Bella Fortuna (22 page)

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Authors: Rosanna Chiofalo

BOOK: Bella Fortuna
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Sonia took out a deck of cards and was about to shuffle them when Olivia held up her hand.
“Wait. Before you give me my reading, I have a few questions for you.”
Looking slightly miffed, knowing Olivia was testing her, Sonia shrugged her shoulders in resignation.
“All right. Go ahead.”
She placed the cards on the table and folded her hands in her lap, calmly staring back at Olivia. Why didn't this girl act like the other teenagers Olivia knew? Certainly, her daughters hadn't acted like this girl when they were her age.
“How old are you?”
“I'm fourteen.”
“I don't believe it! You look no more than twelve—even ten years old!”
Sonia knitted her brows and narrowed her eyes, still maintaining her poise, but just barely. “Well, I
am
fourteen.”
“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. It's hard to believe because you . . .”
“Look so young. I know. I get it all the time. It's okay. I'm used to it.”
But she wasn't used to it. Clearly, Olivia could see she had ruffled the girl's nerve. Maybe that was why she strived so hard to appear older in both her demeanor and voice. Some girls did develop later than others, like Valentina had. Olivia decided to quickly change the subject.
“So you said everyone in your family has the psychic gift?”
“Yes, we all do. My grandparents on both sides of my family were also blessed with ‘the power.' And my maternal great-grandmother and paternal great-grandfather also were psychic.”
“If you're all psychic, then why is your family in church praying for your grandfather? Don't they know already if he'll live or die?”
“We're not praying for God to spare my grandfather's life. We don't have the right to ask God that. We're praying for his soul and that his suffering will be minimal as he goes from this life to the next.”
“So you do know for certain he's dying then?”
“As psychics, we don't have the ability to predict our own futures. But since my father also has ‘the power,' he can predict his father-in-law's death, since he's not a blood relative. My mother begged my father to tell her. My father couldn't bear to. So my mother knew he must've seen that her father was going to die and she rushed to get to Romania in time.”
“I see. Okay, you can continue with the reading. Thank you for answering my questions.”
Sonia picked up the cards once more from the coffee table and shuffled them expertly. This kid could've gotten a job as a Vegas casino dealer. After shuffling the deck, she placed the pile of cards back down on the table.
Instinctively, Olivia reached for them, knowing from all her previous visits that she must cut the deck into three piles. Sonia then began flipping over the cards from each of the three piles.
“The past,” she announced as she began studying the cards.
“Your husband passed away many years ago. Devastating illness. Much suffering. You and your daughters were heartbroken. You were terribly afraid—afraid that you were going to lose everything with his death—your home, your tailor shop, and the money for your daughters' education. But you put your fears aside to survive.”
So far, so good. Okay, I guess she
did
have “the power.” But then again, Madame Elena might've shared this info with Sonia. As if reading her thoughts, Sonia looked up at Olivia.
“Yes, yes, please go on.”
“Wedding dresses, lots of them. Oh, I see. You turned the tailor shop into a bridal store. Your daughters helped you and decided to go to work for you full time once they were done with college.” Sonia looked up and smiled. “That's not too different from my family.”
Olivia smiled faintly. She was stunned. All the details Sonia was giving her were accurate. Madame Elena had been more vague when reading Olivia's past. Hmmm. She couldn't help wondering now how much of “the power” Sonia's mother really had in comparison to her daughter.
“There was another love in your life. Before your husband, but he went off into the navy. He wrote a few letters to you, but then he stopped. You never heard from him again.”
Olivia's heart dropped. Her face felt like it had caught fire. Not even Sonia's mother had been able to see Salvatore. Or maybe she had but knew Olivia would be embarrassed and decided not to mention it?
“We were very young. He was my first love.”
“Of course. We never forget our first loves.”
Olivia frowned. What did this fourteen-year-old girl know about first love?
“That was a very long time ago. Then I met Nicola, my true love, the one I was destined to be with. He gave me a good, happy life. We were together for twenty-three years.”
Sonia nodded. “Yes, I can see you both loved each other very much. But there were a few difficulties.”
“
Every
marriage has a few difficulties,” Olivia quickly added. Was this girl playing games with her? If she were, she would have Olivia's
malocchio
to deal with. Fortune-tellers weren't the only ones who could cast curses. And no one wanted to experience the wrath of a Sicilian woman and her evil eye.
Sonia sensed she'd piqued Olivia's nerves and wisely moved on. She talked about Olivia and Nicola immigrating to America and the birth of their daughters. Then she proceeded to the present and future.
“Your business has been doing really well. I see another wedding, someone close to you. Oh, it's your eldest daughter.”
Sonia paused, her brows joined together now as she squinted her eyes, staring closely at the card before her.
“What is it?”
“I can't be sure at this time.”
“It's about Valentina, isn't it?”
Sonia didn't say anything but continued scrutinizing the card intensely, much the way she had scrutinized Olivia earlier.
“
Dio mio!
What is it? Tell me!”
Olivia pulled out from underneath her blouse the ruby-red-colored rosary made out of rose petals, which she'd bought when she had visited the Vatican a few years back. Making the sign of the cross three times, she kissed the crucifix each time. The blend of the scents coming from the burning candles in the shop and the sweet rose fragrance from Olivia's rosary was making her feel woozy.
“Calm down. I do see a very tough road ahead, but I'm not sure which daughter, or if all of them, will be facing this obstacle.”
Olivia knew right away what her daughters' crosses to bear would be. As if picking up immediately on her thoughts, Sonia looked up and said, “No, it's not your health. That's not the only difficulty I see.”
“You know? Ahhh! Of course you know.”
“I can see there is some problem with health, but I cannot see specifically what the problem is. May I ask what is the matter?”
Olivia told Sonia about the cyst in her breast and how the doctor told her it was questionable and about her imminent surgery. Tears ran down her face. Sonia placed her hand on top of Olivia's.
“That must be very scary. I will pray for you that it is not cancer.”
“I haven't even told my daughters yet. How can I tell them I might have cancer and that they'll have to go through again what they went through with my husband? I need to know now if I have cancer, and if I do, will I die? I need to know before I can tell my children.”
“I don't have the answer as to whether or not you have cancer, Olivia. I can't see everything. And death. Well, death is very complex—even for psychics. We can't always predict it. I'm sorry.”
“But your father was able to see that your grandfather is going to die. So why can't you?”
“I don't see it. I just see that there is something concerning your health, something to be concerned about and that needs to be taken care of. But that doesn't mean it is cancer. The doctor did say it was questionable and for you to avoid jumping to the conclusion that it was cancer. Again, I'm sorry I'm not getting anything else. Sometimes we see death, and sometimes we don't. It's whatever God wants us to see.”
“You just don't want to tell me, or is it you really have no idea because you're a fake?”
“Olivia, I know you're mad at me. I know you're probably also mad that you are sick, and you feel helpless. You have to trust God that He is doing what is right for you. I might get more clarity as time goes by. Focus on getting well and living for now rather than the end result.”
Olivia sighed. “You sound like one of those, what do they call them? Self-help books?”
“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make what you're going through sound so general.”
“It's okay. I know what you were trying to say. You're a good girl, just trying to help me. What has this world come to? I can't believe I'm taking advice from a teenage girl and a psychic one! Are you sure you're only fourteen years old?”
Sonia laughed. “Yes, I'm sure.”
Olivia got up and walked to the door.
“My family and I will pray for you and burn our special candles. I'll tell my mother when she gets back from Romania that you were here.”
“I almost forgot to pay you.”
“No, no. That's okay. This one is free.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, please. You've been coming to see my mother for a while now. Your loyalty is my payment for today.”
“Thank you.”
Olivia carefully made her way down the long flight of steps. She thought she would have walked out of there with answers. Instead, she felt more afraid and desperate. Well, at least the girl hadn't charged her. She didn't need to blow $40 on having someone tell her about her past and present—teen psychic or not. She already knew those chapters of her life. She needed to know about her future. The best the girl could predict was her health problem and the overwhelming obstacle one or all of her daughters would face. Ha! She could've predicted that herself. Life is always filled with roadblocks. The girl was sweet, though.
Olivia's mind drifted back to what Sonia had said about Salvatore. Guilt washed over her. She must remain faithful to Nicola's memory. She shook her head, attempting to physically erase all thoughts of her first love before she'd met her husband.
Before she stepped out of the hallway that led up to the fortune-teller's shop, she strained her neck to peer out the door in either direction, making sure no one she knew was walking by. Though many people in Astoria visited fortune-tellers, no one liked to admit they'd gone to one. And if Valentina, Rita, and Connie found out, they'd be furious with her. They gave her enough grief as it was about her superstitious beliefs. As soon as she was sure none of her nosy neighbors were strolling by, Olivia stepped out onto Ditmars Boulevard and hurriedly made her way back to Sposa Rosa.
11
Bridal Blues
S
ince I had grown up with a mother who was such a believer in superstition, it didn't escape my notice that rain or snow had marked several milestones in my relationship with Michael. It was raining when Michael had finally asked me out on our first date. It was snowing the night he'd proposed to me. It was also snowing the day he told me what he thought of my wedding dress after having walked in on the fitting. And now today has been pouring with a vengeance since early in the morning. There's a nor'easter making its way up the eastern seaboard. It's a horrible day to be out, but Michael had insisted that he needed to see me. So I'm waiting for him to come pick me up at the shop. Of course, he's late as usual.
I don't bother waiting for Michael to get lunch. He won't mind since he knows how early I wake up on the days I have to be at work, and if I wait for him, I'll pass out from hunger. Sighing aloud, I wonder if he will ever get better with his tardiness—probably not.
Since the weather is so miserable, my sisters and I decide to order gyros from Pizza Palace. They make the best gyros on Ditmars, maybe even in all of Astoria. I am so spoiled by the authentic gyros and Greek food in Astoria, which is also known as Little Greece, that I can't eat Greek food anywhere else in New York—not even in Manhattan!
Multitasker extraordinaire that I am, I'm finishing writing the last of my bridal shower thank-you cards while I eat. Thanks to my family and future in-laws, I'd received most of the gifts I wanted from my bridal shower. With a little less than one month to go until my fairy-tale wedding in the fairy-tale city of Venice, I should be happy that the day is almost here. But for the past two weeks, I just can't shake my low spirits. Have I fallen victim to a case of the “Bridal Blues”?
“Bridal Blues” is what my family and I call it when brides suddenly get depressed before their weddings. We've seen it often when clients come in for their final fitting. Ma always attributes it to nerves and says grooms go through it, too, perhaps even more so than brides. But my sisters and I suspect something else is at play. Though engaged couples complain about the headaches involved in planning a wedding, the truth of the matter is that brides love it. They love every aspect of making the day they dreamed about since they were little girls perfect, no matter how stressful it can be.
“It's kind of like postpartum depression. You're sad because you've had the baby, and now all the attention is on the baby instead of on the pregnant mom-to-be.”
Rita's explaining the concept of “Bridal Blues” to Aldo, who is also eating lunch with us. He and my sisters are glued to the TV watching repeats of
Say Yes to the Dress
. Monday mornings are our quietest time in the shop, and with the rain, it's even deader than usual.
Aldo had been laid off last month from his job at Christie's auction house. He's devastated since, as he puts it, “Art is my life. And I'll
never, ever, ever
find a job in a prestigious art gallery like Christie's again. That's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
Art is another passion we have in common. From Impressionism to abstract realism to Renaissance art, I can't get enough. Aldo and I often visit the museums and art galleries around Manhattan. We make a whole day out of it, starting as soon as the museums open. Then we have afternoon tea and finger sandwiches. When the Waldorf Astoria was open, we loved having our tea there. We were so upset when they closed their doors. Now we just go to any café or coffeehouse. After tea or cappuccino, we take a stroll through Chelsea and go to whatever art galleries are open. Then we end the day with dinner.
Ever since I had gotten engaged, we hadn't been having our “art days” anymore. I'm to blame with all the preparations for the wedding and making my dress. Aldo has been a good sport about it. I'll have to make it up to him soon.
Art appreciation is the one area where Michael and I have nothing in common. Michael likes going to museums—as long as they're science or history museums. He's accompanied me a few times to the Met. I think the Met is a safe bet for introducing a newbie to art. There's no way I'm taking him anywhere near the Guggenheim or even MOMA until he's had more time to appreciate the classics. After all, how could he understand the paintings of Pollack or de Kooning or even Picasso before he'd understood the masters before them?
Well, it turned out I didn't have to worry about slowly inducting Michael into the world of art. During our third outing to the Met, Michael blurted to me one day, “I'm so bored.”
He must've seen the hurt look in my eyes because he quickly came back with, “I'm sorry, Vee. I tried, but other than the Egyptian exhibit I just can't get into this. I just don't find it as fascinating as you do.”
“Don't some of these paintings move you when you look at them?” I asked, incredulous that he wasn't feeling anything. We were standing before Caravaggio's
Death of the Virgin.
Michael shrugged his shoulders and looked guiltily at me. I decided to drop the subject and the idea that he would become a lover of art.
“That girl is such a bee-otch!” Aldo cries out. “She's knocked every dress her sister has tried on, and they all looked stunning on her. She's just jealous that she doesn't have her drop-dead gorgeous figure!”
Aldo's protests shake me out of my daydreaming.
“No, Aldo. You're not getting it. She's jealous and mad that it's not her trying on the dresses. Trust us, we know. We've seen it thousands of times.” Connie frowns. “She had her turn.”
Just like on
Say Yes to the Dress,
we've seen clients who had purchased their dresses at Sposa Rosa return with family members or friends whose turn it was to tie the knot, and the former brides would try to take over the session.
“She should just divorce her husband then and marry someone else so she can do it all over again!”
Aldo elbows Connie as the two of them laugh.
“It's not always former brides who get jealous. Sometimes it's a family member or friend who's never been married before. They can get quite opinionated, too.”
I give my take on the subject.
“So, it sounds like it's not really about the dress but about themselves? Their own hang-ups and insecurities?”
“Now you've got it!” Rita slaps Aldo on the back as she walks by him.
“See, Aldo, we're not just dressmakers. We're also psychologists.”
I place my last thank-you card in the envelope. I stare at the blank envelope. This would be the last time I wrote thank-you cards for a bridal shower. There it is again. The tidal wave of sadness quickly washes over me.
“What's gotten into you? Why are you staring at that blank envelope? Did you forget whose card that is?”
Rita's voice brings me out of my stupor.
“No, no. It's Signora Tesca's card.”
“Are you sure, Vee? We know how absentminded you can get. Why don't you just place the steamer over the envelope's seal so you can open it and be sure it's Signora Tesca's card?”
Connie doesn't wait for my answer. She walks over with the steamer.
“I don't need the steamer! I'm positive this is Signora Tesca's card because I intentionally saved her card for last. I wanted to write her a longer note to express how grateful I was for her hosting the shower at her house.”
“And what a house it was! You guys pegged it right when you nicknamed it the Mussolini Mansion. Some of the stuff in that place could bring in a fortune when she dies and it's auctioned off. Maybe I'll be able to get a job as an auctioneer again, and I could represent her estate.
That
would seal my career!”
Aldo's eyes look dreamy as he imagines his possible future career path.
Rita's trademark cynicism rears its head. “Are you kidding me? Most of what I saw looked so old and tacky! Who would want to pay a fortune for that?”
Aldo's lips are pursed tightly together as he rolls his eyes and looks at Rita in the most exasperated fashion. “Tons of people! Have you ever heard of collectors, Rita? Tsskk! Trust me.
I'm
the expert on these things. We're looking at a couple of million just based on the collectibles. Then there's her furniture.”
“What? That crap that's been covered in plastic for the past five decades?”
“Rita, I'm not going to debate this with you. It would be like you trying to explain to me why a Pnina Tornai dress is really worth twenty-five thousand as opposed to an inferior dress that's only worth five grand.”
“He's got you there, Rita!”
Connie and Aldo high-five each other and laugh.
I'm still staring at the blank envelope.
“Oh my God, Valentina! Snap out of it! Something is the matter. 'Fess up!”
Aldo comes to my side.
“It's nothing. You guys know how quickly my thoughts wander. I was just thinking.”
“Nuh-duh! We can see that.
What
were you thinking about? You look like you're going to cry.”
Rita's now standing opposite me, staring right into my face.
“I don't want to talk about it. Besides, Michael should be getting here soon.”
“It's about Michael, isn't it? I knew it!” Connie all but shouts.
“Shhh! Like I said, he'll probably be here any minute.”
“Okay, we'll talk low. So what is it? He's having a hard time in the bedroom, and now you're worried you'll have a dud for life after you get married?”
“Aldo! Of course that's not it.”
I walk to the back of the shop, hoping to escape them as I begin to get ready to leave. But they trail after me.
“Vee, we're not letting you leave until you tell us what's the matter.” Rita stands right behind me with her arms crossed in front of her chest. Aldo and Connie flank her sides, looking just as determined.
I sigh. “Why can't you guys ever respect my privacy?”
“We're worried about you. And you know how it is in Italian families. When one family member has a problem, it becomes the rest of the family's problem,” Connie says.
“That's right!” Aldo knows he's as much a part of my family as my sisters are. I've told him countless times how he is like a brother to me.
“Okay, okay. I give up. I didn't want to admit this. I'm embarrassed, but it seems I've fallen victim to the ‘Bridal Blues.' ”
“Not you, Vee!” Aldo shouts.
“You're not leveling with us. In a million years, I would've never seen you getting the ‘Bridal Blues.' ”
Rita's eyebrows are knitted together, making the vein on her forehead thrust out. She scrutinizes me, doubting my claim.
“Well, it's true. Like I said, I was embarrassed to admit it. I should know better from working at Sposa Rosa to let myself get down about something so silly. But I guess I'm not immune to it. Even though life has been more hectic since I got engaged and began planning the wedding, I can't believe it'll be over in a month.”
“Instead of feeling glum that you won't have a wedding to plan anymore, you should be looking forward to the future with your hot new husband! Besides, soon you'll have a baby on the way and then all the excitement will be on you again!”
Aldo is next to me now and has placed his arm around my shoulders.
“It's silly. I know. I shouldn't be feeling this way.” I can feel my cheeks growing warm. I feel stupid.
“No, it's not silly. You're a woman, and these things matter to us.” I'm surprised Rita is the one to say this. She's always making fun of these brides who get so carried away by their weddings.
“And we know how much your wedding means to you. You've been waiting for the right man to come along for so long, or rather I should say you've been waiting for Michael to come around for so long! If anyone deserves to have a perfect wedding, it's you, Valentina. Of course you're going to feel a little down that this excitement will all be over soon. But you'll be with Michael every day for the rest of your lives. Think of that!”
Sometimes Connie's—and even Rita's—wisdom amazes me. They are my little sisters. They aren't supposed to have the answers. I'm supposed to be giving them advice. But they're very smart and perceptive. All those years that I thought no one knew about my secret crush on Michael, I'd been wrong. Of course, my mother and my sisters knew how I'd felt about Michael. No one knows me better. Well, except for Aldo. Suddenly, another disturbing thought enters my mind. Michael hadn't popped into my mind when I thought of the people who know me best. Shouldn't the man I'm about to marry be one of the top three people who know me the best?
“Are you sure there isn't anything else besides the ‘Bridal Blues' that's bothering you?”

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