That evening, lying still in their bed after Tina had cried herself to sleep, Stella worked to construct a mental image of Stefano, of his hands, his hair, the way he dressed. Even the face was indistinct to her. Maybe she would have thought of him more often if she’d had a memory aid, like her mother’s photo of the lost Mariastella.
Feeling a little bit disgusted with herself, she relaxed into a sense of relief. Stefano had given her a gift by dying—an excuse for spinsterhood. No one would expect her to let anyone court her; she was grieving. Stefano had bought her time—perhaps enough time. She could legitimately drag out the mourning for five years, she thought, and by then she would be twenty-seven. Far too old to marry.
She said a prayer for Stefano now.
THECHRISTMASEVE PARTYat the Society was the pivotal event of the year and had required much preparation. Franceschina Perri had her eye on a boy named Frank Carapellucci and had enlisted all the girls to help her run him down. Stella had never seen a girl go sounabashedly crazy for a boy like that. But Franceschina was a red-blooded American girl; she pooh-poohed the rules of decorum the Italian girls had been raised to follow. You did what you had to to get what you wanted.
Franceschina had met Frank at his welcome-home party at the beginning of December. He’d enlisted, shipped off to the Pacific, gotten shot in the spine, and been sent back home, all in six months’ time. The bullet was extracted and Frank was given his discharge papers, a free man with a little bit of a limp. Franceschina was determined to get her claws into the handsome war hero before some other girl got the same bright idea.
Unfortunately, Frank was a cool cucumber, and thus far had resisted Franceschina’s flirtations. She had contrived to get her mother to invite the Carapelluccis over for post-mass luncheon, but the whole party had been for naught because Frank had only stayed for a sandwich and then left to meet some friends. Franceschina had hinted she would say yes if he asked her out on a date, but he had not picked up on the hint.
“I don’t understand,” Franceschina whined. The girls had each dropped by the Perris’ house after their own various post-mass luncheons to see how it had gone, and now they were locked in Franceschina’s room. “He seemed like he liked me, like he was making eyes at me, but then he didn’t ask me out! Why? I made it so clear I like him, it’s embarrassing!”
“He probably has another girl he’s not telling you about,” Stella said. “That’s the reason he acts like that.”
Fiorella, always erring on the kinder side of human nature, defended this man she hardly knew. “I think he’s just shy.”
“I do, too,” Carolina piped up. “With the shy ones, you have to go after them hard or they slip away and someone else gets them.”
“Ugh, Carolina.” Stella smacked her on the arm. “Don’t tell her that! She’s already throwing herself at him. That’s not how men work at all.”
“What do I do, Stella? Tell me,” Franceschina begged. “How can I make him pay attention to me?”
“You can’t make him pay attention to you,” Stella said. “That’s the point. He has towantto pay attention to you. Otherwise you have nothing but trouble.”
“Okay, then how do I make himwantto pay attention to me?”
From where they sat on the bed and carpet, Carolina, Tina, Fiorella, and the forlorn lover Franceschina herself all turned their faces to Stella, waiting. Stella was the group expert in boys, since all the boys wanted her, and she had the girls’ utmost respect because she didn’t give a damn.
Stella was quiet for a minute, thinking about what she had in her arsenal for this situation. “Well, if we got you a really good dress... Carolina, do you still have that pattern you wanted to try? The one with the, you know.” She waved her hand in her bosom area. They did, indeed, all know. Carolina nodded. “If you get me the fabric, I can make you that dress to have for the Christmas party at the Society.”
“You can use my sewing machine, Stella,” Fiorella offered. Stella had been counting on that already—she was the best sewer of the group but wouldn’t have been able to finish a whole dress in that time without Fiorella’s better equipment.
“What if he doesn’t go to the party, though?” Tina said.
“That’s our job, to make sure he does,” Stella said. “We’ll stop at nothing to make sure he’s there.”
Stella assigned the tasks. Fiorella would have Stella and Tina over for dinner every day after work for the next week so Stella could make the dress. Carolina was in charge of the gossip ring: she was to find out who Frank Carapellucci’s friends were, and she was to lure them into making sure their buddy came to the Christmas party.
“You don’t have to be sneaky,” Stella advised. “Tell the friends there’s a girl who’s expecting him.” Stella thought for a moment, then added, “Flirt with the friend if you have to. Give him some reason to cooperate, you know?”
Carolina tossed her glossy dark hair. “Anything for the cause.”
“If you get married, you’ll be Francesco and Franceschina,” Tina pointed out.
Franceschina’s eyes flashed. “So cute! It’s too perfect.”
Stella felt bad for this guy if he was planning on trying to say no.
THE EVENING OF THE PARTY,the girls reassembled at the Nicoteras’ house. Everyone prepared their battle positions, pulling out last-minute hot rollers and passing a bottle of Fiorella’s mother’s perfume.
“There’s something I have to tell you, Stella,” Carolina said. “But before you get mad at me, you remember you told me to do whatever I had to do to make sure Frank went to the party, right?”
“She did,” Franceschina said solidly.
“What is it, Carolina?”
Carolina smiled an evil little smile. “Well, guess who is Frank’spaesan?”
