Hepburn's Necklace

by Jan Moran

  They continued to another room that was full of samples and archived designs. “We have digitized our designs,” Alessandro said, pulling out a chair for her at a long table where swatch books were stacked.

  Gia joined her and began to peruse the samples. “There are many good options here.”

  Whether it was Alessandro’s attention or the dizzying array of choices before her, Ariana felt overwhelmed. Looking between Gia and Alessandro, she said, “Since you two know my aunt and Villa Fiori, what do you recommend?”

  “May I?” Alessandro glanced at Gia, who nodded her assent. “Permit me,” he said, flipping through samples with a practiced hand. “One moment.”

  In a flash, Alessandro left, but then he returned a moment later carrying several magnificent rolls of silk. With great showmanship, he unfurled them across the table. “What do you think?”

  Ariana ran her hand across silk as soft as an angel’s breath. Magenta, fuchsia, violet—hot floral colors strewn across a shimmering turquoise background. “Oh, yes,” she murmured, not even stopping to consider all the details she usually would have.

  Instinctively, she knew these were perfect. The dusty colors she’d once considered would wash out against the vibrant backdrop of the lake and mountains. And she knew Ruby would love the vivid colors.

  “And this.” Alessandro draped another choice over the table, the fabric flowing like a waterfall of aquamarine hues.

  Ariana held an edge to her cheek, reveling in the cool, whisper-soft texture. She could see these fabrics in luxurious throws and pillows of all shapes and sizes, or draping from a window, puddling to the floor. Looking up, she was surprised to see Alessandro staring at her. A small smile tugged his lips.

  “You like it?” he asked, holding her gaze.

  “It’s perfect,” she said, losing herself in the moment. Catching herself, she blinked. Was she being too hasty? She let go of the fabric. “But of course, I’d like to see some others, too.” At her comment, she registered a brief flash of disappointment in his hazel eyes.

  He gave a slight nod. “But of course,” he said, echoing her words in a deep baritone.

  Ariana turned to Gia. “What do you think?”

  Gia seemed as transfixed as she was. “These are excellent choices, but let’s see what else we can find.”

  They spent the next half hour sorting through some of the most beautiful silks Ariana had ever seen. In the end, they only added a few other designs to Alessandro’s recommendations, though Ariana loved his choices the most.

  Gia folded her hands and smiled. “Alessandro is a renowned silk savant.”

  A woman appeared at the door. “Scusa, Alessandro?” She tapped her wrist to indicate the time.

  “Sì, sì. I must go,” Alessandro said. After introducing Paolina, he excused himself, promising to return soon.

  Paolina slid into the chair Alessandro vacated and took up where he left off, helping them calculate the amount of fabric they would need. At one point, Paolina asked for coffee, and Ariana was grateful for the little cup of strong espresso.

  After finishing the details, Ariana and Gia started back to the car. Just then, Alessandro pulled up beside them in the parking area. He stepped from a four-door Maserati and waved at them.

  “Momento,” he called out, just as two children tumbled from the back seat. Laughing, they raced toward the front door to the factory. “Scusi, Ariana, may I ask a question?”

  Just then, Gia’s phone buzzed. “It’s my husband. Go ahead. I’ll take this in the car.”

  Ariana slid on her sunglasses and waited. Behind her, Paolina met the children at the door with hugs and led them inside. The children clung to her as if she were their mother, which made Ariana wonder if she was. Plenty of married couples worked together. She couldn’t recall if Paolina wore a wedding ring, but now she realized she probably was the children’s mother.

  And Alessandro’s wife.

  Alessandro strode toward her. “I’m sorry I had to rush out, but you can see why. I’m afraid I lost track of time. And then the kids…it’s always something with them.”

  Striving to be cordial, she said, “They’re adorable. How old are they?”

  “Sandro is seven, and Carmela is five. They’re so inquisitive and rambunctious. Do you have children?”

  “No, no.” Ariana stumbled over the word, but she wasn’t about to divulge her secret to a stranger.

  “Not married?”

  Nor was Ariana going to share her disastrous attempt at marriage. “Absolutely not.”

  Alessandro rocked back and forth in his loafers and chuckled, though his laughter had a strangled, nervous edge. “Then, may I ask you out for coffee sometime? Or dinner? I don’t know—whatever it is that you do in America. Drinks?”

  Did I hear him correctly? Ariana’s lips parted, and she swung her gaze from Alessandro to the children, who were chattering away with Paolina in the doorway. Something wasn’t right here. But she was not going to be the American fling for a month.

  Whipping off her sunglasses, Ariana lashed out at him. “I can’t believe you would ask such a thing—and in front of your children?”

  “Che cosa?” He spread his hands and stared at her. “What?”

  Ariana snapped on her sunglasses. “I appreciate your help today, but I shouldn’t have to explain.” She whirled around and opened the passenger door to Gia’s car.

  Gia hung up the phone, looking a little frazzled.

  “Let’s go,” Ariana said, disgusted and angry that Alessandro ruined what had been a perfectly lovely day.

  “My little girl is sick,” Gia said. “She has a fever, so I have to pick her up and get medicine for her.”

  Before Ariana could tell her about Alessandro, the conversation shifted to Gia’s daughter.

  “That’s okay,” Ariana said. “I just remembered I have to talk to my aunt about something.” Like trying to set her up with unsuitable replacements for Phillip—which was even crazier than buying a villa in Italy.

  A sudden thought seized her. This behavior was unusual, even for Ruby, who could be impulsive about little things, like new shoes or hairstyles. Or surprising her with a weekend trip to a spa. But extravagant purchases like a villa in Italy?

  Ariana slid her hand over the back of her neck in thought. Maybe there was another explanation, although it was one that Ariana hated to address. Could Ruby’s lapse in judgment be attributed to mental decline?

  Ariana sighed, recalling her own Nana Pat, who’d had Alzheimer’s disease for almost as long as Ariana could remember. Patricia and Ruby were sisters. Could Ruby’s behavior be an early signal that the disease was attacking her, too?

  Chapter 10

  Rome, 1952

  * * *

  A messenger boy clad in baggy, faded trousers held up by suspenders raced toward the fountain where Ruby was sitting while writing postcards to her family back home.

  On this muggy morning, she’d discovered that sitting downwind of the fountain was the coolest—and she used that term relatively—spot to watch the hub-bub of life before filming began.

  Being on set was thrilling, and Ruby soaked up everything she could. She never grew tired of watching Audrey Hepburn, who acted so naturally that she hardly seemed to be acting at all.

  The boy skidded to stop in front of her. With perspiration beading on his face, he panted, “Ruby Raines?”

  “That’s right.” He was probably one of the crew’s children, making himself useful on set while his parent or parents worked. Many of the cast had brought their families along for an extended holiday. Even Mr. Wyler’s children, Judy and Cathy, had been in the school scene as schoolchildren.

  “You have to report to David in Costumes right away. Mr. Wyler’s order.”

  Ruby tucked her postcards into the pocket of her skirt. At Mr. Wyler’s request! Could this be her lucky break? She hurried on her way.

  When she arrived, David gave her a quick hug. The assistant wardrobe supervisor was
a wiry whirl of energy this morning.

  “The stand-in for Miss Hepburn is sick today,” David said as he pulled clothes for her. “Even though Mr. Wyler is shooting in black-and-white—thanks to budget constraints—we still need to approximate Miss Hepburn’s wardrobe for lighting. We needed a fill-in, so I suggested you. You’re the same size as Miss Hepburn, and Mr. Wyler approved. The camera and lighting supervisors agreed. Same height, same skin and bones. Are you a dancer, too?”

  Ruby nearly burst out laughing with one of those awful hee-haw honks that her mother always shushed. She was in Rome now, a professional actress on a set—well, almost—and she was supposed to be acting not just her age, but older.

  “Oh, yes, I dance, too,” she said with what she hoped was an air of calm and sophistication.

  Never say you can’t do anything. Her agent’s words rang in her ears. You can learn how. Say anything to get the job.

  David tossed a scarf over a hanger. “Thought so. Muscular calves, strong arms.” He flipped open a book that contained sketches and swatches. Frowning with concentration, he ran his finger down a list.

  She’d earned her long, lean muscles not from ballet as Miss Hepburn had, but from herding cattle on horseback with her father. And the only dancing she knew was the Texas kind. The two-step with its quick-quick steps, the schottische with its funny little hops, and the traditional polka that she danced with her grandpa at Gruene Hall in New Braunfels and parties in Fredericksburg. She knew how to waltz Texas-style, but that looked little like the grand, sweeping waltz she’d seen in the movies.

  “What’s that?” Ruby asked, peering over David’s shoulder at the thick binder he was consulting.

  “Our costume bible,” he said, tapping a page. “This has Edith Head’s sketches, fabric swatches, measurements, and a complete list of every accessory and detail for each scene. For continuity purposes, not a hairpin or a sock will be out of place from one day of filming to the next. And heaven help the actor who gains weight. Or loses it.”

  “Why?”

  “Alterations take time and damage continuity.” He put his hands on his hips. “Gregory Peck is losing too much weight, but he’s a star,” he muttered. “With all this fabulous food around, who loses weight in Italy?” A frown knitted his brow. “Pity we can hardly partake of the feast.”

  Ruby laughed. The unionized craft services provided American-style food on the set, which included tasteless white bread with American cheese, pressed bologna, and canned peas. She’d always had crisp peas fresh from the garden; these strange, gray-green pretenders were salty and mushy. And the bread was nothing like they made at home.

  “Don’t you eat the craft services food?” Ruby asked.

  “Not if I can help it.” David grinned. “I pay a kid to sneak in paninis and Italian sodas for me.” He held up a hangar full of clothes. “Now, take your clothes off.”

  “I beg your pardon? Here?”

  David rolled his eyes. “Honey, I’m the last person on this set a girl like you needs to worry about.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean…”

  A smile spread across David’s face, and he chuckled. “Oh, sweetie, you are green. How old did you say you were?”

  She tilted her chin up. “Old enough.”

  “Uh-huh.” David arched an eyebrow in obvious doubt. Harried, he shoved the clothes toward her. “Go change, but don’t go out without my checking you. I don’t care if it is just a lighting check; you will be perfect. You reflect on me. Now go.” He flung his hand toward a small changing room.

  Once inside, Ruby wriggled out of her clothes and into the skirt and blouse. Emerging from the dressing room, she asked, “How’s this?”

  “Oh, darling, no, no, no,” David said. “Valentina, we need some help here.”

  An older woman hurried to help Ruby untuck the shirt and tuck it in again. She gathered the fullness to the sides and back with crisp folds, which gave the blouse clean lines in front. Then she added a wide belt to cinch Ruby’s waist and tied the striped scarf around her neck.

  David stood back, apprising her look. “You should have been in makeup first. Go now, and have it applied very carefully. Tell the makeup artist not to get a speck on my costume. The lighting supervisor will need to check the lighting on your face.” He whisked a hand toward the door. “What are you waiting for?”

  “Thank you, David,” Ruby said.

  “Thank that boyfriend of yours for the limoncello,” David said with a grin. “Now, go!”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” Ruby called out as she raced to the door and stumbled on her shoe.

  David flung up his hands. “And don’t run. You can’t scuff those shoes.”

  Ruby slowed her pace, yet still managed a brisk walk to the next trailer, where makeup stations were set up similar to the beauty shop where her aunt Vivienne worked in Hollywood. Several people were languishing in chairs chatting and reading fan magazines.

  Ruby cleared her throat. “I’m here for makeup.”

  An older man nudged the woman in the chair who was talking the loudest. “Marge, you’re up.”

  Marge pushed herself from a chair. “You should have come here first.”

  “I’m filling in for a stand-in who is out sick,” Ruby said. “They’re going to adjust lighting and places, so David in wardrobe told me to come over. And asked that you be careful with the costume.”

  “I’ll bet,” Marge said, chuckling to herself. She yanked a makeup cape from a hook. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s get that shine off your face and add color to those lips.” She motioned to a chair.

  Ruby eased in, and Marge unfurled the cape over her costume. The woman snapped it snugly around Ruby’s neck. After matching the tint to the skin on Ruby’s face, Marge applied it liberally to Ruby’s cheeks and forehead, blending as she went.

  “The lights are hot, so this is sweatproof,” Marge said. “Might be difficult to wipe off afterward. Do you have any cold cream?”

  “Ivory soap and water?” Ruby fidgeted under the cape.

  Marge clucked her tongue and nodded toward a white ceramic jar on the counter. “Take a jar of that Pond’s cream with you. You should be using it anyway, at night. Not that you have any wrinkles, but if you’re going to be in pictures, you can’t start taking care of your skin too soon. Look at Garbo. Now that’s a face.”

  “Do you know why she retired?” Ruby asked.

  “Seeing as how Garbo retired in forty-one, I wouldn’t likely know her.” Marge brushed color onto Ruby’s face as she talked. “That was before my time, so I only know what’s in the fan mags. Garbo is one of the greats, though, that’s for sure. Fans still adore her.”

  Ruby sat as still as she could while Marge penciled in thick eyebrows like Miss Hepburn’s. Taking another, narrow brush, the makeup artist dabbed on lip color. After pressing powder onto her skin with a sponge, Marge stepped back. “See what you think.”

  Ruby gazed into the mirror, amazed at the transformation. Now she really did look eighteen, even twenty or older. “Thank you,” she murmured, awestruck at her image.

  “You’re ready.” Marge grinned and whisked off the cape.

  Ruby pushed herself from the chair and stood. “I’m not sure where to go.”

  Just then, a young man rushed in the door fanning his face with a newspaper. “Are you the stand-in for Miss Hepburn today?”

  “I am.”

  “They need you on set right now. I can drive you.”

  “See you around,” Marge said. “And don’t forget the Pond’s.”

  Ruby tucked it into her purse and set off with the young man in a little Fiat automobile. As they careened through the streets, Ruby asked, “Where are we going?”

  “They didn’t tell you?” the young man asked, steering through a roundabout that had Ruby clutching the dashboard. Without waiting for an answer, he went on, “The Santa Maria. It’s an old church at the Piazza della Bocca della Verità, or Mouth of Truth. As the old legend goes, if
you’re not telling the truth, it bites off your hand.” He paused for dramatic effect. “You’re going to have to put your hand in there.”

  Ruby angled her chin. “I’m not afraid.”

  Chuckling, he eased to a stop in a piazza crowded with onlookers. “And here we are.”

  Ruby had been fine up until now. As soon as they arrived at the designated filming location, she began fidgeting.

  It was one thing to watch movies and dream of being in them, but now, here she was in the middle of the chaos, in the stifling heat of a city teeming with crowds that followed them wherever they went. She’d have to learn to block it all out if she were to become a great actress.

  Heads turned as they hurried to the side of the church, where the film crew milled about. Ruby was quickly folded into the crowd and rushed to the set.

  “Where should I go?” Ruby asked, her heart quickening.

  “Right over there,” the driver said, pointing to a spot beside a large round piece of stone.

  The disk had a frightening-looking face carved into it, with hollow eyes and a gaping mouth. Ruby cut through the crowd.

  “Here she is,” another man called out.

  Ruby recognized him as the assistant director. Beside him in a folding chair sat Mr. Wyler, calmly watching everything around him. He brightened and nodded toward Ruby.

  “You’re the young lady who was almost run over by the Vespa, right?” Mr. Wyler put out his hand.

  Ruby shook his hand, pleased that he remembered. “Yes, sir.” His calm demeanor and the way he smiled at her put her at ease. He reminded her of her father, who remained unruffled, even when faced with adversity. She’d watched her steely-eyed dad manage dangerous situations ranging from rattlesnakes and wild boars to rabid dogs. Stay still, he’d say. But she wondered if the director also had a fierce temper like her father. She blinked, forcing her thoughts back to the present.