Chapter 142
Francesca was disappointed, but Americans in La Maddalena were thrilled, and two weeks later, when the command celebrated the Fourth of July—and the United States’ bicentennial—it was hard not to feel as if all of the festivities were really just a giant victory dance.
Paul had come home with a mimeographed schedule of events.
On Saturday night, there would be a huge fireworks display, visible from both the Palau and La Maddalena waterfronts, and on Sunday—which was the actual Fourth—we’d go to special church services in the morning, the dedication of the softball field in Moneta in the afternoon, and a semiformal dance at Vista Mare Elementary School in the evening.
Monday was the federal holiday, so provided any of us were still standing, we could catch a bus from the Palau ferry landing to Costa Serena, where the command was hosting a beach picnic.
I hadn’t seen Teo since Tuesday afternoon, when he’d come to La Maddalena to—ostensibly—interview Bertini for a piece he was writing on the new administration.
We’d had only a couple of hours together back at Teo’s apartment after the interview, but we’d made tentative plans to see each other sometime over the July Fourth weekend if I could slip away.
It was a dicey plan, because the weekend was jam-packed. “Are you sure you want to wait around for me?” I’d asked, but Teo insisted that he was coming to La Maddalena anyway and had plenty to keep him busy in the event I didn’t show.
By Sunday, when Paul and I arrived at the softball field for the ribbon-cutting ceremony, I was in a terrible mood. I hadn’t seen Teo once all weekend, and since he did not have Monday off, I knew he’d be leaving for Sassari on the six o’clock ferry.
I had held on to the hope that, if I could survive the speeches and handshakes and photo ops, I might get home from the ribbon-cutting with enough time to make up some errand and slip away for an hour.
But then I saw that all of the guys, including Paul, had changed into jerseys that read LA MADD SQUAD.
“Wait, what are they doing?” I asked Annie as we watched our husbands clamor into the dugouts.
“It’s an exhibition game.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” I said.
We were sitting on the hot bleachers, surrounded by a gaggle of other wives. “Do you think they make those shirts in my size?” said Debbie, who was a diminutive woman.
“They should,” said Annie. “They’re cute.”
The bases weren’t even loaded when I started trying to figure out how long I’d be stuck there. “How many innings are in a softball game?”
“Isn’t it the same as baseball?” said Debbie.
“Nine,” said Annie.
“Jesus Christ,” I said. There was no way I was going to make it to Teo’s.
“It could be worse,” said Laura, who was very clearly still angry with me.
“I don’t see how.”
She looked at me over the top of her sunglasses. “You could be seven months pregnant.”
I let out a short laugh. “Yeah, I guess that would be worse.”
“Who wants wine?” said a new girl named Miranda as she pulled a thermos out of her bag and began to pour Vermentino into plastic cups.
“You are my hero,” said Debbie.
We were down a few friends by that point.
Not just Bev and Rita, whom I sorely missed, but Barb and Maureen and Siobhan and a bunch of the women I’d met in my first few months on the island.
We’d gotten some new blood, too. J.R. had been replaced by a guy named Allen Fitzer, and his wife, Teresa, was a sweetheart.
There was a woman named Jocelyn Smith, whose husband was an engineer with the Seabees, and another gal named M.J.
Pedraza, whose husband likely worked in Naval Intelligence, because she was a little vague about what it was he did.
The wine was so refreshing, I drank it down in three or four gulps. Then I began to feel a little better about my botched plans.
“Did you hear they’re filming part of the next James Bond movie in Palau?
” said Debbie, and everyone perked up. The director had apparently reached out to the CO to see if NSA La Maddalena could help recruit extras, and in the name of boosting morale and because he was a huge fan of the franchise, the CO had said yes.
“I’ve always wanted to be an extra in a movie,” said Jocelyn, and a bunch of the girls nodded in agreement.
“We should all audition,” said Miranda.
“If we get picked, do you think we’ll get to meet Roger Moore?” asked Laura.
“I want to do more than meet him,” said Debbie with a suggestive wink. Miranda pretended to fan her with a copy of the program.
M.J. agreed. “He is a very handsome man.”
“But maybe not worth blowing up your marriage over?” said Laura, and everyone stared at her. While the Roger Moore stuff had been a joke, it wasn’t clear that she was taking it as such.
“Allen would totally give me a pass if I got propositioned by Roger Moore,” said Teresa, and everyone laughed except me, for whom the comment had hit a little close to home.
“It’s Ryan O’Neal for me,” said M.J. “I have a get-out-of-jail-free card on that one.”
“What about Paul Newman?” said Miranda.
“Oh, forget about a get-out-of-jail-free card. I’m torpedoing my marriage for that guy,” said Teresa.
“I bet his penis is the size of a torpedo,” said M.J., and we all laughed.
“Why does it always have to be about sex?” said Laura.
Debbie raised an eyebrow at her. “Spoken like a woman who’s seven months pregnant.”
“I’m serious,” said Laura. “It’s all you guys ever talk about. I mean, I get it, sex is nice. But it’s not everything, you know?”
This was obviously a dig at me, but thankfully, no one else took it that way. Instead, Debbie pretended to look for Bobby in the dugout. “Will someone find Laura’s husband and tell him she needs to get laid?”