Rome in Love

by Anita Hughes

  “Why would one of the hottest actresses in Hollywood be running around Rome masquerading as a hotel maid?” Max leaned back in his chair.

  “I would love to know,” Philip mused, dipping a baguette in olive oil.

  Max drummed his fingers on the white linen tablecloth and studied the photo. “You’re not the only one. I bet the readers of Inside Rome would love to know, too.”

  “What are you saying?” Philip frowned.

  “Adam is always complaining his readers only want to read about who George Clooney is married and who got kicked off The Bachelor,” Max continued. “But what if you got an exclusive on Amelia Tate—the rising movie star with a dark secret?”

  “We don’t know she has a dark secret,” Philip protested.

  “She’s lying about who she is, she has to have a reason,” Max insisted. “We can follow her for a week, I’ll take the photos. We’re bound to uncover something juicy.”

  Philip pictured Amelia’s sparkling eyes and wide smile. He saw her devouring a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon. “She’s an actress, she’d know if she was being followed.”

  “I have a better idea!” Max exclaimed. “You can ask her out, see how long she’ll date you without telling the truth.”

  “We’re not the Enquirer, we don’t make up stories.” Philip shook his head. “I don’t want to do anything to hurt her.”

  “Any publicity is good publicity,” Max replied. “You’ll be getting her name in front of thousands of readers who will flock to see her movie.”

  “What if I ask her out and she says no?” Philip wavered.

  “You’re not that hard to look at. Come on.” Max ate a last bite of sea bass and grabbed his sunglasses. “Let’s pitch it to Adam before Inside Rome goes out of business.”

  * * *

  “I like it.” Adam nodded, looking up from the tear sheets spread out on his desk. “It has everything my readers want: celebrity, secrets, scandal, all in beautiful Roma.”

  Adam was only a year older than Philip but he had thinning brown hair and a slight paunch. He wore a blue shirt and khakis and had an unlit cigarette behind his ear.

  Philip glanced around the small office and tugged at his collar. The ceiling was made of plaster and the floor was peeling linoleum. A metal garbage can held a pile of cigarettes and candy wrappers. There was a framed Sports Illustrated cover on the wall and a signed photograph of Angelina Jolie.

  “God she’s beautiful.” Max stared at the photo. “I don’t believe Angelina Jolie really gave you her autograph.”

  “That was two years ago at the Venice Film Festival.” Adam sighed. “She was about to promise me an interview when Brad Pitt whisked her away on a gondola.”

  “But it needs to be big.” Adam turned to Philip. “You have to go all the way.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Philip spluttered.

  “You get Amelia Tate to agree to marry you without revealing her true identity and I’ll pay you ten thousand dollars.” Adam aimed carefully and flicked the cigarette into the trash can.

  “Ten thousand dollars!” Philip gasped, leaning forward in his chair. He pictured his father in his gray herringbone suit and black tasseled shoes. He pictured the brick headquarters of Hamilton & Sons with the gold plaque on the building. “We just met, how am I going to propose?”

  Adam walked to a metal safe and took out a wad of euros. “I’ll give you three weeks. Take her to Il Pagliaccio and Imàgo’s and Aroma. Show her the Villa Medici and the Castel Sant’Angelo. I want pictures and lots of juicy details.” He peeled off ten notes and placed them on the table. “If you fail, you owe me six hundred euros.”

  “Do you ever smoke these things?” Max tapped a cigarette from the box of Lucky Strikes on the desk.

  “Are you kidding?” Adam stuck another cigarette behind his ear. “Cigarettes will kill you.”

  * * *

  “Take her to Agata e Romeo, it has a drop-dead view of the Colosseum,” Max mused. “The veal terrine with artichoke is delicious and the chocolate soufflé with Tahiti vanilla ice cream is perfection.”

  “How do you afford to eat at fancy restaurants?” Philip asked, gazing at the wad of euros on his desk.

  He swiveled in his chair and glanced at the view from his narrow window. He saw schoolchildren tossing coins in the Trevi Fountain and couples eating gelato. He saw women in silk dresses and large straw hats and men in summer suits carrying leather briefcases.

  “I didn’t say I pay for them.” Max shrugged, sniffing the coffee in Philip’s coffeepot.

  “I hate doing something underhanded.” Philip frowned. He remembered her easy laugh and a knot formed in his stomach. “I don’t want to ruin Amelia’s career.”

  “She’s the one who lifted a maid’s uniform from the Hassler.” Max inspected a tin of biscuits. “And what about your career? Or do you want to become a stockbroker with a temperature-controlled office and a secretary who schedules your dentist appointments.”

  Philip pictured his father’s Wall Street office with its rich maple floors and dark paneled walls. He saw his secretary with her pearl necklace and the cubicles full of young men wearing dark suits and red ties.

  He could pay his father a first installment and beg him for an extension. He could get a studio apartment on the Lower East Side and pound the streets until a newspaper hired him. He could go back to reporting about the credit crunch and low-interest mortgages and the stock market in China.

  “How would I ask her out?” Philip rubbed his forehead. “I don’t even have her phone number.”

  “You’re the Yale graduate, you’ll figure it out.” Max took a note from the pile of euros. “I saw a pair of earrings that match Alessandria’s eyes. They’re the most beautiful shade of blue, like two sapphires.”

  “What about the countess?” Philip raised his eyebrow.

  “You’re right.” Max grabbed another note. “I’ll buy her a pair, too.”

  Philip leaned back in his chair, picturing Amelia waiting at the taxi stand. He saw her sitting in his bed with the sheets pulled around her shoulders. He saw her standing next to the Trevi Fountain, her red dress clinging to her thighs.

  He pulled a sheet of paper from his desk and grabbed a pen. He scribbled his signature and sealed the envelope. He stuffed the wad of euros in his pocket and ran down the steps.

  chapter seven

  Amelia sat on the balcony, sipping a cup of English breakfast tea and nibbling a scone with strawberry jam. It was Saturday morning and all of Rome seemed to be in a good mood. The traffic guard blew kisses to pedestrians and the street vendors offered free sunflowers to tourists. The businessmen carrying leather briefcases were replaced by young men wearing blue jeans and women in floral sundresses and leather sandals.

  Amelia glanced at her newspaper and wondered how to fill her day. She spent almost every minute of the last week on the set. She loved putting on Princess Ann’s straw hat and dark sunglasses. She loved riding around Rome on the back of a Vespa. She loved crowding around the video screen and watching the dailies.

  It was only when she returned to her suite and glanced at the silver tray of caprese and veal cutlets that she felt a twinge of loneliness. She slipped on a silk robe and took out her script. She read her lines out loud, practicing the lilt in Princess Ann’s voice. By the time she closed the script and climbed into bed, her eyes were heavy and she quickly fell asleep.

  * * *

  The doorbell rang and she crossed the marble floor to the entry.

  “It’s the most beautiful day!” Sophie exclaimed. “I went to the patisserie to buy croissants and the baker gave me an extra pain au chocolat.”

  Sophie entered the living room and perched on a gold silk armchair. She wore tan cigarette pants and a white cotton shirt tied at the waist. Her hair was pulled into a sleek bun and she wore suede loafers.

  “Why did you go out for breakfast?” Amelia asked. “Room service delivered fresh scones and fruit and strawberry jam. I wo
n’t be hungry until dinnertime.”

  “At the palace I always received my breakfast on a tray. Two poached eggs with toast and a sliced orange.” Sophie sighed. “Do you know how much fun it is to go to the shops and buy anything I like? I had a chocolate croissant and a latte with extra foam.”

  “If I ate that for breakfast, my costume designer would faint.” Amelia giggled.

  “I have my mother’s metabolism; she could eat cake every night and never gain an ounce.” Sophie’s face clouded over. She walked to the balcony and hugged her arms around her chest. “We’re going to the orphanage, you have to come.”

  “Come where?” Amelia asked.

  “Theo calls me every day,” Sophie replied. “I keep telling him I’m working but he says no one works that much in Italy. The orphanage is in a village named Toffia an hour from Rome. It has an olive tree that is more than two thousand years old.”

  Amelia pictured driving through the Italian countryside, stopping to drink a cold limoncello. She saw walled towns and abandoned castles and rows of vineyards.

  “I should stay and practice my lines.” Amelia hesitated.

  “You can’t sit inside on such a beautiful day,” Sophie insisted. “Theo says the nuns grow their own vegetables. We’re going to eat pizza with porcini mushrooms and sliced heirloom tomatoes.”

  Amelia joined Sophie at the window and gazed down at the streets of Rome. Everyone seemed to be going somewhere, to a cozy restaurant or a museum or a lush green park. She saw couples walking hand in hand and mothers pushing strollers. She walked into the bedroom and opened her closet.

  She turned to Sophie and smiled. “What does one wear to visit a convent?”

  * * *

  Amelia sat in the back of Theo’s green Fiat and held her scarf against her head. She wore white capris and a red cotton sweater and dark sunglasses. She gazed at the sweeping vistas of vineyards and olive trees and felt her chest expand. It was so beautiful: the red and yellow villages perched on hilltops, the castles wrapped in stone walls, the little towns that were nothing more than a post office and a butcher and a souvenir shop filled with postcards and bottles of olive oil.

  “Most of the castles date back to the eleventh century,” Theo said as they wound up a steep incline. “All the inhabitants lived within the castle walls and spent their days working in the fields. They could spy intruders from miles away.”

  “I love castles.” Sophie sighed, pressing her face against the window. “My favorite is Neuschwanstein Castle in Bavaria. It was built for Prince Ludwig II and it’s the inspiration for the castle in Sleeping Beauty.”

  “You’ve been to Neuschwanstein Castle?” Theo turned to Sophie. He wore a yellow button-up shirt and blue jeans and leather sandals. His arms were covered with blond hair and he wore a silver watch on his wrist.

  “I led a few tours there.” Sophie blushed. “They get a million visitors a year.”

  Theo drove down a gravel drive and stopped in front of a stone building with small lead windows. There was a vegetable garden and a chicken coop and a goat. A wooden door opened and a dozen little girls tumbled into the driveway. They wrapped their arms around Theo’s legs, laughing and shrieking.

  “Americano Medico!” a girl with brown pigtails exclaimed. “Where is my chocolate? I fed a piece to Palo last week and he threw up. Sister Lea got so angry she took away the whole chocolate bar.”

  “I told you not to feed chocolate to the goat.” Theo laughed, picking the girl up and spinning her around.

  “I want to spin, I want to spin,” a small girl with blond curls pleaded. She wore a plain cotton smock and woven sandals.

  “We will have chocolate and play games but first we have to complete our work.” Theo took his leather bag out of the car and opened Sophie and Amelia’s door.

  Amelia stepped out of the car and breathed lilacs and lemons. She bent down and shook hands with the blond girl. “My name is Ann, it is a great pleasure to meet you.”

  Sister Lea ushered them into a small parlor with stained glass windows. There was a brown sofa and a threadbare rug over a wood floor. A sideboard held a metal cross and a vase filled with daisies and violets.

  Theo placed a cloth on the sideboard and set it with a selection of needles and a box of Band-Aids. He rolled up his sleeves and looked expectantly at the little girls. “Who’s my first customer?”

  “Anastasia has a stomachache and a fever.” A thin redhead approached Theo, handing him a doll with pigtails. “I told her she must be brave and take her medicine.”

  Theo carefully took the doll and stuck the needle in its arm. He covered the spot with a Band-Aid and solemnly handed it back to the redhead.

  “What is he doing?” Amelia whispered to Sophie.

  “The children are terrified of getting their shots,” Sophie explained. “He vaccinates their dolls and they’re not afraid when it’s their turn.”

  Theo put away his leather bag and they moved into the dining hall for lunch. The nuns served butter lettuce with red peppers and baby peas and sliced cucumber. There was a flat pizza topped with tomato sauce and mushrooms and salami. They ate fresh peaches and ripe plums for dessert and Theo handed out pieces of milk chocolate.

  * * *

  “They’re lucky to have you,” Amelia said as they walked into the garden to watch the children play games.

  “I’m the lucky one.” Theo held the end of a jump rope. “I help erase their fears.”

  “Their fears?” Amelia asked.

  “Orphans don’t know where they are from or who their parents are so they’re afraid of everything. If I can help conquer their fears—this pill will make your fever go away, this one will fix your sore throat—they’ll have more confidence.”

  “I never thought about medicine that way,” Amelia mused.

  “Anyone can fix broken bones; it’s like building Legos.” Theo shrugged. “The real joy of being a doctor is making a difference in their hearts.”

  Amelia was about to reply when a little girl ran onto the playground. Her eyes were wide and her mouth quivered.

  “Americano Medico, come quickly! The pretty lady fainted.”

  Amelia glanced around and saw Sophie wasn’t in the garden. She raced after Theo through the kitchen and into the pantry. She saw Sophie lying crumpled on the stone floor. Her lips were blue and her breathing was loud and jagged.

  Theo bent down and gathered Sophie in his arms. He pressed his lips against hers and blew softly into her mouth. He kept blowing until her cheeks turned pink and the air flowed easily through her lungs.

  Sophie’s eyes flickered and she made a faint mewing sound. She tried to sit up but she slipped back onto the floor. Theo crouched beside her and gently squeezed her hand. She leaned against him, taking slow, deep breaths.

  “What happened?” Theo asked, helping her to her feet.

  “Gloria wanted to play hide-and-seek so I hid in the pantry,” Sophie explained, smoothing her hair. “I’m sorry I gave you a scare. It’s my asthma, it acts up when I’m in small spaces.”

  “Let’s go outside where I can keep an eye on you.” Theo grinned, taking Sophie’s hand. “You can do something safe like choose the winner of the jump rope contest.”

  * * *

  “When I get married I want six children.” Sophie sighed, sipping a glass of red wine. “I’m going to be like Julie Andrews in the Sound of Music.”

  They sat at an outdoor café in Casperia, eating ravioli with ricotta and spinach. It was early evening and the sun set behind the Sabine Hills. Amelia watched the fields turn purple and the hilltop villages disappear into the mist.

  “You’ll need a big house and garden.” Theo smiled, pouring olive oil onto a plate. “When I was growing up, we weren’t allowed inside during the summer until sunset.”

  Amelia toyed with her ravioli and gazed at Theo and Sophie. Ever since they left the convent, Sophie had been more animated. She listened closely when Theo talked, laughing and waving her hand. Theo�
�s arm brushed Sophie’s sleeve and Sophie’s cheeks turned pink.

  She saw Sophie smile at something Theo said and suddenly felt lonely. She pictured the master bedroom of the Villa Medici Suite with its king-sized four-poster bed. She saw Whit standing on the balcony and gazing at the bright lights of the Colosseum. She remembered him pulling her toward him and kissing her on the lips.

  “You haven’t tried the ravioli.” Sophie turned to Amelia. “It’s a local specialty.”

  Amelia pushed away the plate and gulped her glass of wine. She had to stop thinking about Whit. She took a deep breath and pictured Sheldon and the movie set and the pink Balenciaga ball gown.

  “It’s delicious, I’m just not hungry.”

  Theo dropped them off at the Hassler and Sophie suggested they go to Harry’s Bar or the rooftop restaurant at the St. Regis. Amelia mumbled that she had an early call and had to go to bed. She crossed the lobby and saw a man standing at the reception desk. He had dark brown hair and dark eyes and a slightly crooked nose. He wore a white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up and carried a black leather briefcase.

  Amelia darted behind a column and watched the man hand the concierge a letter. The concierge shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. The man pressed a gold coin in his hand and turned to leave. Amelia watched him stride across the marble floor and disappear into the street.

  “Excuse me.” Amelia approached the concierge.

  “Miss Tate!” the concierge beamed. “It is a pleasure to see you, how can I help you?”

  “That man.” Amelia frowned. “What was he doing here?”

  “He is not a guest, he wanted me to deliver a letter.”

  “A letter,” Amelia repeated. “To whom?”

  “It is no concern of Miss Tate’s,” the concierge replied. “Can I get you a magazine or a cup of our excellent espresso? Would you like more roses delivered to your room or a selection of soaps and lotions?”

  “I don’t need any of those things, Ernesto.” Amelia glanced at the concierge’s name tag. “But I would love to know who the letter was for.”

  “I cannot divulge that.” Ernesto shook his head, studying his computer screen.