petty thief to put your nerves at rest, in fact I could use a new watch anyway. Let’s see, that one there perhaps,” she said. She pointed at a square faced lapel-brooch hanging from delicate gold loops under an ornamental bow. “Practical and fashionable! What could be better?”

  “It is very nice,” Jacob said, “and I’ll admit your mug shot would be far prettier than those I usually have to take, but I’m sure your mother wouldn’t thank me for it when she bailed you out tomorrow morning.”

  “My mother would manage just fine, Jacob.” Adina looked at him sideways, a little smile playing on her lips. “I was surprised you asked me out actually,” she said, “given the lack of subtlety she displayed at dinner the other night. She’s about ready to marry me off to the highest bidder. Most men would run a mile.”

  “She was rather enthusiastic, wasn’t she?” Jacob chuckled.

  “Yes, well, I’ve often wished for a brother or sister purely to share that enthusiasm,” Adina said, with a small sigh. “I’m afraid she’s taken up finding me a husband as a permanent vocation in life. I long for the days she used to play bridge, instead. Far less pressure.”

  Jacob laughed. “So you’re not keen on her efforts so far?”

  “Goodness, no. Although I have high hopes for this evening, of course.”

  “I’ll do my best to live up to them, then,” said Jacob. “Now the pressure’s on me.”

  Adina hooked his arm playfully. “Not really. I just enjoy toying with Ima’s fears, and she knows it,” she said. “She also knows I’ll settle down when I’m good and ready. The thing is, I really love my job and I’m not quite ready to give that up yet. Shocking, isn’t it?”

  “Shocking?” Jacob said. “Of course not. You’re a modern woman. I wouldn’t expect my wife to give up work immediately, unless we had children to care for -” Jacob stopped dead in his tracks, his face red. “That is - I didn’t mean that you’ll be my wife, or that - I’m not saying I wouldn’t want you to be,” he stammered, “or that you would want to be anyway, or that we should have children, I just meant - oh geez, I told you I was no good at this.” Jacob looked around frantically, as if searching for a mugger to save himself from the situation.

  By now, Adina was laughing so hard she nearly fell. “Stop, truly! You’re the funniest thing. Of course I know what you meant. Don’t worry, I’m not taking that as a proposal. You’re still safe!” Jacob’s embarrassed relief melted into laughter as well, and they stood for a moment, bound by the awkward connection with wide, silly smiles. Finally, Adina looped her arm through his again, and they continued walking.

  “I did warn you,” Jacob said.

  “I’ll filter everything you say,” she said, “No getting married on the first date.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “And I’ll try to keep my foot out of my mouth.”

  “A perfect arrangement. Is this where we’re going?” Adina said, stopping in front of the theater.

  “It is,” said Jacob. He patted his pockets then looked to her helplessly. “I’m afraid our tickets are in my coat.” Adina shrugged it off her shoulders and passed the coat over with a smile.

  “Voila’!” he said, pulling two tickets from the pocket. “I hope you like Don Ameche. My officer, Parker, suggested this film, he’s rather a buff when it comes to theater. You wouldn’t know it to look at him. Apparently, his girl insists on going once a month. He saw this one last week and said it was hilarious.”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” Adina said. “Although, it’s Gene Tierney I like. I saw her in Thunderbirds last year. She’s absolutely divine.” Her eyes wandered the Grand Foyer as they entered a milling crowd. The mezzanine was a masterpiece of marble columns and golden décor, attended by a half dozen ushers in crisp uniforms and courteous military bearings. A musician played a pipe organ to patrons as they sipped champagne and chatted in gowns and suits. An enormous oval rug spanned the floor in richly woven designs of blood red and each pillar framed carved statues in filigree painted alcoves. A night at the Roxy wasn’t simply an evening out; it was a rare opportunity to put aside the shortages of war and indulge.

  “It’s nice to be out,” Adina remarked. “Everybody seems so happy. Sometimes I forget that life goes on outside of the office. I get used to war talk all the time; logistics and ships, troops and rationing. It’s nice to forget about it for one night.”

  “It certainly is. Although I find it hard to forget, anytime. Especially the rationing. I’m lucky I have money enough to get by, but in my line of work I see a lot of people that don’t. It was hard enough for them before the war.”

  Adina shook her head, sympathetically. “Everyone’s doing their best to help out though. Meatless Tuesdays, Wheatless Wednesdays, that sort of thing.”

  “True enough,” Jacob said, stepping up to the bar. “It helps, I suppose. Ima’s planted a victory garden in the backyard. She says she’s got more vegetables than she knows what do with. She’s pickling them and giving them to all the neighbors and friends at the synagogue. She’s always had a green thumb, though, which is lucky, because my father could kill a cactus through neglect.”

  “Oh, that was your mother? I found a jar of pickles in our cupboard yesterday. No vinegar - I was surprised because my mother said they were Kosher, but she doesn’t have any cucumbers growing herself. I’ll have to ask your mother for the recipe.”

  “Yes, that sounds like hers. I’m surprised a jar of cucumbers made it out though, usually my father steals all those ones on the sly. Champagne?” Jacob offered as he paid the barman, and Adina took the elegant crystal flute.

  “They’re making it here in New York, now, did you know?” Adina said, taking a sip. “California, too. Different grapes for different climates, but it’s cheaper than shipping it in from France, apparently.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yes, I heard about it at work. The girls were complaining it wasn’t as ni
ce, but I don’t taste the difference. What are you having?”

  “Rum. Not my favorite, but it’s bearable with Coca-Cola. I prefer whisky, but it’s almost impossible to get these days. The distilleries have been repurposed to make torpedo fuel.”

  “Surely you know some shady characters in your line of work? I’m sure you could find whisky if you really wanted it.”

  Jacob laughed. “I do know plenty of shady characters, but none I’d want a favor from. I’d never have the opportunity to drink it anyway. I’m always working.”

  “So am I. You know what?” Adina’s eyes shone, and she leant in a little closer. “Perhaps we ought to change that.” Stretching forward onto her toes, she kissed Jacob gently on the side of his mouth.

  Jacob stopped still. He closed his eyes for a moment as she pulled away. How many years had it been?

  “I haven’t overdone it, have I?” Adina said. “Shocked you too much? I could always steal your wallet so you feel more comfortable-” She looked down toward his pockets with one eyebrow raised.

  Jacob laughed and lifted her chin with his finger. Their eyes met and hers were dancing under the glittering chandeliers. “On second thought, I think there are enough scoundrels in my life right now. Shock me all you like.” He bent quickly and kissed her once more.

  The evening show began in splendor as they took their seats for the film. The theater itself was lavish and elegant, with soaring Spanish-inspired cathedral ceilings and intricate embellishments on every surface. A 110-piece orchestra pit sprang to life. Pipes and strings, brass and percussion rose in a sweeping harmonic as the Roxyettes took to the stage in a line of feathers and glitter. They were the most famous precision dancers in the country, and world renowned. Jacob had seen them perform twice before, but each week at the Roxy brought a new routine and pre-show lineup that took the audience’s breath away. As they spun and kicked for a final time, they split away to reveal Vilaro and Ysabelle center-stage, who danced the riveting tango for which they were acclaimed. Juan Vilaro lifted his wife effortlessly and spun her upside down, then sent her flying across the stage where she landed on one knee with the other leg extended beneath the tassels of her sparkling red dress. The crowd roared with approval and they took their bow, quickly replaced by Jerry Colacci, the Master of Ceremonies for the evenings’ spectacle.