Carissima

by Rosanna Chiofalo

  “I’m sorry, Madeline. I’ll call you later.”

  Another dagger pierces my heart, but I don’t say anything.

  “Gregory, let me go. I don’t want to talk.” Gregory is holding onto my wrists with both of his hands.

  “No! You keep running away every time we have a fight. I’m not letting you do that to me again!”

  “Oh! You’re the victim! You cheated on me with that trash! Again, you’ve broken my trust in you. It doesn’t matter, Gregory. Nothing you say will change anything, especially now that I’m going away.”

  “Going away? Are you going back to California? It’s not even the end of August.”

  “Francesca has asked me to go to Italy with her. She wants me to write her autobiography. I’ll be staying with Francesca at her apartment in Rome for a month. That’s why I came here unannounced. I wanted to surprise you. I was really excited that she wants me to write her autobiography, and I was going to ask you . . . Well, I guess it doesn’t matter now. It’s over between us.”

  “You were going to ask me what, Pia?”

  “I was going to ask you to meet me in Rome when you’re done with the paintings for your second show.”

  “Of course I’ll come.”

  “No, Gregory. Don’t. This is really for the best. You were right when you hinted at my being a user, too. Only, I didn’t use Francesca. I used you. I knew you were my ticket to getting an interview with Francesca. I knew it from that first night when I saw you come out of Signora Tesca’s house.”

  “You don’t mean that, Pia. You’re just saying that to get back at me because you’re hurt.”

  “It’s true, Gregory. Just like what you said about my having been too focused on Francesca. You were right. So please don’t bother coming to Rome and trying to change my mind about us. I never really loved you. I was just using you.”

  “I don’t believe you! I’ve never had a woman look at me when she told me she loved me the way you have. I’ve only felt this way with you. No one else. I was going to ask you to stay in New York and not go back to California. I was going to ask you to move in with me.”

  Hearing his admission brings a new round of tears to my eyes. That’s all I was waiting to hear from him these past few weeks. Why couldn’t he have told me sooner? What does it matter? He’s a good actor. He wants me for his girlfriend, but Madeline as his lover. She’ll assure him access to famous art dealers and all of her other valuable contacts. He calls that love?

  I still have to torture myself, so I ask him, “Why didn’t you ask me to move in with you sooner? We’re already halfway into August. Or are you just bluffing now so that I won’t walk?”

  “I was going to ask you on Saturday. Remember I promised you a special date? I wanted to make the occasion memorable. It’s not too late, Pia. When you’re done with Francesca in Rome, come back here, and I’ll help you make your arrangements to move permanently to New York.”

  “I don’t trust you, Gregory. I know what I just saw.”

  “You act like we were having sex, for crying out loud!”

  “I didn’t have to catch you in the act to know you’re sleeping with her!”

  “You’re pushing me away. You accuse me of being the liar?” Gregory has let go of my wrists and is now pointing with his index finger at his chest, which still has drops of red wine from when Madeline spilled her drink.

  “Pia, you’re afraid of commitment. You’re seeing what you want to see with Madeline and me to make it convenient to walk away.”

  “Stop turning the tables on me! You’re the one who cheated. Don’t act like I’m the bad guy!”

  “For the millionth time, I did not cheat on you with Madeline or anyone else. I have never cheated on anyone in my life. That’s not who I am. Pia, don’t you see what you’re doing? You’re afraid of getting too close to me. You’re afraid you’ll lose me like you lost Erica.”

  “Don’t mention my sister! That is not what I’m doing.”

  “You run away whenever there’s conflict, Pia. Whenever things get too difficult for you, you escape. You left California to avoid dealing with your unresolved emotions over Erica’s death; you ran out on me the night of my show. You tried running out on me again when you were last here. You’re running now. Fine. You want to run. Go to Rome. I won’t stop you. Maybe the distance will give you better perspective, and you’ll see in the next few weeks that you’ve been trying to sabotage this relationship.”

  So that’s it. He’s giving up. He’s not going to keep trying to change my mind about breaking up with him. It’s just further proof that he is sleeping with Madeline and doesn’t really care about me.

  We stare at each other for what feels like an eternity but is really probably no more than a minute. I know we’re both thinking the same thing. This could be the last time we ever see each other.

  “Good luck with your paintings and your next show.” I begin going down the steps.

  “Congratulations on Francesca’s asking you to write her autobiography. I know you’ll be a great success someday.”

  I freeze on the third step. His last words sound so final. We really are doing this. I don’t turn around when I say, “Thanks.”

  I can feel his eyes all the way until I get downstairs and shut the door behind me.

  24

  Francesca

  Though Rome was my home for almost thirty years, La Città Eterna still manages to hypnotize me as if it is my first time visiting. Everywhere I look, her boundless vitality and regal beauty surround me as I take my passeggiata through Rome’s jewel, Piazza Navona. The magnificent sculptures of giants at the Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi, or the Fountain of the Four Rivers, herald my return to the city. The four giants symbolize the four great rivers of the world: the Ganges, the Danube, the Nile, and the Plate. Here in what must surely be Rome’s most elaborate piazza, Baroque architecture is on dramatic display. One of my favorite Baroque masterpieces is the church of Sant’Agnese in Agone. The church is believed to have been built on the site where in AD 304 the young St. Agnes was stripped naked in front of a crowd in order to force her to renounce Christianity. Her hair miraculously grew to cover her body. St. Agnes was martyred at this site.

  I decide to enter the church and light a candle for Giuliana as well as my deceased parents. Edgardo and an additional bodyguard are present, but they stay a good five feet behind me. On occasion, Edgardo allows me to walk without him or the other guard flanked on either side of me. Today Edgardo is not worried that anyone will recognize me with my red wig and large oval sunglasses. Rome is so congested with people that I am easily swallowed among the throngs. Two weeks have passed since Giuliana died, and Edgardo does not wish to give me further grief. I am tempted to sneak in among a group of tourists and run off so I can truly be alone. But I do not have the energy for the escape or for Edgardo’s anger. Giuliana’s death has been so draining. Sighing deeply, I step into Sant’Agnese in Agone. Removing my sunglasses, I replace them with my reading glasses to help conceal my face. I also pull out a silk scarf and tie it around my head to further disguise my identity.

  After lighting my candles, I sit down in the last pew at the back of the church. Edgardo and the other bodyguard stand behind the pew. I can feel Edgardo’s heavy breathing on the back of my neck. He has never done well with extreme humidity, and August in Rome is insufferably hot. I lower myself onto the kneel rest and close my eyes.

  Dio, dammi forza per dire la verita. Per favore, Dio, dammi forza.

  As I pray to God to give me strength to carry out Giuliana’s last wish, I feel beads of perspiration forming along my temples and my heart races. Giuliana’s last words replay over and over in my mind. I have not been able to stop them since she died. I know what I must do, but I am not ready to do so.

  Lorenzo and I buried Giuliana in the private mausoleum where her husband rests in the yard of her villa. Lorenzo stayed behind to have the house cleaned, but I am staying in my old apartment in the Piazza Navona dist
rict. Pia arrived a week ago and is staying in the guest bedroom of my apartment. I have asked Lorenzo to take her out whenever she is not interviewing me for my autobiography.

  Pia was quite surprised that I am having her write my autobiography, as I am sure the public will be when they get wind of it. I have always been a very private person. But throughout my career, there have been so many misconceptions about me in the media. I am now ready to set the record straight and let the world know who the real Francesca is. I have grown to trust Pia and admire her. She seemed a bit nervous to take on such an overwhelming task, but I have full confidence in her even though I have not read yet the article she is writing for Profile. In my life I have learned to trust my instincts, and they are telling me that Pia is the right person to tell the story of my life.

  Pia confided in Lorenzo that she is no longer seeing Gregory. She has not told me herself yet. You would never know the girl is in Rome. Even though this is her first visit here, she looks as if she is the one who has just lost a family member. Ahh! First love. It is always the first experience we have with love that crushes us the most. My first love devastated me. Closing my eyes, I let my mind wander to the first time I came to Rome, and I remember how in love I was. The memories come fast and furious. My heart feels like a balloon ready to pop. Flashing my eyes open, I notice Edgardo is staring at me. I avert my gaze as I make the sign of the cross and stand up to leave. I feel faint, and the scent of incense in the church is making me feel worse.

  I head in the direction of the Piazza di Spagna district. My destination is Via Condotti, where upscale designer boutiques line the street as well as the adjacent ones. Shopping has always immediately lifted my spirits, and as I contemplate what clothing treasures await me, Edgardo intrudes upon my thoughts.

  “Where are you going?” he whispers to me, which is silly with all the noise surrounding us.

  “I thought I would do some shopping on Via Condotti.”

  “Francesca, you need to tell me what your plans are.”

  “I am doing so right now.” I frown at Edgardo and shrug off his grip on my arm as I quicken my pace to increase the distance between us. But he quickly catches up.

  “I thought we had an agreement, Edgardo. You and Tonio keep a few feet away from me so I can feel like I am a grown woman who does not need her babysitters.”

  “You’re planning on going inside shops where the merchants and customers will be able to get a better look at you. So we need to be right at your side should anyone attack you.”

  I dramatically roll my eyes and say, “In the four decades that I have been an actress, no one has ever attacked me, and I do not think it is going to happen now that I am in my old age.”

  “You are not in your old age.” Edgardo’s eyes sweep across my body even though I am wearing a loose tunic over relaxed capris. I did not want form-fitting clothes that might give away my famous figure to the public.

  “Fine, fine, Edgardo. You and Tonio may stay beside me. I do not want an argument for once.”

  I hear Edgardo release a long sigh of relief.

  “Look, Francesca, I know things have been tense between us since I blew up at you the night I discovered you had escaped from your sister’s home. I’m sorry. You have to understand you gave me the scare of my life.”

  Edgardo is looking at me with the tenderest expression. He truly does care about me. I pat his arm and say, “I, too, am sorry. Sometimes I do not think. I was having too much fun with Rocco.”

  At the mention of Rocco’s name, Edgardo’s eyes cloud over and his lips crease. I did not mean to hurt him. I am only speaking the truth. When I said good-bye to Rocco in Astoria, I told myself I would not miss him. But I do. We did not speak of whether or not I would return to Astoria, but I could tell it was weighing on Rocco’s mind. Good man that he is, he did not bring it up out of respect for Giuliana’s passing away. He has called me a few times since I arrived in Rome. But I have only taken two of his calls. I am certain he will tire of me soon. Besides, I have too much on my mind right now. I must honor Giuliana’s last wish. And until I do so, I cannot think about anything—or anyone—else.

  Finally, we arrive at Via Condotti. I step into the Giorgio Armani shop, and as my senses take in the fine clothes, euphoria replaces the anxiety I was feeling seconds ago. Ahhh, Roma! You have always been good to me.

  25

  Pia

  So I’ve traded in the crowds from New York City for the crowds in Rome. But in the Eternal City, the masses seem less menacing. Maybe that’s because everyone looks excited to be here. From the numerous tourists, romani, priests, and nuns walking the piazzas to the students whizzing by on their motorini, la dolce vita is reality in Rome.

  The Spanish Steps sprawl before me like an enormous hand fan. I’m sitting at the very top of the stairs with my laptop, hoping to glean some inspiration. For famous writers such as Byron, Honoré de Balzac, and Stendhal among others also sought their muse at the Piazza di Spagna. But all I’ve been able to accomplish is a rough outline for Francesca’s autobiography. You might think I’m crazy trying to write in one of Rome’s most busy and famous squares. I’ve always had a knack for shutting out the noise and focusing on my work, but today I’m failing miserably. Teenage couples making out are as numerous as the churches in Rome, and they’re proving to be a huge distraction. I always thought that images of amorous Italians on every street corner were just part of a stereotype the movies created. But in the past week since I’ve arrived, they’ve bombarded me. If I’d known that there were so many happy couples in love, I would’ve stayed in New York. For these young lovers remind me of my own failed relationship with Gregory. And Rome’s romantic landscape only makes me wish even more he were here with me.

  I noticed he tried to call me last night, but he must’ve forgotten about the time difference. My phone was turned off and I was in bed already. I even opted to get the pricey international plan my cell phone carrier offers just so that I could talk to Gregory if I wanted to. But now I’m seeing what a bad idea that was—and not just for the sake of money. How am I supposed to move forward and forget about him if I keep talking to him? But am I ready to forget him? Is it really over between us? Or is this just a break to figure out what we both want, and we’ll get together once I return from Italy? Ugghhh! I’m crazy! I can’t believe I’m even entertaining the idea of getting back together with the man who cheated on me. That seals it. Tomorrow, I’m canceling my international cell phone plan. The sooner I forget Gregory, the better.

  The bell tower of Trinità dei Monti clangs loudly above the din in the piazza, coinciding with the headache that is pounding against my temples. The church is behind me, at the top of the Spanish Steps. Deciding this is a good time to check out the Antico Caffè Greco, a two-hundred-year-old haunt for famous artists and writers, I pack up my laptop and stand up. Two boys around fifteen years old blow kisses at me, smacking their lips loudly. I ignore them and head over to Via Condotti, where the historic café is located.

  Antico Caffè Greco is packed. Mostly locals, all dressed fashionably of course, stand at the bar sipping espressos. To the back, I see the typical tourists dressed in Bermuda shorts and white tennis shoes. Lorenzo mentioned that the café is a must for any aspiring writer, but he warned me to just get a quick espresso at the bar, which is much cheaper than if you were to get table service. What I’m really dying for is a cappuccino, but Zia Antoniella told me before I left that Italians only drink cappuccinos in the morning because they don’t want to combine the dairy in it with the foods they eat throughout the day and possibly cause stomach upset. How clever! I order an espresso macchiato. I can’t take my coffee black whether it’s Americano style or Italian. After just two sips, I feel my headache starting to subside.

  “I thought that was you!”

  A redheaded woman with enormous sunglasses approaches me. Must be a tourist. Maybe German or Eastern European with her accent.

  “I’m sorry. You must have mistak
en me for someone else.”

  The woman leans in closer and whispers, “It is me, Pia. Francesca.”

  And then I notice Edgardo and another bodyguard nervously scanning the crowd taking their espresso breaks. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize her voice, though her sinfully curvaceous figure is hidden in the baggy trousers and tunic she’s wearing.

  “I see they let you out.” I smirk toward Edgardo and the other bodyguard.

  “Madonna mia! That one is getting worse with age—well, except for his looks. Unfortunately, Giuliana’s death is working to my advantage by gaining Edgardo’s sympathy.”

  “Would you like an espresso? I can order one for you.”

  “Si, si. Nero, per favore. Grazie.” Francesca begins to open her purse, but I wave her hand away. I know it’s ridiculous of me to treat a rich, famous movie star to coffee, but it would also be obnoxious of me to expect her to pay for everything when I’m with her. She tries to insist, but I walk away.

  After ten minutes of waiting in line, I finally get Francesca’s espresso. I don’t see Edgardo any longer.

  “Where are your bodyguards?” I whisper to Francesca once I return.

  “I do not know. I am sure they are close. I cannot worry about them. It is their job to worry about me. Vero?”

  Naturally, I nod my assent. Though I feel more comfortable around Francesca after getting to know her better these past few months, I still realize I must never disagree with her.

  “Are you enjoying Rome? I know Lorenzo has taken you to a few places this past week. He felt bad that he could not be with you today, but he had to meet with my sister’s attorney about her estate.”

  “That’s okay. I don’t expect Lorenzo to be my personal tour guide. I can get around the city on my own. It’s even fun to get lost on a few of these side streets and alleys. I almost always discover something unique when that happens.”