by Jan Moran
Now Ariana’s interest was piqued. She picked up the program. “1952. Aunt Ruby, I didn’t know you made any films in Italy back then. That would have made you about—”
“Seventeen.” A look passed between Ruby and Stefano. “My performance didn’t make the cut, but I managed to gain a part in another film as soon as I returned to Los Angeles. That was Moonlight Dance.”
“And what a film that was,” Stefano said with a smile.
Ruby chuckled. “Had to learn how to dance for that one.”
“You sure did,” Stefano said.
“And then I made Diary of a Pioneer Woman.”
Ariana was used to her aunt’s rambling train of thought jumping the tracks. “Back to 1952.”
Ruby’s eyes sparkled. “That was the most amazing year of my life.” She blinked rapidly and seemed to slip into a memory of a faraway time.
Stefano cleared his throat. “Since Ariana is here, I could make a nice dinner for us.”
Ariana felt a sudden urge to get out. She glanced at her aunt. “I know you’ve been dying to try that new restaurant in Rancho Mirage. We could go there. You, too, Stefano.”
Ruby smiled, shaking herself from her memories. “Only if you’re up for it.”
Ariana shifted. “I’m feeling better just thinking about it.” Ruby loved to dress and go out. “Then you can tell me all about your trip to Italy. Phillip has talked about going. Maybe you can tell me where to go.” Ariana noticed Ruby’s smile dissipated at the mention of Phillip’s name.
“I love all of Italy, but my heart lies in Lago di Como and the villages that line its banks. I saw such a sweet old villa in Bellagio, and I thought it would be so lovely to have—”
“But having a second home there would be difficult at your age,” Ariana said.
Ruby pressed her lips together in a thin, perturbed line. “Not you, too, Ariana.”
“I mean—”
“I know very well what you mean. Dr. Lettie uses the same words.” Ruby huffed. “My ankle is nearly healed now. Anyone could step off a curb the wrong way. You forget that my grandmother lived to one-hundred-and-two, and that was before the advent of fancy antibiotics and such. She swore by a shot of tequila after supper. And I have every intention of outliving her.” She picked up her cocktail for a sip.
“Point taken,” Ariana said sheepishly.
Ruby stood. “If we’re going to dinner, we’ll have to bathe and change.” She peered at Ariana. “You’re sure you’re feeling better?”
“Absolutely certain.”
Ruby hesitated and motioned to the box of photos and mementos. “You’re welcome to go through those albums, but please keep everything together. I haven’t been through that in years.”
Ariana promised, and Ruby sashayed from the lanai bent on a new mission, giving Stefano instructions along the way. Shaking her head, Ariana opened an old album and sipped her drink. As she’d told her aunt, she was feeling better, but she was still concerned. If these episodes were stress-induced, what could she possibly change in her life? She’d worked hard to create the life she’d dreamed of living.
And with a baby on the way…
As Ariana sorted through the mementos in the cigar box, she couldn’t help smiling at the assortment Ruby had saved.
Coins imprinted with Repubblica Italiana, paper lire, train tokens, curled black-and-white snapshots of people she didn’t recognize. She unfolded a few pieces of paper.
“A script.” Ariana smiled at the notes pertaining to movement and inflection scribbled on the side. “Must have been Ruby’s scene.”
A red-and-blue corner of a thin envelope marked Per Via Aerea peeked from the stack. It was addressed to Miss Ruby Raines at a Hollywood address. The faded red stamp read Poste Italiane with the postmark, Roma. Ariana ran her fingers over the faint writing.
She opened the envelopes, but they were empty, long ago robbed of their contents. Ariana sighed, thinking about the lost art of letter writing. She had little to cherish from Phillip. Texts and emails were often deleted, though she had plenty of photos on her phone.
Ariana thought about the necklace Ruby had on. It was clearly old and cherished, yet she’d never seen her wear it. Her aunt usually favored more extravagant jewelry. Maybe it had some significance, like the scattered tokens and opera pamphlet Ruby had saved. Ariana decided to ask her aunt about these things later.
Chapter 2
Rome, 1952
* * *
Niccolò held out his hand to her. Tentatively, Ruby rested her fingers in the fold of his palm, setting off the sizzle that coursed through her every time she touched him. Instead of giving their lire to street vendors for hot paninis made from the finest thin-sliced prosciutto, the freshest tomatoes and basil, and the creamiest mozzarella and then nursing small, strong espressos at a café where they could sit for hours and watch people, he’d suggested a surprise.
“Do you trust me?” Niccolò’s vivid blue eyes sparkled with mischief, and his subtle, melodic accent mesmerized her.
For some reason she couldn’t fathom, Ruby nodded. “Where are you taking me?”
Shifting the cloth bag he had thrown over his shoulder, Niccolò grinned. “I want to show you the very best performance in all of Rome. Maybe the best you’ll ever see.”
Ruby glanced down at her clothes. She wore a simple cotton seersucker dress she’d made before she left Texas. “I hope it’s nothing fancy.”
“It’s very fancy,” he said, guiding her in the direction of trailers that were being used for various filming needs. “But I have a plan. Come on.”
They’d finished the first week of filming, which had commenced with the opening reception scene shot at the baroque Palazzo Brancaccio filled with Italian nobles in their gowns and jewels who’d answered a casting call. They were just as intrigued by the Hollywood film as the ordinary people who lined the streets during filming.
Now, much of the cast had dispersed to explore the city on their day off. She’d heard Audrey Hepburn mention that her mother, Baroness Ella, had made reservations for high tea at Babington’s, an English tea house near the exclusive Hassler hotel where Miss Hepburn was staying. Others, including the director, might be watching dailies or sipping a Bellini or Negroni on Via Veneto, a fashionable street filled with cafés.
Ruby had heard about the Italian cocktails and wondered what they tasted like, but she’d promised her parents not to drink alcohol and to watch herself around boys. Once this week, she’d settled for a chilled latte macchiato and had felt very grown-up, indeed.
Wine didn’t count, she’d decided after a few days in Rome. Even kids her age sipped red wine as they ate lasagna or ravioli or other pasta she could hardly pronounce. And she was supposed to be eighteen, so she had to act the part. A part within a part, she mused, making herself laugh.
Holding his fingers to his lips, Niccolò led her into the costume trailer. He tapped on the door. “David, it’s me. Niccolò.”
The door swung open, and the sound of jazz music wafted out. Niccolò handed his bag to a young male assistant to the wardrobe supervisor.
“Amaretto and limoncello,” Niccolò said. “Very fine.”
“Excellent. You surprise me,” David said in a Midwestern drawl. He looked inside the bag and then motioned them in. “You can borrow most anything but items reserved for Miss Hepburn, Mr. Peck, or Mr. Arnold. And don’t spill anything on the clothes. Niccolò, I have your suit ready over there.”
“I don’t know where to start,” Ruby said, gazing at the racks of costumes.
David swung his attention toward Ruby and stroked his chin. “ You’re about the same size as Miss Hepburn. I know just what will suit you.”
Niccolò laughed. “David wants to be a fashion designer like Coco Chanel.”
“More like Elsa Schiaparelli,” David said, smirking with glee as he flipped a silver high heel and balanced it on his head like a hat. “Elsa created a shoe chapeau in collaboration with Salvador Dali in 1937. Darling, it was
all the rage in the pages of Vogue.”
Ruby giggled. She’d never met anyone quite like David, but he was fun. Another assistant had fitted her costume when she’d reported to work, but David had retied her scarf just so.
He pointed Niccolò toward the rear of the trailer. “Now, off with you while I work with your girlfriend.”
“Oh, no,” Ruby said, feeling herself blush. “I’m not his girlfriend.” Although, as she said the word, she felt flutters in her chest. Ruby had never had a proper boyfriend, but if Niccolò asked her, she would consider being his girlfriend.
David smiled. “The night’s still young, my dear. I’ll be right back.”
Ruby stopped in front of the costumes reserved for Miss Hepburn, whose cotton shirts and full skirts were similar to Ruby’s. But the regal outfits for the Princess Ann character were extraordinary. Hanging before Ruby was a lace dress with full sleeves that looked as sweet and delicate as the spun sugar she’d once had at a fair.
Ruby caught her breath at the ballgown displayed on a dressmaker’s form. The dress was spectacular, which wasn’t a word she’d used much on the farm. The off-the-shoulder gown of silver brocade had a narrow bodice and an impossibly full skirt. Even without accessories, it was regal and awe-inspiring.
“Magical,” she whispered, daring to touch the fabric. Ruby could sew, but she’d never seen such beautiful material. The craftsmanship was exquisite. She inspected tiny stitches rendered as her mother had shown her, though her work would never be that fine. As long as she could sew, she wouldn’t starve in Los Angeles, but neither would she ever have what she craved.
David returned, carrying a sleeveless aquamarine dress with a boatneck neckline and a full skirt. “How about this?”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” she replied, although it was a stunning dress. She ran her fingers down the fabric, which was so fine it was almost iridescent. A petticoat filled out the skirt, emphasizing the tiny waist.
“Pure Italian silk, made in Como,” David said. “Try it on. For me.”
Ruby twirled her finger. “Turn around, please.” She unbuttoned her shirt and slid the dress over her head before taking off her skirt. She eased the dress over her slip. “Okay, you can look.”
When David turned around, his mouth opened in surprise. “Oh, mercy me. You’re an absolute star!” He finished zipping the dress. “We’ll add pearls, faux, of course, and flat silver sandals. Mind if I style your hair, my pet? I’ve never seen that exquisite shade before.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Is it natural?”
“Since I was a little girl.” Ruby giggled. “Where are you from?”
“Omaha,” David replied with a drawl.
“You’re funny,” she said. She’d never met anyone like David, who was so fashionable and fun. “Is everyone from Omaha like you?” She had no idea where that was, but it sounded exotic.
“Darling, no one from Omaha is like me. That’s why I high-tailed it to California. Even so, I was nervous about showing my costume portfolio to Miss Head, but she hired me right away after seeing it.”
“Aren’t you nervous that you could be fired for this?” Ruby whispered. Edith Head had designed costumes for all the stars, and she’d won more awards than any other costume designer. She wouldn’t stand for a transgression like this.
“She’s far away in Hollywood. If you ain’t telling, neither am I.” David winked at her. “What drove you to Tinseltown?”
“I love the movies,” Ruby said, smiling at the glittering term for the film industry. “You get to pretend you’re someone else. And get paid for it.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “A lot, if you’re good. My family could sure use the money, so I’m going to learn everything there is to know about acting.”
She caught a glimpse of her transformation in the mirror. The icy blue color contrasted beautifully with her dark red hair.
“Stay right there,” David said. After turning up the dial on a record player in the corner that was spinning a black-and-gold 78-rpm record, he scooped up a hairbrush and a makeup bag. “Mmm, that’s my desire,” he sang along. “Can you believe I found a Louis Armstrong record in a shop here?”
“I’ve heard him on the radio,” Ruby said, excited. Although her father seldom let her tune the dial to anything but country and western stations.
David snapped his fingers to the music. “That’s jazz, baby. Satchmo—that’s his nickname—tours often in Italy, so folks here know his music.” David’s eyes brightened. “He made a film right here in Rome, Botta e Risposta, which means, ‘I’m in the revue.’ It’s a screwball comedy, and this song is from that. It’s called You’re My Desire. And you should hear the Italian jazz. Wow.” He fanned his face.
Ruby laughed, but soon she was tapping her toe to the music. As she stood still, David brushed her hair from her face and secured it with a pair of rhinestone combs. Using a fine cosmetic brush, he dabbed red lipstick on her lips, and then he stepped back, admiring his work.
“I need to record this for my portfolio,” he said. “Hold still.”
David angled a bright light toward her, which threw a long shadow. He adjusted the lens on a complicated looking camera. “Don’t smile,” he said. “Look just over my shoulder.”
As she did, Niccolò sauntered out, snapping his fingers to the music. He wore a dark, slim-cut suit that made him look much older. Her heart quickened, and her lips parted in awe.
“That’s it,” David exclaimed.
A flash popped in her eyes, momentarily blinding her.
Niccolò knelt beside her and clasped her hand. “Do you know how beautiful you are?” His voice was thick with emotion.
“And you, too,” Ruby managed to say.
“Dress-up time is over,” David said, clapping his hands. “Bring these clothes back by tomorrow afternoon. Four o’clock sharp. No earlier. I have a date with a hangover.”
Ruby and Niccolò raced out the door, laughing and hugging each other.
On the way, Niccolò bought a snack from a street vendor of arancini, delicious little fried balls of rice, cheese, and peas that Ruby ate with care so as not to smudge her lipstick. As they sat in a square with napkins draped over their finery, the setting sun cast its gossamer glow over them. So far, the evening had been magical. One that Ruby knew she would hold tight and remember.
Afterward, they took a taxi past the Pantheon, the Roman Forum, and the Colosseum. Niccolò pointed out his favorite places. He’d lived here in Rome with his family, but he also spoke of Lago di Como in the north where his mother’s family lived.
“How did your parents meet?” Ruby asked as they sat with their legs touching in the back of the cab. The warmth of his body next to hers was enthralling.
“My mother’s father has vineyards in the north, and my other grandfather had an art gallery in Rome. One day my mother traveled with her father to deliver wine to a gallery, where my father was working. Wine and art—a good match, they always say.”
She lifted her face to the warm breeze through the open window. “And is it, do you think?”
Niccolò laughed. “What a funny thing to ask. We have so much love in our family.” He kissed her on the cheek.
Niccolò’s simple kiss sent tingles clear down to Ruby’s toes. Giggling, she returned the kiss on his cheek. The driver smiled at them in the rearview mirror as he slowed in front of their destination.
“This is Terme di Caracalla,” Niccolò said, gesturing toward towering ruins. “That means Caracalla’s bathhouse,” he added, chuckling. “My mother loves opera.”
Ruby stared out the window. “Opera?”
“You’ve seen opera, yes?”
“No, but I can’t wait.” Beautifully dressed people milled about, laughing and kissing each other on the cheeks. Ciao! Come stai? She frowned. “Is it expensive to get in?”
Niccolò laughed. “I have a cousin.” He paid the driver and took her hand, helping her slide across the bench seat in her dress.
As she slid fro
m the car, she noticed a few people looking at her. Frowning, she pressed a hand to her chest and asked Niccolò, “Do I look okay? People are staring.”
“That’s because you are mesmerizing,” he said, sliding his arm protectively around her.
Relieved, she raised her face to his. Niccolò pressed his cheek against hers, kissing her cheek and neck. Her heart was bursting with such emotion she’d never felt. This is passion. A warm feeling flooded her. The passion she’d seen portrayed on the screen was actually real.
Niccolò pulled away and cradled her face in his hands. “Anima mia,” he said in a husky voice. “My soul.”
“Anima mia,” she repeated.
He laughed. “Not bad. I’ll teach you Italian if you want to learn.”
“Oh yes,” she cried, completely lost in his embrace. And yet, she was found—by another soul so much like her’s. She’d never dared hope he might exist, but here he was in her arms. She felt like the luckiest girl in the world and a million miles away from Texas.
He motioned toward the front of the crowd. “Andiamo.”
Clasping her hand, he led her through the crowd. “Teatro dell’Opera performs here in the summer. This year, they are performing Aida. You know Aida, yes?”
Ruby shook her head. She was hardly paying attention to anything but him, and the passion she saw in his eyes, too.
“Wait until you see it and hear it.” Niccolò touched his fingers to his lips. “L’opera è magnifica. Sensational. Maria Pedrini is performing, and she has the voice of an angel. If I ever have a daughter, I would name her Mariangela. It even sounds musical.” He grinned. “Say it for me.”
“Mariangela.” Ruby laughed with him, but she loved what he was saying. And the name did flow off the tongue.
When they reached Niccolò’s cousin, the man, who was a little older than Niccolò, nodded and waved them in with a smile.
“Now, we have to look for empty seats, but don’t be too obvious about it,” Niccolò said in a low, conspiratorial voice. “Act like we’re looking for friends.”