Page 2 of Letters From Victor

1

BARBARA

December 1950

“When did you buy a new dress?” Frank eyed the black satin garment I’d carefully laid across the bed. It was trimmed with a wide leopard-print collar and had a matching belt.

“I made it,” I answered, pinning a blond curl into place. The bedroom smelled of powdery pomade and perfume. I put the finishing touches on my updo, the faint sheen of hairdressing cream smoothing the last of the flyaways.

Frank raised his eyebrows and let out a small huff before crossing over to the mirror in the corner of the room.

As I applied my rouge and deep red lipstick, I caught Frank’s reflection in the vanity mirror, fumbling with his bowtie. The soft glow of the bedroom lamp illuminated the lines of worry etched into his forehead.

“Let me help you with that,” I offered, crossing the room and taking the silk fabric in my hands. As I deftly tied the bow, I felt the tense coil of muscle at his neck and caught the faint hitch inhis breathing. “Are you sure we should go out tonight? Maybe we should stay in, save a little money,” I ventured, straightening his bowtie.

Frank sighed heavily. “We have to go, Barb. This dinner with Mr. Cardello could mean big things for my career. We need this.” He slipped on his suit jacket.

“I was thinking,” I began, smoothing his lapels. “Maybe I could look for a job. Just something part-time to help out until things get better. I could always go back to modeling…”

“Out of the question, Barbara.” Frank’s tone was stern as he took hold of my hands, his eyes narrowing. “We’ve discussed this before. Your place is here, taking care of our home and Frank Junior. I won’t have my wife parading herself around like some common showgirl.”

A flare of indignation rose within me, but I bit back the sharp retort that danced on the tip of my tongue. Instead, I plastered on a smile and nodded—the perfect picture of a dutiful wife.

“Of course, dear. You’re right. I just thought I could contribute…”

“You contribute plenty by being a good wife and mother. That’s all I ask of you, Barb.” Frank pressed a perfunctory kiss to my cheek before turning toward the door. “Now come on, get dressed. We don’t want to be late.”

He pulled a pair of brown leather loafers out of the wardrobe and buffed them with a worn, dingy cloth.

As I stepped into my black satin dress, the fabric cool and slippery against my skin, I couldn’t shake the sense of unease that had settled in the pit of my stomach. I smoothed the fabric over my hips and reached behind to zip up the back. The leopard-print collar tickled the nape of my neck.

“Frank, darling,” I called out, my voice echoing in the stillness of the bedroom. “Tell me more about this Mr. Cardello. You’ve done business with him before, haven’t you?”

I turned to admire my reflection in the full-length mirror, the dress hugging my curves in all the right places. For a moment, I felt a flicker of my former life of films and photo shoots.

“Victor Cardello? He’s a businessman. Runs a huge real estate firm. He’s got his hands in just about every property deal in Los Angeles.” Frank stepped into his shoes and tucked a pale blue pocket square into his jacket.

I clasped a double strand of pearls at the nape of my neck and shivered as the chill kissed my skin. “How do you know him again?”

Frank paused, his hand resting on the knob of the bedroom door. “I’ve insured a few of his properties. High-end stuff, Barb. Hotels, office buildings, that sort of thing.” He glanced over his shoulder at me, a hint of pride flickering in his eyes. “He’s a big fish, and if I can reel him in, it could mean a promotion, a raise…”

“I see,” I murmured, slipping into a pair of black patent leather pumps. The shoes pinched my toes, but I ignored the discomfort. Pain was beauty. “What’s he like?” I asked, curious about the man who held such sway over our evening plans and potentially Frank’s career. “You’ve never mentioned him before.”

Frank shrugged, turning to face me. “He’s a businessman, through and through. Charming but ruthless. Knows how to get what he wants.” He took a step closer, his gaze sweeping over me. “You look beautiful. Just remember, tonight is all about impressing Mr. Cardello. Let me do the talking, okay?”

I nodded, a tight smile on my lips. “Well then,” I said, straightening my shoulders and lifting my chin, “we’d best not keep him waiting.” I brushed past Frank, my heels clicking on the hardwood floor as I made my way down the hall.

2

VICTOR

The purring engine of my jet-black Rolls-Royce Silver Wraith announced my arrival as I pulled up to Dorothy’s house. Her neighborhood was a picture of post-war suburbia with manicured lawns and white picket fences—a far cry from the gritty streets of downtown Los Angeles where I made my fortune.

As I stepped out of the car, I adjusted my black pinstriped suit, ensuring every crease was immaculate. I nodded to my driver, Gino, before walking up the path to the front door and ringing the bell. The chime reverberated through the house. I reached into my coat pocket and fished out my wedding ring. As I slid it onto my finger, I flexed my hand a few times to ease the foreign discomfort. After a moment, the door opened, and my wife, Dorothy, emerged from the house, her dark hair perfectly coiffed and her red lips pursed in a tight smile. She wore an emerald dress that hugged her waist and flared out over her hips, a string of pearls adorning her elegant neck.

“Victor,” she greeted me coolly as she pulled the front door closed. She brushed past me on her way to the car. I nodded in acknowledgment and followed, opening the car door for her. Dorothy slid into the backseat, careful not to wrinkle her dress. Ijoined her, the scent of her floral perfume mingling with the rich leather interior.

As Gino pulled away from the curb, I studied my wife’s profile, her face sporadically illuminated by the passing streetlights.

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