Chapter Two
TERESA - NEW ROCHELLE, NY
Teresa pushed the baby carriage up the hill the last few steps toward home, cursing the slight incline that never looked that bad in the distance.
It was a killer on her calves but worth it.
Walking Anthony to the park and back had finally stopped his crying and made him fall asleep. Thank goodness.
She glanced at her watch, thankful that she still had enough time to set her hair in rollers, do her makeup, and get dressed up.
That night, she and Frank were going to the Drifters Boat Club summer party.
It felt like months since they’d been out together.
She’d been busy caring for five-month-old Anthony, which often left her exhausted.
When Anthony was first born, Frank had come home directly after work to see the baby before Teresa put him to bed.
But lately, Frank was working later hours at the Cadillac dealership, hoping to get promoted from auto mechanic to a position in the parts department.
Teresa really hoped the promotion would happen soon, so they could get a bigger apartment with more than just three rooms in an attic.
On top of that, Frank was working a second job at the Drifters Boat Club, taking weekend shifts to make extra money, which meant more time away from her and Anthony.
Fortunately, they still had mornings when Frank sat with her in the kitchen, bouncing Anthony on his lap, feeding him a bottle.
And that night, Frank’s mother, Eva, was coming over to watch Anthony so she and Frank could enjoy some alone time.
She parked the baby carriage on the front porch and stared up at the haunted-looking Victorian house.
Not the most welcoming of homes, but it was the first place she’d lived other than her parents’ house, so she cherished it.
She hadn’t gone very far. This house was walking distance from where she and Frank had both grown up, in the west end of New Rochelle, a New York City suburb filled with Italians.
Teresa reached their attic apartment, stopping to catch her breath after climbing all three flights of stairs with Anthony asleep in her arms. She settled the baby into his crib and paused to watch him sleep.
He was so cherubic with those fat cheeks she loved to nuzzle.
It felt strange to be only nineteen years old with a baby.
She’d married at eighteen. The two years she and Frank dated had felt like an eternity—she’d been eager to start their “real life” together and be his wife.
On Valentine’s Day 1967, Teresa Marchesi had worn a white dress and ballet flats so she wouldn’t be taller than the groom and officially became Teresa Antinori in a Catholic ceremony at St. Bartholomew Church, her family’s local parish.
Frank looked so handsome on their wedding day.
When he smiled directly at her, Teresa felt as though the gods had bestowed a gift upon her.
It wasn’t uncommon for Teresa to catch other women sneaking glances at Frank when they were out together, which always made her feel discomfort mixed with a sense of pride.
It didn’t hurt that Frank looked like he came from a long line of handsome Italian American Franks—Frankie Avalon, Frank Sinatra, and Frankie Valli.
Teresa opened the door to the small closet she and Frank shared and picked out a shift in lavender, her favorite color. Perfect match for a summer party. Yes, that night, she was going on a date with her husband. And she couldn’t wait.
Teresa took a bite of her hors d’oeuvre, swaying to the music, watching the pulsating dance floor. The band started playing “I Got You Babe,” by Sonny and Cher, and the crowd erupted in excitement. Frank grabbed Teresa’s hand and pulled her onto the dance floor, with a big grin on his face.
Frank led Teresa around the floor like a pro.
He had a natural rhythm to his movements.
He also had years of formal dance classes under his belt, thanks to his mother, who’d seen his interest and talent in dance and enrolled him in ballroom classes from a young age.
Teresa was a good dancer but not on a par with Frank.
No matter. She loved being in his arms and following his lead.
Her hips sashayed as he twirled her away from him and back.
They danced song after song, and Teresa was grateful she’d worn flats.
She felt her face flushing and beads of sweat forming on her forehead.
A stickiness lingered in the evening, leftover from the humid day, but she didn’t care.
She couldn’t remember the last time they’d danced together for this long.
It had probably been before Anthony was born.
She and Frank used to go to Glen Island Casino together, a beautiful spot in the southern part of New Rochelle with expansive views over Long Island Sound, which featured big band music on Friday nights.
She thought back to their first date there and smiled to herself, reliving the exchange. “Wow, you dance like Fred Astaire—so smooth on your feet,” she’d said.
“So, you've danced with Fred Astaire?” Frank teased.
“Ha ha. No... but I’ve seen him in the movies. I bet you bring lots of girls here, don't you?”
“Lots of girls? No. Just the ones I really like.” Frank winked.
“I've passed the test, then?”
“Oh, you are definitely on your way to passing the test.”
“And what else is involved in this test of yours?” she asked.
“Well, the night is still young, isn’t it?”
Frank then pulled her closer, pressing her against him in a tight embrace as they danced.
He touched a piece of her hair that had fallen out of her chignon and twirled it between his fingers.
He’d nuzzled his head into the crook of her neck, and she’d felt his lips lightly brush against her skin as they swayed together in time with the music.
Her body had felt electrified with excitement.
She remembered thinking she’d never felt like that in her entire life.
She brought her attention back to the present, where the song had changed to Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons’ “Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You,” one of their favorites.
She smiled at Frank, and they both started singing along.
Frank twirled her again, and when she rolled back into his arms, he dipped her backward.
She threw her head back, a yelp of laughter escaping her lips.
Frank popped her back up, and she noticed their new friends, Henry and Joanie, dancing nearby.
They had a boat on the same dock as Frank’s.
Henry leaned in to be heard over the music. “Want to grab something to drink after this song?”
Frank looked at Teresa, and she nodded. “Sure,” he said.
Even with flats on, Teresa knew she would need a break from dancing soon. Her calves were going to be so sore in the morning. But it was deliciously worth it.
Hours later, a ringing phone awakened Teresa from a deep sleep. She glanced at the bedside clock. Two o'clock in the morning. She groggily leaned over to reach for the phone, praying it didn’t wake Anthony, but Frank had beaten her to it.
“Hello?” he said. Through the glow of the streetlight coming through the window, she watched his face. “Rosa, what’s wrong?”
Teresa heard alarm in his voice. She sat bolt upright in bed. Frank listened intently, cradling the phone and looking at her.
“It’s Marco. He’s missing,” he mouthed.
Not again. Teresa hadn’t heard from her little brother in the last few days and knew when he was radio silent, it was never good news. He almost always surfaced in some kind of trouble.
After her father, Sergio, passed away of a heart attack at the age of fifty-two, Teresa had worried about her mother, Rosa.
Even though Sergio was a difficult man to live with, prone to bouts of drinking and treating Rosa as a second-class citizen, she didn’t know any other life than the one she had with him.
Teresa worried her mother would find it a challenge to navigate life alone after so many years of being part of a couple, even one with glaring imperfections.
Teresa and her two brothers had still been living at home after Sergio died.
Then, one by one, they’d moved on. First, Teresa’s big brother, Sal, went to college in Pennsylvania on a scholarship, met his wife, got a great job in the area, and settled there, to Rosa’s dismay.
Teresa married Frank a few years later—a joyous occasion for her mother but one that meant Teresa left home.
That left only her younger brother, Marco, at home, which had proved to be a burden rather than a comfort.
Ever since Sergio died, Marco had struggled with alcohol and drug addiction, often going on benders where he was drunk or stoned—or both—for days or weeks at a time and failing to come home.
The task of roaming the streets, looking for him before and after work or in the wee hours of the morning, usually fell to Frank, who’d dragged a disheveled Marco back to their apartment too many times for Teresa to count, letting him sober up before bringing him home to a worried-sick Rosa.
On those occasions, Teresa would try to reason with Marco, begging him to keep it together for their mother’s sake.
He would make promises he couldn’t keep—to get help, to make a new start, to really try this time.
But then the drama would happen all over again, like a well-choreographed play they couldn’t stop acting out.
“I’ll go canvass the usual spots,” Frank said. “Try not to worry, Rosa. I’ll find him.” He nodded, listening. “You’re welcome.”
Teresa’s heart hurt for her mother, who’d had to put up with her father all those years and now had to deal with Marco. She never got a break.
Frank hung up and got out of bed. He pulled on a pair of jeans, grabbed his keys from his nightstand, and kissed Teresa.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m sorry—”
Frank gently placed a finger to her lips. “Don’t apologize—it’s not your fault.” He shook his head. “Damn kid. I swear, I could kill him sometimes.” Frank clenched his fist. “Although he’s doing a damn good job heading in that direction on his own.”
“I know,” Teresa said, releasing an enormous sigh.
Teresa worried Marco would get so high one day that he would overdose. She’d spent years trying to save him and eventually realized he didn’t want to be saved. So she’d given up trying to change him and instead just loved him for who he was—her lost little brother wasting his life away on drugs.
She loved her family, but they were never easy. Thank goodness for Frank. He was her family now—along with their precious baby. Teresa thought for the thousandth time about how lucky she was to have Frank in her corner. It was the two of them against the world.