The Knotty Bride

by Julie Sarff

  “I’m so glad you’re here. I was just thinking about you. I need your help,” I start in before she can even open her mouth. “Let me explain quickly, because I’ve got to run off to work,” I yell as I head back to my kitchen to unplug the iron.

  I return to my living room to find Francesca sitting sullenly on my love seat with huge circles under her eyes.

  “I got fired.”

  “From Pronto Pizza?” I ask, feeling all hot and indignant that anybody would fire Francesca.

  “From Pronto Pizza,” she replies dejectedly.

  “But why? You had all those old ladies who would order pizzas just so you could deliver them and tell them news from their dear departed husbands.”

  “I wasn’t exactly telling every widow something from their beloved. You know my gifts don’t work like that.”

  Oh right. Yes. As I recall the dead talk to her when they want. They don’t come to her when she bids. Dealing with spirits is more like dealing with cats than dogs. Anyway…

  “But recently I was delivering a pizza to a lovely lady on Via Manzoni, and her husband told me to tell her to close her fridge. She became a little upset. She wanted to know why her husband would say a dumb thing like that. I said I don’t know maybe it’s because you left the refrigerator door open.”

  In typical Francesca style, she breaks off and begins to examine her cuticles.

  Right, we’ve got to speed this up or I’ll be late.

  “And?” I prod.

  “And low and behold she went to the kitchen and it was wide open and she began screaming. She wanted to know more, like ‘how was he,’ ‘how is heaven,’ ‘why did he have to have a heart attack at a time which was very inconvenient for her’ and ‘who was the woman in the tight blue dress who came to his funeral?’ Blah, blah, blah, she had all these questions and she was ordering a pizza a day. All her friends began calling ordering pizza, wanting me to answer their questions as well. I told them it doesn’t work like that, I can’t just ask a question and receive an answer. Anyway, when I couldn’t answer all their questions, the widows started getting angry and bugging my manager. So this morning he called and told me I’ve become too much of a hassle and I’m fired.”

  Gosh.

  Well, no matter. She is young.

  “Look, Francesca, I need to talk to you about something else. How do you feel about helping me search the basement for clues to finding Buschi’s daughter? We won’t have you go back to that room where the hutch fell and pinned you. That would be too dangerous.”

  “Lily? Did you even hear what I said? I got fired from my job.” She looks out at me through protuberant eyes.

  She’s right. How could I be so callous?

  “I’ll tell Brandon to hire you back as a part time maid. Alice could really use the help. She’s running ragged doing it all on her own, especially with Jason and Anna always at the villa.”

  “Really?” Francesca asks, and her smile extends all the way to her dark eyes.

  “Really!” I exclaim. “I’ll call and arrange it on the way to work. You can start tomorrow. Now how about it? Ready to go back down to the basement with me?”

  “No,” Francesca states firmly, “I’ll never go down there again, not even to help find Carlo’s daughter.” With that adamant declaration she rises to her feet and drifts out my front door.

  Chapter 19

  Shopping for wedding stationery and dresses in Turin with Anna turns out to be loads of fun. We have to hurry because she’s leaving tomorrow for Los Angeles. To set our plan in motion, Anna needs to work her magic on the lady who runs La Bella Sposa on Via Della Basilica in the city’s main shopping district.

  It helps that the stationery store is right next door to the dress shop. Anna searches through each paper and design carefully. An hour passes before she chooses a glassine paper for her wedding invites. When they’re done and etched in white script with all the details, they’ll look divine. The man who waits on us is short and has stringy hair, despite wearing an impressive Armani suit. His face becomes grim with distaste when he asks how many invitations we want and Anna replies, “Three.”

  “I’m sorry, Signora, the smallest quantity we can order is 200.”

  That’s about 197 more invites than we really need, seeing as how Rupa, Dario and Ada Brunetti will be the only recipients, but we order them anyway.

  Then we’re off to La Bella Sposa where I almost fall over with delight. The owner closed down the shop for us because Anna is a famous movie star. While Anna gravitates to the more glamorous styles, I am all in for the traditional ball gowns with sweetheart necklines.

  “Ah, look at this,” I point out a dress on a stand. It’s a classic sleeveless ball gown with cream-tinted floral embroidery, crystal beading, and a silver jewel fashioned to a pale pink satin belt.

  “Have you ever seen anything so lovely?”

  “It’s very vintage chic, isn’t it? Why don’t you try it on? You’ll be getting married soon enough,” Anna laughs and the frumpy shop owner smiles in cheerful agreement.

  Inside my stomach churns. I won’t be getting married anytime soon because my boyfriend won’t even discuss the matter. He’ll buy me a Maserati, but he won’t walk down the aisle and say “I do.”

  “No, I can’t try it on. That’s not what we’re here for. You’re supposed to be the one trying things on.” I pull Anna aside and whisper, “and you need to ask whether or not we can have the selection of dresses show up on Rupa’s special day.”

  “Yes, yes, I’ll get to that. Just trying to build a rapport with the owner first. But come on, I’m going to be trying dresses on, so you might as well too.” She walks over and pulls a long sheath dress off the rack. It’s plain silk with a bow that ties dramatically in the back. It definitely says “Hollywood Actress,” and when she exits the small, gilded-mirrored dressing room, she looks like she’s about to get married at a Polo match.

  “How do I look?” She trills, the silk rustling as she twirls slowly in front of the three way mirror.

  “Like money,” I sputter and Anna laughs.

  “No, I mean it, you look quite expensive.”

  Anna tries on several more gowns, all with decidedly different looks. She tries a long flowing veil with an A-line gown and then chooses a bird cage veil with a more retro dress and a full skirt.

  “Now it’s your turn, you try on the dresses you like, while I work on the sales lady. Not to worry, I know she’ll let us do what we want, especially when I tell her how much we’re willing to pay for our special request. And don’t forget to try on some shoes , they have the most divine ones in the next room.”

  Do I dare do it? Do I dare tempt fate by trying on these beautiful dresses? I look at the vintage dress I have been eying for the last hour. No, I won’t do it. I can’t put pressure on Brandon, if he’s not the marrying type then I need to accept things as they are.

  May

  Chapter 20

  The wedding Ada Brunetti had been waiting for all her life happened exactly two months later.

  It just goes to show that so much can happen in a few months, I think, as I nose the Punto into early Saturday market traffic heading for Rupa’s rescue. In the last month, the court has dropped everything against Alice, recognizing that she was innocent in the whole sale of Ca’ Buschi. Signor di Meo and his cousins are in prison, awaiting a trial that seems to be coming pian, piano as the Italians say i.e. very slowly. Evidence is still being gathered and if all things go as planned, the whole thing should go to court sometime late next year.

  In addition to Alice’s name being cleared, Signor Tacchini came back to work. Yes, Ca’ Buschi’s gardener left the insane asylum after Brandon and I promised not to give away his secrets about the faked death of Carlo Buschi. He returned to his cabin down by the lake where he does nothing but tinker around all day in the gardens, which are still an overgrown mess.

  In other news, Beatta Cavale’s house has not yet sloughed off and fallen into an aby
ss. I talked to her just last night and it’s still on terra firma. Still, I worry about her. She seems terribly lonely and depressed since her mother died. And to add to my pile of troubles, I also worry about Phil out at the rescue. Rupa says he’s so unhappy living in a kennel that he barely eats.

  But today is not a day for worrying about Beatta or Phil. Today is a day for celebrating, so twenty minutes after leaving my apartment, I pull into the driveway of Rupa’s little sanctuary. I honk and she emerges from the front of her two-story house wearing jeans and a very faded Tweetie Bird t-shirt. She’s holding a dress bag and wheeling a small piece of luggage across her gravel drive.

  “You got everything you need?” I ask as she puts the bags in the back of my Punto.

  “I’ve never been to a spa other than the one at Inn of the Seven Hounds,” she rasps, “How wonderful that Anna asked us to accompany her on her wedding day. This is the only thing I’ve had to look forward to in such a long time.”

  Poor dear. I feel a knot in my stomach. What if this doesn’t work? What if both Rupa and Dario show up at the church today, and refuse to take part? Will Rupa hate me forever for interfering in her love life?

  We drive down to the lake and head out across the flat Po valley towards Piedmont.

  “How come she’s getting married so far away? I thought she was going to have a wedding at Villa Buschi? Why’d she change her mind?” Rupa asks.

  Oh good gracious me, if she’s going to ask a million questions, she’s going to get me to spill the beans. As it is, Brandon’s priest friend, the same one who once helped him fake a wedding, runs a church in Piedmont. This man is the only one who has agreed to remarry Dario and Rupa in the Catholic faith, so that’s where we’re heading. My, how Rupa will be surprised when she shows up to find out that we’re not really going to Anna and Jason’s wedding, we’re going to her secret Italian wedding.

  “They want to get married in a Catholic ceremony,” I lie. “Brandon’s priest friend oversees the church. Remember Brandon’s fake wedding?”

  “Oh, yes, I remember that. Sounds like it was hilarious, with the paparazzi going crazy to get a picture of Brandon on his wedding day,” Rupa replies, sitting back in the passenger seat, satisfied with this answer.

  Only twenty minutes later, with Castello di Ropollo looming large on a cliff at the base of the Italian Alps, we parallel park in front of the Spa di Luisa in the tiny town of Ropollo. We step into a softly lit office where all the furniture is done in faux-fur white. Relaxing pan pipe music fills the air and a lady in a white laboratory coat smiles at us from behind a small glass desk.

  “Benvenute,” she gushes, “Vi aspetavamo,” -- welcome, we’ve been waiting for you.

  Rupa hurries over to the desk and picks up a spa pamphlet which she hurriedly scans, saying, “You know, I haven’t had a massage in so long, this is all so thoughtful of Anna.”

  Massage? There’s no time for a massage, we have to get cleaned up with only an hour to go.

  “Sorry, Ruup, no massage.”

  “What?” she stops scrolling through the pamphlet and turns to look at me, “but, Lily, that’s what I really want.”

  Just then Anna strides through the door of the spa looking like vintage Hollywood, in a 1940’s-style suit, with a dark green scarf wrapped around her head and huge Jackie O glasses.

  “Rupa, allow me to gift you several massages at a spa closer to Arona. For today, we need to get our hair and make-up done,” Anna says overhearing Rupa’s complaints.

  “Why would you gift me something?” Rupa laughs, “It’s not my wedding. It’s yours.”

  Anna and I exchange glances.

  “I should give you a gift for all those precious strays you help every day,” Anna recovers. “But for now, ladies, show time: hair, makeup, nails. Let’s go!”

  Three young attendants arrive from the back room dressed in their own lab coats. Talking animatedly, they lead us away to separate work areas. In my head, I’m wondering how Brandon is doing with his assigned task. You see, he’s responsible for getting the groom and his mother to the wedding without giving away our secret plan. Apparently, Ada Brunetti was very suspicious at first, when she received an invitation to the wedding of a famous movie star she didn’t know. Brandon called her personally, and said that Dario was such a good lawyer --more like a friend-- that he wanted to invite his dear mother along as well. “Not to mention, Signora, but there will be lots of free food, and a splendid lunch will be served.”

  Brandon said it was the free food comment that finally brought Ada Brunetti on board. Although then he faced a full inquisition from Dario as to why his mother had been invited to his brother’s wedding.

  “I figured you’d want your mother as your plus one,” Brandon lied through his teeth. “Since you and your wife are not on speaking terms.”

  That last sentence gave me chills. Will two people who are not on speaking terms really fall for this secret wedding stuff? Or will they call each other idiots and stalk out of the church? The thought floods me with anxiety.

  One hour later, we emerge from our respective stylists with makeup and fancy up-dos. Rupa is transformed. Her hair has been swept into a tight bun and her skin twinkles with a light application of makeup that highlights the best of her features.

  “Okay, what’s going on? When Anna said ‘spa treatment’ before her wedding I was thinking massage and maybe a facial. This is ridiculous.” She points to her up-do.

  “It’s not ridiculous. It’s anything but. It is a fashionable chignon, Rupa. Very Audrey Hepburn.”

  “And why would I want to look like Audrey Hepburn?”

  This question startles me. Who wouldn’t want to look like Audrey Hepburn?

  Or maybe she means why would I want to look like Audrey Hepburn today? A day when she’s supposed to be attending a wedding, and not actually participating in one.

  “We’re just getting beautiful for Anna’s wedding. We’re her moral support group.”

  “Her moral support group? Since when did supporting the bride mean looking like one?”

  I suck in my breath. Oh my gosh, does she know?

  Finished paying the spa bill, Anna strides back over, her small Gucci handbag dangling from her arm. “Alright, ladies, on to the church. Ready?”

  Wow, Anna looks amazing. Her thick black hair is in a chignon fastened with pearl-headed bobby pins.

  “We’re ready,” I swallow and my throat feels dry as cotton. We head back out onto the street where Rupa and I pile into my Punto while Anna follows close behind in her Mercedes.

  Gaa! A glance at the dashboard clock proves that despite our best effort, we’re running late. I slam the accelerator to the ground and race the car along the hairpin curves up the side of the cliff to the castle as Rupa continues to complain about her hair and makeup.

  “Stop with the complaints!” I snap. “Fine. I might as well tell you the truth. You’re far too clever for me.”

  “What are you talking about?” she asks, eyes wide in bewilderment.

  “It’s Dario.”

  “I knew it, I knew it. You’re trying to fix us up at this wedding, aren’t you Lily?”

  “No…no… this was his idea. He wants to apologize to you.” Teensy white lie there. Dario has no idea about any of this, at least not yet, but if I told Rupa the truth she would make me turn the car around. She’s been so hurt by Dario’s moving out and asking for a formal separation that nothing short of an enormous apology will get her to the church on time.

  “He wants to apologize?” she whispers quietly as I round another turn. I glance over. She’s staring straight ahead with an expression of hope on her face.

  “Absolutely, he wants you back, and he has prepared a little something special.”

  “I don’t believe it!” She flashes me a smile. “B-but I am the one who should apologize.”

  Now we’re talking. She is the one who needs to apologize. She needs to apologize about constantly ruining their finance
s by trying to save all the animals. I tell her this before adding, “If you do apologize, I’m sure he’ll take you back.”

  For a minute she looks torn between her pride, her desire to save animals, and her husband. She lets out an exhausted exhale. “That doesn’t sound so bad. I suppose I could do that.”

  That’s good, because we’re in the home stretch for the surprise wedding. We reach the top of the hill and drive through a stone archway that leads to the magnificent Castello di Roppollo. Already the parking lot is brimming with cars. The stylist must be here along with all the gowns from La Bella Sposa. I hop out of the car wondering if everything is ready, and also wondering if Rupa’s very special wedding guests are seated in the chapel.

  “Come on, Rupa!” I yell. “I know of a great way you can make amends with both Dario and his mother.”

  “How?” she questions as we make our way across the cobblestones to the entranceway.

  “Marry him in a Catholic church!”

  *****

  Okay, it’s not a real wedding, because Rupa and Dario are already married. But the deal is, Brandon got the priest to go through the motions in the castle’s tiny chapel.

  “If you agree to a Catholic ceremony, then Dario is going to agree to a Hindi one, back in your home county.”

  “A Catholic ceremony, but when?” she murmurs with an incredulous look.

  “Right now,” I reply, crossing my fingers that this will all work out.

  “But this is Anna’s wedding,” Rupa replies.

  “No it’s not.” Anna catches up to us at the chapel entrance. “I already married in a ceremony in Africa and I’m not sure that I need another one. This is your wedding Rupa Brunetti. Surprise!”

  Rupa looks truly speechless.

  “E addesso venite qui a guardare,” a fashionably dressed woman in knee high boots, cheetah-print pants and a grey turtleneck says, motioning the three of us into a small room off to the side of the castle entrance. The fashionably dressed woman, named Berta, is a friend of Anna’s. She usually works as a stylist on films, but today she’s here to dress Rupa and she brought all her assistants with her. The shortest assistant motions to a rack of wedding dresses wrapped in plastic sheaths to protect them from the elements; the owner at La Bella Sposa has sent over every dress she had in sizes that match Rupa’s stature.