“I don’t know what they’re recommending right now,” said Angela, diplomatically. “That would be something to discuss with your doctor.”
“Our sponsor said his wife was there three weeks,” said Barb.
Laura was writing something to me on her notepad.I heard they’ve got a wing in the marine barracks that they call the Stork’s Nest. It’s nothing but navy wives waiting to pop.
None of this sounded appealing, but it was Maureen who suggested we change the subject. “What’s the story with the potluck on Sunday?” she said, and everyone piled on, asking what they should bring.
44.
ON SUNDAY AFTERNOONS WHEN THEweather was nice, the Navy Support Office hosted potlucks at the compound. The command provided paper products and burgers and hot dogs, which volunteers cooked on a couple of extra-large grills, and everyone else was expected to either bring a side dish or make a donation at the door. For our first potluck, I had thought I might go all-out and make a potato salad, but Paul caught wind of the idea, intervened, and said that, for everyone’s sake, we’d be better off forking over the cash.
When we arrived, there was a volleyball game in full swing and a handful of guys playing horseshoes in a makeshift pit. Paul couldn’t play on account of his toe, which a corpsman on the tender had confirmed was broken, but he ran into a radioman he knew, and after he introduced us, they settled into a conversation about Hank Aaron’s home run record that was so boring I wandered off.
Over by the picnic tables, a couple of wives were bustling around, removing Saran Wrap from casserole dishes and putting out extra serving spoons. They clearly had everything under control, but still, I asked if they needed anything.
“I think we’ve got it,” said a woman whose arms were piled high with bags of hamburger buns. Only after she’d set them down did I realize I was talking to Mary Lou Jenkins.
“Oh, hey,” I said.
“How was the seminar?” she asked, and I was glad I hadn’t played hooky.
“It was good.”
“Isn’t Angela the best?” she said.
“Mmmm,” I said, trying to think of something nice to say. “I certainly learned a lot.”
“She is such a marvelous resource.”
On the other side of the compound, I saw Laura talking to a woman who looked vaguely familiar. “Be right back,” I told Mary Lou. “There’s someone I want to say hi to.”
Laura and this woman—who I realized was the American I’d seen on the ferry the first day we’d shown up in La Maddalena—were deep in conversation when I arrived in front of them. “Oh my God,” said Laura, raising a Miller High Life in my general direction. “I was just telling Sheila about your fiasco.”
“My what?”
“The business with Angela,” she said, then barreled through introductions so she could get back to the story.
I didn’t know what to make of Laura treating the story like it was hers to do what she wanted with. On one hand, I was embarrassed for this stranger to learn I’d been called out by Angela. But on the other hand, there was something conspiratorial about the three of us being in on this secret, and I definitely needed some conspirators.
“Do you think she thinks I’m some sort of communist sympathizer?” I asked when Sheila had been brought up to speed.
“Not a chance,” she said. “But the thing you’ve got to know about Angela is that she’s got zero patience for anyone who doesn’t toe the party line.”
“Do you know her well?”
Sheila shook her head. “No one knows Angela well. She’s not knowable. But I did go to those Italian lessons she offers for a little while.”
“Oh,” I said, interested. “How are they?”
“They’re crap, but it’s not her fault. She’s got all these different students at different levels. Like, you barely know how to say your own name, and the person next to you will be reading Dante in the original Italian.”
I had read a little Dante in twelfth grade. And bya little, I mean enough to know he wasn’t for me. “I find it very hard to believe there’s an American on this entire island who’s reading Dante—in English or Italian.”
“You know what I mean,” she said. “You kind of need something more serious if you want to make any real progress.”
“Like private lessons?”
“Yeah, that’s what I’d recommend. I take them with a gal named Felicia, but she’s not taking any more clients right now. Her mom’s sick.”
