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For Dorothee Heisenberg,
la mia amica di una vita
PART ONE
Italy
I
After a sleepless night on the train to Florence, Lucy Sommersworth and Charlene Barr checked into the Hostel Bertolini groggy and disheveled but with high expectations. The Bertolini’s website had promised lace curtains, wide brass beds, and a vase full of sunflowers on the dresser. But their room on the second floor turned out to be dark and cramped, with two twin beds pushed together and no sunflowers in sight.
“At least the bathroom’s all ours.” Lucy darted through a narrow door to inspect the shower, which wasn’t bad, considering. “We won’t have to wait in line.” Despite having sunburned shoulders and a bad case of bedhead, she was determined to be a good sport. After all, this stay at the Bertolini was supposed to be their last big splurge—a highlight of their backpacking trip-of-a-lifetime across Europe. After three weeks of roughing it, a private room—no matter how tiny—seemed downright luxurious.
Charlene wrinkled her nose. “The bathroom’s okay,” she conceded. “But I told them we wanted queen-size beds.”
“Twin beds aren’t so bad. We can push them apart.” Lucy peeled back a bedspread to take a peek at what lay beneath. “Look! The sheets are clean.”
“Humph,” Charlene said, too tired to even complain properly. Like Lucy, she was still dressed in the rumpled tank top and shorts she’d worn all day yesterday. The cheerful German family with whom they’d shared a sleeper car had thought to tuck pajamas and toothbrushes into their daypacks—another valuable travel lesson learned too late. Despite her having chewed an entire pack of gum, Lucy’s teeth still felt fuzzy; the chance to brush them and take a hot shower sounded like the most luxurious thing in the world. If only she could convince Charlene to relax and make the best of things. In a little more than a week, their vacation would be over and Lucy would be back in Pennsylvania, packing for her freshman year at college. More than anything, she wanted to make the most of her last few days in Europe.
Charlene strode over to the window, flung open its dark green shutters, and froze, her body rigid. In her e-mail correspondence with the hotel manager, she’d been promised a view of the Piazza Santa Maria Novella. She’d shown Lucy a picture of the black-and-white church, the stone walkways, and a lawn where tourists strolled, licking cones of gelato. It wasn’t the most beautiful spot in Florence, but it was the one they could afford, and the photos on the website had looked charming.
But instead of the piazza, the room’s single window looked out on a dark little courtyard—actually more of an alley—with the buildings behind the Bertolini completely blocking both view and sunshine. As she joined Charlene at the window, Lucy could feel her friend’s agitation growing. Three weeks in Charlene’s presence had alerted Lucy to the signs—flared nostrils and arched eyebrows—that her friend was about to charge into battle, in this case, probably with the baby-faced guy who had just checked them in.
“It’s just a place to sleep,” Lucy murmured. “It doesn’t have to be paradise.”
“I wasted hours yesterday making arrangements,” Charlene insisted. “I must have sent ten e-mails.”
So you keep telling me, Lucy thought, biting her lip to keep the words from coming out. As tired as she was, she could feel herself on the verge of saying something she wouldn’t be able to take back. She and Charlene had gotten along so well for the first few weeks of the trip. Though the two of them could hardly be more different, they’d balanced each other out—Lucy with her cheerful enthusiasm for every item on their to-do list, Charlene with her talent for reading maps and figuring exchange rates. But lately their money had started running low, and things between them had grown tense. Or at least that’s how it seemed to Lucy. Now she gave Charlene’s shoulder an awkward pat. “You tried your best. If we really want to see the piazza, we can just go out and stand in it.”
But Charlene was in no mood to be cheered up. “No.” She held up a hand like a crossing guard signaling stop. “They promised us a view. I’m not afraid to knock some heads together if that’s what it takes.” Charlene was two years older than Lucy, about to start her junior year in college, and everything about her broadcast neatness and efficiency—her blond bob; her lean, muscular build; her perfect posture; her sharp nose and determined chin. Next to her, Lucy always felt a little unkempt.
“I’ll just go have a little talk with that guy at the check-in desk,” Charlene concluded.
“Please don’t.” Lucy knew how easily a little talk could escalate into a very big talk, and she hated causing a fuss. “This room is nice, considering how cheap we got it. Only fifty dollars a night, right?”
Charlene sighed. “Fifty euros. Apiece. You do know that’s a lot more than fifty dollars, right?”
Lucy had to concentrate hard to avoid rolling her eyes. Money had become a sore subject between them lately. Was it Lucy’s fault that her parents were well off? It wasn’t as though Lucy’s father made a habit of sending her on glamorous vacations. He hadn’t gotten where he was in life by throwing money away hand over fist, as he liked to say.
It’s not like I’m spoiled, Lucy thought. I earned this trip. I traded my whole future for it. Tears sprang without warning into her eyes, and she blinked them back.
But Charlene noticed. “I know how much this trip means to you,” she said, her voice kind. “Think of the sacrifice you made to get here!” With a flick of her wrist, she closed the shutters on the dim courtyard. “You should have a view.”
“It’s your vacation, too.” Lucy sank to the bed and sighed, untangling the ponytail holder from her abundant light brown curls. When she looked back up, Charlene was still hovering near the door, looking expectantly down at her.
“What’s wrong now?” Lucy asked, trying not to sound as impatient as she felt.
“The guy at the desk doesn’t speak much English.” With two semesters of college German and three years of high school French, Charlene had done all the talking in Munich, Vienna, Salzburg, and Paris. Now that they were in Italy, it was supposed to be Lucy’s turn. Not that she spoke much Italian, except for a few random phrases she remembered from Signora Lucarelli’s third-period class.
“His English was fine,” Lucy countered. Maybe she couldn’t stop Charlene from haranguing the poor desk clerk, but she really didn’t want to be dragged into an ugly scene. “He’ll understand you.”
“If you say so.”
“It’s true,” Lucy said.
“Just don’t unpack.”
Charlene shut the door briskly, and Lucy flopped onto her back, relieved to be alone for the first time in days. With nobody looking, she sniffed her armpits and grimaced. Maybe she couldn’t shower yet, but what would it hurt if she brushed her teeth?
Afterward, teeth tingling reassuringly, she pulled out her copy of Wanderlust: Europe and turned to the chapter on Italy. This was the part of the trip she’d most looked forward to, and now Charlene was wasting their precious time. Besides, they still needed to run errands. At this rate, the whole day would be over before they’d squeezed in any fun. As Lucy riffled through the battered guidebook, she tried not to think about the bargain she’d made with her father, the one that had gotten her here in
the first place.
Charlene knew the whole story, of course; Lucy had regaled her with it on the long transatlantic flight. “You’re lucky,” Charlene had said. “Your parents are so generous, flying us both to Europe.”
“Well, yes,” Lucy said, doubt in her voice.
“Aren’t you thrilled? I can’t think of a better graduation gift.”
“But it’s not a gift,” Lucy said. “More like a bribe, in exchange for enrolling at Forsythe U. It’s my dad’s alma mater. He bought me my first Forsythe T-shirt before I was even born, and he’s given me a new one for Christmas every year since. I’ve got seventeen of them, from baby sizes to adult. It’s crazy.”
“Forsythe’s not so bad,” Charlene assured her. “It might not be the Ivy League, but I’m happy there.”
“Oh, I know.” Lucy blushed faintly. “I’m sure Forsythe is a fantastic school. The real problem is…” She paused for effect. “I have to major in business.”
“That’s a problem?” Charlene asked.
“I don’t really want to. I’m not good at things like math and money. My dad likes to say I don’t have a practical bone in my body.”
“Oh.” Charlene frowned slightly, as though uncertain what to say next.
“It’s okay.” Lucy crinkled her nose. “I’m used to it. All my life he’s wanted me to be things I’m not. Like a sports star. Or one of those kids in the Gifted program.” She rolled her eyes. “But, you know. It’s messed up that he wants me to major in something so not me.”
“What would be you?” Charlene asked.
Lucy stared off into the clouds beyond the airplane window. “I wish I knew.”
Not long ago, her answer to that question would have been very different. Strangely enough, for the daughter of such practical parents, Lucy Sommersworth was a born actress. When she’d stepped onto the high wooden stage to audition for the sixth-grade play, she’d been terrified, her knees almost buckling beneath her. But as she opened her mouth to speak her lines, her stage fright evaporated. When she sang the song her class had learned for the occasion, she felt the auditorium go still around her, everyone listening in surprise.
She’d won the title role in Alice in Wonderland, earning an instant enemy: Ashley Beauchamp, whose long, silky blond hair should have made her a shoo-in for the part. But Lucy’s snub nose and wild curls didn’t matter; when she was onstage she was Alice. She projected her lines to the back row, and her singing voice echoed from the rafters. At the end of the play, when the audience jumped to their feet in applause, Lucy felt her whole body flood with their love and approval. Nothing in her life had ever felt so good. She wanted to have that feeling again and again and again.
Lucy went on to land the lead in nearly every school play after that, and even in summer stage productions, where she had to compete with girls from other districts, she was often cast in the ingénue role—Sandy in Grease, Hope Harcourt in Anything Goes, Liesl in The Sound of Music. In her junior year, after she’d nabbed the role of Kim McAfee in Bye Bye Birdie, she’d spent hours each night poring over her lines and practicing her dance moves. One night, as she was doing the Twist in the living room, she’d overheard her parents arguing in the kitchen. Well, not arguing—her mother never yelled—but discussing in that intense way they had when they were worried about something.
“Of course she’s got talent,” her father was saying. “More than the other kids in her school. But talent’s not enough. Do you realize how many girls run off every year to Hollywood or New York? The competition is cutthroat, Elise. Odds are that Lucy will fail.”
Lucy had frozen in mid-Twist, hurt that her father could say such a thing. She remembered him beaming from the second row the previous spring when she’d played Hope Harcourt. He’d brought her a huge bouquet of yellow roses, and her mother’s eyes had sparkled with happy tears as Lucy took her curtain call. Hadn’t they been proud of her then?
“Girls like Lucy wind up unemployed—or on some director’s casting couch,” Lucy’s father continued. Didn’t he realize she could hear him? “She has to go to college. It’s nonnegotiable.”
“Of course, sweetheart,” Lucy’s mother said in the voice she used to soothe her worked-up husband. “But she could study drama in college. That would make her happy, and give her time to find herself.…”
“Find herself? She’s not lost, Elise. She’s got us to guide her; that’s our job. We’re not her friends; we’re her parents.”
Can’t you be both? Lucy wondered.
Then Lucy’s mother murmured something Lucy couldn’t quite catch.
“But majoring in drama? In this economy?” He sounded as though his wife had just proposed that Lucy become a mermaid or a fairy queen. “Absolutely not. Our daughter needs to give up playacting for good.”
“Are you saying she should drop out of Bye Bye Birdie?” Lucy’s mother sounded as shocked as Lucy felt. She couldn’t let her castmates down. Besides, Ashley Beauchamp—her hair as silky and golden as ever—was her understudy. The thought of how thrilled she’d be to take over the lead made Lucy see red.
“Of course not,” Lucy’s father said, and his daughter exhaled in relief. “High school’s the time to get all that out of her system. But college will be another story. It had better be.”
The very next night, over pot roast and mashed potatoes, Lucy’s father offered her a deal. If she applied to his alma mater, got accepted, and agreed to major in business, her reward would be something really stunning. “How about a car of your own?” Lucy’s father made a little tent out of his fingers and smiled enticingly above it. “Maybe one of those MINI Coopers?”
Lucy’s mother clicked her tongue. “Those are so small. Would it be safe?”
“Something a little bigger, then. A Honda Civic?”
But cars weren’t Lucy’s thing. She would have much preferred to be an actress. She looked down at her plate for a minute, studying her peas and carrots, and then back up at him.
Her father’s smile got slightly smaller. “Or what about a trip? To Florida? You could stay with your aunt. Visit your cousins.”
Lucy wrinkled her nose. The last time she’d seen her cousins she’d been six. The oldest one had face-slammed her with a kickball. “How about Hollywood?” she tried. She’d always wanted to tour the celebrity mansions and stand in the stars’ footprints in front of Grauman’s Chinese Theater. In fact, she’d been hoping to live in Hollywood herself someday.
Lucy’s father and mother exchanged a meaningful look, and he cleared his throat. “I have a better idea. What about Europe?”
“Europe?” Lucy’s thoughts instantly flashed to Roman Holiday, her absolute favorite of all the old romantic movies in her mother’s DVD collection. She imagined herself as Audrey Hepburn, zipping on a Vespa through the streets of Rome. Though it wasn’t Hollywood, it did sound glamorous.
“You could take a month, do the whole grand-tour thing, like I always wanted to when I was in college. Wouldn’t that be exciting?”
And Lucy had to admit that it would be.
But Lucy’s mother was none too pleased. “Do you really think it’s such a good idea, sending her off to another continent?” Lucy overheard her mother ask later that night. As the months passed, she became pretty sure that her mom hoped the deal would fall through, that Lucy would remain on U.S. soil, safe. But the idea of Europe grew on Lucy, especially after she watched Roman Holiday five times in a row, falling a bit more in love with Gregory Peck—and Italy—with each viewing.
Right around that time, Lucy tried out for a community theater production of Thoroughly Modern Millie. The audition was a disaster, with Lucy completely blanking on the monologue she’d rehearsed for weeks. After that, she started wondering if maybe her father was right. Maybe raw talent wasn’t enough; maybe she wasn’t competitive enough to be an actress. Suddenly the thought of never having to try out for another role seemed like a massive relief. So in her senior year, Lucy applied to the business program at Forsyth
e University.
Her parents had seemed so pleased. But when her acceptance letter arrived, Lucy’s mother immediately started to fret. “She’s only seventeen. Anything could happen to a young girl traveling all by herself. Why don’t we go with her, Harry?”
“I can’t take a whole month off from the business. And I can’t spare you for that long, either.”
At her mother’s urging, Lucy tried asking her friends from school if maybe they would like to come with her, but Anna’s dad had been laid off in November, and Serenity’s folks had already planned a family vacation to Yosemite. When it seemed the promised trip to Europe might just evaporate into thin air, Lucy grew mopey, already feeling nostalgic for the drama career she’d abandoned. Lucy’s mom volunteered at the high school library where Charlene’s mother was the head librarian, and when the two women came up with the plan of sending their daughters off to Europe together, everyone involved was relieved.
Lucy had been hearing about Charlene for years, but the two girls hadn’t yet met. “Charlene will be the perfect traveling companion,” Lucy heard her mother tell her father. “She’s so levelheaded. I know we can trust her to look after our Lu.”
Though Lucy’s father had grumbled about not being made of money, before long Lucy’s mother had talked him into springing for plane tickets and Eurail passes for both girls. She took Lucy to the mall to shop for a backpack, full of chatter about how much fun Lucy and Charlene would have together, how traveling for a whole month would bond them as friends for life. Which had seemed to be the case until basically a day ago, when Charlene became short-tempered and snappish and weirdly obsessed with the perfect room she and Lucy would have at the Bertolini.
Lucy sighed and tossed Wanderlust aside, wondering what was taking Charlene so long. She reached for her Italian phrasebook, flipping through it in search of words that might prove useful if she ever got out of the hostel and into the world. Buongiorno. Scusi, signore. Dove sono la toilette? When she spoke the phrases out loud into the quiet room, she felt like a different person—worldly and glamorous rather than an ordinary, sheltered seventeen-year-old from the suburbs of Philadelphia.
Love, Lucy Page 1