Carissima

by Rosanna Chiofalo

  “Come on, Gregory. You’ve said how persuasive she can be. She’s clever. She knew that it would be harder to convince you to change your mind if she just asked you bluntly to do so. She also wanted you to think it was more your idea. The line she used about continuing your father’s legacy was what hooked you.”

  “Yeah, I guess there’s some truth to what you are saying, but I don’t think she’s intentionally trying to be malicious.”

  “Maybe not malicious, but definitely manipulative.”

  “It’s not the end of the world that I’m painting her portrait.”

  “Are you trying to convince me or yourself of that?”

  “You, of course.”

  “I don’t need convincing, Gregory. Remember, I’m the one who told you this was the opportunity of a lifetime and could open up doors for you as an artist. But if it’s not what you really want to do, then you should respect your own wishes. You shouldn’t be painting Francesca’s portrait out of some sense of obligation toward her for what she’s done for your family or because you feel sorry for her.”

  Gregory breathes deeply into the phone. “You’re right. You’re right. But I told her I’d do it so now I have to. I can’t back out.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t give my word and then go back on it.”

  Gregory seems to set a very high bar of morals for himself. That’s honorable, and I can’t begrudge him for that. I just wish he didn’t have such a conscience where Francesca is concerned. After what I witnessed in my first encounter with her, I don’t think she deserves it.

  “It’ll be fine, Gregory. Besides, I’m sure she’ll be paying you generously.”

  “Yes, I can always use the money, especially now that I’ve . . .”

  “You’ve what?”

  “Ahhh . . . Shoot! I was just going to say especially now that I’ve met you.”

  I’m moved, but also a bit troubled. As if reading my thoughts, Gregory says, “Sorry. I don’t mean to sound presumptuous. That’s why I stopped mid-sentence as soon as I realized what I was about to say.”

  “Don’t sweat it.”

  “So, I haven’t sent you running back to California for dear life?”

  “Oh, it would take a lot for me to go back home.”

  How can I admit to him that I don’t even miss home? I’m ashamed to even admit to myself that I haven’t missed my parents yet. It’s not that I hated being around them. They just reminded me too much of Erica. Everything in California screams Erica.

  I decide to change the subject. “I doubt you had a chance to ask Francesca about doing the interview with me?”

  “I didn’t forget, but it didn’t feel like the right time to bring it up. My first appointment to begin painting her portrait is next week. I’ll definitely ask her then.”

  “I’m not so sure you should bother anymore, Gregory.”

  “Who’s squandering the opportunity of a lifetime now?”

  “Francesca is why I’m in such a bad mood.”

  “How so?”

  “I approached her today.”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry. I probably—no, I know—I ruined everything. I doubt she’ll even listen to you when you ask her if I can interview her.”

  “Pia, what happened exactly?”

  “I had just dropped off some dry cleaning when I saw her in Castello Jewelry. I thought I was imagining it, but even with her sunglasses and the scarf she was wearing on her head, there was no mistaking her. I’m surprised more people didn’t notice and mob her. Anyway, she was staring at some jewelry in one of the display cases even though she had a bag from Castello as well as one from Gina’s Gems.”

  “Yup, that sounds like Francesca. She’s a total sucker for jewelry.”

  “Well, I think the whole world knows that. When have we seen her without stunning jewels?”

  “True.”

  “So I worked up the nerve to go over, introduce myself, and ask her if she’d be interested in doing an interview with me.”

  “And I take it that didn’t fly well with her?”

  “Francesca wasn’t rude immediately. She told me she was flattered, but she no longer gives interviews. Naturally, I was persistent.”

  “Naturally. You are a journalist after all.”

  “I’m not a journalist yet.”

  “Pia, in order to become what you want . . .”

  “I have to see it and believe it. Yes, yes, I’ve heard of that woo-woo New Age philosophy.”

  “I was going to say, ‘In order to become what you want, you have to already think of yourself as being what you want to be.’ ”

  “That’s not much different from what I said.”

  “As I was saying, you need to start introducing yourself as a journalist or reporter or whatever it is you want to be.”

  “Okay, I hear you, Gregory. Getting back to my story, I was persistent and told her that the crowd outside of her sister’s house was upset that she hadn’t talked to them more this morning.”

  “She talked to them?”

  “Yes, haven’t you heard? It was on Access Hollywood and Extra tonight.”

  “I don’t watch much TV.”

  “I told her that her fans were wondering when she’d be making her next movie. She didn’t believe me and became very condescending. She called me ‘my child’ twice. Then she went ballistic because I accidentally called her ‘Mrs. Donata’ instead of ‘Miss Donata. ’ And she told me that if I hoped to make it in the ‘dog-eat-cat world of journalism’ I’d better get it right every time.”

  “Ouch! You did screw up royally.”

  “Geez! Thanks!”

  “I’m sorry, Pia. I know you’re already beating yourself up over this, but it doesn’t mean she won’t grant you the interview after I talk to her.”

  “You really think you have that much pull over her? I know you’re confident that you can score this interview for me, but she just seems like the type of person who does what she wants, regardless of others’ feelings. She’s used to the universe bowing down and giving her whatever she wants.”

  “Let me talk to her, Pia. But you’re going to have to stop judging her before you’ve even met her. Aren’t journalists supposed to remain unbiased?”

  “Look, I appreciate your help. But I’d understand if you don’t feel comfortable asking if she’ll do the interview, especially in light of my disastrous run-in with her.”

  “It’s fine. I don’t think what happened between you two was that bad. I’m sure in your eyes it seemed horrible, but you have to remember Francesca can act like that with many people. She has to protect herself.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that. That does make sense, I guess.”

  Gregory is right. As a journalist, I have to keep my personal opinions out of the equation. Maybe I was judging her without giving her a fair chance.

  “Okay. Thanks, Gregory.”

  “So, are you ready for our upcoming date? I can’t wait to show you some of my favorite places in New York City.”

  “I’m looking forward to it. I haven’t had a chance to explore much since I got here.”

  “You’re going to love it. Trust me.”

  I remember how I was thinking of possibly canceling the date, but I can’t now. He still wants to help me get my interview with Francesca.

  Haven’t you punished yourself enough? I hear a tiny voice inside my head. It’s not your fault Erica died.

  But it is. And I have to live with that for the rest of my life.

  “You look beautiful, Pia,” Zia keeps repeating as she stares at me in wonder.

  “ Grazie, Zia. You don’t have to keep saying that.” I laugh.

  “But you do. I don’t think you know how pretty you are.”

  I blush.

  “And I’m so glad you’re not wearing your glasses!”

  “I brought them with me just in case I can’t get used to seeing blurry.”

  “Don’t you dare put th
em on! You hear me, Pia. You need to look stunning, not that you don’t always look stunning. But a man wants to be able to stare into the eyes of the woman he loves with nothing blocking him.”

  I laugh. “Zia, this is just a first date. Gregory does not love me yet! He barely knows me.”

  “Don’t you young people believe in love at first sight anymore?” Zia shakes her head disapprovingly.

  “Zia, I don’t think that concept ever existed. It’s just something Hollywood and romance novels created to hook audiences and readers.”

  “Have a little faith. If that boy doesn’t fall in love with you, he’s stunad!”

  Stunad is how one would describe a fool or someone who’s out of it.

  I laugh and then return my attention to the cheap full-length mirror that Zia no doubt got at the More For Your Dollar store on Ditmars. Peering up close at my image since I’m nearsighted and can’t see farther than a foot away, I have to agree with Zia. I do look very nice. When was the last time I got this dressed up? Suddenly, an image of me all decked out in black comes to mind—Erica’s funeral. But that was a different sort of dressed up. Ever since I decided last night that I would go through with this date, I’ve been bouncing back and forth between guilt and convincing myself it’s okay to experience joy again after my sister’s death. Zia immediately notices the cloud that’s come over my face.

  “What’s the matter? Don’t you like this boy?”

  “No, no. That’s not it. I’m fine.”

  “You’re lying to your aunt.”

  “I’m sorry, Zia. I really don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Pia, I know you are not my daughter, and I know we haven’t seen each other in years. But I do hope that in time you will feel more comfortable with coming to me if you ever need to talk about something that is troubling you.”

  “Grazie, Zia. That means a lot to me. It actually wasn’t anything personal I was thinking about. I couldn’t help but remember the last time I dressed up, and Erica’s funeral came to mind.”

  “Ahh. I should have known. Whenever you are thinking about your sister, you get that faraway, sad look.” Zia turns her back toward me, but I can see her image in the mirror. She’s reaching for the handkerchief in her apron pocket. Great. Now I’ve made her cry. Doing what I do best when a situation gets awkward or too heavy, I change the subject.

  “I wonder where Gregory is taking me.”

  My ploy does the trick. Zia whips around, looking like a little kid who’s excited about going to the toy store.

  “I’m sure it will be somewhere nice. You have to tell me all about it. That is, if you want to. I don’t mean to intrude on your privacy.”

  I’m touched by Zia’s happiness for me as well as by her desire to become more than just a relative to me. She wants to also be my friend.

  “I’ll tell you some of it. A girl has to keep a secret here and there!” I wink at Zia.

  She laughs. “Beautiful and smart! But of course, you take after me.”

  The doorbell rings. My heart drops to my stomach. I can’t help but look at Zia, panicked.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.” She squeezes my hand. “Now don’t come down until a good five minutes have passed. You have to always keep the man waiting. Don’t ever make it easy on him. Men love a challenge, and they go crazy for the women who play hard to get.”

  I nod my head. My mother used to impart the same wisdom to me, and I’ve always followed her advice. Unlike so many of my high school and college girlfriends who were so eager when it came to the guys they dated, I’ve always acted aloof in the beginning when I’m getting to know a guy. My friends always wondered why guys kept calling me for dates or developed crushes on me that wouldn’t go away.

  “I’m coming!” Zia shouts at the top of her lungs.

  I stare at myself one last time in the mirror, making sure that I haven’t forgotten anything. Zia is right. I’m wearing a black flounce skirt that falls slightly above my knees. And I’ve topped it off with one of my signature ultra-feminine peasant blouses. The scarlet-red blouse is sleeveless, and I’m happy to see my arms haven’t yet fully lost my California tan. Instead of the usual ruffles that peasant blouses are known for, this one has the chiffon fabric gathered in an elaborate twist that ends in a rosette. The shirt’s knot is strategically placed, allowing a view of my cleavage. It’s just enough so that I’m not spilling out. But with my proportions, there’s little chance of that happening. I don’t have a large bosom, and it’s never bothered me. Yet for some reason tonight, I decide to wear one of the padded bras Erica had bought me the last Christmas we spent together.

  Erica took after my mother and was a full C cup. I’m an average B cup. Erica was always trying to convince me to wear padded bras, but unlike most girls, I’ve always been grateful to have smaller breasts that won’t provoke men’s stares. When I first put on my shirt tonight, it just looked okay on me. I then realized the elaborate knot of the blouse was flattening my chest a bit. But with the padded, lacey Victoria’s Secret bra Erica gave me, the shirt was immediately transformed. Not only did the bra give me some cleavage, but it added some fullness to my chest and accentuated the lines of my small waist. I guess my little sister knew what she was talking about. Tears fill my eyes. I can’t help but feel that she’s looking out for me from above and placed the idea in my head to put on the padded bra. Having this thought makes me feel comforted, at least for the moment, that maybe going out with Gregory is a good thing, and maybe even Erica is encouraging me to go for it.

  I suddenly hear footsteps coming up the stairs in the hallway. Glancing at the alarm clock on my night table, I realize with horror that I’ve kept Gregory waiting for almost fifteen minutes.

  I grab my black alligator-skin clutch purse and run out into the corridor just as Zia is coming up the stairs.

  First, she whispers to me, “You’re even smarter than I thought, making him wait for so long! I finally started feeling bad for him and came up to get you. He’s more nervous than you are. Remember that. So you have nothing to worry about. Just show him how calm you are.” Then in a really loud voice, Zia says, “Oh, Pia. I see you’re ready.”

  Feeling like I have to match her tone, I say just as loudly, “Yes, I’m ready.”

  I descend the stairs, expecting to find Gregory waiting for me. But he’s nowhere to be seen. I strain my neck to see if he’s still in the living room. He is. As I walk toward the living room, I call out to him nonchalantly, “Hey, Gregory. Are you ready to go? Or would you like to use the bathroom before we leave?”

  He begins talking as he slowly gets up. I can’t help but feel that he’s putting on his own act, appearing just as calm as me.

  “No, I’m good. Thanks for—”

  His voice trails off once he turns around and sees me. His eyes immediately zone in on my cleavage. Instead of feeling self-conscious as I usually do when a guy is checking me out, I am pleased that he notices. Strange. I’ve never felt this way before.

  Gregory swallows hard, then says, “Wow! You look gorgeous.”

  “Thank you.”

  I want to tell him he looks pretty hot himself, but that’s another rule of mine: Never compliment a guy on his appearance until you’re in a committed relationship.

  Instead of his usual paint-splattered jeans, Gregory is wearing black khakis and a short-sleeved plaid button-down shirt. Of course, the shirt isn’t tucked in, which is more the style now. I’m glad to see he hasn’t completely gone conservative on me. And he’s still sporting his motorcycle boots. I’m actually surprised Gregory doesn’t own a motorcycle. It fits him more than the beat-up Honda he drives. Then again, he is a struggling artist.

  Gregory walks over to Zia, extending his hand. “It was nice to meet you. I won’t bring her back too late.”

  “Nice to meet you, too. Have a good time.” Zia is beaming. I guess she likes Gregory.

  As we step outside, Gregory says, “I parked the car at the corner.”

/>   I nod my head. For some reason, I’m feeling shy. Must be my nerves. I look down at the sidewalk as we walk. From my peripheral vision, I can tell Gregory keeps glancing at me. His eyes keep trailing down the length of my body. I can’t help but smile. Luckily for me, my hair is hiding my profile. I’ve decided not to pull it up into its usual French twist.

  “So, are you still feeling bad about what happened with Francesca?”

  Good icebreaker.

  “Ahhh.” I shrug my shoulders. “I haven’t thought about it too much. Getting ready for our date kept me preoccupied.” I suddenly freeze. Oh God! I didn’t just call this a date. I glance at Gregory, who’s now keeping his gaze fixed to the cracks in the sidewalk. He doesn’t seem to flinch at what I’ve just said. What’s the matter with me? This is a date. So what if I’ve just called it that.

  “Cool. I don’t think you should worry. I’m confident Francesca will grant you the interview. It might just take a little bit of time.” He looks up at me and smiles.

  My heart drops. He is so sexy. All I want to do is run my lips over his. I don’t think I’ve mentioned how he has the most incredibly delicious-looking lips I’ve ever seen on a guy. His upper lip has an extra fullness that gives him this irresistible pouty look. I force myself to break my gaze from his lips and smile back. Our eyes lock on each other’s for a moment.

  “Hey, Gregory!” A woman’s voice brings us back to reality.

  “Oh, hey, Connie! What’s up?” Gregory wraps his arms around the petite frame of a gorgeous woman who looks to be around my age.

  They kiss each other on the cheek. Jealousy quickly courses through my blood even though my brain is trying to reason with me, futilely reassuring me they’re probably just friends. This Connie totally looks more like Gregory’s type than me. She has short chestnut brown hair that’s cut into sexy, spiky layers. Not many women can pull off such a dramatic hairstyle. But Connie’s olive complexion and large hazel-colored eyes, which are outlined with smoky gray liner, make her totally rock the look. She’s wearing dark-wash skinny Capri jeans and a retro-looking red and white gingham halter top that shows off her super-toned abs. Chunky, glittery bangle bracelets run down the length of her left arm, and a pair of super-long chandelier earrings dangle from her earlobes. Though she’s wearing nude peep-toe Louboutin stilettos, which I can tell from their trademark red soles, she still has to stand on tiptoe in order to reach Gregory’s cheek.