The Coach House (15 page)

Her mother’s birth certificate.
It showed that her mother was born February 11, 1903, in Florence, Italy. Marie was aware her mother immigrated to the United States when she was very young. Sophia’s mother was listed as Mona Costa and father as Vito Costa.

Marie’s birth certificate.
Born June 28, 1925, in Chicago. Mother’s named listed as Sophia Costa. Father’s name left blank. She held it to her chest.

“Do you ever think about trying to find your father?”

“I would if I knew where to start. I have absolutely no clues. Costa was my mother’s maiden name, and that’s the name on my birth certificate. Any suggestions?”

He shook his head.

Marie’s report cards.
She had been an A student all through school.

An envelope containing a wisp of hair.
Written on the outside of the envelope was “Marie’s first haircut, June 28, 1927. Cried the whole time.”

A matchbook from the Central Union Club.
Richard picked it up. “Why would she have this?”

“I don’t know. What’s the Central Union Club? I never heard of it.”

“That’s because it’s a private men’s only club.”

“Really?”

“I don’t know if it still exists or not. During prohibition, these so-called businessmen’s clubs popped up all over, mostly for the booze, but I suppose some business went on there as well.”

Marie sighed. “Another mystery.”

An envelope containing a dried pressed yellow rose.
On the envelope Marie’s mother had written May 14, 1924.

“The year before you were born.”

Marie nodded.

A Bible.
Marie didn’t remember ever seeing it in their home.

Three Ellis Island processing tickets dated March 11, 1907.
That meant her mother was four when she immigrated to the United States.

Photo album.
Marie flipped through it and not recognizing many of the people in the pictures, decided to examine it more closely at a later time.

Death certificates for Victor and Mae Costa.
She knew her grandparents had died in a house fire but didn’t know it was in 1919. “My mom was sixteen when they died, hon, the same age I was when she died.”

A small jewelry box.
It contained a string of pearls, a gold watch, diamond earrings, several hatpins, and a tortoise shell comb. “Nice watch,” she said. She handed it to Richard.

“I’ll say. It’s a Rolex. Best Swiss-made watch you can buy. That had to set someone back a pretty penny. You should wear it.”

Marie tried it on. “I don’t know how she could have afforded this.”

Richard picked up one of the diamond earrings. “These are at least a carat, maybe more. Looks like your mama may have had a sugar daddy.”

“Richard!”

“Well, do you have a better explanation?”

Marie ignored the question.

A flapper dress.
Marie held it up. She didn’t remember her mother being that petite.

A typewritten manuscript, its pages bound with three brass rivets.
The title on the first page was
My Shameful Past.
She turned the page.

This book is dedicated to my mother, a slave.

By: Winston G. Paterson

September 3, 1903

Marie thumbed through it. “Winston G. Patterson. I wonder why she had this.”

“Hard to tell. Is that it?” Richard asked.

“That’s it.”

“So do you know more about your mother now?”

“I think these things raise more questions than they answer. Like the envelopes sent to the P.O. box. I don’t get that at all. And the passport. Surely, she didn’t go out of the country by herself.”

“And the expensive jewelry.”

“Yeah. That surprises me.”

“What about the photos? Anything interesting?”

“I don’t think so, but I want to look at them more closely later.”

“Too bad you hadn’t seen these things before she died. You could have asked her about them.”

“Mm-hm. Maybe she didn’t want me to see them.”

* * *

The weekend following Flora’s funeral, the promise of warm weather around the corner, Marie and Richard sat on their back porch sipping wine. She read the
Tribune
while he went through the mail.

“I’d like to go to this.” He handed her an invitation for a political fundraiser.

“Who’s Rocco Palermo?”

“He’s a good friend of Judge Lucas.” Judge Lucas was the judge who had married them. “We’ve had lunch a few times. He’s running for governor in November, and I’d like to hear what he has to say.”

“You must at a hundred dollars a plate.”

“The only way he’ll have a chance is if he runs a proper campaign, and he can’t do that without money.”

“Republican or Democrat?”

“He’s an Independent.”

“And he has a chance?”

“If he can get enough exposure.”

“Well, I’m open to hearing him talk,” she said, surprised at her husband’s sudden interest in politics.

A couple of weeks later, as Marie was getting dressed for the fundraiser, Richard walked into their bedroom.

“Wow!” was all he said when he saw her.

She wore a midnight blue figure-hugging dress with thin shoulder straps. Its cinched waistline and low-cut design, in both the back and front, flattered her curves. She pulled her hair up in a chignon and completed the outfit with her mother’s diamond earrings and the gold bracelet Richard had given her for her twenty-first birthday.

“Do you like it? I bought it especially for the occasion.”

“Like it? You, my darling, look stunning!” He looked her up and down. “I’m going to have to keep an eye on you tonight,” he teased. “Every man in the place will be looking at you.”

“Go on.”

It turned out Richard wasn’t far off the mark. Marie sensed that she turned nearly every man’s head that night. It made her uncomfortable, but Richard loved it. She tried her best to make idle chitchat with the wives while Richard talked with the men, but knowing their husbands were ogling her from a few feet away made it awkward.

Close to a hundred people were there, all dressed in their finest attire. Marie fit in with what she was wearing, but felt out of her element in all other respects. She did her best to blend in as Richard, who appeared to know just about every man in the room, introduced her.

“He has the best combination of balls and brains I’ve ever seen!” Their language appalled her.

“Where’s Toots?” Marie kept hearing the men say throughout the cocktail hour.

“Hey, I expected to see Tootsie here.”

Recalling that name from the papers in the box she had discovered in their basement, she asked Richard, “Who is Tootsie?” He shrugged it off and said he didn’t know him.

Rocco was dressed in an off-white pinstriped suit, grey shirt, and black vest and tie. A large man, he could be spotted from any vantage point in the room. And so could the humongous diamond ring he wore on his pinky finger.

His speech was confusing. He contradicted himself more than once and often got off track, sometimes in midsentence. He was nothing short of inarticulate, something Marie wouldn’t have expected from a man wanting to be governor.

On the ride home, Marie voiced her opinion of him.

“Oh, he’s a little rough around the edges, but that’s what I like about him. He’s a man for the people, sweetheart, unlike his opponents who spend all their time practicing their speeches in front of a mirror until they get it perfect. He can make a difference given the chance.”

“If you say so.”

“The night’s young. Do you want to go dancing?”

“Sure.”

“That way I can continue to show you off to the world. You really look incredible in that dress. Did I tell you that already?”

“Yes, but I don’t mind hearing it again.”

They drove to a dance hall called the Red Door. Once they were inside, Richard took her in his arms, and they joined twenty or so other couples on the dance floor. Their movements were smooth and easy: he the strong leader, and she the graceful follower. She felt as though they were one when they danced. It was a feeling that enthralled her.

After they were there for about twenty minutes, three uniformed policemen entered through the back door. They stood there for several minutes observing the crowd. Richard didn’t take his eyes off of them once as he twirled Marie around to a Viennese Waltz. When the three men turned toward the exit, Richard abruptly let go of her right in the middle of their dance and said, “Hon, I’ll be right back. Men’s room.” With that, he walked briskly toward the back of the room.

Marie walked off the dance floor in awe and sat in one of the chairs off to the side. She looked toward the back exit. One of the policemen had propped the door open with his body. She saw Richard talking to the other two. Their conversation ended with laughter and handshakes.

Richard walked toward Marie, took her arm, and said, “C’mon, let’s go.” He then escorted her to the front door. “They’re going to raid this place,” he whispered. They walked fast to his car and drove away.

“They
told
you they were going to raid the place? Why would they do that?”

“I know one of them. He gave me the heads up.”

“Why are they raiding it?”

“Illegal gambling.”

“In a dance hall?”

“There’s a back room.”

“I thought the police generally turned a blind eye toward gambling houses.”

“Not all of them. It’s who you know.”

She wondered how he knew so much about the subject, but given the tightness of his jaw, she knew better than to pursue it.

The next morning, lying in bed, Marie smelled the strong aroma of coffee coming from downstairs. Before getting dressed, she looked out the front window to see what kind of day it was going to be. Richard was talking to a man across the street who looked familiar. She watched them talk and then realized it was one of the policemen who had been at The Red Door the previous night.
He lives across the street?

The two men spoke animatedly, laughing at times, and slapping each other on the back. After five minutes or so, they shook hands, and the policeman walked up the sidewalk leading to the house directly across the street from theirs and disappeared inside.

She was sitting at the kitchen table when he returned. “So what did the policeman have to say so early this morning?”

Richard rummaged around in one of the kitchen drawers. With his back facing her, he said, “Nothing much, just neighbor stuff.”

She waited until he sat down with his cup of coffee. “You didn’t tell me last night that he lived right across the street from us.”

“I didn’t?” His posture was tight.

“No, you didn’t.”

“Well, he does.” Richard busied himself with buttering his toast.

She studied his expression. “What’s his name?”

He hesitated. “Brian.”

“Brian what?”

“Murphy.” He looked up at her. “Anything wrong?”

“No, of course not.” She paused. “Why don’t we have him over for dinner some time? Does he have a family?”

“Divorced. Works nights mostly. I was thinking of Eduardo’s for dinner tonight. Is that okay?”

“We have all the makings for pot roast in the fridge. I thought we were eating in.”

“Let’s do that tomorrow.” He got up and kissed her on the cheek.

“Okay. I need to go in to Field’s this afternoon for a meeting with Mr. Bakersfield, but I should be home well before dinner.”

“On a Sunday?”

“Yes, on a Sunday.”

* * *

On their way out of Eduardo’s that night, Marie and Richard ran into Arturo’s unkempt cigar-smoking relative, Guido. “Med Man! Where’ve ya been? I haven’t seen you since St. Hu’s.”

“Alive and well, old man,” he said brusquely and shepherded Marie out the front door.

“Hey, come back here. What’s your hurry?”

Richard kept walking as if he didn’t hear him.

“What’s St. Hu’s?” Marie asked.

“St. Hubert’s Old English Grill and Chop House. Just a restaurant on the West Side, I think. I can’t even remember seeing him there. C’mon, let’s go. It’s
freezing
out here.”

“What does Guido do?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“Just curious. He seems to know you pretty well. Seems odd you don’t know what he does, that’s all.”

“Next time I run into him, I’ll ask him. Ha! It wouldn’t surprise me if he and his wife just leech off Arturo.”

“What’s she like?”

“Don’t know. Never met her.”

“Yes, you did. You were talking to her at Rosa’s our first Christmas Eve together.”