Carmelo Maglieri strolled up as Stella and Tina were pinning their butterflies on their dresses. At first Stella didn’t recognize him in his plain gray suit. Her brain turned over on the flash of familiarity—this good-looking blue-eyed man, who was he? Oh yes. But what was he doing here, and without his uniform? He bowed to them, pressing his fedora to his chest. “Good evening, beautiful ladies.”
“Carmelo!” Tina almost shrieked.
Carmelo kissed Tina’s cheeks warmly but did not try to kiss Stella. “What are we congratulating you on, Stella?”
“Stella bought us a house,” Tina said, a little giddy at seeing him. “Three stories, on Bedford Street!”
“I didn’t buy it, we bought it together.” Stella was irritated with herself for not recognizing Carmelo immediately, and for having found him attractive.
“Oh, Stella, give yourself some credit,” Tina said. “You were so smart with the bank, and the savings...”
“Our Stella, the smartest girl on Front Street,” Fiorella said, squeezing Stella’s arm.
“That doesn’t surprise me at all to hear,” Carmelo said. He inclined his head toward Fiorella. “Stella, would you do me the honor of introducing me to your friend? I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.” It felt so staged, Stella was certain he was acting out some scene he’d liked in a film.
“This is Fiorella Mulino,” Stella said, keeping her voice dry. “Her family is from Puglia.” Carmelo bowed again and Fiorella, blushing, replied,“Piaccere.”
“May I bring you ladies something to drink?” Carmelo said. “Have you tried the punch?” They shook their heads. “Stay right here.” His voice was as warm and animated as she remembered it. “I’ll bring you some from the bar.” With a third bow, he turned and stepped into the mass of frocks and suits.
“What a kind man he is,” Tina said. Stella had nothing to say in response, and neither did Fiorella, who seemed a little starstruck. The girls pretended to listen to the band until Carmelo returned, four glasses of red punch clutched together between his large hands. He distributed them carefully and the four young people clinked, wishing one another health. The punch tasted like red wine but fizzed with carbonation. Stella felt a happy ripple through her nerves—they were toasting like adults, drinking alcohol with a strange man.
Her cheeks warm, Stella asked, “Carmelo, where is your uniform?”
Carmelo smiled that big, friendly smile. “Oh, didn’t you hear? The army kicked me out. I’m unfit for service.” His blue eyes were shining; even his bad news was something he’d admit good-naturedly. “Flat feet.”
“Flat feet?” Tina said. “What does that mean?”
“Flat feet, just what it sounds like.” Carmelo lifted his hand level with his nose, curling his fingers into a dome. “The middle part of your foot is supposed to arch like this. If it doesn’t, it makes problems when you have to walk or run for a long time, like soldiers do. Now,God gave me feet like this.” He splayed his hand flat and peered, smiling, across it at Tina, who smiled back. “Flat as a pancake,” he said in English, and Tina and Fiorella giggled. “So much for me as a soldier.”
“So much for your papers,” Stella put in, then felt her face heat up—that had been aggressive, undignified.
But Carmelo shook his finger. “Aha, no, no,signorina. I served thirty days in the U.S. Army. I’m a naturalized citizen of the United States now. No going back.”
“Really?” Stella couldn’t believe it. “Why didn’t they check your feet at the beginning?”
Carmelo shrugged. “It’s just my luck. I’m a very lucky man,” he said. “Even when I’m born with bad feet it turns out bad feet are good.”
“Truffatore,”she said,con artist,and she meant it, but she smiled to take the edge off.
“That’s what Rocco said,” Carmelo replied, rueful. “Oh, he was mad. It was my idea to enlist in the first place, and here he is going off to war on his own.”
Stella watched Tina’s expression, waiting to see this all come together for her sister. “What did he say?” she asked.
“He tried to get out, too,” Carmelo said. “But he’s got perfectly good feet. Nice arches, Tina,” he said, as though complimenting her on her choice of man.
They chatted for another ten minutes or so, Carmelo asking Fiorella about her family. As they were almost done with their punch, Carmelo bowed and took his leave. Stella felt a pang of jealousy as he left; he had not, then, come over to try to flirt with them, he had only been paying his respects. Well, his respect was all she wanted. It was just that she had enjoyed thinking that he liked her and could not have her.
STELLA SAWCARMELO ONE MORE TIMEthat summer, when Joey invited him over for his enlistment party at their new house on Bedford Street. It was the second Saturday in June, and the weather was beautiful. All of the Fortunas’ friends—the Nicoteras; the Perris, whose boys Mario and Mikey were also enlisting this summer; the Mulinos; the Cardamones; Zu Vito Aiello—packed into the freshly painted rooms and spilled out into the backyard, where they could admire the tomato garden Assunta had planted the week before.
Into this mix came Carmelo Maglieri, for all the world like he was already part of the group. He had brought with him a bulky black box, which he left by the coatrack. Joey strolled Carmelo through the aunties and uncles, introducing him, and Stella eavesdropped on their friends’ reactions to the Abruzzese boy’s handsome smile and sparkling blue eyes. The mothers with daughters were practically squealing in delight to find this shiny fish swimming in the pool.
“What’s the matter with you, Stella?” Franceschina Perri whispered. The girls huddled together in the kitchen, watched over by Assunta’s somewhat sanctimonious new Blessed Virgin figurine, which stood on the wall shrine by the photo of the dead baby Stella. “Why are you playing around? Someone else is going to snap him up.”
“Snap him up if you want him,” Stella said. She certainly didn’t want to get herself into a jam where her father thought she was encouraging Carmelo’s courtship. “I give him to you. My gift, you can thank me later.”
“Those eyes, though!” Franceschina clucked her tongue. “To die for.”
“In Calabria lots of men have blue eyes,” Stella said dismissively. “It’s nothing special to me. I prefer dark eyes anyway.”
