A few days after leaving Naples the ship stopped at Genoa before then sailing directly across the Atlantic to New York. While there was still time it would not be too late to get off. She could say it was an emergency. It felt like an emergency. It would be difficult, but not impossible, to have the crew unload her many bags--nearly twice as many as when she arrived. She wanted to take as much of Rome home with her as she could. Yes. She would leave the ship and go back to Rome and Paolo. She would call everyone later and tell them that she had changed her mind.
Her family and friends in New York were so excited about her homecoming that they had made Sally almost able to taste it. She couldn't wait to hug them all. Well, too bad. She had to go back to Rome.
No. She couldn't. It felt too erratic for her sensible American mind. What would be the point? What would be different? Besides, she had given up everything that had been hers in Rome. And Paolo was in no condition to put it back together for her. He could hardly keep himself afloat.
No, she would go home and work. Work for real, work to advance, work to make money. For them. When Paolo saw how good life could be in America, he would come over. She would bring them over. It was best for everyone this way.
But she urgently needed to speak to him. Until now she had never gone a day without speaking to him. She would telephone Rome.
Sally couldn't believe that the Italian phone system was still so primitive. Even all these many years later it seemed that they had never managed to put themselves completely back together after the war that destroyed Europe. There was only one phone on the pier and everyone wanted to use it. Long distance was a particular problem with bad connections and long waits.
And Sally was fifth on the list to call Rome. As she waited and huddled on the cold, damp pier, a terror crept into her stomach.
What if they're not home and she never heard their voices again? What if the ship was ready to sail before her call was put through? What if she couldn't stand it anymore and begged to go back? All the trouble that would start! What if they didn't want to speak to her!?
She finally settled in the small, cramped phone booth with several others still milling around behind her, surly with impatience. The call went through. There was so much noise.
“Pronto! Pronto!” she shouted.
When she heard Paolo's soft, sexy, funny voice, she started to cry so hard that he almost had trouble knowing who it was.
Sally felt his sudden joy as they began to speak. “Yes, I know you are in Genoa now, he said. “Tonino and I have a map and everyday we mark a point where you are. See, we are going with you anyway.” She felt her heart would split in her chest.
She started to reply but the static on the line was cutting off every other word between them.
Sally felt as if the phone was crumbling in her hands. She wanted to clutch some wire of return, to scream into the black circle, to push her words into the black silence.. But it was no use. Paolo and Sally were desperate to remain together these last few minutes, yet the phone went dead.
But after all, what could a going say except that she was gone.
CHAPTER FIFTY THREE
The ship had barely cleared the Azores when the worst North Atlantic storm in decades began to violently toss the vessel around the vast ocean. Waves, phosphorescent in their fierceness, washed over the uppermost decks, sending the nose of the liner deep under the sea and then bouncing up again. Windows broke. Passengers screamed. And the Captain ordered everyone to their cabins.
Food was served when it could be, with ropes in the hallways to help the passengers cling to something on the way to the dining room. Some nights it got so bad the Captain told the passengers over the loudspeakers to tie themselves into bed.
On this trip, there were no walks around a sunny deck, no meeting interesting people, no games, no bands, and no fun. It suited Sally just as well.
She cried alone in her cabin the whole way across, and she could pick several reasons why: sea sickness, fear and grief.
CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR
Sally and the other passengers were totally worn out by the long dangerous trip. But almost no one could resist going on deck in the calm early morning as they entered New York Harbor. Sally especially needed to see the breathtaking skyline once again, and the proud Statue of Liberty holding up the lamp that still lit up the world.
By the time the ship docked further up the Hudson River, a festive mood had crept aboard once more; this time it was because everyone was so glad to get OFF!
But it was an arduous process getting off the ship and it took several hours. First, all the passengers bags had to be collected from every stateroom. Or unloaded from deep within the ship's cargo hold. Trunks, crates, suitcases and even cargo were unloaded by hooks, cranes, and on pallets by gangs of longshoremen. Then each of the bags, trunks, suitcases, and crates were inspected, very slowly, by Customs Agents while anxious relatives and friends waited beyond the large bay doors outside in a huge, crowded pier hall.
Sally wasn’t sure anyone would be there to greet her; the weather had made the ship's arrival so uncertain. At long last, she was let free to go into the thronged waiting hall.
Sally saw her mother first. How beautiful she looked! How much she had missed her!
They cried as they hugged for the first time in years.
“Oh, that hat!” Sally's mother scolded, “why are you wearing that silly hat!” The peaked plaid cap was all the fashion in Italy. “Well, it's not the style here,” her mother said.
Sally's father just slapped her a bit on the shoulders. He wasn't much for hugging. “We hear you had a rough time out there, kiddo. Glad you made it,” was all he said.
“It's so amazing,” Sally said as they walked out to the busy street into the gray New York light, “how everything looks as if I were here just a minute ago.”
“Did you think the place would collapse because you were gone,” her teen-age sister said.
They split two cabs between all the people and luggage, and headed to Ruth's apartment where Sally would move back into her old room, until she decided just how to proceed with her newly-resurrected New York life.
It's so solid, Sally thought as they drove through the deep canyons below the skyscrapers. She tried to see the sky. She should have been excited and happy with the possible joys that lay ahead , but all she felt was an unshakable sadness in the depth of her heart.
CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE
She had been home about two weeks when Sally's old friend Harriet arranged a dinner with other friends at a fancy New York restaurant. “They are dying to see you again. It will be fun.” Harriet said: “Don't forget, get really dressed up.”
“Are you sure you don't want to join us,” Sally asked Ruth. “Harriet wouldn't mind. You know everyone.”
“No, thanks,” Ruth said,” I've been looking forward to a Saturday night to just fall apart and hang around. Maybe I'll curl up and read.”
Fall apart were the words for it. Curtains were down, dirty dishes were still piled high in the sink. Clothes, books ,records, newspapers, everything was scattered carelessly all over the apartment. Ruth certainly looked comfortable in her beat up old clothes.
“Ok,” Sally said.
Dinner was indeed elegant. There was a certain New York tinkle about the place; a low noise that was both reserve and celebration. It made Sally feel good. Each taking a turn, her friends told Sally what they had been doing these past years. For her part, after some short generalizations about Italy, Sally didn't even try to explain. She wouldn't know where to start.
When they finished, Harriet asked, “How's Ruth? I'd love to see her; it's been a long time.”
“I asked her to join us,” Sally said, “but...”
“Well, why don't we go back to the apartment and have coffee with her,” Harriet suggested.
“I don't think so,” Sally said, “she just wants to hang out. Besides the house is such as mess...”
“I'll call her and see
if it's ok,” Harriet said, getting up and heading for the phone.
“No, I don' think so....” Sally tried to say.
Sally couldn’t believe that Ruth had actually agreed to the visit. But then, Ruth always was much more easy-going about everything.
It took longer to get back than Sally remembered, but Harriet pointed it out it was theater night in Manhattan.
“SURPRISE!!!!!!”
Sally was so taken aback that she almost tripped through the front door.
Harriet was laughing, very pleased with herself.
Ruth looked stunning and glamorous.
Fresh curtains were on all the windows, the house was shiningly clean, and party decorations had been hung in all the rooms. The dining room table held a scrumptious buffet and lots of champagne. The place was jammed. Her mother, father, sisters, cousins, friends, former colleagues, old boyfriends, and friends of friends filled the apartment to the last inch of floor space.
The music went on. In between hugging, and kissing, and screaming, Sally managed to ask Ruth, “How did you.....?” Ruth just shrugged and smiled.
What a time they had! It was so good to see everyone again .Sally had the feeling that her whole life was gathered here. Well, most of her life.
It was the happiest, most exuberant crowd Sally had been with in a long time. To actually touch, talk, and be with beloved people long unseen felt so wonderful. The loud, rhythmic music had everyone dancing, mostly in place since there was hardly any room. Except for the spaces vacated by those who somehow always crammed into the tiny kitchen at every party.
Sally was having so much fun she did something very rare: she danced with her undanceable father. Family and friends who had never met before became best buddies. Sally flirted harmlessly. And no one left amid warm and tight hugs until very early in the morning.
Sally was finally home.
CHAPTER FIFTY SIX
Now all Sally had to do was find a job.
It was so easy, she was astonished.
A few phone calls to old colleagues, and soon she heard that a well-known advertising agency needed a person with international experience to handle a client involved in foreign trade. Usually it would be hard for a woman to get a position like this, but now Sally’s overseas experience was perfect for the job and the job was perfect for Sally.
Besides being the only female executive in the agency, Sally had her very own secretary. Best of all, her salary would be much more than she could ever have hoped for in Italy. Now she knew she had done the right thing.
Before long she could bring Paolo and Tonino over, and probably even carry an apartment for them all until Paolo got his own job. She wrote to Paolo right away.
But underneath it all, Sally was somewhat apprehensive. After all, she had not worked in the demanding, fast-paced, what-did-you-do-for-me-today New York environment for far too long. She was afraid she was rusty. But it turned out to be a like riding the proverbial bicycle: she just clicked in again to the rhythm, and was even nourished by the challenge.
The sweet courtesy of the Italians had given her a good working style. From living abroad, her hands-on experience of coping with whatever the world at large could throw at her turned out to be just what the firm needed. She could handle anything.
Except her secretary.
“She doesn't want to work for a woman.” A co-worker brought this information back to Sally. “She thinks it doesn't give her enough prestige.” Sally thought: It's always the enemy within.
After several weeks of frustrating non-cooperation, Sally brought the problem up delicately to management. “Why not make her happy--both of us happy--and let her work for someone else. I don't mind trying someone new.”
“There is no one,” she was told. “We found out that none of the secretaries want to work for you. They never worked for another woman before.” Sally had a sudden urge to slap every one of them. Instead, she focused on figuring out the best way to handle the situation. With her workload she needed a partner not a saboteur.
One morning a new face was at her secretary's desk: an older woman who had worked many years for the company and whose long-time male boss had just retired. Olivia was very gruff and outspoken.
“Let's get it straight,” Olivia told Sally, “they put me here because I'll be retiring myself soon. I don't like it, but I'll do it!” And she did.
Sally gave Olivia more and more interesting work to do and more freedom to do it in. Soon Olivia was really part of the team, which was progress of sorts. Still, the men on Sally's job level never asked her to lunch with them, and the woman below Sally's job level never asked her anywhere.
Sally didn't care. Her letters to Paolo were full of excitement, pleasure, pride, and all the reasons why he and Tonino should come to New York to live this wonderful life. “See,” Sally wrote him, “you would not have to worry about being out of work anymore each time the government fell. In New York there are so many opportunities in companies that would be thrilled to get your intelligence and political experience. Tonino would love it too--there are several international schools, even art schools at his level. Think about how it would expand his horizons and education. You'd be challenged too, by all the new and creative aspects of this life.”
In every letter, Sally held out a few more carrots to Paolo. What she pushed most strongly was the freedom, the independence, the diversity, the options. “You don't have to think about what social class you are in order to do what needs doing. You can even change your career if you want.
There are no rituals, no obligations to the past, and very little chance of stagnation.”
Paolo was not much of a letter writer, but now and then he would send one of several pages.
He would tell her of politics--divorce was now on the docket—write about their friends, what they did and how they always asked about her. And he told her Tonino was really becoming a serious painter for a kid his age.
“You seem to be thriving,” Paolo acknowledged to Sally. But he never said he wanted to join her.
CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN
In spite of how it seemed, and what she told him, only part of Sally was thriving. She had become twins.
One twin was a feisty New Yorker, reveling in the hard, competitive struggle, working to its fast beat and mesmerized by the pulsating lights that surrounded her at night like excited fireflies. This twin savored things done in a New York Minute, rather than not done at all in the Roman “La Dolce Fa Niente”--the Sweet Do Nothing. Now Sally’s life was characterized by the fact that she had three separate appointment books: one for the office, one for home, and one for in between.
But the second twin thought New Yorkers walked too fast, as if everyone were in the military. She missed the sexy strolling the Romans had perfected. And she continued to be bereft, in mourning for the sound of Paolo's voice.
This twin's flesh suffered from not being touched, caressed, lusted by him. Could not bear the absence of his general wisdom, quiet humor, and sense of the absurd. Or his solid decency. Or his intense attention.
It was as though the New York twin were in a frantic theme park that would turn bad if the distractions were not kept up. Yet the other twin longed to be in the soft psychological candlelight of Rome, with its casual encounters rather than rigid dates.
The Roman twin longed for Italy's physical beauty, its fountains, sunshine, outdoor cafes. And sky. Sally could not see the sky in New York.
One day she looked out her office window for a soothing glimpse of blue sky during a particularly stressful moment, and it wasn't there! Instead, there were gray buildings criss-crossing, blocking, and over shadowing each other. A jagged geometry of lines, gray concrete and glass reflections like an infinity of madhouse mirrors. What Sally saw from her window was a gray box without sky.
The Roman twin had a convulsive attack of claustrophobia.
But the New York twin dismissed it as she answered the stridently ringing phone.
CHAPT
ER FIFTY EIGHT
It had been a particularly dreary day.
The city was damp, raw, and all one color.
Sally always thought that when New York took on that cold, steely light, it turned rude and mean. Something in the low, gray clouds seemed to hurt everyone's skin.
Sally was happy to get home and had just gotten into her fuzzy slippers and bathrobe when the bell rang.
“Who is it?” she yelled through the intercom.
The scratchy voice yelled back: “Flower delivery!”
The twenty-four tulips were milky white, all white. They were mixed with lush green ferns, and the effect gave a startling reminder of the pleasure of nature.
The card read: “It's spring. You should be here. Paolo.”
CHAPTER FIFTY NINE
Ruth and Sally were at Lincoln Center to hear the New York Philharmonic Orchestra play. The concert was to feature the world premiers of several new works by living composers. Ruth and Sally loved evenings like this. Often the composers themselves were in the audience.
While daylight in New York could be sunny and sharply beautiful, it was just as common for it to be overcast, monotone, and ugly. But the nights never were. Whether offering a hazy drizzle, or the piercing clarity that made stars visible even beyond the bright lights, New York nights could not be matched. This was such a night.
One of the very few fountains in New York was in the middle of Lincoln Center's strolling plaza. The alternating gushes of water were awash with illumination. It was good to be near a fountain again. Being here was good. Being with Ruth, at ease and interested, was good. The music was good. Life was good.
Sally hoped that all this goodness would succeed in pushing away the creeping sadness that had started to take over more and more of her days.
CHAPTER SIXTY
Whenever she had one of her dreams about Paolo, Sally would wake up happy. Then she would remember there was a distance of 3,000 miles between them. And the dull, all-day-long pain would start. It was as if her heart had a headache she couldn't take anything for.
On these days, she would constantly picture him: where he would be and at what time of the day. She knew what Rome would look like, and what Paolo would look like, walking his walk, parking the car, entering Nandos. She wondered if their song were still on the jukebox and if he ever played it. She could see other women noticing him, smiling and throwing glances at him, responding to his elegant, gentle, funny ways as they always did. Sight unseen, Sally would get jealous to her knees.