8 - The Subject Was Beauty

Chapter Twentysix: The Subject Was Beauty

Walking through aisles of assorted products and toiletries, we had come to the department store to look for products that made us look prettier.

“After I marry I will no longer color my hair,” Pilar stated,  “I'll go back to my dark brown, if I can remember what it looked like.”

“What they see is what they’ll get from me!” I retorted, thinking that changing my hair color was just too much trouble. Both Michelle and Pilar did their hair at home, usually the same weekend, making subtle changes each time, too subtle for me to catch. They were persevering with their intentions to get just the right shade.

If the girls ran out of money before the end of the month buying too many products, they could call their parents. I needed to watch every penny I spent.

“Men are total dopes,” Michelle said out loud, “and controlling!”

“You can get them to do anything with the right perfume.” Pilar added.

I was jealous of the girls, their friendship, how they knew so much about each other and could finish each other’s sentences. Except for Theresa and Marla, I really had not confided in too many people.

“They want you to fulfill their every fantasy.” Michelle retorted. “This one time, Rob asked me to go out with my cheerleading outfit, and I would have if it wasn’t prohibited, and he went on how it turned him on, and how it was his fantasy…”

“Wow!” I said, in surprise. Michelle had never revealed that side of hers, though I had gathered that she had been a cheerleader, prom queen, an all American girl. I didn't know this pressure she was talking about.

There was an entire part of life that took place with me on the outside.

Michelle went on: “Couldn’t stand if I kept him waiting, if I talked to anybody else. At first, I was flattered, thinking he really loved me, was concerned about me. Looking back, I really didn’t see it coming.”

“It’s up to the woman to set limits, create the atmosphere.” Pilar said.

“It's just a game we should stop playing, luring men into our cave is ancient history!” I said with a bit of pontification.

“Without romance, men are apes.” Pilar stated with conviction.

“Sure,” I said, “you’d think that way, the way magazines go on and on, how blondes have more fun, that changing hair color can fool even mother nature, that perfume says more about you than anything else.”

Pilar schooled to work in advertising, didn't surprise me with her answer: " I DON'T want to look ugly, ever!"

“We are being manipulated, ladies!” I declared, “we' re told to wear the right clothes, buy the right purse and heels, use the right makeup, the right hair cut. We are being manipulated to think this way, to want to be and appear to want all the same thing.”

“Yeah!” Michelle added, “and me will love us for it.”

“My point! Men are dictating how we act, what we buy, how we serve their needs.” I said.

“It’s a man’s world!” Pilar stated, “They are in charge!The best we can do is get on their good side.”

Even though I was fighting to resist the temptation of spending my hard earned money on vanity items, I couldn't resist the call of beauty and glamour all those products promised.

Looking good to please someone else was more expensive than food.

“You know that there are lots of women right now burning bras, protesting this entire situation.” I reminded my friends, adding, “As long as we go along and buy these products, we have become  accomplices.”

“Yes, but these women would still wear make-up to look pretty. We like looking pretty!” Pilar retorted.

She was right.I too wanted to look pretty and entice men; only, I didn’t like being told how to; I didn’t like to play the game so aggressively.

My mother had worried on a different plane, for her it was  about “fare la bella figura”, doing the right thing, maintaining the right appearance, presenting oneself as a representative of the entire family. Every time you chose to go out of your house, every thing you said and did was designed to maintain that right image. She never went out without fixing her hair a certain way, wearing stockings without runs, a girdle to hide any bulging problems, light talcum powder under arms to retard sweat.

For her make-up was used by loose women and would have been scandalized by the choices I was making. I was returning to her rules and cultural expectations. If I had changed, I could not show it.

All around us, the world was changing.Women were demanding rights. Michelle, Pilar and I were in the middle of a revolution and still went about as though things were the same. 

Chapter Twentyseven: The Relative Factor

Except for Theresa, with whom I remained close all my adult life, everyone else was transitory. Each time I met a college friend at a party or was invited by them to play a friendly tennis match at their country club, I was reminded that my life was transitory.

My aunt in Fresno shared news on the rest of the relatives scattered on two continents.  I had a feeling that my life had been a real illusion. All my letters sent back home spoke of exciting experiences and  opportunities opening up for me, an ideal setting for a lucky girl. The news I sent was a combination of my wishes and my mother's wishes for me, all wrapped up in a tiny bundle of hopeful words. She had had similar difficulties when she lived with Great Uncle Joe, taking care of his needs during his declining years.When he became ill and cantankerous, she had been tempted to return to Italy and give up her hope for  a new life in America.  She missed her youth, family and friends she left behind.

I learned that Great Uncle Joe and his older sister Elena,  the only brother and sister of my grandfather Paolo Rapolla, had arrived in America around the close of the century, fourteen and seventeen respectively, with one suitcase between them. Elena had been sent to America to marry a cousin; and Joe went along to accompany her on the long trip.  Later, he went to California during the Gold Rush where he accumulated a great deal of wealth, and after his wife’s death,  sponsored the immigration of the children of his brother Paolo at the end of World War II.

When Uncle Ted on the famous visit back in Venosa met my teacher and promised to send for me to study in America, his  difficulties with renters and vacancies were just beginning. By the time I arrived in Los Angeles, Ted had married and had re-established the building tenancy, Aunt Elena had returned to New Jersey, and everyone was a bit miffed with each other. Each part of the family was angry at the other for something they should have done.

History was repeating itself, I thought when Aunt Elena called me one Sunday. The conversation was a bit strained.

“My dear, Joe wanted so much to bring you all here.” She started.

“Yeah?”

“It's not too late. You know I still have some property in L.A. that I could turn over to them; that’s what Joe wanted. I need to make sure I get my apartment back from Ted. My son tells me I have rights. I spent winters in Los Angeles ever the last girl was in college. When Ted returned from Italy, he threw my stuff out. I was ill then; couldn’t do a thing about it.”

“Aunt Elena, I’m on my way back to Italy. I'm sorry I won't be able to see you again. ” I told her, with a strange sadness I had not anticipated.

“I do hope we can meet again.” She said, cheerfully.

And that’s how we left it.

She was resuming a past life.

I was leaving this new life.

She was returning to old grudges.

I wanted distance from the same grudges.

Chapter Twenty eight: An Act of Faith

“Hey guys, we could use a hand here.” Tony conned two young men in the parking area to help with the groceries. She knew them from work, as their white shirts and plastic pocket inserts identified them as IBM people.

They invited us to a movie then and there.  We put away the groceries and piled in the Olds, Michelle taking the wheel, Pilar and me in the front, and Tony in the back with David and Neil. They talked about mutual friends.

At the movies, the boys sat at each end, with a cackle of girls all going to the concession stand and bathroom at different times, rearranging the seating at each re-entry and interrupting the flow of the movie.

It was Michelle who noticed how Neil sought my company after that evening. I had remarked about his shyness and reserve, his engagement in books and songs, his uniform of white shirts, white socks, and thick glasses. I had noticed him before, the only boy who had thanked me for the pizza on the day of the party.

I was learning Bob Dylan’s songs listening to his harmonica.

It was on a week night, a month after we had moved in, the girls working on a big art project that took over the living room; I was correcting papers. We had invited the boys to share my  birthday cake, a rum cake from Sarno Bakery a place known for Italian pastries and Italian Opera.

David left around eight, but Neil was still hanging around at ten. The girls began hinting that they were tired and ready to retire. I picked up the coffee cups and moved them to the kitchen sink. Neil followed me, talking about how he had been writing and trying to get his thoughts out. I said something like, well, one day, they will come to you more clearly.

He mumbled how lost he was in these feelings.

The girls had popped back in the living room in their robes, pushing for the evening to end,  when I said to Neil, walking him to the door: “Neil, see you in the morning!”  He seemed to hesitate at the door for another fifteen minutes. When he finally left, I was frustrated:

“That was strange.” I told the girls.

“What was he talking about?” Pilar asked.

“Not a clue!” I declared.

"Was I rude?" I added, still trying to gauge what I did, what he said.

"Nah, he's just smitten with you!" Michelle countered.

"Oh?"

The next morning, I expected to see the boys as usual,  having coffee and reading the  paper on the patio we  shared.Neil, I was going to say in the light of day, Neil, what were you talking about last night? Nobody was outside. I didn't see them all week.

On Sunday, on the way to the laundry, as shy as usual he stopped by.“Hi, I just wanted you to have this.” He handed me a small package  and walked off, not waiting for me to open and react.

“Wait! Do you want to take a walk and get donuts?” I said.  He turned around and said he had to get back to work as soon as he got some clean laundry.

Strange, I thought. Nobody works on Sunday.

“Michelle, do you remember what happened Wednesday night?” I asked my roommate as soon as I got back in the apartment.

“Sure, what’s to remember? Hey, what’s that you’re holding?”

I opened the package I had received from Neil: a bottle of perfume, ‘My Sin’.

“He always hangs around, waits to talk to you.” Michelle was excited.

“Why me? I gave him no encouragement.”

“The boy is just interested in you, that’s all. I think the cake did the trick.” She laughed out loud, and Pilar asked what happened.

“I have a problem!” I said.

Michelle was enjoying my discomfort. She continued:  “The last time somebody made himself a fool for me was in junior high. And then my brother reacted like the jerk he was and punched him. How humiliating to have your big brother punch your sweet friend.” She was laughing.

“Michelle, I need your help here. Was there anything I did wrong? Think, remember. Pilar, what do you remember about Wednesday night? I didn’t even wear makeup that evening.”

“What is the big deal? It’s not like he proposed!” Pilar had jumped in.

“I pushed him out of the house.” I said, disconcerted.

Another week went by and I still did not know what Neil had meant to tell me that Wednesday night. I slipped a thank you note under his door and waited for him to respond. I was hoping he was in, and seeing the note, he would then open the door and talk to me.

David opened the door. Neil had gone to a training.

O.K. I thought. This is going to work just fine. He is gone, I will forget that evening and continue as normal. Everything can go back to normal.

Before the week was up a dozen red roses arrived. I found them inside the apartment, on the dinner table when I got back home.  The manager must have let the delivery person in. The sealed note accompanying the roses was burning in my hands.

“Open it. Go on. It must be from Neil. I am sure.” Michelle still had that teasing tone.

“Oh, how sweet.”

“Open, read what it says out loud!”

“You are always on my mind. Neil.” I read the note, but did not trust it; I handed it to Michelle.

“I knew it! Didn’t I tell you? ‘You are always on his mind’. How sweet!” Michelle was turning the note over, looking for more clues.

“What do I do now?”

“Nothing. Just wait.”

I had to think. I had to figure this out. What was it that I felt? I felt curious, flattered, giddy with anticipation, happy that someone would notice me and not Pilar, happy that I was not even trying to catch his attention. But how did it happen? What did happen?

At school, my students were worried about my moods. I overhead them at lunch time while I was making my obligatory supervision rounds.

“She can’t be right. She must have had a bad accident or something. She doubled her assignments for no reason.”

They were right. I had a bad accident all right. I was holding the light on my self, and everything was blinding. I could not make sense of anything. Most of all, I did not need these girls to guess my state of mind. Some more homework might stop their gossip.

I panicked when he called.

“Hi, did you get the flowers?”

“Oh? Yes! Yes!”

“Rosaria, I should have talked to you before I left town. Did David tell you?”

“He told me you had left for a training.”

“He didn’t give you my letter?”

“What letter?”

“I wrote you a letter.”

“Neil, we are going around in circles. I did not get the letter.”

“I get back Friday night around ten. Is it too late? Can you pick me up at the airport? I forgot, you don't drive alone."

“You need to have a back up plan. Michelle doesn’t like driving nights. ”

“Oh!  If you can, come.”

O how I wished I could drive. I needed to talk to Neil without anybody else around. I needed to understand.

David didn’t have the letter. Neil told him to destroy it if he had not delivered to me the very next day. Why? And who plans these things? Was David complicating things?

Michelle and I went to the airport, hoping the plane would be on time. The plane was two hours late. Neil was tired, had been on the plane since early morning and needed a shave. We got home after midnight, having exchanged just a few words.

The next morning, I ran into him. He barely waved at me on his way to catch the bus.

That day at work I made up my mind. What I had craved was a romantic encounter. I did not need this, this hot and cold teeter-totter feeling. Why did he ignore me this morning?  I had work to do and plans for my future. This was just an interlude. The man did not deserve my attention.

That evening, Neil stopped by and asked me for dinner at a local Italian place, right down the street.He began to thank me about the airport ride. He was sorry, he kept saying, for the inconvenience he had caused. Ok. Not a problem.

At dinner, the marinara sauce was too runny and the veal was tasteless.

“They call this veal scaloppine!” I said with a snide.

“You didn’t like it?” Neil looked disappointed.

“This is really bad.” I said, not realizing that he had chosen this place to impress me.

On the way back, he and I  talked.

“You know that I have been trying to tell you how I feel since your birthday.” He started.

“You have not been really clear, have you?” I said, trying to sound normal.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Neil, what are you saying? This is serious stuff for me to hear.”

“I have never felt this way. This is serious for me too.”

For the next few days, I felt anxious, thrilled, confused, elated and scared. I was  falling for someone I hardly knew.

How could it be?

At school, Sister Mary Joseph noticed my distracted behavior.

“Sister, I am returning to Italy, worst possible time for a romance.”

“Oh Dear! Has romance found you?”

“What do you mean? This boy. I can’t stop thinking about him. I did nothing. He sees me without make up, in sweats. He’s a neighbor, catching me while I cook or clean.”

“Well, what do you like about him?”

“Not his looks. I mean, I thought that one falls for looks, the John Wayne, or Jimmy Dean look. I like his company, his intelligence, his wit…”

“Well, you certainly enjoy a lot about this person.”

“I like him. I miss him when he leaves.”

“The question is, would you give up your family for him? When you can answer that, then you are understanding the commitment necessary for a long life together. And he for you? What will he give up for you? Did you ask yourself that question? Love is an act of faith, a voyage across a future ocean.”

On Valentine’s Day, Neil and I went out to dinner, just the two of us, to The Castaways in the Burbank hills, up above the city. We sat outside, the only couple who braved the cold. With Neil’s jacket over my shoulders, the evening felt easy,  as though we had known each other our entire lives.

The city below winked knowingly.

We were on top of the world. 

Chapter Twentynine: The Miracle Mile

My world consisted of four square miles, living and breathing in a beautiful part of Los Angeles where classy businesses and residences had the latest and most beautiful things in the world: Wilshire Boulevard's Miracle Mile.

To the south, the world changed. The school I taught in was on Pico, a dividing line between the have and the have not. To the north, Immaculate Heart College on Los Feliz Boulevard, where I was finishing up my graduate work, adjacent to Griffith Park and the Observatory was the school for privileged ladies from rich families; to the west, beaches and the communities of Santa Monica, Westwood, Palisades.

It was a world of home and school almost exclusively.

With Neil's arrival, my world expanded, with each drive we took, each neighborhood, he spoke of his dreams becoming a scientist at Cal Tech and JPL, living up  in the hills, raising a family. His work at IBM was temporary, he said.

We took long rides exploring the city and our past, with each mile going further and further out of Los Angeles. I learned that America was diverse, enormously beautiful in its natural state.

He spoke of trees, rivers, unspoiled mountains and lakes of the Northwest. I told him of churches, statues, fountains, piazzas and long history of Italy.

He missed forests and mountain trails, solitude and sounds of streams.

I missed walks on the piazzas, eating great food, laughter and chatter with family and friends.

We read poetry to each other. We danced, till the wee hours of the morning as our fingertips found each other.

Neal was resolved to get me to pass the driving test and had a foolproof method. His instructions went something like this: “Drive up to the car parked in front and line up; back into your spot by turning sharply with a ¼ turn; begin to straighten up as your front is close to the back of the car in front of you. Voila’ you are now parked!” Every evening after dinner, we jumped in the car and went for a ride starting on Wilshire’s Miracle Mile.

Driving was becoming a testing ground for our new relationship. The only way I could pass that test was to exchange cars with someone, I thought. A big car like my Olds didn’t like being squeezed between two other cars.

On an weekend visit to the Observatory, at the end of March, we parked down at the foot of the place, and hiked up. Half-way, sitting for a break, he looked into my eyes and said: “I want you to have this.” He slipped a ring on my finger, a diamond ring that must have cost him a couple of months’ salary.

We never made it to the Observatory.

By the end of March, I had a driving license and an engagement ring.

The Immaculate Heart College’s brochure was right: Most girls marry within two years of graduation. Those nuns knew something I didn’t.

We married in July, after four long months of engagement and a series of lectures by Father Peachea. At the ceremony, a High Mass courtesy of the priests that taught at Conaty and a full chorus courtesy of the nuns at the same school, all my friends occupied one side of the church. On the other side, just his father, step mother and half sister who received an oral invitation a few weeks before the event and managed to drive down from Washington State in time for the ceremony.

Uncle Ted and his family did not attend. Aunt Adelina, her family, friends and in-laws all attended. Uncle Nick, Adelina’s husband, gave me away. Theresa and her cousin Brahim were our Maid of honor and Best Man. She had arranged for my dress and for a photographer to show up and take pictures of the event. I was dazed and in a dream through the entire ceremony.

We had the reception at the apartment. Simple fare, sandwiches and cake from Sarno.

Many people had contributed to our day, flowers, transportation. Michelle and Pilar had moved back to their families at the end of June, but had returned for the wedding. Everyone blessed the union.

The non-refundable ticket was never used.