On November 20 at seven in the evening, the Isle of Capri restaurant was already packed with visitors while a “Closed for Private Party” sign was taped to the window. A black sedan with two FBI agents was parked at the corner of Ninth Avenue and from time to time one of the agents would note the plate numbers of the cars as they dropped guests off at the front entrance. The rest of the time the agents listened to the radio and drank the awful coffee brewed by the ‘Tic Toc Luncheonette.’ This time however there was an added feature to the surveillance team: an informer was posted inside the restaurant to gather as much first hand information as possible.
Maria Nicolosi, ravishing in a dark red dress, was welcoming the guests at the door. Consul General Barbieri always the smooth, well groomed and impeccably dressed diplomat was one of the first to arrive. He smiled when he saw Dr. Aldo Freddi come up to him. Freddi was a highly respected academic who taught history at Hunter College and was the American correspondent for several Italian newspapers. He was considered as a moderate Fascist, if such a thing were possible in the current situation, yet his articles always managed to express some kind of praise for the Fascist regime and its incomparable leader. He was therefore considered highly reliable having entrée almost in every Italian group except the Socialists and Communists. Even the most anti-Fascist leftists were eager to speak to him. Barbieri came up to him with a broad smile,
“I haven’t seen you in some time, Aldo. Unfortunately it’s a bit late for me since I have been recalled once again and will be leaving in about ten days.”
“Well, Dr. Barbieri, an Atlantic crossing in these rough times is far from a pleasant journey.”
Barbieri smiled,
“Yes, we will certainly take the southern route extending the trip by four or five days to avoid the thick of the submarine war. I hope the authorities aren’t harassing you these days.”
“I see that Maria has kept you informed.”
“We are old friends. And I like to know about my friends’ friends.” He smiled and offered Aldo a rare brand of Turkish cigarette from a gold case.
“I imagine you are happy to be returning to Italy.”
“Three eventful years in Newark, five months in New York at a time that will go down in history has certainly been an experience. Of course I am happy to return to Rome where I expect to be useful.”
Barbieri sounded very confident,
“Tonight we give thanks for the peaceful days we enjoy in the New World, Your Excellency.”
Freddi gave a slight bow and a mocking smile.
Barbieri lowered his voice,
“You may have noticed the FBI surveillance outside? That’s obviously for my benefit. As soon as I leave they will keep following me around all night. My usefulness in this country is therefore at an end.”
Barbieri smiled nonchalantly and blew smoke into the air before stepping away. He didn’t want to share too many thoughts with Freddi and rightly suspected that the professor could be playing for both sides at that time.
A tall older man with a graying mustache and goatee made a dramatic entrance accompanied by two lovely and much younger women. He was wearing an old fashioned black artist’s hat, a black cape and a blue bow tie. Barbieri immediately recognized Carlo Tresca, the famous Italian anarchist known for his unrelenting defense of Sacco and Vanzetti in the 1920s. Tresca threw his cape and hat at the waiter, gallantly kissed Maria’s hand, frowned and nodded at Barbieri and headed to the bar where Freddi was sampling some red wine.
“My dear professor. Our mutual friend, the beautiful Maria, reminded me that we had met right here a few short years ago. I vividly remember our argument back then. You were much too pro-Fascist for my taste. Now that you are older, and wiser are you perhaps less of a Fascist?”
Freddi smiled at Tresca’s caustic repartee,
“Older for sure, but wiser, I’m not at all certain. As for Fascist…well, as you can see I’m still in America and that may be enough of a statement.” He said winking at Tresca.
“I saw you with our suave and very Fascist diplomat His Excellency Vittorio Barbieri. I have had a few arguments with that gentleman who insists on remaining polite and slips conveniently away from potentially embarrassing conversations when it suits him best. The last edition was a diatribe about the racial laws. I was unnervingly vocal in my opposition but I also pointed out the lack of outrage by ordinary Americans who accept forms of traditional anti-Semitism as part of their daily lives. Barbieri just walked away from me as he usually does when things become unpleasant. He is a man who serves the dictatorship today but tomorrow will be the excellent ambassador of a democratic and liberal Italy. A latter day Talleyrand! There’s little to be expected from his kind.”
He shrugged his shoulders and drank some Chianti. Maria came around looking excited and intense; she seized Tresca by the arm and pushed her bosom into his chest.
“Now Carlo, you promised me that you’d behave and not make speeches.”
“I promised of course, my dear but I wanted to remind our friend, the distinguished professor, that he should read my paper Il Martello. It contains more than just ideological polemics. I provide the hard facts that no one else dares to print. Hard facts, not words, Professor Freddi!”
Tresca theatrically drew a spiral in the air and took a seat between his two luscious companions.
Just as everyone was settling down two older women arrived accompanied by Joe Licata. They embraced Maria in a display of electric excitement. The peroxide blonde in her early forties was wearing some very impressive jewelry and very heavy make up. They sat next to Barbieri as Tresca looked on frowning. Later Tresca told Freddi,
“I may not have told you an important detail: I knew Mussolini very well in Switzerland before the First World War. We were actually good friends. Like me he was an impoverished radical socialist without a cent to his name. When he returned to Italy the Carabinieri threw him in jail and he desperately needed money to pay for his defense. By then I had moved to this country and with some friends managed to put together a small fund for Benito’s defense. He wrote to me several times and was very grateful, that small sum saved his hide for a while. But then things changed, as you know and he stopped contacting me. Now he apparently wants me dead because I know a few dirty little secrets about him…I find his vindictiveness pathetic. All politicians have skeletons in their closet, big ones and small ones.”
“Interesting anecdote, Dr. Tresca. Some day I may be able to use it. Who knows?” Freddi looked genuinely interested but Tresca changed the subject.
“You obviously don’t seem to know who that outrageous blonde woman is.”
“That’s correct, I don’t.”
“Well, that, my dear professor, is Anna Petillo, the ex-wife of Don Vito Genovese, a very unsavory Brooklyn underworld type. Genovese has been living in Italy since 1937 when he escaped a murder charge in Brooklyn. I know more than a few things about him. He’s a fugitive narcotics dealer and the murderer of many more than just one poor soul.”
Tresca walked away smiling enigmatically.
The party continued merrily into the night. At one point once the dancing began, Maria introduced Anna Petillo to Barbieri,
“Vittorio you must ask my friend Anna to dance she’s so curious to find out whether I’m telling the truth about you being such a good dancer.”
Up close Anna looked even more bizarre with her heavy white stage make up combined with blood red lipstick giving her a thoroughly ghoulish look.
“Then I shall ask you very enthusiastically, Madame.”
He said that with a smile taking Anna’s hand and breaking into a rather fast swing.
“Maria looks so happy; she’s really crazy about you!”
“If she’s happy then I am happy as well.” He answered eager to be rid of such an aggressive woman.
They danced across the floor a few times and he managed to make her laugh as they whirled around.
“You’re quite a dancer Vittorio.”
“Thank you, I try my best.”
Anna rewarded him with a little smile. Barbieri knew that Joe Licata, a man with a very dubious reputation was her escort and perhaps more. Licata was someone who could be useful in certain situations. It was rumored that Don Vito Genovese was so crazy about Anna that he murdered her first husband by throwing him off the roof of a New York building. But when another man had inadvertently witnessed the scene, Genovese simply grabbed him and forced him off the roof as well. Like Helen of Troy, Anna’s charms were so captivating that men were ready to kill for them.
Maria closed the restaurant at two that morning for what would be the last Thanksgiving before America and Italy suddenly found themselves to be at war with one another.