The Shoemaker's Wife(98)
Signor Caruso asked Enza to prepare him a dish of macaroni on many more occasions, and the girls found themselves making spaghetti in unlikely places—the cafeteria of the Met, or on a hot plate in Caruso’s dressing room. Many nights, Enza prepared a dish for Signore to carry with him back to the hotel after rehearsal. The great stars, out of touch with people except for those moments when they were onstage, reaching out to the audience in their velvet seats, longed for home when they couldn’t have it. Caruso was always thinking of Italy’s warm sun and soft golden Caravaggio moons, and he was just a little closer to them when the seamstress made macaroni.
Once she agreed to date him, Vito Blazek pursued Enza relentlessly, as if she were a good story that would make hot copy. He gave her the best of Manhattan, as though it was a crystal flute overflowing with champagne, never in need of a refill. He had tickets to opening nights on Broadway, invitations to posh parties in penthouses, and box seats for concerts at Carnegie Hall. They spent long hours at the Automat, talking into the night about art. He gave her books to read, and took her to the Bronx Zoo and for long walks down Fifth Avenue. Enza was being properly courted, and she enjoyed every second of it.
Vito handed Enza a box of popcorn as he took his seat on the aisle next to her at the Fountain Theatre on West Forty-fifth Street. This movie house had shows around the clock; the best times to go were afternoons, when you could stay to watch the movie a second time, because most of the world was at work. The late shows were convenient for the artisans who worked at the Met, as their hours were long, and fittings and rehearsals could run late. Vito stole Enza away for the midnight show, knowing that he’d have to keep her out all night, because the doors of the Milbank were locked until breakfast. Vito managed to fill the wee hours of the morning with wonderful excursions. Enza could not believe the places Vito had taken her. She’d had no idea such fun existed when she was indentured to the Buffas in Hoboken. There was nothing like this on the mountain. It was all new; at long last Enza could be young, on the arm of a gentleman who knew how to live. He relished showing her his world, and it delighted him to know she enjoyed it.
“I hope you like the show,” Vito whispered.
“It’s my first,” Enza admitted.
“You haven’t been to the movies?”
“I saw some shorts with Laura in Atlantic City. But never a whole movie.” She smiled.
“Charlie Chaplin is my religion,” he said. “He makes me laugh almost as much as you do.”
Enza smiled to herself. It seemed that she could never find a pious man. Maybe, she decided, she wasn't supposed to.
An attendant in a burgundy uniform pulled the curtain weights. As the massive gold draperies moved aside, an enormous silver screen was revealed behind it. Enza felt her heart beat faster, with the same thrilling sense of anticipation that turning the first page of a new book can bring. The screen read:
The Immigrant
A film by Charlie Chaplin
The screen filled with the image of a steamship as it sailed across the Atlantic, plowing through turbulent whitecaps. The deck of the ship was revealed; Chaplin, dressed as the little Tramp, cavorted with the poor immigrants, who wore the same kind of clothing Enza’s fellow passengers had worn on her passage aboard the Rochambeau. When the audience roared with laughter at the image of a fish Chaplin caught and tossed onto a sleeping immigrant, whose nose it bit, Enza didn’t find it funny. Soon the image of the rocking ship brought back the spinning, tossing, and delirium she had endured. Afraid she might faint, she pulled on her gloves and buried her hands in her coat pockets. Eventually, she excused herself and ran from the theater into the lobby.
“Enza.” Vito joined her. “What’s the matter?”
“I can’t watch it—I’m so sorry.”
Vito put his arms around Enza. “No, I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. You came over on a ship like that, didn’t you?”
“I don’t remember much of it. I got very sick.”
“I should have asked. Come on. You need air.”
Vito led Enza outside, putting his arm around her shoulder. The cool summer night air revived her, and as it did, she became ashamed of herself. “I’m so embarrassed,” she said. “You must think I’m silly.”
“No, I don’t at all. I’d like to know why you had such a strong reaction in there.”
“I came here to make money to build a house on our mountain. We weren’t going to be here very long. And here we are, seven years later, and my papa is still on a road crew. But the house is almost finished, and then he’ll go home.”
“Will you go with him?”
“I was told I could never cross the ocean again.” Enza didn’t talk about that much. She was always busy earning money to stay afloat, sending most of it home. For the first time, she faced the fact that she might not make it back to the mountain. But she still wanted a happy life.
“I guess I’ll have to make you happy here. I’ll have to make you so happy you won’t miss your mountain.”
“Do you think one person can make another happy?”
“I know I said Charlie Chaplin was my religion, but really, love is. I lead a good life, but it can be frivolous. I’m a town crier. I talk to the press and try to fill seats at the Met. Sometimes men envy me. I know starlets and dancers and sopranos. But the truth is, it would only take one seamstress who can cook to make me happy.” Vito put his arms around Enza.