Presents !! for You — A Serialization !!
This is the next chapter of my life in the Middle of the Mob for your enjoyment! —The Gang
As printed…
Note: This should be about an 12 to 14-minute read, though your mileage may vary…
As seen in Print Edition…
Sometimes you throw the dice and get a seven right off the bat. But when you’re a nineteen-year-old virgin, Italian, and Catholic, born in the World War II era, the odds of that happening might be stacked against you. Might?
The odds were stacked against me. Let’s face it, where, when, and to whom you are born is a complete crap shoot that affects the rest of your days. I was born the day after the bombing of Pearl Harbor and I’ve always wondered if the vibes from all that negativity had any influence over the battle that became my life.
My personal war started on my wedding day…
Perfect weather, not a cloud in the sky. Outside, spring had greened all the trees. The scent of lilacs that grew between my house and my uncle’s, next-door, came floating through my window on a warm breeze. The sweet smell coaxed me out of bed.
Butterflies in my stomach were flying in circles. God, I was so innocent. All I ever dreamed of as a kid, besides making lots of money, that is, was to be a wife and mother, keep a perfect house, and cook fabulous food for my family.
In three short hours that dream would begin. I would become Mrs. Nicky Salatto.
While I was soaking in a hot tub of water to calm my nerves, Papa’s words swirled through my head like a cold wind. He wasn’t much of a talker most of the time, just sat on his rocking chair going back and forth, smoking cigarettes one after another. So, it was unusual for him to lecture me about anything. But during the three months of my engagement to Nicky, when Papa and I drove to work together every morning, he never shut up. I can still hear his voice.
“Babe, you’re too young to get married. You have your whole life in front of you. You could do better.
” …Marry a doctor, a lawyer, who knows, even a plumber makes good money and you’d never have clogged pipes. I know this family.I know this family –the Salattos are not good people. Do you realize they have connections to the mob? And Nicky’s father is the biggest womanizer in town.”
When Papa’s pleading didn’t work, he threatened me.
“I won’t even walk you down the aisle if you marry this guy!”
But, in the end he did walk me down the aisle… paid for the big wedding too.
It took an hour to apply my make-up, tease my hair into a bouffant then glide the dark red lipstick on to my lips. Nicky would swoon when he saw me, at least that’s what I hoped.
Over my head went the three chiffon petticoats then the white silk gown with the beaded pearl neckline. It flared out two feet and made my waist look about three inches round. Finally, I carefully set the small pearl tiara on top of my head and attached the long white veil.
My three bridesmaids―Eileen, my older sister; Gina, my younger sister; and my cousin Lena―helped me by lifting all the layers of my gown to slide the blue garter around my leg. I still have a photo of that moment somewhere. God, I wonder what all that must have cost my parents.
St. Mary’s church bells chimed for the ten o’clock Mass and the altar looked beautiful with the sun streaming through the stained-glass windows, the smell of fresh carnations, lilies and incense filled the air, ironically the same smell you find at funerals. You couldn’t squeeze another Italian in that church… packed to the choir loft.
Father Pat said those sobering words, “Love, honor, obey… till death… You may now kiss the bride.” Nicky lifted my veil slowly, smiled as he looked into my eyes then kissed me so gently on my lips I felt faint. That man knew how to kiss a woman. I took his arm and floated down the aisle.
Rice flew from all directions and so did Jordan Almonds and pennies. Don’t know where that tradition came from…
Outside on the church steps, rice flew from all directions and so did Jordan Almonds and pennies. Don’t know where that tradition came from, but, back then, at all the Italian weddings, they threw Jordan Almonds and pennies with the rice.
As a kid, I loved it. Through a blurry moment of congratulation kisses, hugs, and handshakes, my eyes drifted to a small girl gleefully stuffing her pockets with Jordans and coins. Suddenly, a strong feeling came over me, perhaps an instinct that I didn’t want to acknowledge, and made me long to exchange places with that child.
The reception was at the Eagle Hall, where almost all Italians in North Sable celebrated their weddings. The place had a long bar at one end, a huge wooden dance floor in the middle, and at the far end, a small stage for the musicians.
We hired a popular local band, Nuncio and the Calzones. They played all the Italian favorites like “Volare” and the “Tarantella.”
Everyone danced: young people, old people, some barely able to walk and little girls on top of their daddy’s shoes giggling as the fathers attempted to waltz them away.
Two long tables full of food lined the side walls: sandwiches, salami, pickles, chips, and the three-layer cake with the little bride and groom on top.
But the most popular food on the table was definitely Mama’s homemade cookies. Maria, my mom, baked for weeks: biscotti, wine cookies, bow ties, snowballs, and pizzelles. I swear she was a machine.
…Nicky and I danced the traditional first dance as husband and wife to our favorite song, “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes.”
Nicky and I danced the traditional first dance as husband and wife to our favorite song, “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes.” I felt so proud to belong to him. Papa cut in and pinned a twenty- dollar bill on my dress, which signaled all the other men to dance with me in exchange for a few bucks.
My white wedding gown soon turned green, covered with ones, fives, and tens. In the meantime, Nicky was doing shots with his buddies and dancing with other girls, a little too closely I noticed. Then he disappeared. He wasn’t at the bar, or on the dance floor.
I figured he must be in the john, so I went down the hall and around the corner to the restrooms to look for him. We bumped into each other as Nicky came out of the men’s room laughing with one of the North Sable thugs, Johnny Borono, an old high school classmate of mine. Their red glazed eyes told the whole story: drugs.
Shocked, I asked, “What are you doing, Nicky?”
He motioned for Johnny to leave, then pushed me against the wall and grabbed my chin.
With a smirk on his face he said, “Cool it, Sami. No need to cross-examine me. Everything is okay, just having some laughs with a friend, that’s all. Here’s a little donation from Johnny,” and he stuffed a hundred-dollar bill in my bra. “Now get back out there and play the happy bride, okay?”
He shoved me toward the hall. Dazed, I tripped on my gown. He caught me and grabbed my arm hard, squeezing even more as he led me back to the main room. Under his breath, he uttered, “Are we a little clumsy?”
I felt queasy and frightened at what had just happened. As we got back into the crowd I managed to pull my arm free of his grip and accidentally elbowed Nicky’s older brother, Frankie, who was standing just behind.
“Woo,” Frankie said, doubling over jokingly. “You have quite a jab for a pretty little thing.”
Then, looking quickly from Nicky to me, and seeing the daggers in Nicky’s eyes, Frankie said, “Hey, brother, I haven’t had a chance to dance with your bride,” as he hauled me out onto the floor.
Frankie pulled me in tight, then whispered in my ear, “Hey, Sami, you know you’re playing with fire when you make Nicky mad like that. Not nice. You shouldn’t do that ’cause when my brother gets mad then I get mad and it doesn’t turn out so good.”
My whole body stiffened. I pulled far enough away from him to look into his blood-shot eyes. I mustered up the strength to address his bullying.
“Well, thanks for the warning, Frankie, but just how seriously should I take the advice of a junkie? You know your brother told me all about you. He’s says you’re nothing but an addict and a thief.”
“Oh, he did, did he? You got some balls, woman. Well he told me a few things about you, too. You wanna know the only reason Nicky married you? Because your dad has a few bucks; you’re just a meal ticket. Happy wedding night, Sami,” he said, and left me on the dance floor, stunned, dizzy with fear, amid the swirling guests.
The Segue…
THE LADIES – Phone Call, 8 a.m.
Before leaving Vegas, goals were set by both ladies and included a pinky shake on the following:
- We will write one hour a day and no less than one page a day.
- “We will get published” became our mantra.
- We will remain faithful to the truth.
- We will meet in Las Vegas to drink tequila as often as possible.
- We will continue to love one another and stay connected.
Lena: Hi Sami, did I phone too early? Is this a good time to talk? I can call back later or even tomorrow.
Sami: Oh no, Lena, this is fine. I’ve been meaning to email you; but I’ve just been so damn busy.
Lena: Did you get the document with the first chapter?
Sami: Yes, and I just loved it, honey!
Lena: You did? Oh, that makes me so happy. I was actually afraid to send it to you.
Sami: “Don’t be silly. We’re in this together. I didn’t see one thing I wanted to change. Except the tragedy of the truth of it. How did I get myself in that mess?
Lena: How do any of us get through what life dishes up? We just do. You did what you thought you had to do; you did your best. I think this project will give you some perspective and help you to not only come to some acceptance but forgiveness too, of yourself and maybe even Nicky.
Sami: Don’t count on it, sweetie, at least not Nicky. You know the old song “Unforgettable” by Nat King Cole? Well, I used to love to sing that song when I went to karaoke, only I changed the lyrics to “Unforgivable, that’s what you are.” I’ll sing it for you sometime.
Lena: I’ll hold you to that.
Sami: I think you need to write about our childhood too, don’t you think?
Lena: Yeah, sure, Sami, whatever you want. But I think it is important to just keep the stories coming. They don’t have to be in order; just keep spitting them out. Okay? Talk to you soon.
Sami: Will do. Bye-bye.
-30-
That’s a Wrap…
Stay tuned to find out WHAT. HAPPENS. NEXT..
[Targeting 31 May for next installment]
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