Page 64 of The Singing Trees
“Let’s just hope you’re not getting in over your head, little girl. Now head up to Personnel, and they’ll get you switched over.”
Annalisa immediately stopped what she was doing and rode the escalator toward the next level of her life, thinking she couldn’t wait to call Nonna.
And to write Thomas.
Chapter 23
FINALLY, HERVOICE
A confidence Annalisa had never known came to visit that October of 1970. She was given a giant pay increase, earning twice what they’d paid her in the Bargain Bin. She was the youngest employee in the Advertising Department and had her own slanted desk that looked out over the city. Along with finally achieving financial freedom, she found great joy in breathing life into the winter outfits with pen and ink.
After a long few years of hardship, things were working out, as if she were becoming one of the women she drew. More important, she took these lessons home to her studio. Armed with even more knowledge of the latest fashions, she painted these wonderfully fierce women strutting through life with determination. She painted so quickly, too, as if her confidence was her creativity’s caffeine.
In fact, she couldn’t keep up with the demand in Walt’s shop and had raised the price to ten dollars a painting. To her complete disbelief, she was now paying her rent with her art. For the first time in her life she allowed herself to indulge. She began to dress like her women on the canvas.That’s right, canvas.With her increased income, she was working on canvas more, which only made sense, because she’d found her voice, and it was time to take her art—every single piece—more seriously.
With her increase in income, she allowed herself more than a few indulgences. She first spent time down in the Bargain Bin, finally takingadvantage of her discount, but she even spent money at the makeup and perfume counters and on the racks of new arrivals on the first floor. The next thing she knew, she was replacing pieces of furniture in the apartment and even treating Nino or Aunt Julia or Nonna to dinner when they’d come to town. This was how it all happened, she learned. Hard work eventually paid off.
She saved her favorite paintings, though, waiting for the day when she would burst into Sharon’s warehouse to blow her mind. Annalisa could already see her female subjects looking back at her from the walls of the warehouse in April. It wasn’t yet time, though. Having only just realized her potential, she wanted to make sure her new portfolio proved to Sharon that she’d finally learned how to connect and that she was more than one of her teacher’s talented students. How could Sharon disagree, for Heaven’s sake? Annalisa was her own embodiment of these paintings.
In her last lesson, Sharon had shared one of her favorite quotes, something Amedeo Modigliani had said. “‘When I know your soul, I will paint your eyes.’”
Annalisa had replied back, “Exactly! I know. I get it now. You just wait and see what I have coming your way.”
She went home for Thanksgiving and felt like a successful woman as she regaled her family with all the stories of her first five months in Portland. The most exciting news was that Patty had just offered her a full-time position as a fashion illustrator, giving her a generous salary with benefits. Nonna and everyone else was so proud of her, that she’d finally made it on her own. She knew even her mother was looking down at her with applause.
After such a long hard road, Annalisa had found her voice and was making good money, and life was beautiful and uncomplicated, and nothing could get in her way and then ... Thomas called.
“I’m in New Orleans,” he said, “flying into Boston tomorrow. Coming home.”
It was December 12, and Annalisa was swamped with work at Pride’s and trying to get together her portfolio for Sharon.
Talk about having the wind knocked out of her. As much as she’d enjoyed their letters, the last thing she needed was to have an actual interaction with him in person. Forget about guarding her art; what about her heart? In the silence after his words, she forced herself to remember how their relationship had screwed up so many things.
“I guess you need your car, don’t you?” she asked, not meaning to be so harsh to him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I amslammedwith work—finally landed a full-time position—and you caught me off guard. Wow, you’re coming home.” She hated it when she rambled, but he’d just dropped one heck of a bomb on her.
“Yeah, I’ve got three weeks of leave before I ship out. I’d love to see you if possible. And you’re right; I’d like to borrow my car, if you don’t mind.”
Ship out,she thought. He was really going to war. “Yeah, of course,” she said, not giving a damn about the car. All that she could think about was that she was the reason he was going to war. “It’s parked in my lot downstairs.”
Thoughts of losing him all over again pricked her eyes. As much as she wanted to see him, though, she couldn’t. The war didn’t change the fact that they were better off apart, so she tried to think of the best way to exchange keys without putting herself in a vulnerable position. “What time do you arrive?”
“My bus gets in at around one.”
She took a thankful breath. “Gotcha. I’m gonna be at work.”
“I figured.” She could hear his disappointment, and she couldn’t blame him. She was disappointed in herself. Why, after half a year, was he still so present in her heart?
“It’s Christmas season,” she said, feeling a need to explain herself. “We’re already working on the spring line, and I’m still trying to puttogether a portfolio for Sharon Maxwell. I know you remember her, the—”
“Anna,” he said, stopping her, “it’s no sweat. I just thought I’d try.” With a more chipper tone, he asked, “How are you, anyway? I’m jazzed to hear you’re busy.”
“Thanks,” she said. “Yeah, busy just the way I like it. When do you actually leave? Maybe we could connect after Christmas?” She didn’t just say that, did she?
“I leave from McGuire on the sixth.”
She wasn’t ready for any of this—his call, his voice. His going to Vietnam. The man she loved was coming home for a little while to very well say goodbye to his friends and family. A goodbye that might be his last. And here she was fumbling around with a way to avoid seeing him.
Kicking herself for being so ... so ... selfish, she said, “Yeah, let’s get together after Christmas. Maybe we can meet in the Mills for lunch or something.”
