I begin getting dressed, but after I put on the trousers that have become too tight for me, I decide I am tired of hiding. So what if the paparazzi and the crowd that has been camped out for weeks now follow me. This is the attention I sought when I was a teenage girl, before I became famous. I have worked hard to acquire these loyal fans. My behavior of hibernating in Giuliana’s house and not even waving to my fans from my window is bound to alienate them soon. As I mentioned earlier, I used to talk to my fans. I always made time for them. That was part of my allure.
Walking back to my armoire, I choose a white linen pencil skirt with a matching cropped jacket. Underneath the jacket, I wear a black, scooped, sleeveless tank that shows off a hint of my cleavage. I open my jewelry box that sits on my dresser and take out the sapphire and diamond bracelet my secret admirer gave me. I decide to also wear teardrop sapphire earrings that were a present from my second fiancé. Pulling open my night table drawer, I reach for my large, round Dior sunglasses. Then I take out the pins that are holding my chignon in place. Instead of using a brush, I rake my fingers through my hair so that the strands have a sexy, tousled look. Glancing one last time at myself in the mirror, I leave to face my adoring fans.
The cries are music to my ears, as are the repeated shouts of “Francesca! Francesca! FRAN-CES-CA!” Of course, my nicknames vie with my Christian name: “Carissima! La Sposa Pazza! Dolci Labbra!” Mostly the men, of course, are calling me “Dolci Labbra,” and for emphasis, they are touching their fingers to their lips and blowing kisses in my direction. I am in a good mood today. For not even hearing my most detested moniker, “Dolci Labbra,” bothers me.
My pulse quickens, and I feel energized. How could I have hidden from the world and my devotees for ten years? How could I have shut the door on all of this? Whoever says they hate all the attention that stardom brings is lying. Naturally, celebrities grow to hate the invasion of privacy, but on the other hand, their need for receiving recognition and love from the public is what motivated them to choose a career in the limelight.
Nothing beats this feeling for me—not even making love. When my loyal fans are throwing themselves at me and professing their love, I feel so alive. Even now with the swell of the crowd pushing up against me, I am enthralled. I have never been afraid of being trampled or hurt although there have been times when I received a few bruises and scratches.
My bodyguards are having a difficult time keeping the crowd back. They looked at me with hatred when I informed them this morning that I would be going out and that I refused to be cloaked with that ridiculous fabric they had wrapped around me a couple of weeks ago. I do not pity them. After all, they earn a generous salary.
“Francesca, are you ready to tell the world what has brought you to Astoria?” An obese, bald reporter from Fox 5 News shoves a microphone into my face. Soon, several other mikes are thrust toward me. My bodyguards push a few of the microphones away and insert themselves as best they can between the reporters and me. I hold up my hand, signaling to them that it is okay.
“She’s going to speak!” resonates through the crowd. “Shhhh! Shhhh!”
The bodyguards wave their arms, motioning to the crowd to step back. Edgardo, my bodyguard who has been with me since I first became famous, screams at the top of his voice, “Give her some space so she can talk.”
The crowd obeys Edgardo’s request and moves back a few feet. I trust Edgardo with my life, and he has been one of my most loyal employees. But he, too, shot daggers into me when he learned of my plans to walk around town.
“Hello, everyone.”
“Ciao, Carissima!” A man wearing a longshoreman’s cap and holding a toothpick in the air calls out to me. He then places two of his fingers in his mouth and belts out a low whistle, which is soon followed by more. Cheers erupt from the men.
Edgardo towers over the crowd and yells, “Cut it out if you want to hear the lady speak.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest, indicating he means business if the crowd steps out of line again. A few of the women’s voices reach my ears as they implore the men to stop whistling and remain quiet so that I can speak. Once I am satisfied that the crowd has calmed down, I smile slowly, and then, with a grand flourish, I whip off my sunglasses, shaking my hair out as I do so. This is too much for the men, who resume the catcalls and whistles, indifferent to Edgardo, who is waving his arms about as if he is going to throttle them. I step forward and place my hand on Edgardo’s shoulder and whisper to him to relax. My words have always had a calming effect on him. He stands to my side, not fully letting down his guard.
“Grazie! Thank you! Thank you to all of you. I cannot tell you how much your love and support mean to me. You are all wonderful, special people.”
“We love you, Francesca!”
“And I love you!” I point with my index finger to the woman who has just said this. She is definitely a fan from when I was first discovered, since I can tell she is still wearing a bra that gives her breasts a pointed look. Her cat-shaped eyeglasses and tightly wound curls also indicate that she has not evolved far from the fifties. She holds a black poodle to her chest that has milky white eyes and is shaking from the commotion around it.
“I love you, too, Francesca!”
“Me too!”
“Ti voglio bene con tutto mio cuore!”
I wave to each of the people who profess their love to me. Each time, I am certain to make eye contact with them. The crowd inches closer to me as a few people at the front hold out their hands, imploring me to shake them. I begin to do so, but soon Edgardo and my other bodyguards push the crowd back once more.
Camera flashes are going off like fireworks. My audience seems to have forgotten that I wanted to talk and starts chanting, “Carissima! Carissima! Carissima!”
“Francesca, look this way, please!” A paparazzo snaps my photo, but not before I’ve given him my best pose. After he shoots my picture, he says, “You still got it, baby!”
“ Carissima, over here!” Another paparazzo begs me to turn toward him. This time, I look nonchalantly over my shoulder as if I am caught unaware. A strand of my wavy hair falls over my eye as if on cue, giving me a seductive look.
“Sexy sirena! That’s what you are,” a man with a cigar shouts out to me.
“Hey, that’s your new nickname, Francesca—Sexy Siren!” one of the paparazzi calls out.
My own publicist could not have planned a better press event. I can see the headlines of the rag mags tomorrow heralding my return: “Sexy Sirena Is Back!”
I toss my head back and laugh. A motion in my peripheral vision catches my eye. The heavy drapery from one of the second-story windows of Giuliana’s house has been pushed back. My heart freezes. It is Giuliana. She is staring right at me. She looks absolutely livid—and another emotion flashes across her face. I suddenly seem to hear just how loud the crowd is. What is the matter with me? I had wanted to avoid all of this for her sake. But like a drug addict, my need for attention and love from a multitude of strangers has overwhelmed my good sense.
I lean over and whisper into Edgardo’s ear, “Please, get me out of here.”
Edgardo gestures toward the other bodyguards, using a secret signal to alert them that we plan on making a quick getaway. Several of my bodyguards work the crowd, creating a distraction as Edgardo and another bodyguard quickly usher me to my rented Maserati in the backyard.
“I guess you’ve changed your mind about taking a stroll along Ditmars Boulevard?” Edgardo cannot mask the sarcasm in his voice as my driver pulls out of the driveway.
“I would still like to visit the jewelry shops on Ditmars Boulevard, but I cannot walk there now with this crowd. I would never be able to lose them. Please drive to the shops, but take a diversion first.”
“You mean a ‘detour.’ ” Edgardo cannot resist another snarky comment. I know he is absolutely furious that I refused to take his suggestion of sneaking out of Giuliana’s house to avoid the paparazzi and fans camped out front.
“I am sorry, Edgardo. I am simply tired of hiding all the time.”
“You are not sorry, Francesca. This is me you’re talking to. Remember? I know you were itching to get some attention. Tell it like it is.”
“Can you blame me? I have been away from all of this for so long.”
“That was your choice. Remember, Francesca?”
“Of course, but I still missed it.”
Edgardo shakes his head. “I will never fully understand you. I thought you were through with this nonsense? I thought you wanted to spend the rest of your days in your villa in Sicily and live a quiet, normal life finally. The Francesca I just saw in front of those reporters and people looked like the old Francesca I used to know who could never get enough of fame.”
“I did—do—want a quiet life from here on out. But being famous will always be a part of me. I am not saying I want to return to making movies and attending parties every night, but having my fans and the public take an interest in me is still important. Is that so wrong?”
Edgardo pats my knee. “If that’s what makes you happy. I don’t know. It’s your life, I guess.”
I pretend to look out the window. Out of my peripheral vision, I see Edgardo is staring at me. There is pity in his eyes. And I hate nothing more than being pitied. Though Edgardo has known me a very long time, and I treat him differently than the rest of my workers, he too is not immune to my lashings.
“Stop pitying me. If there is anyone who is to be pitied it is you. When are you going to find yourself a real woman to look after rather than spending all of your waking time protecting a celebrity?” I turn and meet his gaze head-on, narrowing my eyes so as to give him my most evil stare. And as always, it unnerves him. His pity turns to pain first, then scorn. He lifts up the lapel of his suit jacket and talks into his walkie-talkie, communicating to the other bodyguards in the car behind us that we’ll be driving onto the Grand Central Parkway for a diversion.
Sometimes I think Edgardo is in love with me, and that is why he has not found a woman to marry. How pathetic! And he has the nerve to feel sorry for me.
After driving on the Grand Central Parkway for fifteen minutes, Edgardo feels confident that no one is following us. We make our way back to Astoria. He instructs the driver to park on a quiet residential street, off Ditmars Boulevard.
“I’ll make the inquiries at the jewelers.” Edgardo places his hand on the car latch, but I immediately grab his arm.
“I am coming with you.”
“Oh no, you’re not! Haven’t you had enough attention for one day? I don’t need another mob like the one in front of your sister’s house. Please, Francesca! Listen to me for once.”
“It will be fine, Edgardo. I will just place this scarf over my head.” I pull out of my Prada handbag a black silk Chanel scarf. “No one will recognize me with the scarf and sunglasses.”
“Everyone will recognize that body of yours as they did a few weeks ago when they saw just your backside.” Edgardo is scanning my figure with his eyes.
His face is filled with respect and awe. Like all men, Edgardo is weak when it comes to a woman’s physique. Although he has never crossed the boundaries with me, he falls prey to my sexual charms. After knotting my scarf beneath my chin, I lean over and begin talking softly to Edgardo, telling him I need to get out and walk or else my legs will stiffen from the lack of exercise I have had cooped up in Giuliana’s house. With one hand, I rub the back of my calf as if it is very sore, outlining the muscles toned thanks to my daily exercise regimen. Edgardo’s eyes quickly dart to my leg. As I am leaning into Edgardo, I thrust out my bosom. My scooped tank top affords Edgardo with a more than generous view of my décolletage. Ever so lightly, I nudge my breast into his arm so that he does not realize the motion is intentional. Immediately, Edgardo’s eyes travel up my body and rest on my cleavage.
I silently congratulate myself. My new nickname of Sexy Sirena is well deserved.
“I promise, Edgardo. I will behave. You can do all the talking. I will just remain silent by your side like your dutiful wife.” I give Edgardo’s thigh a playful squeeze and smile.
He jumps away from my touch as if it is molten fire. Clearly, I have unsettled him.
“Okay, but if you open that mouth and give away your true identity, you’ll have hell to pay later.” Edgardo waves his index finger at me, but I detect a twinkle in his eyes. Yes, the man is clearly quite taken with me.
I motion with my fingers as if I am zipping my lips.
Edgardo holds open the car door as I step out. Once again, I catch him checking out my legs. I silently thank God that at fifty-five years old, my body still wreaks havoc with men’s libidos.
I hook my arm around Edgardo’s enormous bicep and click-clack away in my Gucci pumps to the first jewelry store we see, Gina’s Gems. I am turned off by the name of the store. If it were not for the marble exterior of the shop along with the pricey Rolexes and high-end designer jewelry in the display window, I might have avoided stepping foot inside.
My other bodyguards remain at a distance, not wanting to alert anyone that there is a star among their fold. But none of the pedestrians give me a second look. I stare at the sidewalk to further avoid recognition. Though I would not admit it to Edgardo, I too am uncertain my scarf and sunglasses will do the trick of concealing my identity.
There is only one saleswoman behind the counter, and her hopeful look at the idea of having a prospective customer vanishes as soon as Edgardo inquires about the jewelry box he has taken from his suit jacket’s breast pocket. I gave him the smallest box I had received, which had contained an opal ring surrounded by three clusters of pave diamonds.
“No, I’m sorry. That box is not from my shop. I always use either black or red boxes.”
The saleswoman barely looks at me.
“Do you know if any of the other jewelers on Ditmars use this type of box?” Edgardo asks her.
I can tell he wants to know just as much as I do the identity of my secret admirer. There is no doubt he is jealous. But as my bodyguard, his number one priority is to protect me. If there is a deranged stalker out there, he wants to know and catch him. I had wanted to keep the gifts a secret, and it was amazing that none of my bodyguards had intercepted the packages when they were delivered to Giuliana’s house. But my wanting to investigate the jewelers in town forced me to tell Edgardo about the gifts. Of course, he was stark raving mad that I had not told him sooner about them. Then, he blasted the other bodyguards for not doing a better job of inspecting all the packages that arrived at Giuliana’s home.
“I’m sorry. I don’t. It gets quite competitive since there are just three jewelers on Ditmars. I try to avoid the other jewelry shop owners as much as possible. They’re not very nice.”
“So you own this store? You’re Gina?” I forget my vow of silence.
Edgardo stares at me in horror as we both wait for the saleswoman to recognize my voice, but she does not.
“Yes, I’m Gina. I’ve had my business for five years now.”
“So, you are the sole owner? Your husband or another family member does not own it with you?”
Edgardo elbows me lightly, signaling me to shut up.
“I am the sole owner. My husband is a police officer and has no interest in the shop. My parents passed away many years ago, and I am an only child.”
Something about the woman makes me feel sorry for her. Suddenly, I realize how I can make her day. I show her my sapphire and diamond bracelet.
“Do you have a sapphire ring that would go with this?”
Her eyes light up. “I have several. They’re in the case at the back of the store. I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”
Her desperation momentarily saddens me. Why do I care about this stranger? Though she is married, there is a loneliness about her that I know all too well.
“What are you doing? We’re going home after this, and that’s that. I don’t want to hear any more arguments from you,�
�� Edgardo whispers. He pulls out a handkerchief from his pants pocket and begins wiping his brow, which is sweating profusely. I am really making him work for his money today.
I hold up my hands in surrender, but I know we are not going home after this. He can survive two more jewelry store visits.
I purchase an oval-shaped sapphire ring with two diamond baguettes on either side. Gina is so happy that she shakes my hand and asks me what my name is, but Edgardo quickly answers for me: “Christine.” I do not know if Gina believes him with my Italian accent.
We finally leave Gina’s Gems. Once outside, Edgardo takes my elbow, leading me toward where the car is parked. I manage to break free of his embrace and quickly walk ahead of him and on to the next shop. Edgardo runs after me.
“You are giving me a heart attack today! What did I say back there?”
“Relax, Edgardo. If anyone is going to get me discovered, it is you. ‘Christine!’ Really?” I huff in exasperation.
“I’m following you, but only because I don’t want to make a scene on the street. People are looking at us.” Edgardo’s gaze nervously scans the pedestrians making their way along Ditmars.
“Nobody is looking at me. We just have two more stores to go to. It will only take ten minutes.”
“As long as you don’t decide to shop in them.”
“That poor woman needed a sale. I felt bad for her. And I needed a sapphire ring to match my new bracelet. It was business, pure and simple.”
“Since when do you feel bad for anyone?” Edgardo smirks, but once he notices that his words have stung me he wipes the grin from his face. “I’m sorry.”
“You are forgetting all of my rules, Edgardo. First, I catch you pitying me today, and now you are apologizing to me.”
“Francesca’s Rules. How can I forget? Rule number one: Never pity her. Rule number two: Never apologize no matter how rude I’ve been. Rule number three: Never say ‘no’ to her.”
Carissima Page 12
