Carissima

by Rosanna Chiofalo

  I could see the large open space serving as a landfill once. Now, grass covers the ground as well as gardens with blooming flowers. A lot of young people are milling about, either taking strolls or lying on blankets on the grass. I see a white screen off in the distance.

  “I guess they’re waiting for a movie to start?”

  “In the summer, they show free movies. They host a lot of free events here, including theatrical performances, workshops, and fitness classes.”

  “That’s great. Have you ever sculpted anything?”

  “I took a class in art school, but I don’t really have a knack for it. Painting and drawing are more my thing. But I do appreciate sculpting, and I’m always so fascinated at how some of these pieces are created.”

  “I like it here. There’s so much character in the little I’ve seen of Long Island City.”

  “There is. And it keeps growing. Some of the change is good, but when a place gets too big or popular, things often seem to inevitably change for the worse. But we’ll see. I don’t want to be such a pessimist. Anyway, Socrates Park is one of my favorite hangouts.”

  “We should come back one night to catch a flick.”

  “Sure. That would be cool. We’d better head back before Lou thinks I’ve made off with his Harley.”

  We walk out of the park and toward the bike. Unlike earlier, I’m looking forward to the ride now. Gregory takes it a little slower this time. I can’t help but feel that he’s trying to prolong our date as the night comes to a close. Before I know it, we’re back on Vernon Boulevard. I’m a little disappointed the ride is already over. As I get off the bike, I see Lou approaching us with Connie by his side.

  “Hey! We have a virgin here. How was it, Pia?” Lou screams out for the whole world to hear.

  “Great. I liked it a lot.”

  “See, I told you!” Lou gives my arm a playful punch.

  I laugh and can’t help feeling like I’m one of the in crowd.

  “We just ate, but we’re going for drinks. Want to join us?” Connie asks.

  “Thanks, but maybe next time. I brought some work home that I need to go over.”

  “I never let work stop me.” Connie winks.

  “We’ll see you guys around soon.” Gregory waves to them and leads me away with his hand.

  “Let’s double-date next weekend!” Lou yells out.

  “You’re not my type, Lou. Can’t you see I’m into blondes?”

  “Badass!” Lou yells out.

  “He’s funny,” I say to Gregory as I watch Lou and Connie walk into a bar.

  “Yeah, Lou is a character just like Connie. You couldn’t find a pair more suited to each other.”

  We walk over to Gregory’s beat-up Honda. On the way back to Zia’s, Gregory drives with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on my lap. Sadness is beginning to creep in. I don’t want to go home. We pull up in front of Zia’s house.

  “Thanks for lunch. I had a really good time.”

  “Me too. What time do you get home from work?”

  “It depends if I stay late. I’ll probably be home by six-thirty tomorrow night.”

  “I’ll call you around eight. If you’re not too tired, maybe we can get an espresso at your aunt’s bakery.”

  “Okay. Let’s play it by ear.”

  We look at each other for a moment. Gregory leans in and kisses me softly. I pull away, nervous that Zia will come out any second. I notice the disappointment in Gregory’s eyes that I’ve broken the kiss. Another rule of mine: “Leave them wanting more.”

  And that’s exactly what I intend to do.

  “I’m telling you, Mr. Cohen, I can do this.”

  “Pia, please call me ‘Col.’ Everyone else does.”

  Though Colin Cohen insists I call him “Col,” I still have a difficult time doing so. I can see it’s beginning to bother him. I’ll compromise.

  “Colin, I know I’m just an intern—”

  “Who’s only been on her internship for a few weeks.”

  “Yes, I realize that, too. But I’m telling you, I can interview Francesca Donata.” And write the article, I add in my thoughts. I can’t believe I’ve worked up the nerve to approach Colin about interviewing Francesca. My blouse is sticking to my back from all the sweat I’ve poured since I left Zia’s this morning.

  “So you say your aunt knows her?” Colin’s looking at me with skepticism in his eyes, but I also detect a hint of something else—curiosity. I’ve got him.

  “My aunt knows Francesca’s sister—the one whose house Francesca is staying in.”

  “That’s not the same as knowing Francesca Donata.”

  “Colin, Signora Tesca—Francesca’s sister—is a bit of a recluse. She hardly lets anyone into her home, and now that her famous sibling is residing with her, I’m sure her guard will be up even more. My aunt can arrange for me to meet Francesca. She’s really good friends with Signora Tesca.” I’m stretching the truth of course, but no one has gotten ahead in life without a few white lies.

  Colin is tapping his favorite Mont Blanc pen against his chin, a gesture he makes whenever he’s contemplating one of his “exceptional ideas,” as he likes to call them. He swings his office chair away from me and stares out his window. I wait for what seems like an eternity before he swivels his chair back toward me and says, “If you can arrange a meeting with her, I’ll send Madeline with you to conduct the interview. You can assist her with everything involved with the piece.”

  My stomach burns from the acid that’s churning violently inside. I swallow hard, trying to contain my anger. “Signora Tesca won’t let Madeline in.”

  “Not even with you? What makes you so sure Signora Tesca will even let you into her home? Okay, your aunt is good friends with her, but you’re a stranger as well. If she’s as much of a hermit as you say she is, you’re also pretty much an outsider.”

  I shake my head. “She’d let me in over Madeline because I’m a paesana.”

  “A pie what?”

  “Paesana. It’s Italian for someone from your village. You know, kind of like a homeboy. I’m Signora Tesca’s homegirl.”

  Colin erupts into laughter. “Pia, I was beginning to think you had zero sense of humor. You barely laugh at my jokes.”

  That’s because none of them are funny, I think to myself.

  I smile. This isn’t the time to act my usual ultra-serious self. Slowly, but surely, I’m warming Colin to the idea of letting me interview Francesca. I refuse to walk out of here until he gives me carte blanche to do the interview.

  “Anyway, I have the ‘in’ of not only being Italian American, but also my father’s family is from the same town that Signora Tesca is from. Even though we’ve never met, the fact that I’m a paesana will help me to win her over.”

  Colin squints as he stares at me. His Mont Blanc taps his chin again.

  Letting out a deep sigh, he finally acquiesces. “Okay, homegirl. You have my permission to interview Francesca—that is, if you get the interview. I still have my doubts, no matter your connections to her sister or that you’re a piezon or whatever you call it. We’re dealing with The Crazy Bride after all. She’s notorious for being a bitch. You have your work cut out for you. If you do manage to get the interview, you will have earned my highest respect. I’ll let you do the legwork on the interview—the research, notes—but I’m going to come up with the questions.”

  “But Colin—”

  Colin holds up his hand. “Let me finish. As I was saying, I’m going to come up with the questions, but I’ll also let you come up with a few of your own questions. We’ll go over them together. I’ll also have to prep you on the right way to interview her.”

  “I have done interviews before, Colin.”

  “The student council president and homecoming queen don’t count.” Colin gives me the most exasperated face.

  “I interviewed local politicians back home and various artists who performed at my university.”

  “
That’s still peanuts compared to interviewing a world-famous movie star and one as legendary as Francesca Donata. She’ll eat you up alive if I don’t prepare you. Trust me on this, Pia.”

  He’s right, as was evidenced by my meeting with her in Castello Jewelry the other day. And he is being fair by letting me come up with a few of my own questions. Dare I mention that I want to write the article or at least some of it? Why not? What do I have to lose at this point? He’ll just say “no.”

  “Thank you for working with me on this. I really appreciate it.”

  “You have a lot of ambition, Pia. And you work hard. You’re going to be a great journalist someday. But you have to pay your dues first. There’s a reason people don’t become journalists overnight.”

  Except for Madeline Drabinski, I want to say, but I remain silent. Now I’m not sure if I should bring up wanting to write the piece. Deciding not to push my luck, especially since he’s compromised with me, I resolve to bring up the matter of writing the article at a later date. As Colin said, I have my work cut out for me just in interviewing Francesca.

  “Thank you, Colin. I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

  “Pia, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. Just do me a favor. If you do score the interview with that nut, keep your expectations low. She’s very unpredictable, and I wouldn’t want your first major interview to scar you, especially if it doesn’t turn out how you imagined.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  And with that I exit Colin’s office, trying hard not to feel intimidated by the extremely high bar I’ve just set for myself.

  12

  Francesca

  “I am too old for this. Faccio schifo. Poo!”

  My back pain disgusts me. What is becoming of me that I cannot even sit erectly on the settee in my bedroom without having an ache? As an actress, I had to always maintain the most perfect posture. I should be accustomed to it, but instead every vertebra in my spine is screaming.

  “You’re doing great, Francesca. How about we take a break?” Gregory places his paintbrush down on his palette and begins wiping his hands with a towel.

  Though I am in my mid-fifties, I can still appreciate a fine specimen of man, especially one as young and charming as Gregory. I know if I wanted to, I could have him, but I am from a different generation where good sense almost always prevails. Si, si, all the older actresses are now dating younger men, but it screams of desperation. And I, Francesca Donata, have never been desperate and never will be. Sighing, I take one last look at the young artist and pull my eyes away as I bend my neck toward each shoulder, giving my taut muscles a good stretch.

  “How is my portrait coming along?”

  “So far, I’m happy with the way it’s progressing.” Gregory smiles at me, causing his eyes to crinkle in the corners, much the way his mother’s did when I last saw her.

  Though Gregory is his father’s child in every way where his talents as a painter and incorrigible personality are concerned, he’s a dead ringer for his gorgeous mother.

  “Will your parents be coming to visit you anytime soon? Scotch?” I hold up the bottle, and Gregory nods his head.

  “Whoa! Una goccia, una goccia!” Gregory laughs, waving his hand for me to stop.

  “You’re a man. A drop will not do.”

  I wink at Gregory, causing his cheeks to turn slightly crimson. I am happy to see I can still have an effect on men as young as him.

  Gregory drinks some of his Scotch before replying. “No, I probably won’t see my parents until the fall. I did speak to my father last night, and he was pleased to hear that I’ll be painting your portrait. He asked me to give you his best.”

  “And please give him mine.”

  Gregory clears his throat as if he is about to speak. I wait, looking at him expectantly, but he remains silent. Something is troubling him. I am the most patient woman in the world, which always surprises people when they come to know me. Everyone assumes that because I am a star I have little to zero tolerance and must get my way immediately. I can wait. For I always do get what I am seeking. I have also learned that when you want a person to confide in you, the best course of action is to act disinterested.

  “Sono stanca!” I yawn, stretching my arms over my head, arching my back just the way Mewsette does as I thrust my ample bosom out. I close my eyes, but manage to keep them slightly open, just a slit, so that I catch Gregory stealing a glance at my breasts.

  Si, Francesca. You have not lost your sex appeal, my thoughts assure me.

  I stand up and join Gregory, who is now standing at the window, no doubt forcing himself to look away from my cleavage that is on full display in the low-cut silk Armani dress I am wearing. I am surprised he was able to stare at my breasts while painting my portrait without blushing every time, but I suppose his having me look off to the side kept him at ease. My dress is a deep pomegranate red—one of my favorite colors—that accentuates my brunette hair. Red, for me, symbolizes youth and vitality, and that is what I am striving for Gregory to capture in my painting. He does not know this, but this will be the last portrait I will have commissioned. And I want to be certain that I look just as stunning as I did in the paintings his father did of me when I was younger. I feel confident that after I die, this will be the portrait that will be flashed across TV screens and magazine covers. The media loves contradictions, and what better contradiction than a former movie star looking her best in the prime of her life?

  “Your sister has a beautiful home.”

  Ahh! The small talk. Small talk always precedes a confession or a request. My guess is that it is the latter. As a rich, famous woman, I have become accustomed to people always wanting something from me—except Giuliana. She never seems to want anything from me, which saddens me because I took so much from her.

  “What’s the matter, Signorina Donata?”

  Perceptive as well as handsome.

  “Would you be hurt if I lied to you and said ‘nothing’?”

  Gregory’s face registers surprise at my honesty and something else I cannot pin yet.

  “I prefer the truth, but I know sometimes people lie to protect themselves, and I can understand that.” He returns his gaze back out the window.

  He is a special young man, and someday, he is going to make a woman very happy.

  “I was just thinking about my sister and how I have not always been the best sister to her.”

  Once again, Gregory looks surprised by my admission. But he quickly conceals his feelings and nods his head.

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself. You are only human after all, no matter what the media has made everyone believe.” Gregory winks at me.

  “You do value honesty, Gregory!” I laugh, playfully batting my eyelashes at him.

  “Francesca, I wanted to ask you a question.” Gregory’s face turns somber.

  Here it comes—whatever he wants from me. The warmth I felt a moment ago is quickly vanishing.

  “Si?” I can hear the change in my tone, and this clever young man detects it, too. His expression immediately becomes angst-ridden.

  Regretting my haughty tone, I place my arm around his shoulders in a motherly embrace and say, “Please, join me on the settee where you will be more comfortable.”

  He lets me lead him to the settee. I reach for the bottle of Scotch and pour more into both of our glasses.

  “No arguing. I can tell you need this shot.” I point my finger at him in warning.

  We both raise our cups in a silent toast and toss back the Scotch. Gregory laughs.

  “What’s so funny? Huh?” I dab at the corners of my lips with a napkin.

  “You shouldn’t keep serving liquor if you want me to paint a flattering portrait of you.”

  “Vero!” I laugh.

  The Scotch seems to have emboldened Gregory as he clears his throat and says, “I have a favor to ask you, and please, don’t hesitate to tell me if you can’t do it. You’ve already done so much for my family.
I’m still so honored that you chose me to paint your portrait.”

  “Enough with the flattery, Gregory. Tell me what I can do for you.”

  “I have a friend.” He pauses as he clears his throat once more.

  Hmmm. A friend. No doubt, a woman.

  “She’s been through a lot the past few years, and she’s working hard to make something of herself.”

  Gregory is trying to make me pity her. He is good, I must say. He looks imploringly at me. I nod my head, encouraging him to continue.

  “Anyway, she’s interning at Profile magazine, and I was wondering if you would grant her an interview? This is the break that could make her career. But again, if you feel strongly against doing it, I will respect your wishes.”

  “Profile?”

  “Yes, I’m sure you’ve heard of them.”

  “Of course.”

  Gregory continues pleading the young woman’s case and telling me how talented she is, but I have already turned a deaf ear toward him. Profile. Why does this sound familiar?

  I interrupt Gregory. “What is her name?”

  “Pia Santore.”

  Wait! It is that girl! The one who approached me at the jewelry store the other day. Well, well. At least Gregory has good taste in women. She was very pretty, and I was impressed by her bravado in approaching me. Suddenly, I also remember how harsh I was with her. For a moment, shame fills my heart, but I quickly shrug it off. As I told Edgardo, the girl needs to toughen up if she hopes to succeed. I decide not to tell Gregory of our encounter.

  “So, will you let her interview you?” Gregory resembles the newborn puppy I rescued outside of my villa in Sicily. His eyes are extra wide, and worry lines are slashed deeply across his forehead. But even his charm and good looks are not enough to sway me.

  “I am sorry, Gregory, but I am afraid I cannot grant her the interview.”

  Immediately, his expression becomes crestfallen. I do hate seeing him unhappy. Such a handsome young man should always be smiling. But I must remain firm.

  “May I ask why?”