by Ciji Ware
“Can you survive if we first stop by the palazzo on the way back to your hotel and get something to eat there? Allegra had to return to the office and wants me to report on progress so far.” She glanced again at her cellphone, adding, “She says that the inspectors announced that they will be at the palazzo tomorrow afternoon. Talk about cutting it close!”
“Yikes!” Corlis responded, and then turned to thank the young women who had helped them with their costume selections. Francesca assisted Serena out of her tight-fitting gown and arranged to have it sent to the workshop near San Tomà where several staff members would dress for the ball.
“It’s actually happening,” Serena murmured. “Il Ballo, I mean.”
Francesca made the sign of the cross.
“Let us pray to San Marco this miracle will, indeed, come to pass.”
“I hate to spend the money, but I think we’d best take a water taxi to the palazzo,” Serena proposed.
They were standing in the lobby of the Hotel Monaco that wasn’t far from where they’d tried on their costumes. Serena knew the concierge could get them a boat even in weather as dreadful as what they could see through the front windows facing the Grand Canal.
“My treat,” Corlis declared, and in a few minutes, the two women had boarded the sleek vessel that looked like it might be a Chris-Craft plying the waters of Lake Tahoe.
“Prepare to pay a ransom of euros,” Serena warned.
“I’m on vacation,” Corlis answered breezily.
From the boat’s cozy, heated interior, Serena strained for a first glimpse through heavily falling snow of the palazzo that fronted the Grand Canal. Just beyond the San Tomà vaporetto stop, Serena spotted the fifteenth century structure, with its mullioned windows and a wide loggia embraced by pointed, half-circle arches that created a lacy effect on two exterior floors.
As the building drew ever closer, Serena said to Corlis, “I’ve always thought that it has the look of a miniature Doge’s Palace, which you’ll see when we show you Piazza San Marco.”
Corlis heaved a happy sigh and murmured, “Everywhere I look, it’s all so beautiful!”
“Even in sleet and snow,” Serena agreed with a laugh.
Fortunately, the heavy weather had abated somewhat as the boat drew near the dock. The palazzo’s Venetian Gothic style was reinforced by their view of an open front door, allowing them a glimpse of the baroque interior staircase. It rose in double ramps on either side of the ground floor to the magnificent rooms above.
“During the ball, you’ll be able to get a good look at ceiling frescos and decorations by Tiepolo, Guarana, and Zanchi,” Serena disclosed. “Back in the day, this place welcomed Tsar Paul of Russia, and Josephine Bonaparte, along with Joseph the Second of Austria. You and King will be in good company,” she teased.
“Wowie, zowie,” Corlis exclaimed in awe. “I wonder if I have any Italian blood in me? It would be terrific if I could claim to be related to the incredible people who created such a stunning city.”
“Well, since King and I are cousins on the Kingsbury side, I’ll give you bragging rights to the Venetian Antonellis-by-marriage, how’s that?”
“That’ll work!” Corlis replied with a grin, just as they prepared to step from the boat onto the bobbing dock that led to the impressive front door.
“I’m glad to see the waters that were flooding this room yesterday appear to have receded quite a bit,” Serena said over her shoulder as the pair approached the wide entrance.
“Maybe they’ve done it!” Corlis exclaimed. “Do you think that by now, they’ve pumped enough water out of the lower floors to begin applying the sealant?”
“Looks like it. See? There are no supplies on the dock, so they must have been able to take them downstairs. I’ll bet they’re using them right now. Bravo, the boys from NOLA!”
Serena halted at the arched entrance where workers were erecting a cutout sunburst to frame the huge door. She whipped out her cellphone to text Allegra the latest good news that at least the ground floor where guests would arrive was no longer awash in water. She’d report on any other findings as to the floor below the waterline after she inspected the work done thus far.
And where was Jack, she wondered? Downstairs helping the men who were doing the actual work of repair, or off to interview someone in the government for his story for the newspaper about Venice’s big water gates—and how they’d survived this latest storm?
No business of yours, Serena Antonelli! The man barely said hello, earlier.
Her job, she reminded herself sternly, was to stay focused on helping Allegra get through the next forty-eight hours.
CHAPTER 15
Both Jack and Stefano Fabrini heard women’s voices and then the sound of their booted feet on the section of the stone staircase that descended to the ground floor. The room, some of which was embedded below the waterline, had been drained of moisture by means of a cluster of ubiquitous pumping machines and whirring fans. The thick coat of the American-made sealant had been applied and the fans were at full speed to hasten the drying process.
Jack quickly headed for the door, hoping, at last, to be able to talk to Serena privately. He couldn’t really fathom what he was going to say, but he had to speak to her... had to make some sort of connection. He sprinted toward the exit that led upstairs, annoyed to realize that Stefano was following in his wake.
Before Jack could say a word, the Italian engineer hailed Serena just as she arrived at the door.
“Buona giornata, cara! I am happy to see that my... how you say... attenzione... has made your sickness of the throat better, yes?”
Attention—to what? Jack wondered with irritation. He thought he detected a flicker of exasperation flash in Serena’s eyes.
“Yes, thank you, Stefano. My cold and cough are much improved, thanks to your recommendation of hot Amaretto, lemon and honey.”
“And sleep,” he added with a slight smile tugging at his lips. “That did you a world of good, did it not?”
“Yes,” she replied evenly. “Staying home from work in my own bed a full day brought me back from the dead.” She turned toward Jack and asked, “So, what’s the latest I can report to Allegra? Is the sealant doing what it’s supposed to?”
“Yes, I’m happy to say,” Jack answered, wondering exactly what other cures for a cold Serena and Stefano may have shared. “Paolo and King just gave the go-ahead to mix up the ArcusStone coating material as soon as the sealant is dry enough.”
“Wow... that’s great news! Let me give Allegra an update,” Serena exclaimed and then began texting furiously.
“Listen,” Jack proposed, “why don’t you, Corlis, and I have something to eat while we’re waiting to see what the interior walls look like, once the coat of ArcusStone has been applied?”
Serena looked up from her phone and Jack felt her measuring gaze. She hesitated and then shook her head in the negative.
“Sorry. Can’t,” she replied shortly, returning her gaze to her cellphone where she continued texting her employer. “I have to take some pictures on my iPhone to send to Allegra, and then head back to the workshop. I’ve been out of the office for hours and I’ve got a zillion things I have to get done before tomorrow.”
Meanwhile, Stefano stepped forward and took Serena’s arm, guiding her further into the lower room dotted with noisy fans and speaking in high-speed Italian. Jack could only conclude that the son-of-a-gun intended to show her in more detail the work that had been accomplished that morning, and—Jack had no doubt—assume most of the credit.
Corlis leaned toward Jack and said in a solemn undertone, “Houston, I think we have a problem.”
Jack nodded grimly and pointed toward the bowels of the soggy building.
“That would seem to be an understatement,” he replied.
The following day, Serena could never have described to outsiders the thousand-and-one details that went into producing an event like a glamorous ball attended by hundreds of
guests arriving by water. It involved not only providing some three hundred period rental costumes to customers—all on the same day—but also the responsibility for shepherding virtually hundreds of behind-the-scenes helpers with scores of tasks to perform. And all that was in addition to having to set up four individually decorated rooms for the formal, seated dinner. Then there was a rehearsal for a two-hour show that featured everything from opera singers to flamenco dancers, to a scantily clad female rock-n-roll musician with a guitar covered in shimmering mirrors. And, to top her list of “To Do” items, there was the circus performer she’d had to track down who blew up a big, red balloon, somehow got himself inside the rubbery sphere, and could bounce along a raised runway among the guests!
“It’s always been a crowd favorite,” Allegra had insisted. “The man travels all over Italy doing his act, but you must find him and try to persuade him to be here this year.”
She had.
Given the task of supervising the back-stage aspects of the musical performances that would start after dinner concluded, Serena felt as if she were suddenly in Las Vegas again, setting up wardrobe racks, make-up stations, and writing out the order of each performance in Italian. She posted the sheets at various locations in the palazzo so the singers, dancers, and musicians could enter and exit in timely fashion.
“Is the trapeze hung yet for the aerialist where guests enter?” Allegra said over her mobile phone from upstairs in the building where she was supervising the load-in of the food and catering equipment. “He’s due in a half hour and can be quite the diva at times.”
“Done,” Serena replied. “The electrician finally got the spotlights and smoke machines working and the sound check went perfectly.”
A corporate event was being held in the palazzo two days after the ball, which meant, given the flooding to date, Allegra’s organization had only one day to load in, set up, and then would have to vacate all their equipment within twenty-four hours. There had been a myriad of minor glitches all morning that Serena had managed to handle, choosing not to bother Allegra with any problems she could solve on her own. Even so, the pressure on everyone was intense and it was beginning to take its toll in mild hysterics on the part of some members of the staff.
Just then, her phone pinged again with a text from Corlis asking how things were going.
Serena typed furiously, apologizing that she’d had to cancel a dinner rendezvous the previous evening with the visitors from New Orleans, including Jack, and had worked far into the night.
It’s madhouse here. Four waiters are out sick
and a couple of the staff now have
the same cold I’ve been fighting.
Corlis responded:
Look for us tonight and good luck!”
Serena sent a quick reply:
I’m the one wearing a mask... ha-ha.”
Jack would never be able to spot her now, and there would be nearly forty members of the working press there, all in red velvet caftans. If she weren’t so crazed with all she had to do, she’d probably want to scream with frustration that this might turn out to be the most miserable Valentine’s Day in her life.
Serena forced herself to return her concentration to the remaining tasks connected with the musical show. At the rate the dinner prep was going on the floor above her and the latest cold blast of snow falling outside, they were going to need more than good luck to get through this night.
A minor miracle would be nice.
Allegra and Serena were soaking wet from the combination of sleet and falling snow by the time they sped back to the costume workshop near San Tomà to don their own costumes.
After toweling off, Serena had scarcely been laced into her tight-fitting organza ball gown when Rosa announced, “Just got texted... your water taxi’s waiting for you, Serena. Yours, Signora Benedetti, is scheduled for an half-hour from now.”
Serena and several of the women from the costume shop who were helping out behind the scenes at the ball would be among the first to arrive. Allegra would make her grand entrance as Queen of the Carnival Ball at ten p.m. and greet the mass of costumed guests making their way into the entrance of the palazzo.
Serena forced a cheery smile despite the butterflies beating against ribs constricted by her tight, boned bodice.
“Ciao everyone. See you there!”
“You look beautiful as The Seas of Venice,” Allegra said, nodding at Serena’s exquisite sage green silk gown and giving her hand a squeeze. “Wait until the gentlemen from New Orleans see you tonight,” she added with a wink as she took a mask from Rosa and held it to Serena’s face.
Well, one particular gentleman would probably not even spare her a glance, Serena thought bleakly, and then forced her mind to the millions of chores ahead.
Once Serena boarded the water taxi adjacent to Campo San Tomà, it took less than five minutes to travel the Grand Canal to the fifteenth century palazzo, now lit by floodlights bathing it in gold and purple.
The snow had finally let up and she felt a little thrill ripple down her spine when she caught sight of the twinkling lights illuminating the points of the gilded sunburst that had been attached to the frame of the wide entrance door near the landing dock.
A pair of liveried pages in white satin knee breeches and three-quarter length, cuffed coats assisted her out of the boat, greeting her with “Buona Sera, Signorina,” displaying the deference of a paying guest. Water splashed perilously close as one page guided her along the gangway and through the front door—then turned, and sped back to the dock to greet the next arrivals. A few feet past the arched entrance, she halted and stared with a sense of relief—mixed with disbelief.
Only hours earlier, chaos had reigned throughout the five-story building when she’d left for the costume workshop to get dressed in all her finery. In the remaining time before the witching hour of nine o’clock, Allegra’s team had wrought the miracle they all had worked so hard to help her achieve. Her dream, her vision, her genius, thought Serena, had somehow been made manifest within the walls of the five-hundred-year-old palazzo.
Within the high-ceilinged room, eight raised pedestals, ten-feet-high, six-feet-wide—four to a side—provided a colonnade between which guests entered the large entrance hall. At the sound of celestial music echoing in Serena’s ears, her upturned gaze swept the platforms swathed in cream-colored silk that now supported wraithlike dancers swaying on each one, ethereal figures clad in full-length, snowy-white, diaphanous organza, white make-up, and flowing, platinum wigs. Suspended by invisible wires that Serena knew anchored each performer safely to the ceiling, the otherworldly creatures beckoned to the guests like ghosts in a dream amid swirls of mist pumped into the room by unseen machines sequestered behind the forty foot lengths of white silk that lined the walls.
In the center of the room, suspended twenty-five feet above the limestone floor on a thick, silver rope, a muscular aerialist—his naked torso glistening with sprayed-on glitter Serena had left with the make-up artist earlier in the day—dazzled the spectators with death-defying contortions above the heads of the costumed, milling crowds. She spent the next twenty minutes making a quick survey of the backstage elements and confirming with the stagehands that all was well before checking with the bartenders that their two stations on this floor had all the supplies needed.
Guests had begun to pour inside the building in droves, their magnificent costumes adding to the sparkling décor. If frost and frigid temperatures reigned outside the palazzo, inside, Allegra’s imagination had created a winter wonderland of light, music and pure fantasy.
For several moments Serena stood absolutely still, drinking in the spectacular scene. Then, she pulled her thoughts back to the many more assignments ahead and chose the stone staircase on the right, intent on checking on the caterers due to serve some four hundred five-course meals to guests who had practically paid what nearly amounted to Serena’s life savings in order to attend Il Ballo di Carnevale.
Sudde
nly she heard trumpets blare and turned on the landing in time to see the Queen of the Venice Carnival Ball float through the front door in a floor-length confection of rose silk organza with a boned collar, etched in gold braid, that fanned around Allegra’s smiling face in a style reminiscent of Elizabethan times. Head seamstress Rosa Garafola had sewed the dress in complete secrecy. Not even Serena had seen it before tonight.
The applauding crowd below parted, allowing Allegra to make her stately way toward a raised dais at the far end of the room near the double staircase where Serena gazed down from the floor above. The tall, imposing figure of Neptune—his trident by his side—along with his court, all dressed in silver and crystal, bowed deeply and welcomed the mistress of the evening into their midst.
It was exactly ten o’clock. The ball had officially begun and a long night lay ahead.
“The Cupid Room never got any wine!” hissed Francesca in Serena’s ear. “And I’m not dead sure they ever got their main course!”
“You’re kidding?” Serena groaned. Some of Allegra’s favored guests had been assigned the Cupid Room with its magnificent Murano glass chandeliers. Heavy pale peach silk drapes that hung floor-to-ceiling framed a twenty-foot tall mirror that was illuminated by massive silver sconces, their candles casting an aura of romance throughout the space the size of a hotel lobby. “I’ll talk to the caterer.”
“Too late,” Francesca replied with a grimace. “They’ve already started to serve dessert in there.”
“Oh, glory... that’s not good. Let me see if I can at least get the wine guy to remedy his part of the fiasco.”
Serena had found it exhausting to try to move swiftly in a gown whose mermaid styling required her to take tiny steps when all she wanted to do was sprint from one problem area to another. Her mask was also an impediment, but she knew from observing the other members of the staff that wearing it was an absolute requirement.