Another night at The Majestic, this beloved club we work in. Sometimes I am sarcastic about saying "beloved", but other nights, like this one, I am not. I am happy today because Frankie is at the club. Though, he had some company who made me uneasy.

"Nice music tonight, Dad," Edward said, patting his old man on the back. He was focusing on eating some baked ziti that Paulie had cooked earlier at his own home and brought in special just for Eddie, because we knew he'd be in tonight and oh lord if he didn't have his baked ziti. Really, good lord. Paulie had made more than usual, so we had set a plate in front of the old man, too. He seemed to be enjoying his baked ziti and the band.

On stage, a swing band was playing "Moonlight Serenade". Before opening, we had moved the tables to the sides to make way for dancing. We did this every Wednesday night, a mid-week special for people who needed a weekend day during the week to unwind. It also meant that Paulie and I didn't have to work the stage, and so for this night we worked as waiters for the higher clientele who came in for the dancing. But with higher clientele, it also brought in Mr. Caselotti's friends. This is what made Wednesdays Paulie's least favorite day of the week. That and the cooking.

Paulie stood with me at the bar, a momentary lapse as we watched our happy customers converse and dance.

"I made some baked ziti for Avi, too. I wanted to make him some matzah ball soup, it's his favorite you know, reminds him of his Grama. But I didn't have time with the baked ziti. I hope he likes it," Paulie was telling me.

"That's good," I nodded, still watching Eddie and the old man nearby.

"There's some in the freezer in back, too. We can have some after work. I tried some earlier. The sauce is really good tonight. I put in too much of the spicy stuff. It's got this weird kick that kind of works," Paulie went on. Paulie sure loved to cook, experiment. It was just the pressure of pleasing Eddie that was off putting for him on Wednesdays. It meant he wasn't cooking for the joy of cooking, he was cooking for the joy of Eddie.

I chuckled. "How much baked ziti did you make?" I asked, finally looking at Paulie.

"Two pans. We're getting some of the good batch and the bad batch. I ended up putting in way too much of the spicy stuff the first time. My ears just about went like tea kettles. Hope you like spicy," Paulie shrugged.

"Yeah, it's good. I always get the spicy chicken at that Chinese place me and Frankie go to on the West side," I giggled.

"Oh, good then," Paulie grinned. "I couldn't leave it for Avi. Avi can't deal with the spice. It gives him the runs."

"Ugh, Paulie," I said, making a face of disgust.

"Such a soft stomach you are even though you can take the spice," Paulie laughed, patting me on the back comfortingly as I fake gagged with my finger halfway in my mouth.

We went silent, and I began listening in on Eddie and his old man again. Eddie was always a loud talker. I couldn't really ever hear what the old man said due to how heavy he breathed. The old man was pretty large, so he had trouble breathing. But we had patience because he was a kind man. He's also the one who gave us our jobs, so we didn't have much choice but to be patient and accommodating.

"See, Dad? Isn't this nice? Why can't we have dancing here all the time? Why you gotta hire those phonies, whaddya call 'em, those 'impersonators'? Those funny guys? Not funny 'haha' but funny weird?" Eddie was saying. My eyes went wide and Paulie's did, too. We looked at each other wide eyed and then leaned in a little.

Eddie was talking about us.

It was leaning in that did the trick, and we could just barely hear his father reply slowly in his way. "Because...they're...funny..." he breathed hard.

"Plenty of people funny in this city, city is full 'a funny people, Dad," Eddie sighed, getting more baked ziti on his fork.

"Anybody...can do...comedy," the old man breathed back, not moving. He seemed pretty serious. "...But these...guys... These... Women... Guys...men in...dresses...hilarious..."

Paulie broke into a smile. I hid my mouth behind my hand and did the same.

"Aw Pop, why?" Eddie asked, putting the baked ziti he'd gathered in his mouth.

The old man leaned in to Eddie and Eddie paused. "You know...one 'a those...funny...guys... One a'...those funny...guys...made that...baked ziti...you're eating..."

We jumped as Eddie's fork clattered loudly on his plate above the music. Eddie's fists pounded on the table and we saw him throw his bib on his plate. "DON'T YOU EVER LET ONE 'A THEM EVEN TOUCH MY FOOD AGAIN!" He yelled. People nearby on the dance floor stopped and stared. The band seemed to have unsure looks on their faces as they played on.

Eddie went on. "THEM'S WEIRDOS... THEM'S QUEERS...DON'T YOU EVER LET THEM TOUCH MY FOOD!"

We heard the old man sigh deeply. We noticed he was still eating. Paulie looked at me and I nodded. The old man didn't have a problem with us. It was so relieving.

"If you...ain't gonna...eat that..." The old man said calmly, "I'll...eat it... The...sauce...tonight...spicy... I like it."

Paulie broke into a beam at this. He squeezed my shoulder and then went in back. He looked delighted. I watched the old man eat as Eddie had his little tantrum still. I smiled, too, for Paulie. Because I knew that from now on Paulie was cooking for the old man, and that brought joy into Paulie's heart.

Later on, Eddie went into one of the back rooms. The old man was left alone in his booth, watching the band and people dancing variously. He looked very pleased. The band was playing "Sing, Sing, Sing" and the old man was smiling a little bit as people on the dance floor were going a little crazy with their swing moves. I wondered if it reminded him of when he was younger, during the war maybe. I wondered if he had ever danced like that, maybe with Mrs. Caselotti.

As I walked over to his booth holding his favorite drink, the Manhattan, the band started to play a calmer song I didn't recognize. The people on the dance floor started a slow dance. I slid into the booth opposite of Mr. Caselotti and gave him his drink.

"Grazie...piccola," he nodded to me, taking the drink gratefully. He began to sip it and looked at the lovely couples.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself tonight," I said, leaning on my elbows and resting my chin in my hands.

"Oh...sicuramente... The dancing...is nice..." he sighed deeply.

I smiled with him. His eyes told me he was somewhere else.

"Did you like the baked ziti?" I asked, looking where he was looking.

"Sì..sì...it was...excellent...tonight," he sighed happily.

"Paulie will be glad to hear it," I said, relaxing against the booth.

"Mm...you know..." the old man said, turning to look at me now. I straightened up at attention and focused on him. He hardly ever addressed me directly. How strange.

"Yes, sir?" I asked.

"You know...I was...thinking...all night..."

I leaned in more. He was getting quiet.

"I was...thinking...how nice...it would...be...if...you sang...for me...'What a wonder...ful World'...by Louis...Armstrong..."

My eyes widened. I was confused. What did he mean?

He went on slowly. "Up on...the stage...with the...band...as Marilyn..." He started to smile to himself, a very pleased little beam, like he was thinking about such a thing right at this moment.

...As Marilyn... A nervous feeling began to spread in my body. My eyes flicked to the door that led to back rooms. The nervous feeling turned into fear, swirling around in my stomach. I began to feel sick.

Mr. Caselotti's eyes were closed and he sighed deeply to himself, obviously still thinking about how wonderful it would be to see me sing his favorite song. I felt very flattered by his request. He always called me "piccola" and not "piccolo", too. The "-a" at the end meant he regarded me as a woman. It always warmed my heart so much whenever I heard it. It touched me so deeply. This old man. This nice old man.

But the people currently in the back rooms were not so nice. The voice of Eddie flashed in my head. Them's queers! Don't you let them near my food! ...Like we were diseased. Like we were animals.

Mr. Caselotti's baby blues were open again, staring at me. As I looked at his dear old face, my heart pinched. His eyes. They were like Frankie's eyes, except a different shade of blue. I wondered if Frankie had gotten the green in his blue-green eyes from his mother. This thought softened my heart.

I smiled at Mr. Caselotti and took his hands. This made him grin in his funny way which always touched our hearts up at the bar.

"I'd be honored to sing 'What a Wonderful World' for you, Mr. Caselotti. Let me get my things and I'll be on stage. Maybe give me an hour? I hope that is not an inconvenience," I told him softly in my Marilyn Monroe voice.

"Nessun problema...piccola," he sighed happily, shaking my hands assuringly in our clasped together position. I returned his smile and unclasped our hands. I gave him a little curtsy and he nodded his head, still with that smile.

When I got into the back room with Paulie, I was in a slight panic. "Paulie. Paulie, you gotta help me. The old man wants me to sing 'What a Wonderful World' on stage," I said, my eyes flashing in my panic at him.

He was sitting on a stool in back looking over the weekly beer case orders for Carl. He lowered his reading glasses with his finger and stared at me. "Yeah, so get up there. What's the big deal?" he asked.

I took his shoulders and rocked him back and forth slowly. "You. Don't. Get. It. He wants me to sing as Georgina Monroe."

Paulie flew back into the desk in surprise, jamming his ribs into the outcropping of wood. "Ow, Jeezus!" Paulie cried, rubbing the back of his ribs. He straightened and looked at me, his eyes in fright. "As fucking Georgina?! For godsakes, did he just ignore what Eddie said or what? 'Them's queers' for godsakes! What are you going to do, George? What?!"

"Oh I don't know," I said, sighing. Frankie's blue-green eyes appeared in my head, the same as his father's, but a different color.

Paulie's expression changed to one of panic and wonder at the same time. "What are you thinking, George? Come back to me, hey. This is fuckin' serious!" He began snapping his fingers in front of my face.

"Well, he's our boss. I gotta do what he says, right? He doesn't care about the people in the back room. So why should we?" I said, still thinking about Frankie.

"Why should we? Why should we?! Are you fuckin' nuts? Don't you know its illegal to do outside what we do in here?! You walk outta this place dressed as Georgina Monroe, you'll get arrested! Eddie's right, dammit! We're crazy!" Paulie cried at me, shaking me by my shoulders.

I just sighed again.

"Stop sighing! Are you listening to me, George? Where is your head?!"

"I gotta do what Mr. Caselotti says, Paulie. You gotta go to my apartment and get me my Marilyn stuff. Maybe the white dress from The Seven Year Itch? My best wig, too. Don't forget my nylons. My corselette, too. My merry widow? My under bust corset, too. Those are very important."

"I don't wanna help you get killed. I don't want to," Paulie whispered to me, his dear face looking anguished. "If those people in the back room see you like that tonight, if EDDIE does, what's gonna happen? You go out there and you tell him no!"

I shook my head. "What if they don't see me? You can't hear anything in those back rooms. They've been in there for hours, probably gambling and drinking. Eddie might be too sloshed to care, Paulie. I just want to do this nice thing for his father. His father is so nice to us. Remember what he said about your spicy sauce? How he stood up for us? Doesn't that mean anything, Paulie?" I asked, taking Paulie's hands into mine and shaking them.

Paulie looked like he was going to cry. He was clearly thinking about Mr. Caselotti's nice words about us earlier. I had hit a nerve, said exactly what needed to be said.

Paulie just nodded, biting his bottom lip slightly. He looked down at the floor, still holding my hands. He squeezed them. "Okay, George, okay. I'll go get your Marilyn stuff. You hold the bar and wait on people until I get back, okay? Carl must be wondering where the heck we are by now. I'll go."

I smiled at him as he got up, but he didn't smile back. He was worried. And I didn't want to show it, but I was worried, too.