“You must be excited to meet your famous aunt at last.”
“Not as excited as a starstruck fan.” Lorenzo laughs. “But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit eager. I am curious to see what she really is like. Any warnings you can throw my way would be greatly appreciated.”
Lorenzo is easy to talk to, and he seems very down-to-earth. He’s dressed casually. His chocolate-brown khakis look like they’ve been pressed. Who irons their khakis? A cream-colored button-down shirt is tucked in his pants but not tightly. It appears as if he intentionally tucked it haphazardly to go for a slightly messy look, but it totally works. And the sleeves are rolled up to about three quarters, showing off more of his tan. A thick leather belt wraps around his trim waist. His leather sandals are the only part of his wardrobe I’m not crazy about.
“Miss Santore? I know you’re probably afraid to divulge anything about Francesca that might get back to her, but I’m pleading with you. I’m a desperate man. I need to know what awaits me behind those walls.”
Realizing with horror that I never answered his question and that I’ve been checking him out, I apologize.
“I’m sorry. I was in a daze. It’s been a long day.”
“I’m sure.” Lorenzo smiles, looking amused. His eyes wander from my hair down to my toes and back up to meet my gaze. My knees feel weak.
“Ahhh, a warning, right? Whatever you do, don’t refer to her as Signora Donata. Then again, that should be easy for you since I’m sure you’ll just be calling her Aunt Francesca or Zia Francesca.”
“Ahhh, yes, I have heard about her testiness when it comes to her marital status and title. But when the world knows her as ‘The Crazy Bride’ and for breaking off five engagements in addition to her film characters’ running out repeatedly on their grooms, can one blame her?”
He’s right. I’d never thought of it that way. For the first time, I feel some compassion toward Francesca.
“Well, it was nice to meet you, Lorenzo. I need to get going. Good luck!” I start to walk away.
“You still owe me a warning. The one you gave me doesn’t count since I would never call my aunt signora or signorina.”
Turning around, I shrug my shoulders and say, “Just make her feel like she’s in control at all times. Don’t question her, and I’m sure excessive flattery will get you far, too. Then again, I might be wrong. Francesca Donata is one of the most mercurial people I have ever met. But you have an advantage as her nephew whom she’s never seen face-to-face. Something tells me once she takes a look at you she’ll be nothing but sweet toward you.”
“Really?” Lorenzo smirks, and my words come echoing back to me. Oh God! What did I just say? I implied to him that he’s handsome and that when Francesca sees him, that alone will sway her.
“Again, it was nice to meet you, Lorenzo. I’m sorry, but I’m going to be late for my appointment.”
I hurry toward the opening that Edgardo showed me will lead to the neighbor’s driveway.
“Just one more question, Miss Santore, and then I promise I’ll let you go.”
I continue walking and call out, “What is it?”
“Are you done with your interviews?”
“No, I have at least two more, maybe even three.”
“Good. So I’ll be seeing you again. I look forward to it.”
Glancing over my shoulder, I see Lorenzo just standing there staring at my legs. When he notices I’ve caught him, he winks at me and waves before he heads for the entrance to the house. A movement from one of the second-story windows catches my eye. But as soon as I look up, whoever was standing there steps back, letting the curtain fall back into place. I’m almost certain that window corresponds to Francesca’s bedroom. Did she witness my whole encounter with Lorenzo?
Pushing Francesca out of my mind, I try to forget about Lorenzo, but it’s useless. I feel slightly unsettled. It’s nothing, I tell myself. He’s an attractive, charming man. What woman wouldn’t be fazed by him?
My phone beeps, alerting me to a text message. Pulling it out of my purse, I see the message is from Gregory:
ARE YOU STILL AT FRANCESCA’S? I’M AT THE BAKERY. BEEN HERE FOR ALMOST FIFTEEN MINUTES.
Shoot! I should’ve texted him before I left the Mussolini Mansion to tell him to meet me at 718 Lounge instead. It’s too late now. I’ll just have to deal with Zia’s reaction to my makeover.
I text Gregory back:
LEAVING NOW. WILL BE THERE IN FIVE MINUTES.
Remembering my heels, I change it to ten minutes instead. Then I make my way through the fence and walk down the neighbor’s driveway. Once I’m out front, I walk as fast as I can in my heels to Zia’s bakery. A few cars honk their horns as they pass by, and the men walking down the street stare at me.
The walk from Signora Tesca’s house to the bakery usually takes me five minutes, but in these monstrous heels, it feels like a half hour. Pushing open the door to the bakery, I take a quick glance behind the sales counter and am relieved to see that Zia isn’t in sight. Gregory is sitting at a table to the back. He’s with Connie and another woman with long, dark curly hair. My heart skips a beat. I can’t deny that I’m feeling a bit self-conscious since I’m so dressed up. Can’t do anything about it now. Taking a deep breath, I try to walk as gracefully as possible to Gregory’s table. Gregory glances in my direction, but returns his gaze to Connie, who seems to be talking a mile a minute and gesturing with her hands animatedly. I can’t believe it. He doesn’t recognize me. Stepping up to the table, I say in my most cheerful voice, “Hey, guys!”
Gregory looks up at me and for a second has a frown on his face as if to say, “Who are you?” But then his eyes open wide as recognition finally dawns on him.
“Pia!”
“Hey, Pia! Wow! You look stunning! Doesn’t she, Rita?”
The woman next to Connie nods and says, “Yes, you do.”
“Pia, this is my sister, Rita.”
“Nice to meet you.” I lean over and shake her hand. I can’t help feeling like a towering giraffe.
“We saved a seat for you.” Connie pulls out the empty chair between her and Gregory.
“Thanks!”
Gregory is just gaping at me. He still hasn’t complimented me.
“Do you have a wedding to go to?” Rita asks me.
“No. It’s a bit of a long story.” I can feel my cheeks begin to blush. I should’ve changed into my own clothes before coming here. But the thought of having Gregory see me like this was too enticing. Now he doesn’t even seem to care.
“Well, we’re not in a rush, and we love good stories!” Connie elbows Rita, and they both nod their heads. I guess Connie can’t take a hint.
“Yes, I’d love to hear the story of why you’re so dressed up,” Gregory says in a deadpan tone.
“You hate it.”
“No, you look very nice. I’m just surprised. It’s the middle of the morning, and we don’t have plans to go out to brunch to a fancy restaurant. It’s just so—so different from your style. Not bad, just different.” Gregory shrugs his shoulders.
Connie and Rita exchange nervous glances and look down as if they’re embarrassed for me.
“Francesca gave me this dress and insisted I wear it. And you know how it is, Gregory; you can’t say no to Queen Francesca.”
Gregory presses his lips tightly together. I can tell I’ve angered him.
“That is Francesca Donata’s dress?” Rita asks me. Her eyes are practically bulging out of her head.
“Oh my God, Pia! Can you imagine how much that dress is worth or will be worth some day? Don’t tell me it’s a dress she’s had for a while and one with some historic significance?” Connie holds her hand to her heart.
“Actually, yes, she told me she was wearing this dress when her second fiancé proposed to her.”
“Millions! That dress is worth millions!” Connie is gesturing with her hands again.
“Yeah, you’ve totally stepped in shit, girl!” Ri
ta is shaking her head, incredulous at my good luck.
“She also gave me another dress, which she wore to one of her movie premieres when she was just in her twenties.”
“She gave you two dresses?” Connie’s eyes are bulging out of her head.
I nod.
“Did she say which movie premiere she wore the dress to?” Connie is leaning closely now, staring at the dress as if she’s inspecting a rare gem beneath a magnifying glass.
“No. I forgot to ask her.”
“You have to find out and tell us,” Rita says. “Oh, wait!” She slaps her forehead. “I can do a search online on my phone right now for her movie premieres. Maybe a photo of her wearing that dress will show up.”
“That could take forever, Rita,” Gregory says in the most exasperated tone.
Rita ignores him as she pulls out her phone and begins her search.
“The shoes look vintage, too.” Connie is now bending over to stare at my shoes.
Rita forgets about her online search and also looks at my shoes. My earlier awkwardness is gone now in light of Connie and Rita’s awe over my outfit.
“Wow! I guess you’ve finally fallen into her good graces,” Gregory says with obvious sarcasm in his voice.
Our eyes meet, and mine betray the hurt I’m feeling. Of course, perceptive as ever, Gregory notices and nervously glances away.
“So, what is she like?” Connie asks me.
“Yeah, tell us everything! Is she really as much of a diva as she appears to be?”
I hesitate, not wanting to compromise Francesca’s privacy. But I also don’t want to disappoint the DeLuca sisters. They’re like a couple of schoolgirls who have just seen their celebrity crush.
“She does have the diva qualities, but I get the feeling what she shows the public is very different from who she is.”
“So it’s all just an act?” Rita asks.
“No. I guess what I’m saying is that there’s more to her than what we see. She also is very guarded about her personal life. It’s been tough interviewing her and getting more out of her.”
“You’re so lucky to have this opportunity to interview her. This will help your career tremendously!” Connie nods her head, looking to Rita for approval. Rita nods her head.
“Yes, I have Gregory to thank for getting me the interview with Francesca.” I glance toward him. He’s staring at me and manages a small smile.
“You didn’t tell me that, Greg! You’re holding out on me as usual!” Connie playfully swats his arm.
Rita gets up. “We need to go. Ma is going to send the search party for us soon.”
“Sorry, Pia. We’d love to hear more about Francesca, but we have all these bridal gown alterations we need to complete today. I’ll call you. Maybe the three of us can go for drinks later this week and you can tell us more about your interviews with Francesca? Oh my God! Aldo has to come! He’d never forgive us. He’s been camped out in front of the Mussolini Mansion ever since he heard the neighbors saw her twice.”
“Who’s Aldo?” I ask.
“He’s a good friend of ours and our older sister Valentina’s best friend. He was visiting her in Venice when Francesca was first spotted. He’s been cursing his bad luck at not being here to see one of his movie idols,” Rita offers.
“Please say it’s okay for Aldo to join us, too? You’ll love him, I swear.” Connie holds her hands in a prayer position over her heart and gives me an irresistible smile. I can see why Lou fell in love with her.
“That’s fine, but I don’t want to get your hopes up. As I said, I haven’t been able to get a lot out of her.” I know I’m telling a small white lie, but I don’t feel comfortable revealing anything about Francesca’s past to them yet. They’ll just have to wait to read about it in my article when it’s published.
“We’ll talk to you later in the week. Again, you really look gorgeous, doesn’t she, Gregory?” Connie throws a stern glance in his direction.
“Yes, yes, you look very pretty,” Gregory says sheepishly, as if he’s been scolded by his mother.
Connie kisses me good-bye as if we’ve been the best of friends forever, and Rita follows suit.
After they leave, Gregory asks, “Where are my manners? I forgot to ask you if you wanted anything to drink or eat?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine.”
Gregory nods his head. A few moments of silence follow. Finally, he says, “I’m sorry. You do look beautiful. It’s just I was surprised. You have your own style, which I love, and I guess I just didn’t want you falling prey to letting Francesca or anyone else try to make you over.”
“You’re right. I do have my style, but I’m also a woman who’s prone to wanting to look pretty for her boyfriend. I’ll go change. I do feel overdressed and a bit silly after clonking all the way over here in these heels.” I smile shyly.
Gregory places his hand over mine. “You don’t need to change. I just wanted to make sure that you weren’t conforming to pressure and becoming someone you’re not. I love you exactly the way you are.”
I lean over and kiss Gregory.
“Hmm . . . Hmm!”
“Oh, hi, Zia. I didn’t see you.”
“I know!” Zia is frowning. I immediately blush.
“Sei bella! Do you two have something special planned?” Zia then inspects Gregory’s usual ultra-casual clothes and frowns once again.
“No. I just came back from one of my interviews with Francesca, and she insisted I take one of her dresses. She seemed so pleased that I didn’t want to disappoint or insult her by refusing the gift.”
“Listen to me, Pia. You do not need that puttana’s charity! You hear me?” Zia’s voice borders on yelling. A few of the bakery’s patrons glance in our direction.
“That’s not how it was, Zia. She was just doing something nice for me.”
“You don’t need the likes of her doing something nice for you! She’s trying to turn you into her. Not everyone needs to be a Barbie doll. All that puttana cares about are her looks.” Zia scrambles away, muttering under her breath.
Great! Now Gregory must feel even more vindicated in his own disapproval of my outfit.
“Ignore her. It’s obvious she’s not a fan of Francesca’s.”
“Oh no! From day one, she couldn’t get what all the fuss was about with the neighbors camped out in front of the Mussolini Mansion.”
Gregory laughs, and I join him.
“Let’s get out of here.”
“Do you mind if I stop home really quick to change into something more comfortable?”
“Sure.”
I stand up, and Gregory’s eyes drop to my legs.
“On second thought, forget about changing. Your outfit is growing on me more and more.” He winks.
“Men!” I shake my head. “Then they accuse women of not knowing what they want.”
We walk out of the bakery hand in hand.
18
Francesca
There is no mistaking who the young man is talking to Pia in Giuliana’s backyard, although I have never met him in person, and the last photograph Giuliana sent me of him was from when he graduated college a dozen years ago. He was a bit of a party boy from what his mother told me and took an additional two years to complete his bachelor’s degree. But he more than made it up for it by becoming a doctoral student in comparative literature at Columbia University. This year, he finally received his doctorate.
I was expecting him today. Making my way downstairs, I see him enter the library. Before I step into the room, I take a moment to study him further. He helps himself to a cup of espresso and then stares at the vase of daisies perched on the coffee table. His eyes fill with sadness. No doubt he is thinking about his mother and her love of daisies.
“At last we meet in person, Lorenzo.” I stride over, smiling warmly.
“Zia Francesca! You never age—well, at least from the photos I’ve seen of you.” Lorenzo smiles as he walks over and gives me a hug. After a s
econd, I begin to back away, but he holds onto me for a moment longer. Then, he kisses both of my cheeks.
“It really is you, isn’t it? I guess my mother wasn’t lying all those years, telling me the great Francesca Donata was my aunt.”
“I am surprised she even owned up to it.”
“Isn’t it time you two bury the hatchet?” Lorenzo rolls his eyes.
“I would love nothing more, but your mother is stubborn. Although I am amazed she has not thrown me out yet, and it has been a few weeks now since I first arrived in Astoria.”
“Give it time. I’m sure she’ll throw you out soon.” Lorenzo belts out a boisterous laugh. I cannot help noticing how different his temperament is from my sister’s. He is more like his father, who was often joking and enjoying life.
“I saw you were talking to Pia Santore.”
“Yes, she’s a lovely young woman. I understand she’s interviewing you for Profile?”
“She is.”
Lorenzo nods his head thoughtfully.
“So, how is my mother doing? How does she look? I need to brace myself before I see her, especially since I haven’t seen her since Christmas.”
“She has lost some weight and looks pale, but I think it was more of a shock for me to see her since we had not seen each other in over thirty years.”
“What could have happened between you to avoid each other for so long? Italians are supposed to be close-knit and never abandon family.”
“I never abandoned her, Lorenzo.”
“I’m not saying that. You know what I mean. I hear of stuff like this happening to American families. You can’t even begin to imagine how lonely it was for me growing up with only Mama in my life. Nonno and Nonna were in Sicily, and I don’t even remember the one time I met them as a boy when we visited.”
“Mi dispiaccio, Lorenzo. I truly am sorry we could not have known each other when you were younger. I suppose it all seems very senseless now that Giuliana is not well.”
Lorenzo sighs. “I’m sorry, too. I should not be making you feel guilty. Life is complicated. Family is complicated.”
“Even Italian families?” I laugh.
Carissima Page 27
