Carissima

by Rosanna Chiofalo

  Standing up, I peer outside the library. No one is in sight. I decide to take a walk. The safest bet is the staircase. I won’t run into Carlo or any of the other staff who are in the kitchen. I might run into Angelica, but I can just say I was looking for her. As I near the top of the staircase, I hear coughing coming from the second door on my right-hand side. I remember from my first visit that this is the bathroom since I had used it before I left.

  Leaning my head closer to the door, I listen. The coughing continues, followed by a voice.

  “I am calling the doctor.”

  A choked voice screeches, “No!”

  More coughing follows.

  “Giuliana, you are coughing up blood. That is not normal!”

  My heart pounds as I realize Francesca and Giuliana are in the bathroom. Obviously, Giuliana is quite sick. Perhaps that is why I never see her and why Francesca has been so protective of her.

  “Just leave me alone. It’ll pass. It always does.”

  “There has been bleeding before?”

  “Just a little.”

  “I am calling your doctor.”

  I hear Francesca’s heels tapping on the marble tiles.

  Running down the stairs, I almost crash into Carlo, who’s carrying a large covered platter to the library.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper as I scramble around him and into the library.

  Carlo frowns, but doesn’t say anything as he places the platter on the coffee table in front of the couch in the library.

  “Signorina Donata said you can help yourself to breakfast. She apologizes, but she will be down as soon as she can.”

  “Thank you, Carlo.”

  Carlo nods and leaves.

  My mind is racing. Trying to calm my nerves, I remove the cover from the platter and scoop out a crepe and scrambled eggs.

  The food tastes like something you’d get at a five-star restaurant. I can’t believe I’ve deprived myself of it the other times I’ve been here.

  While the food is helping the gnawing in my stomach, it’s not doing much to ease my flurry of thoughts. Signora Tesca is ill. Could that have been Francesca’s motivation for coming to see her after their long estrangement? The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced. This is why Francesca bristles whenever a question about her sister comes up. She’s trying to keep her illness private. I’m surprised that none of the household staff has leaked it to the press. Their loyalty to Signora Tesca is impressive.

  “Good morning, Pia. I am very sorry about the delay. I had a . . . an urgent matter I needed to attend to.” Francesca looks pale, and her hands tremble as she helps herself to some breakfast.

  “No need to apologize. I’m beginning to get used to it.”

  Francesca shoots me a dirty look, and I quickly apologize. “I didn’t mean any sarcasm by my response. I’m sorry if it sounded that way.”

  Pursing her lips tightly, Francesca remains silent and takes a long sip of her espresso.

  “I hope everything is okay?”

  “Si, si. Well, I might have to end our appointment early. I am sorry. I am expecting someone and will need to talk to him as soon as he arrives.”

  “Of course. I understand. I can wait if you want?”

  “No, I could not ask you to be any more patient than you already have been today.”

  Deciding to take a chance, I go for it.

  “Is it your sister?”

  Francesca’s eyes widen in shock, but she quickly recovers.

  “Giuliana is fine.”

  She then narrows her gaze as she continues to stare at me while sipping from her cup.

  She knows that I overheard and now she thinks even less of me. I’m such an idiot!

  “Let’s get started since you will have to leave early,” I say, attempting to act nonchalant.

  Pretending nothing has happened is my best recourse in this awkward moment.

  “You were engaged four times, correct?”

  “Five.”

  “Five? I thought I had all of the names of your ex-fiancés.”

  Flipping through my research notebook, I find the page on Francesca’s past paramours.

  “Mario Scarpone, Sal Giametta, Luca Barone, Stello Cascio. Whom am I missing?”

  “Vladimir Novikov.”

  “A Russian?”

  “Yes, Vladimir was Russian. What? Just because I am Italian, I must date only Italian men?”

  “No, no! Of course not! So, do you care to share what went wrong with these relationships?”

  Francesca gets up and walks over to the escritoire in the corner of the library. She pulls open a drawer and takes out a sheet. Walking over to me, she points to an item on a list.

  “Remember this, Pia?”

  She’s holding her list of conditions and pointing to item number three: No questions about my previous engagements or fiancés may be asked.

  “I shall give you this copy since it appears you have lost your own.”

  Francesca places the sheet next to me on the couch and returns to her seat.

  “Francesca. I may still call you by your first name as you stated I could during our last interview?”

  “Si, si. I do not go back on my word.”

  “Francesca, let’s be honest.”

  She looks up at me with the most feigned innocence as if to say, “Me? Not be honest?”

  “You really do want to talk about your ex-fiancés or else you would have cut me off as soon as I first mentioned them. What’s the harm in sharing with your adoring fans why you have not succeeded in love and gotten married?”

  My words sting her. The ashen complexion she had when she first walked into the room has returned.

  “It is private.”

  I remain silent. This is not working. Colin threatened to pull the plug on this interview if I don’t get Francesca to open up soon. To buy myself more time, I told him how she admitted to me that she hadn’t seen her sister in thirty years and how they’ve been estranged. Part of me felt guilty that I sold her out this way, especially since I’ve been able to tell she wants to keep her sister out of the media. But she never did tell me I was forbidden from revealing that they had not been talking to each other for so long. Colin gobbled the tidbit up and agreed to wait so that I could get more out of her.

  Suddenly, I remember Francesca’s tactic from our last interview when she offered to tell me something personal in exchange for my answering her question. Standing up, I walk over to the windows and look outside.

  “I’m sorry, Francesca. I haven’t been completely straightforward with you, and here I am expecting you to be honest with me.”

  “Oh?”

  Keeping my back turned toward her, I can tell from her tone that I’ve piqued her interest.

  “The reason I wanted to know more about your past relationships is that I wanted to compare them to mine with Gregory. That’s crazy, I admit, but I just wanted to see if what we’re going through is similar to what others have experienced in their relationships.”

  Holding my breath, I pray she doesn’t see through my ploy.

  “You and Gregory are having problems?”

  “Not necessarily. But I have never felt this way for anyone else before, and I’m getting scared.”

  Okay, now I’ve come quite close to the truth with her. I’ve never had such strong feelings for anyone I’ve dated, nothing quite like I do for Gregory. And I am starting to grow anxious. I don’t want to get hurt. I haven’t had anyone to confide in about him. I always confided in Erica. Though I’ve become friendlier with Megan and even Connie, I still don’t feel close enough to them to spill all the beans.

  “That’s normal. Everyone is afraid when they first fall in love. I assume you are falling in love with Gregory?”

  I hesitate. Part of me wants to keep that between Gregory and myself. It’s special. But I know I need to make a sacrifice in order to get Francesca to open up to me.

  “Yes, I’m not just falling. I am already in love
.”

  I turn around and lock my gaze onto hers. I see sadness I’ve never seen before fill her eyes. She quickly averts her gaze.

  “You must always use your assets as a woman to aid you in keeping your man hooked. Remember, men’s first instincts are physical. You are a very pretty girl, Pia, but you’re hiding a lot of your beauty behind those glasses and in the way you always keep your hair pulled back in a ponytail or up in that messy chignon.”

  “I let my hair down and take off my glasses sometimes when I go out on dates.”

  “Good! But start wearing it down all the time. And invest in a pair of contacts.”

  “You sound like Zia. She can’t stand my glasses.”

  “And rightly so! Your aunt and I might be older, but we know what we are talking about, especially when it comes to men.”

  “Well, Zia never married so I don’t know about that.”

  I suddenly realize my faux pas since Francesca never married either.

  “I didn’t mean any offense by that. You’re different than Zia. You exude a lot of sensuality. Men still find you very attractive. I love Zia, but she has never seemed to have an awareness of her essence as a woman.”

  “Thank you for your compliments, Pia. But just because your aunt seems to be a certain way now does not mean she was always this way. You must remember we were all once young. Take my sister for instance. She was breathtaking as a teenager and into her early twenties. I looked up to her and thought she was the true beauty in our family.”

  “Really?”

  Francesca gets up and walks over to one of the bookshelves. She pulls out what looks to be a photo album. Flipping it open, she hands the album to me.

  “This was Signora Tesca?”

  The photo looks like it was taken when Signora Tesca was in her twenties. Though I could tell in the photo I had seen in the library a few weeks ago that Signora Tesca had been pretty as a teenager, it paled in comparison to this image. As a young woman, her beauty truly stood out. If only the neighbors could see this photo, they would never dare call Signora Tesca “plain as vanilla” again.

  “Gorgeous, right? She could have been a model. But, correct me if I am wrong, Pia, you have never met my sister. Why are you surprised then if you do not even know what she looks like now?”

  I try to think of the most delicate way to say it, but there simply isn’t one.

  “I heard that she is quite plain.”

  “Who said such a thing?”

  Francesca sounds angry and rightfully so. This is her sister, whom it’s obvious she loves very much.

  “A few of the neighbors just expressed surprise when they learned that you were sisters. They said she was plainer than you.”

  “I should have never come here. Because of me, she is a prisoner in her own home, and now she has people gossiping about her behind her back. She does not deserve that! She is an angel! I am the one they should be talking badly about! Not her!”

  Francesca is very agitated and is waving her index finger in the air. She reminds me of footage I’ve seen of the former Italian dictator Mussolini when he was giving his speeches.

  “I’m sorry, Francesca. I did not mean to upset you.”

  “Stop apologizing! How many times do I need to tell you that?”

  She shakes her head in disgust, but I’m not sure if she’s disgusted with me or herself for losing control.

  “I apologize. You were simply being honest with me. Thank you for that. So many people tiptoe around me because of my celebrity. I am protective of my sister, as you have seen. She has had a very hard life, and I am to blame for much of that.”

  I remain silent. I can’t believe how much she is revealing, but I know I can’t push her. She has to feel like she’s in control.

  “But enough about me. I will help you with your problem.”

  She motions with her hand for me to follow her. We go upstairs. I hear voices behind one of the closed doors and the coughing I heard earlier. Francesca pauses for a moment, knitting her brows together, but then resumes walking down the hallway.

  We enter the sitting room where our first interview was conducted and pass through an adjoining door, which leads us to a bedroom. She opens her armoire and begins rifling through the outfits. I’m amazed that someone can own that many clothes, especially since she is just visiting and this isn’t her permanent home.

  “Try these on. I know they will not fit you exactly, but we will make whatever adjustments are necessary.”

  “Oh, I can’t. That’s really okay, Francesca.”

  “Pia, do you want my help with Gregory or not? You said it yourself. Men are still attracted to me. That is true. I have even seen your Gregory notice my curves.”

  Fury pulses wildly through me, and in that moment, I want to rip her eyes out. I’m not usually prone to fits of anger or violence, but I guess this just proves how much in love I am with Gregory. The thought of him checking Francesca out makes me absolutely insane.

  Francesca laughs. “Calm down, Pia. He is a man after all. He never tried to seduce me or anything like that.” She pats my arm. “Dai! Come on! Try on the dresses. If you will please excuse me, I think the visitor I was expecting is here. But I will be back. And feel free to try on any of my shoes that you like.” She waves to an assortment of heels that are lined up neatly in shelves above the racks where her clothes hang.

  “Thank you, Francesca.”

  Smiling before she walks out, Francesca actually looks pleased that she will be helping me. She really is one bizarre woman. As soon as she leaves, I tiptoe over to the door and open it a crack. I hear her talking to a man outside the door we passed earlier. That must be Signora Tesca’s room.

  Carefully, I lean closer so that I can get a view of the man. He’s carrying what looks like a doctor’s bag and a stethoscope is wrapped around his hand. His face is gravely serious. Francesca dabs at her eyelashes and nods her head at whatever the doctor is saying. He places his hand on her shoulder.

  I feel bad that I’m spying on her private moment, especially since she is so upset. What exactly is the matter with Signora Tesca? Whatever it is, it does not seem good. Francesca escorts the doctor downstairs. She’ll be back up soon. Quickly, I run over to one of the two dresses Francesca laid out on her bed for me.

  I choose first the stunning royal-blue sheath dress, which has a beautiful sheen and slightly retro look. I can tell before trying it on that it will be too big in the chest. Frowning, I’m tempted to not bother. There’s no way I can compete with how Francesca must look when she wears this dress. But it’s gorgeous, and the thought of wearing a dress that belongs to the star, if even for a few minutes, convinces me. Taking my clothes off, I shimmy into the dress and am struggling with the zipper when there’s a knock on the door.

  “Are you dressed, Pia?” Francesca opens the door slightly, peeking in.

  “I just need help with the zipper.”

  After Francesca zips the dress up all the way, I’m surprised that it’s only gapping a little bit around my chest. I then remember I’m wearing one of the padded bras from Victoria’s Secret. I had decided to treat myself to new bras. After seeing the effect I had on Gregory with the padded bra I’d received from Erica as a gift, I felt more comfortable with the idea of wearing them. No doubt the bra’s padding is helping to fill the space in the dress.

  “Beautiful! I knew this royal blue would make your blond hair come alive, and it only needs to be taken in a little.”

  Francesca pulls the dress in at the sides a bit and motions for me to look in the mirror.

  She’s right. The color is perfect with my hair, and now that she’s holding the fabric in, the dress looks like it was custom-made for my body.

  “May I remove your clip?”

  She doesn’t wait for my response as she removes the banana clip that’s holding my tresses up in a loose chignon. I liked the way my hair looked up. It gave me a certain chic with this dress. But once my hair spills over my shoulders, a
nd Francesca shakes it out with her hands, the effect is amazing!

  “Now for the shoes.” Francesca walks over to her closet and takes out a pair of four-inch navy and white pumps. I’m not so sure about the white, but I don’t say anything.

  “I forgot to ask you what size you are? Seven? Eight?”

  “Seven and a half.”

  “Oh! So these should fit you. I am an eight. If they are a little loose, we will just put a few cotton balls in the toe of the shoe.”

  I step into the pumps. My legs are instantly transformed. My calves look shapely and longer. And the white in the pumps that I was hesitant about adds a certain sexy effect to the shoes.

  “Wow!”

  “Wow, indeed. You look just as good as I do in this outfit.”

  Of course Francesca wastes no time in turning the attention back on herself. Mentally, I roll my eyes.

  Francesca continues. “I remember the first time I wore this dress.”

  “The first time? Was it a special occasion?” I ask her.

  “I wore it in my twenties at one of my movie premieres. And the shoes . . . well, I definitely remember the first time I wore those shoes, but I was wearing a white Valentino tailored suit with them.”

  “You wore this dress in your twenties and it still fits you?”

  Francesca frowns.

  “I’m sorry. I just mean that we all . . . change as we get . . .” I let my voice trail off as I realize I keep sticking my foot in my mouth.

  “Well, I did have my tailor let it out a bit. But just a bit.”

  “Of course.” I avert my gaze from Francesca’s. I’m actually surprised that she still wears clothes from her youth since the styles change. Though the dress does have a retro feel, its classic sheath silhouette does not make it seem too dated. But what shocks me more is that I would have figured with all her money, she’d prefer buying new clothes every chance she got. But as soon as I have this thought, I notice Francesca’s eyes are far away—no doubt returning to the memory of when she last wore this dress and these shoes. Suddenly, it all makes sense to me. She still wears clothes from her youth because she is sentimental.

  “So, what was the event for the shoes?” I ask.