Page 6 of Everything We Thought Was True
Oh, the irony. Of course Dad had to go and select the date that our family had fallen apart to announce that he was getting married again. I was sure he didn’t remember that this was the anniversary of the incident. But still... the fact that he’d picked this day, of all days, to drop this bomb on me felt like an omen.
I signed onto Facebook to distract myself. I hadn’t been on social media for a few days, since posts about the Supreme Court decision had flooded my feeds—most celebratory, some ugly. When social media was blowing up with news of the decision, I’d chimed in, posting about the historic weight of it. I was thrilled about the legal strides made in recent years. Heck, I was part of making those strides as a deputy US attorney, but that was my professional life, not my personal one.
Despite the upbeat mood online, I saw the seed of hatred like a spot staining my retina from looking directly at the sun. It was still there, lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce, gaining momentum, becoming angrier and bolder. It was like the decision bestowing rights was oil thrown on an open flame, sparking an even bigger fire. That was what was going through my mind—and it made me sick to be focusing on the negativity, unable to bask in the glow of such a momentous occasion and see past the ugliness. When I saw those hateful comments, a wave of protectiveness toward my father spread through me, which surprised and gladdened me. I didn’t know how to explain to others my fear that my father was different, stood out, and was a target of the hateful people of the world.
I checked my Facebook wall and froze.Oh my God. My father had already posted about his engagement and tagged me. I had no idea how the hell that had happened—my privacy settings on social media were airtight. I had made sure of that.Dammit.Facebook must have done yet another update that canceled out my privacy selections. I quickly went into the post and untagged myself, praying that, in the short time between my conversation with my dadand this post, none of my connections had seen it. I scrolled through the reactions and comments. Fortunately, all of them were from my dad’s connections, none from mine. I felt instant relief—and then guilt over my reaction.
My life had been shaped by this one fact—that I was the daughter of a gay father. Yet I still hid it. That was the Antinori family way. My mother had instituted a gag order, forbidding us from revealing that Dad was gay. And I loved my mom, so I'd done just that my entire life, religiously adhering to the Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy long before the US military instituted it. It was our way of trying to maintain a peaceful existence.
My mom’s familiar mantra ran through my mind—“No reason to air your dirty laundry”—a phrase that had ruled my childhood as we navigated our family secret.
Chapter Two
TERESA - NEW ROCHELLE, NY
1968
Teresa pushed the baby carriage up the hill the last few steps toward home, cursing the slight incline that never looked that bad in the distance. It was a killer on her calves but worth it. Walking Anthony to the park and back had finally stopped his crying and made him fall asleep.Thank goodness.
She glanced at her watch, thankful that she still had enough time to set her hair in rollers, do her makeup, and get dressed up. That night, she and Frank were going to the Drifters Boat Club summer party. It felt like months since they’d been out together. She’d been busy caring for five-month-old Anthony, which often left her exhausted. When Anthony was first born, Frank had come home directly after work to see the baby before Teresa put him to bed. But lately, Frank was working later hours at the Cadillac dealership, hoping to get promoted from auto mechanic to a position in the parts department. Teresa really hoped the promotion would happen soon, so they could get a bigger apartment with more than just three rooms in an attic. On top of that, Frank was working a second job at the Drifters Boat Club, taking weekend shifts to make extra money, which meant more time away from her and Anthony. Fortunately, they still had mornings when Frank sat with her in the kitchen, bouncing Anthony on his lap, feeding him a bottle. And that night,Frank’s mother, Eva, was coming over to watch Anthony so she and Frank could enjoy some alone time.
She parked the baby carriage on the front porch and stared up at the haunted-looking Victorian house. Not the most welcoming of homes, but it was the first place she’d lived other than her parents’ house, so she cherished it. She hadn’t gone very far. This house was walking distance from where she and Frank had both grown up, in the west end of New Rochelle, a New York City suburb filled with Italians.
Teresa reached their attic apartment, stopping to catch her breath after climbing all three flights of stairs with Anthony asleep in her arms. She settled the baby into his crib and paused to watch him sleep. He was so cherubic with those fat cheeks she loved to nuzzle. It felt strange to be only nineteen years old with a baby. She’d married at eighteen. The two years she and Frank dated had felt like an eternity—she’d been eager to start their “real life” together and be his wife. On Valentine’s Day 1967, Teresa Marchesi had worn a white dress and ballet flats so she wouldn’t be taller than the groom and officially became Teresa Antinori in a Catholic ceremony at St. Bartholomew Church, her family’s local parish.
Frank looked so handsome on their wedding day. When he smiled directly at her, Teresa felt as though the gods had bestowed a gift upon her. It wasn’t uncommon for Teresa to catch other women sneaking glances at Frank when they were out together, which always made her feel discomfort mixed with a sense of pride. It didn’t hurt that Frank looked like he came from a long line of handsome Italian American Franks—Frankie Avalon, Frank Sinatra, and Frankie Valli.
Teresa opened the door to the small closet she and Frank shared and picked out a shift in lavender, her favorite color.Perfect match for a summer party.Yes, that night, she was going on a date with herhusband. And she couldn’t wait.
Teresa took a bite of her hors d’oeuvre, swaying to the music, watching the pulsating dance floor. The band started playing “I Got You Babe,” by Sonny and Cher, and the crowd erupted in excitement. Frank grabbed Teresa’s hand and pulled her onto the dance floor, with a big grin on his face.
Frank led Teresa around the floor like a pro. He had a natural rhythm to his movements. He also had years of formal dance classes under his belt, thanks to his mother, who’d seen his interest and talent in dance and enrolled him in ballroom classes from a young age. Teresa was a good dancer but not on a par with Frank. No matter. She loved being in his arms and following his lead. Her hips sashayed as he twirled her away from him and back. They danced song after song, and Teresa was grateful she’d worn flats.
She felt her face flushing and beads of sweat forming on her forehead. A stickiness lingered in the evening, leftover from the humid day, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d danced together for this long. It had probably been before Anthony was born. She and Frank used to go to Glen Island Casino together, a beautiful spot in the southern part of New Rochelle with expansive views over Long Island Sound, which featured big band music on Friday nights.
She thought back to their first date there and smiled to herself, reliving the exchange. “Wow, you dance like Fred Astaire—so smooth on your feet,” she’d said.
“So, you've danced with Fred Astaire?” Frank teased.
“Ha ha. No... but I’ve seen him in the movies. I bet you bring lots of girls here, don't you?”
“Lots of girls? No. Just the ones I really like.” Frank winked.
“I've passed the test, then?”
“Oh, you are definitely on your way to passing the test.”
“And what else is involved in this test of yours?” she asked.
“Well, the night is still young, isn’t it?”
Frank then pulled her closer, pressing her against him in a tight embrace as they danced. He touched a piece of her hair that had fallen out of her chignon and twirled it between his fingers. He’d nuzzled his head into the crook of her neck, and she’d felt his lips lightly brush against her skin as they swayed together in time with the music. Her body had felt electrified with excitement. She remembered thinking she’d never felt like that in her entire life.
She brought her attention back to the present, where the song had changed to Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons’ “Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You,” one of their favorites. She smiled at Frank, and they both started singing along.Frank twirled her again, and when she rolled back into his arms, he dipped her backward. She threw her head back, a yelp of laughter escaping her lips. Frank popped her back up, and she noticed their new friends, Henry and Joanie, dancing nearby. They had a boat on the same dock as Frank’s.
Henry leaned in to be heard over the music. “Want to grab something to drink after this song?”
Frank looked at Teresa, and she nodded. “Sure,” he said.
