Chapters (47)
- 1. Cover Page
- 2. Title Page
- 4. Author’s Note
- 5. Dedication
- 7. Prologue
- 8. Part One: Umbertina 1860 - 1940
- 9. Chapter One
- 10. Chapter Two
- 11. Chapter Three
- 12. Chapter Four
- 13. Chapter Five
- 14. Chapter Six
- 15. Chapter Seven
- 16. Chapter Eight
- 17. Chapter Nine
- 18. Chapter Ten
- 19. Part Two: Marguerite 1927 – 1973
- 20. Chapter Eleven
- 21. Chapter Twelve
- 22. Chapter Thirteen
- 23. Chapter Fourteen
- 24. Chapter Fifteen
- 25. Chapter Sixteen
- 26. Chapter Seventeen
- 27. Chapter Eighteen
- 28. Chapter Nineteen
- 29. Chapter Twenty
- 30. Chapter Twenty-One
- 31. Chapter Twenty-Two
- 32. Chapter Twenty-Three
- 33. Part Three: Tina 1950 –
- 34. Chapter Twenty-Four
- 35. Chapter Twenty-Five
- 36. Chapter Twenty-Six
- 37. Chapter Twenty-Seven
- 38. Chapter Twenty-Eight
- 39. Chapter Twenty-Nine
- 40. Chapter Thirty
- 41. Chapter Thirty-One
- 42. Chapter Thirty-Two
- 43. Chapter Thirty-Three
- 44. Chapter Thirty-Four
- 45. Chapter Thirty-Five
- 46. Afterword
- 48. About the Author
- 49. About the Feminist Press
- 50. Also Available from the Feminist Press
“It’s all a symbol, anyway,” Weezy said, “and it’s all too late. All we’re doing is acting out for ourselves, to make us feel better.”
“Weezy, Angela said it’s set for tonight.”
“Good—get that over with and then I’m taking off.”
How tough her soft little sister had become, Tina thought; or maybe just realistic, grown-up.
“Here’s the money, Weezy. There’s only 50,000 lire left over after I pay the doctor tonight. Take it now.”
“This never had to happen—I mean selling Mom’s jewelry and everything. You could have trusted me.”
“You’re right. I hope papà never finds out.” She put her arm around Weezy. “I’ll never forget your letting me sell your share, too.”
“You’re just lucky I’m not like you,” her sister replied.
She must have been waiting all her life to say that, Tina thought.
38. Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-eight
There was a man at Angela’s when Tina got there.
“Marco, Tina; Tina, Marco,” Angela said briskly. “We were going out this evening anyway, so we’ll drop you off and wait. The whole thing won’t take long. Then we’ll drive you back.”
It humiliated Tina to be included this way on Angela’s date—to be taken for her abortion like some child who, by misbehaving, was interfering with the grown-ups’ plans. Weezy had wanted to come, but Tina told her to stay home with their father.
“Oh, God . . .” Tina began, feeling angry and confused and wanting to be anywhere but there.
“It’s nothing, cara, nothing at all,” Angela replied, and Tina could see that, to her, that’s just what it was.
“Mia cara,” Angela had said in her glib, brittle way at their previous meeting, “the test came out positive. You are pregnant and obviously you have to do something about it. An abortion is no more than going to the hairdresser’s these days. Everyone I know in Rome has an abortionist. The question is, just like a hairdresser, you can’t have just anyone, you have to have someone good. What an irony,” she had gone on, fitting a cigarette into an ivory holder and lighting it, “that you have just left New York, where you can go easily to a modern clinic and have an abortion done safely and cheaply, and you get back to this place, where you are in danger of something like the Inquisition and have to risk your life to stop a pregnancy. Che peccato!”
It was more than irony; it was the perpetual mix-up of her life, Tina reflected.