Carissima

by Rosanna Chiofalo

  Pia cannot stop staring at my jeweled hair comb. Though the only jewelry she wears is a pair of chandelier silver earrings, I can tell she appreciates fine jewels by the longing look in her eyes. For I had that same look before I became famous, and I would stare at the jewels on the movie stars who were in the magazines I loved to read.

  Pia no doubt is still mad that I made her wait so long this morning before I descended from my bedroom. And when I told her we would have the interview at Trattoria L’incontro, she looked like she wanted to slap me. Maybe I can unleash some of her repressed anger? Her calm demeanor bores me, and I would much rather see what she is capable of when her buttons are pressed.

  Overly eager as always, Pia attempted to start the interview in the limousine. But I insisted we wait until we were seated. I was sandwiched between Pia and Edgardo in the limo, and the air could not have been more fraught with tension. Edgardo had yelled at me when I had informed him I wanted to dine at Trattoria L’incontro. I had warned him if he did not accompany me, I would just leave the house by the front door and risk getting mobbed. He has tested me in the past with disastrous results, so he knows better than to ever try me again.

  The waiter comes to take our drink orders and recites a lengthy list of specials. While I am impressed that they have so many specials, I am also getting impatient for it is taking too long. Of course, the Americans always must have so much of everything. Though the waiter is talking to all of us, his eyes remain fixated on me. He is hoping I will make eye contact or give him an encouraging sign like a smile, but I talk to him without once lifting my gaze.

  “A glass of Pinot Grigio, please. And I already know what I want for my appetizer. I will have the stuffed mushrooms.”

  “Excellent choice, Francesca.”

  I narrow my eyes toward the waiter, showing him I do not approve of his addressing me casually.

  “I am sorry. I mean, Signora Donata.”

  “Signorina Donata.” Edgardo speaks up, smirking at me.

  “Anything else I can get for you, Signorina Donata?” The waiter now cannot make eye contact with me.

  “Not at the moment. Grazie.”

  After the waiter takes Pia’s and Edgardo’s drink orders, he walks away. I cannot help but notice he is a very handsome young gentleman. Pia catches me staring at him. I quickly return my gaze to my menu. I still cannot decide if I will have insalata di polpo—octopus salad—or spiedini di vitello—skewers of veal.

  “I’m going to check on the guys out front.” Edgardo rises out of his chair.

  “Relax, Edgardo! We are fine. Let the poor men come in and eat. Angelica made the reservations for five guests.”

  “That’s thoughtful of you, Francesca, but we’re here to do a job, not to eat at our leisure.”

  And with that Edgardo charges off.

  “Is he always that serious?” Pia asks me.

  I wave my hand, indicating my annoyance. “He hates it when I spontaneously change plans without giving him adequate notice.”

  “So you do this a lot then? Act on a whim?”

  Pia still looks angry with me for changing the plans on her as well.

  “What does that mean, ‘whim’?”

  “Impulse. Do you always behave in such an impulsive manner, changing your plans according to whatever mood you’re in?”

  “Of course not. But why must everything be planned to the tiniest detail? Life cannot be lived that way. Do not tell me, Miss Santore, you organize your daily routines with so much precision!” I cannot help but say this in a snide tone.

  “I try to think ahead as much as possible. It makes things go much smoother—at least for me. You can do whatever you want, Signorina Donata, but doesn’t it bother you that you inconvenienced Edgardo? And I guess it didn’t trouble you that I waited for half an hour until you came down for our meeting this morning.”

  “It was no more than fifteen or twenty minutes at the most.”

  “So you were well aware that you were making me wait.”

  “Miss Santore, may I remind you that our appointment is underway, so you had better begin asking your real interview questions instead of wasting time with nonsense.”

  That silences the girl. The nerve! Who does she think she is talking to me the way she just did? I guess Giuliana was right. The girl does remind me a little of myself and is most certainly not afraid to speak up for herself when she is upset.

  “How long has it been since you last saw your sister?”

  The waiter has returned with our drinks and my appetizer. He takes our order and bows to me before he leaves. I take a sip of my Pinot Grigio before answering Pia’s question.

  “A few years.”

  “What’s a few years? Three? Five?”

  “I do not remember. I am getting old.”

  Pia coughs up her iced tea.

  “Am I hearing correctly? Francesca Donata is actually admitting she’s getting old?” Pia laughs.

  “We are all getting old, my dear, even you. There is nothing wrong with that.”

  “So you don’t mind that you’re not the young actress you once were?”

  I cannot help but be pleased with myself. My intentional diversion is working. She has forgotten now about how long it has been since Giuliana and I last saw each other.

  “No, I do not mind. Growing old is a part of life. You think that I am just like all these other vain actresses who cannot face the fact that their youth is over. I am nothing like them. I am me.”

  Pia nods her head as she quickly scribbles away in her little notebook.

  “So you have not had any cosmetic procedures?”

  “Most certainly not! Does it look like I have?” I lean closely toward Pia’s face, challenging her to take a good look. To my surprise, she does not back away, but rather begins scrutinizing my face closely.

  “You’ve had Botox.”

  “I most certainly have not! If you put that in your article, I will sue you and Profile for slander!”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  “Miss Santore, you have once again managed to deviate from the list of approved questions I gave you. I must warn you if this continues I will have to cancel this interview and forbid you from even writing an article based on the two interviews we have had.”

  “I apologize, Signorina Donata. You’re right. I did agree to your conditions.”

  She takes a sip of her iced tea. I must admit I am disappointed she gave in so quickly and apologized. I was beginning to enjoy our match of words.

  “May I be frank, Signorina Donata?”

  She is up to something. I can feel it. Pia Santore is more calculating than I originally gave her credit for.

  “Yes. Please, be honest.”

  “Thank you. I just don’t see how this interview will be any good with the limited list of questions you approved. And it won’t be that much different from past interviews you’ve given. The public needs to hear something new about you. They want to know more about what you’ve been up to the last ten years.”

  “Well, then I am afraid I will bore them. Everyone knows I have been a hermit since I dropped out of the spotlight. There is no story there, Miss Santore.”

  “Do you have any hobbies that were keeping you busy? I never read in any of your previous interviews interests of yours besides your love of acting and jewelry. Is that how you want the world to remember you when you’re gone? I know there is more behind your carefully constructed public persona. The media has always acknowledged you are a bit of an enigma. And your suddenly coming out of hibernation to travel to Astoria and visit a sister no one knew you had is fascinating. Getting back to my earlier question, when exactly was the last time you saw Signora Tesca?”

  “I cannot remember the exact number of years. I told you.”

  “Was it more than five years, a decade? You must have some idea!”

  “Probably about a decade.”

  “Why so long?”

  “We live on different contin
ents.”

  “But you have money. You could easily travel here whenever you want. So could Signora Tesca. I’ve heard she’s not hurting financially either.”

  “Leave my sister out of this interview. I am warning you, Miss Santore.”

  Pia pauses before asking, “What’s the big secret regarding your sister? Why so much secrecy?”

  “The interview is about me, not her.”

  “But since she is your sister, the subject is related to you.”

  “Miss Santore, you are breaching the conditions. I explicitly stated that no questions about my family were to be asked. That includes my sister. I see that I will have to have a copy of those conditions with me present during our appointments so I can remind you of them.”

  “So, this is what you really want? A flat interview?”

  “You are the journalist. Whether the article is flat or not rests solely with you and your talent as a writer.”

  “You are not going to lay the blame on me!”

  “Miss Santore, I know you are still quite inexperienced as a journalist. Maybe you are not ready for this interview after all. If you have the talent as a journalist and writer, you will be able to construct a compelling article with what I give you.”

  “You won’t even allow me to call you by your first name. How am I supposed to write an intimate article about someone who insists I call her ‘Signorina Donata’?”

  She’s mocking me. I am about to lash out at her when the busboy saves her by arriving with our food.

  We eat in silence. Edgardo must have decided to stay with the other bodyguards outside or he is keeping watch out back. Now I must suffer through this awkward lunch alone with this disrespectful girl. I decide to have a little fun to make the remaining time pass quicker.

  “How is Gregory?”

  “Fine. But you must know that already since he’s painting your portrait.”

  “What I meant to say is, how are things between the two of you?”

  “That’s really none of your concern, Signorina Donata.”

  I stare at Pia as she eats her Penne Puttanesca. Her cheeks are turning pink, but she refuses to glance in my direction. I wait another minute before I resume eating my octopus salad. The food is quite good here.

  “How about I compromise with you, Pia? May I call you Pia?”

  She does not even attempt to hide her surprise at my calling her by her Christian name. Waiting a moment before replying, she finally answers, “Yes, you may call me Pia.”

  Smart girl. She was not exaggerating earlier when she said she plans as much as she can. She even chooses her responses carefully. She knows that allowing me to use her first name might make me more willing to let her call me Francesca.

  “You may ask me a question that is not on my approved list if you answer a question for me.”

  Pia frowns. Again, I can see her carefully weighing her answer before replying.

  “Okay.”

  “Gregory mentioned to me that you had been through a lot the past few years.”

  Pia whips her head up quickly from her plate. This is the angriest I have seen her yet.

  “He told you?”

  I debate whether I should let her think he told me, but then I realize he will tell her the truth. Will she believe him?

  “No, he did not. So my question is, what happened to you?”

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

  “Are you sure? You may ask me any question you want.”

  “Oh, so now you’re ready to break your sacred list of conditions just because you’re dying to know about me? This is all a game for you, isn’t it? You’re wasting my time.”

  Pia reaches for her purse, taking her wallet out.

  “Put your wallet away, Miss Santore.”

  “So it’s back to calling me ‘Miss Santore’ just because I won’t tell you something personal about me? You really are a piece of work.”

  She throws a few twenty-dollar bills onto the table.

  A waiter walking by our table hears Pia’s angry tone and glances over.

  Placing my hand on her arm, I whisper, “Pia, take your money. I wanted to treat you to a nice lunch. I know I can be . . . difficult at times. But remember what I told you the first day we met in Castello Jewelry. You need to develop a thick skin to make it in your line of work as well as mine. I am doing you a favor. I know you do not see that now, but you will someday. Now, please, stay. I will answer one of your own questions.”

  I do not give her time to think about it. This girl, like me, does not bluff and is ready to walk out.

  “I have not seen Giuliana in over thirty years.”

  “Thirty years?” Pia gasps.

  “Now you see why I was embarrassed to admit to you the exact number of years.”

  “But why?”

  “We were not on speaking terms.”

  “Oh.”

  I wait for Pia to ask me why, but she does not. Placing her purse back down, she sips her iced tea.

  The busboy clears our plates. Once we are alone again, Pia asks, “Were you ever close?”

  “Yes, when we were girls.”

  “So I guess you have made up since you are here and staying with her?”

  “Not exactly. But she needs me, and we will always be family no matter what.”

  Pia nods her head. She looks over to a mural of Capri that is on the wall to her right. But her attention seems to be elsewhere. I can tell she is tempted to ask me more about my strained relationship with my sister, but she does not want to pressure me, especially now that I have finally given her something more personal about me.

  “My sister died.”

  It is now my turn to look surprised.

  “I am so sorry.”

  “That was what Gregory was referring to when he told you that I’d been through a lot the past few years.”

  “May I ask how she passed away?”

  Pia shuts her eyes. I regret my question and fear that she is going to start crying.

  “She drowned.”

  I want to place my hand on her shoulder, but I refrain from doing so.

  “It’s still a shock to my family and me. She was a strong swimmer and had even been on her school’s diving team. But I guess she went out too far and got tired. Or maybe she wasn’t feeling well suddenly. I don’t know.”

  “Were you close?”

  “Very. We were supposed to come to New York City together. She was going to attend art school. She loved to paint like Gregory.”

  No wonder she is attracted to Gregory. He reminds her of her sister. I remain silent, waiting for her to continue.

  “I always wanted to come here and intern or work for a magazine. Our ultimate goal was to return to California and start our own magazine someday. She was into photography, too, and was going to take the photos and do the layouts for the magazine. But after she died, I dropped out of college and took a break. I’m finally getting back to my life and putting the pieces back together.”

  “Of course.”

  Pia looks spent. My sixth sense is telling me there is more to her sister’s story, just as there is more to my story with my sister. But I do not plan on becoming Pia’s best friend and telling her all of my secrets.

  “Would you like coffee?” I signal to the waiter before she answers, giving her no choice.

  “By the way, Pia, you can call me Francesca from now on. But I have not changed my mind about my conditions. I really do not want to argue with you every time I see you.”

  “Fair enough, Francesca.”

  Pia gives me a sly smile, which I return. We both know she has no intention of following my rules.

  15

  Pia

  Gregory and I are strolling around the streets of Manhattan’s Chelsea district, exploring the art galleries. In the past few weeks, he’s shown me around New York City. East to west, uptown to downtown, I love it all! But I think my favorite neighborhoods are Soho and Chelsea.

&
nbsp; “See yourself living here some day?” I ask Gregory.

  “Maybe. Why do you ask?”

  “The obvious reason. So many artists live in Chelsea now.”

  “So I have to conform and live here, too?” Gregory tucks a wisp of my hair that’s fallen out of my ponytail behind my ear. I can’t help but blush. Even though we’ve been dating now for almost a month, his tender gestures still move me.

  “That’s right. You’re a nonconformist. How could I insult you the way I have?” I giggle and pull Gregory closer to me as I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him lightly on the lips. Gregory deepens the kiss. After a few seconds, we pull apart and notice several pedestrians staring at us. We literally just stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and kissed. Reading each other’s thoughts, we laugh and continue walking. Gregory’s swinging my hand, much like kids who are skipping and singing as they make their way to school. Sometimes he surprises me with his boyish manners, especially since he’s got a bit of a wild streak to him, as is evidenced whenever we borrow Lou’s motorcycle and he charges down the roads. I’m drawn to this dual nature of his, so when Gregory told me he’s a Gemini, I could totally see it.

  I’m in love. There. I’ve admitted it to myself. Though I’ve been resisting falling so hard for him, I can’t deny the feelings Gregory sets off in me whenever we’re together. But I can’t tell him. It’s too soon. And besides, I don’t even know if he feels the same.

  “So, Pia, I was thinking of cooking for you tonight. But if you’d rather go out to eat, that’s fine.”

  Gregory’s voice sounds a little nervous. I haven’t been to his place yet. And we both know what this could mean.

  “I’d love for you to cook for me.”