5. Frankie
FIVE
frankie
“Francesca!” Frankie’s mom exits the tunnel that leads from the airplane to the waiting area holding both of her arms in the air excitedly. She comes as close to running as a five-foot-tall woman carrying a giant purse and wearing high heels can come. “Come here, my love!”
Frankie can’t help but smile. Her mother has always been a huge force in her life—tough, opinionated, loving—and Frankie knows she’s only gotten as far as she has in the world because of her mother’s example of womanhood. One moment Allegra Lombardi is singing Frankie’s praises and telling her she’s the best daughter who ever walked the face of the earth, and the next she’s ranting about Frankie wasting her youth on stage in New York, letting men look up her skirt and see her farfallina . Allegra had been overjoyed to see her youngest daughter settle down with a military man, and while she didn’t understand the need for man to set foot on the moon (“But why , Francesca? We have olive oil and Frank Sinatra and everything a man could ever want right here!” she’d said with wonder, to which Frankie’s brother had added, “And farfallina !” which had earned him a swift smack to the back of his neck from their mother). Allegra Lombardi adores her handsome, fair-haired son-in-law, and she never fails to point out that Frankie could do worse than to give Ed some beautiful babies.
“Oh, Allegra. Leave the girl alone.” Enzo Lombardi is wearing a fedora that’s tipped rakishly to one side, though Frankie knows from looking at him that the choice is less one of style, and more because he’s fallen asleep on the airplane.
“Hi, Papa,” Frankie says, leaning in to put a kiss on her father’s sandpaper cheek. “How was the flight?”
“Unnatural,” Enzo says gruffly. “Man should keep his damn feet on the ground.” He shoots Ed a look. “How are you, son?” He offers a hand to his daughter’s husband. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Ed says as he gives Enzo a hearty handshake. “Flying isn’t for everyone.”
Frankie takes her mother’s giant purse and they make their way to baggage claim.
The Lombardis have chosen to fly into Fort Lauderdale from Laguardia in New York, so they still have a long drive ahead of them that evening, but Frankie hadn’t been able to convince her parents to let her pay the difference for them to fly into a smaller airport closer to Cape Kennedy. “Too much waste,” Enzo had said over the phone. “You’ll come get us, we’ll tell you everything that’s going on with the family on the car ride back.”
And that’s what they did, regaling Frankie and Ed with stories about Frankie’s brother David in Los Angeles. (“How is a man that beautiful still a bachelor?” Allegra wails, sounding as if she’s clutching a rosary and begging God for mercy. Frankie has some ideas about why her brother hasn’t yet settled down and married, but she holds her tongue.) They fill them in on their other two daughters, Rosalie and Ana, alternately shaking their heads at the fact that Rosalie married a bum (“Moron,” Enzo says from the backseat), and that Ana is always pregnant (“Doesn’t she know how that happens?” Enzo asks facetiously. Allegra whacks his arm loudly and mutters to herself in Italian).
The moment the Lombardis step into Ed and Frankie's home, Allegra drops her bags. "Well," she says, her chest puffing up as she takes in the modern furniture, the sloping ceilings, and the thick, plush carpet. "This place needs...something."
"What, Mama?" Frankie asks tiredly, only half-listening as she watches Ed take their bags back to the guest room for them. Enzo Lombardi is standing in front of the giant picture window that looks out onto the street in front of the house.
"I don't know yet, Francesca. But I'm going to start by filling it with the smell of good cooking and we'll go from there."
Frankie can't help but laugh at this. "Okay," she says amiably. It's been too long since she's had her mother's hand-rolled pastas, rich minestrone soup, and homemade bread, and she'll be the last person to complain about Allegra standing in the middle of her sunny kitchen, preparing sauces and freezing pastas for later.
Allegra looks around her daughter's house with both fists on her hips. "Tomorrow you'll take me to the butcher," she commands, "and then I'll make dinner for us. I'm cooking for Christmas, too."
Any other woman might have been offended by her mother sweeping in and taking over the cooking for a holiday like Christmas, but again, Frankie is happy to hand over the reins to a woman who can cook the way Allegra Lombardi can.
"I'm tired," Enzo says, finally turning away from the picture window. "I want to sleep, Francesca. Tomorrow I'll see your town, and then we'll discuss your life."
At this, Frankie wants to respond or protest, but she knows better. Discussing her life is one of her father's favorite pastimes, and there's no way she's having them stay for a month and getting out of a recap of her choices and mistakes.
"Okay, Papa," Frankie says. She's exhausted, and honestly thrilled that her parents want to go to bed. "You two rest up. Let me know if you need anything."
She accepts kisses from both parents and then turns out the kitchen lights. There'll be plenty of time for everything tomorrow.
"I said I wanted the fesa and scamone !" Allegra Lombardi shouts over the counter at the butcher, who shrugs good-naturedly and goes back to the refrigerated area to get the cuts of rump the older woman is asking for. "I'm making spezzatino ," Allegra says in a quieter voice, turning to her daughter. She's such a spitfire, and never in her life has Frankie seen her mother back down--from anything. Despite her petite stature, she makes herself heard and seen.
Frankie stands there in a fitted dress and high heels, an unlit cigarette in one hand as she looks at her mother with amusement. "You know I love your spezzatino ," she says, fishing through her handbag for a lighter. She'd lasted eight days without a cigarette, but her parents' arrival had sent her into the master bathroom the night before, where she cracked the small window and lit one, exhaling gratefully into the dark night as the nicotine floated through her body.
The butcher is back. He wipes his hands on an already bloodstained apron as he regards Mrs. Lombardi warily. "It will cost you extra," he says, lifting his chin at her as if he wants to get under her skin. It works.
"What kind of an operation are you running here, you idiota ?" Allegra flicks her fingers beneath her chin and glares at the butcher. Frankie would be more alarmed at her mother's bad behavior, but she knows that the butcher is Italian just like her parents, and that this is all part of their back-and-forth. She's seen her mother have exchanges just like this all over Brooklyn for the better part of her life, so she ignores it and glances out at the sidewalk longingly.
"Mama, I'm going to go outside and smoke. I'll wait for you." Frankie is out the glass door and flicking her gold lighter before her mother can even respond. She inhales deeply, closing her eyes in the bright morning sun.
"Frankie!" Jo is walking down the sidewalk, waving excitedly. "I came by your house last night," she says as she approaches with a huge, open smile. "No one was home, so I just took our walk alone. I missed you though."
"Ed and I went to Fort Lauderdale to pick up my parents at the airport," she says, tipping her head backward towards the butcher's storefront behind her. "My mother is in there and I'm out here," she adds, holding up her burning cigarette like it's a passport that's allowing her to travel to another country.
Jo smiles knowingly. "You're out here because you already need a break?"
"A month, Jo--I invited them for a month ."
"Are you already rethinking that?" Jo asks with sympathy. "I don't know if I could spend a month with my parents--God love them, but I do think there's a good reason why we grow up and leave our parents' house."
Frankie lifts one bare shoulder and lets it fall as she takes another pull from her cigarette. "I woke up to find my father reading the newspaper on the lanai in his underwear," she says. Jo makes a yikes face. "And my mother has demanded that I write down the details of my last three menstrual cycles so she can 'cook the right foods' to help me get pregnant."
One of Jo's hands clamps over her own mouth to stifle a surprised laugh. "Oh, no," she says, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, Frankie."
Frankie shrugs again and taps the ash of her cigarette over a grate on the sidewalk. "Parents--what are you gonna do, right?"
Just then, Mrs. Lombardi comes out of the butcher shop with a cut of meat wrapped in brown paper, tied with string, and tucked beneath her arm. "Francesca," she says with a big smile. "Tonight, we feast."
Frankie smiles, looking back and forth between her mother and Jo. "Mama, this is Josephine Booker. Our husbands work together. Jo, this is my mother, Allegra Lombardi."
"Mrs. Lombardi." Jo puts out a hand to shake but Frankie's mother just frowns at it. After a brief moment, her face collapses into a smile. "You are beautiful!" she says to Jo, holding her hand up in the air and stepping closer to Jo. "I'm so happy to meet Francesca's new friends!" Without warning, she leans in and kisses Jo on one cheek.
"Oh!" Jo can't hide the blush that creeps up her cheeks as she smiles at Frankie's mother. "It's lovely to meet you as well. How are you liking Stardust Beach so far?"
Allegra looks up and down the street at the shops and at the shiny cars parked at the curb. "It's so...new," she says, sounding a little puzzled. "It looks like a set for a movie, doesn't it? Where are the cops? No one is bent over the hood of a car, no one is frisking anyone for weapons."
Jo blinks rapidly, surprised. "No cops," she says, waiting to hear what Mrs. Lombardi will come up with next.
"And why no men sleeping on the street? No one drinking from a paper bag? No girls selling their--"
"Mama," Frankie interrupts. "Stardust Beach is brand new. Give us a decade and maybe it'll look more like Brooklyn."
"You know," Allegra says, turning to Jo. "One morning Francesca's father got up for work, and there were seven bullet holes in his brand new Chevy. Seven ." She throws a hand in the air like she's given up trying to figure things out. "Is it like that where you come from?"
Jo looks at Frankie like she needs permission to answer, but all she gets is a smirk from Frankie, who is taking a long, amused drag on her cigarette.
"No," Jo says. She shakes her head. "No, ma'am. I'm from Minnesota, and I don't think I've ever seen a policeman frisk anyone over the hood of a car."
Allegra watches Jo's face, and then, without warning, she throws her head back and howls with laughter. "Frankie!" she says, her eyes watering a little as she cackles. "I love this girl. Josephine, you'll come for dinner, won't you? Maybe after the holiday? We're here for a month."
Jo looks thrilled to be invited. "I'd love to," she says at the same time that Frankie says: "Mama, Jo is married with three kids. She can't just abandon them and come to dinner."
Allegra turns to her daughter with a storm cloud on her face. "Then she'll bring them along, Francesca. You've got a swimming pool for her children, and we'll get to know Jo and her husband." She turns back to Jo. "Yes?"
"Absolutely," Jo says. She looks at Frankie and gives her just the barest hint of a wink. "I should get going though," she says, holding up the shopping bag in her hand. "I have a few more Christmas gifts to wrap here. Happy holidays to all of you!"
Frankie blows her a kiss as she crushes her cigarette on the sidewalk. "I'll call you," she mouths to Jo, who nods and waves as she walks over to her blue station wagon, which is parked at the curb.
"I like her, Francesca," Allegra says, walking next to Frankie as they amble past a hair salon and a dress shop. "I'm so happy you're making friends here, amore mio ."
But Frankie has stopped in front of an empty window next door to a cafe. She's peering in at a huge room with a mirror that runs the length of one wall. There is no sign over the shop, and no indication of what it is or was supposed to be. It's just an empty space. "Me too, Mama," Frankie says absentmindedly, her eyes scanning the wooden floors inside. "Jo is a great friend."
The things her friends had said during their girls' only holiday party the week before come rushing back to her now as she looks at this empty shop. Frankie imagines herself in a leotard, dancing and teaching small children how to plié and pirouette . She can almost see herself standing in front of the mirror, facing a gaggle of hopeful little girls wanting to be sugarplum fairies and prima ballerinas. In her mind’s eye, Frankie can even picture a piano in one corner, with a smiling older woman playing for her as she sings and practices her vocal scales.
“I need to get this meat home, Francesca,” her mother says, interrupting her daydream. “And we still need to stop at the bakery.” Allegra nudges Frankie with her purse. “Let’s go, la mia perla ,” she says, using a sweet name that Frankie’s always loved. My little pearl , Frankie thinks, smiling down at the top of her mother’s head as they walk side by side to the convertible together. She’s always loved being her mother’s little pearl—even when she didn’t think she deserved to be.
Christmas is full of food and music and shouting and laughter at Ed and Frankie’s. They've grown used to traveling for the holidays and sitting politely at Frankie's sister's or Ed's parents' house while children tear into gifts and someone else put turkeys and side dishes in front of them. But being at home for the holidays and entertaining Enzo and Allegra gives everything a relaxed and happy feeling, and Frankie is actually proud of the way Florida is decked out with lights on palm trees and gorgeous sunshine at the end of December to provide her parents with a whole new experience. Allegra in particular seems charmed by the tropical Christmas atmosphere.
The tree glitters in one corner of the living room, thanks to Frankie's friends having helped her get it decorated for the holiday, and as Frankie sits on the carpeted floor next to the couch, one arm propped on her husband’s knee as he has a glass of Scotch with her father, she looks around at the detritus of Christmas Day. There is a pile of wrapping paper and ribbon in one corner, and on the stereo console is a stack of holiday albums that she’s working her way through. Her mother has been making Italian Christmas cookies for the past two days, and now several plates of colorful cookies cover the coffee table, as do a collection of empty wine glasses.
Tiredly, Frankie pushes herself to standing. Her mother is in the kitchen, humming to herself as she cleans, and Frankie picks up a stray curl of ribbon, running it through her fingers as she looks around at the joyful mess of Christmas. In a flash, she can see it all with children running through it, and the vision burns her eyes with tears. Wouldn’t everything be better with kids? Wouldn’t their lives, rather than being halved with the chore of raising little humans, be doubled or tripled with the love and tears and laughter? A part of Frankie knows that she could try harder to make this happen, but she’s scared—scared that too much happiness is something she doesn’t deserve.
“Hey, baby?” Ed says, looking over at her as she stands next to the Christmas tree. “You okay?”
Frankie’s dad looks at her with concern in his eyes. “Francesca?”
Frankie’s face flushes; she’s been caught in a moment that she’d meant to be a private one. “Oh, yes,” she says, forcing a smile. “I’m fine. I was just going to help Mama.”
And so that’s what she does. Frankie puts on rubber gloves and scrubs pots and pans while her mother wraps up leftovers. The men’s voices fill the front room as they discuss Kennedy’s assassination, Johnson’s policies, and the Mets.
“And what will you do here, Francesca?” Allegra asks conversationally as she slides a container into the refrigerator. “While your husband goes to space, what will you do?”
Frankie’s hands still in the water and she turns her head slightly so that her profile is to her mother. Her lungs fill with air as she inhales. “What do you mean, Mama?”
Allegra makes a tsk tsk sound with her tongue. “My Frankie isn’t a girl who sits around smoking cigarettes all day. You need something to do. You need babies.”
Frankie feels the balloon in her chest pop like someone’s taken a pin to it. “These things take time, Mama,” she says in a pinched voice. There’s no need to snap at her mother on Christmas, though she’s grown increasingly tired of Allegra’s inquisition about her fertility, which essentially started on her wedding day. “We’re working on it.”
Allegra walks across the kitchen and lowers her voice, glancing at the open doorway as if she’s about to spill state secrets that she can’t afford to have anyone hear. “You have to try harder, Frankie. Even if he’s tired, you just—“ Allegra makes some horrifying motions with her hands that Frankie doesn’t even want to try to decipher. “You just make him interested.”
“Oh, god,” Frankie says, looking at the bubbles floating in the water of her sink. “Mama, no. Please. We are trying.”
Allegra throws both hands in the air and makes a face as if to say Then where are my grandchildren? Frankie rolls her head around on her neck and silently prays for this line of inquiry to end.
“He’s leaving for a month, Francesca,” her mother hisses, making meaningful eye contact. “It’s Christmas. Your father and I sleep soundly. Do you understand me?”
“Anyone with their faculties about them would understand you, Mama. I got it.”
They finish cleaning in silence while the men’s conversation peters out, and when Frankie goes to turn off the lights on the tree, she stands there in the empty living room, listening to the sounds of her parents bickering in the bedroom about which side of the bed they’ll sleep on ( Why not just their usual sides ? Frankie wonders, shaking her head), and her husband going through the motions of his evening routine.
Frankie takes one last look at the house across the street, with its own tree lit up in the front window, and then turns out the lights.
It’s going to be a long month.