Carissima

by Rosanna Chiofalo

  “I love you so much, Gregory.”

  “Not as much as I love you, Pia.”

  We run back to Zia’s so I can drop off my dress and messenger bag. We want to hurry to meet Lou and the gang at 718, but once we’re alone in my bedroom, the temptation to make love is too great. It must be the adrenaline we’re both feeling over Gregory’s success in being discovered. Neither of us says a word as we frantically strip each other and fall onto my bed, not bothering to pull back the comforter or remove the throw pillows. I don’t even care if Zia happens to come home early from the bakery and discovers us. All I care about in this moment is showing Gregory my love.

  20

  Francesca

  The breeze off the Hudson River’s currents blows my hair. I wrap my Hermès silk scarf around my bare shoulders as I take in the twinkling lights from the Manhattan skyline.

  “Here’s your martini with an extra olive just for you.” Rocco hands my cocktail to me.

  “This is wonderful, Rocco. You truly are a wealth of surprises.”

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying them.” Rocco grins mischievously.

  “Si, I admit it. I am like a schoolgirl who cannot get enough gifts. That has always been my greatest weakness.” I take a sip of my martini. Rocco is even skilled at making the perfect drinks.

  We are on a yacht that belongs to another good friend of his. Of course, it would have been better if Rocco had his own yacht, but he does have many friends with access to the finer luxuries. This is our second date. Although he had promised when he whisked me to his friend’s restaurant that I would never forget that night, this outing is proving to be more memorable. But our last date was also special. I was impressed that he went to the trouble of asking his friend to keep the restaurant open so late just for the two of us. Though we were the only patrons in the restaurant, Rocco had insisted we dance, and he was the utmost gentleman—and a romantic!

  Again, I climbed down the rope ladder from my bedroom window. Although it was quite difficult for me to climb back up the ladder after our previous date, the lure of escaping and having fun in Manhattan for another night was too enticing. No one had suspected that I was missing the last time.

  Rocco had tried to kiss me while we danced at the restaurant, but I never kiss on a first date. That might seem silly given that I am a middle-aged woman who has been . . . How do the Americans say? Around the block a few times? But I am and always will be a lady above all else.

  The yacht’s captain took us for a short ride around a few of the popular New York City landmarks. Now the yacht is anchored a couple of hundred feet from the shore along with a few dinner cruises. Cheers from the crowds on the other boats reach our ears.

  “To be young,” I say, followed by a long sigh.

  “Do you wish you were young again?” Rocco comes by my side and drapes his arm around my shoulders. I lean into him.

  “Not really. I am sure the world thinks that an aging star like me wishes she were young again, but I made too many mistakes to want to go back to that stage of my life.”

  “Yup. That’s part of being young. Making mistakes and hopefully learning from them. But it is great being that age and discovering so much for the first time. I sometimes wish I were young again. Let’s be honest, growing old is tough,” Rocco says sadly.

  “You seem to be aging gracefully.”

  “You think so?” Rocco meets my gaze and smiles, pleased at my compliment.

  I stroke his face with my index finger, letting it trace the strong lines of his jaw. Rocco grabs my wrist and guides my finger over to his lips as he lightly begins sucking my finger. My heart races at the intimate gesture. Though I am shocked, I do not stop him. I stand mesmerized, watching his eyes grow heavy. He then stops and takes my face in both of his hands and begins kissing me tenderly. I cannot take the teasing any longer. I throw my arms around his shoulders and kiss him aggressively.

  We are interrupted by the yacht’s captain.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but I just wanted to give you a heads-up that I’ll be returning to the port now.”

  “Thank you. That’s fine.” Rocco looks slightly annoyed by the interruption.

  I, on the other hand, welcome the distraction. Taking out my compact, I reapply my lipstick. Shame fills me. I have never thrown myself at a man. My stomach still feels unsettled from the lingering kiss as I try to calm my racing pulse.

  “I can’t believe the night is just about over. Time flies too quickly when I’m with you. All I want is for it to go by as slowly as possible.” Rocco grins sheepishly.

  “That is good, no? If time were crawling that would mean you were bored.” I flash him a seductive smile as I put my lipstick and compact back in my purse.

  “I don’t think you possess a boring bone in your body.” Rocco stares appreciatively at my figure. Goosebumps dot my bare legs and arms, but they are not just from the cool breeze off the river. Every nerve in my body is heightened, aching for Rocco to kiss me again.

  We reach the port, and after Rocco hands a generous tip to the captain we walk toward his car. Once inside, Rocco leans over and kisses me hungrily. I do not resist. His hands waste no time in cupping my breasts, which elicits a groan from him. A tiny voice in my head whispers, “You are not behaving like a lady, Francesca.” But I do not care. It has been so long since I have been with a man. Why should I deprive myself, especially since I have taken painstaking measures to keep my body looking as fit as it does. It is about time someone enjoys it.

  I straddle Rocco, which is a bit uncomfortable with the steering wheel in our way. Immediately, I feel his hardness. I let out a cry when he abruptly pushes me off, sending me bouncing onto the passenger seat.

  “I’m sorry, Francesca. I got carried away.” He wipes his brow with the handkerchief he has pulled out of his trousers pocket.

  “There is no need to apologize.” I lean over and begin nibbling his ear, but he places his hand on my lap and lightly nudges me away from him.

  “What is the matter?” I ask.

  “Trust me, Francesca. I’ve wanted you ever since I first saw you in La Sposa Pazza. I keep pinching myself to know that I’m not dreaming and you’re really here with me. But I respect you. I can’t make love to you for the first time in my car like a teenager who’s hoping that his parents won’t catch him.”

  Now I feel embarrassed. What must he think of me?

  “You might not believe me, Rocco. But you are the first man I have thrown myself at. I do not usually act with such . . . such . . .”

  “Abandon?” Rocco laughs.

  “Yes, grazie. That is the word I was searching for.”

  “I wish you could go away with me, Francesca, but I know how ill your sister is.”

  “Giuliana needs me. God forbid if something happened overnight, and I were not there.” With this thought, I glance at my watch and am horrified to see it is almost five a.m. By the time we drive over the bridge and get back to Astoria, it will be dawn and more likely that someone will be able to spot me climbing up to my bedroom window.

  “I am sorry to rush you, Rocco, but I did not realize how late it is. I have to get back.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll be back in time.”

  Rocco starts the ignition and speeds away. We remain silent for the rest of the car ride back to Astoria. I know we both cannot stop thinking about the passion between us.

  About an hour later, I am making my way up the rope ladder. It took us longer than usual to drive back. Even at five in the morning, there was traffic on Manhattan’s streets. Rocco kept cursing, saying he had never seen so many cars that early in the city.

  The climb up the ladder is more difficult this time, probably because I am so tired. My legs feel wobbly. Nervous, I decide to slow my pace. As the sun reaches higher in the sky, more birds cry out, announcing the new day. With each cry, I become more anxious, as if they are pointing me out.

  “Come on, Francesca. You can do it. Just five more steps
.” Rocco encourages me from below as I stop to take a break.

  “I am getting too old for this.” I wipe my forehead with the back of my arm. Taking a deep breath, I continue the climb up when suddenly, I see a flash followed by, “It’s her!”

  Glancing down, I see a photographer snapping another photo.

  “Get the hell outta here!” Rocco yells at them. He forgets about me as he walks over toward the photographer. The moment he lets go of the rope ladder, I feel it sway lightly. I freeze, gripping onto the next rung so tightly my knuckles turn white. Suddenly, my fear of heights kicks in full force. I am paralyzed. Though I have only three steps left, I cannot move. Knowing Rocco was holding the rope ladder for me gave me the psychological sense of security I needed to overcome my phobia of heights. Rocco had assured me that he really did not need to hold onto the ladder. The metal hooks that are fastened in my bedroom window’s ledge are very secure. He had also reminded me that rock climbers use these types of ladders on mountains that regularly erode and crumble and at much greater heights. But I had still insisted on his holding the ladder.

  The flashes increase. Looking down once more, I see Giuliana’s yard is now full of paparazzi and neighbors, some of whom are in their pajamas.

  One young man waves to me in an exaggerated manner and calls out, “Francesca! Francesca! My name is Aldo, and I am your number one fan! You are a goddess, tee ah-moh! Tee ah-mohhhh! Tee ah-mohhh!”

  He sounds like the Native Americans from the old spaghetti Westerns. Suddenly, a wave of vertigo hits me, and I panic, screaming, “Somebody help me! I am terrified of heights!”

  The crowd rushes forward. I no longer see Rocco trying to fight them off. What have I done? Dio mio, aiuto! My God! Help me! I want to make the sign of the cross, but dare not let go of the ladder.

  “Francesca!”

  Edgardo is leaning out my bedroom window, trying to reach me with his arms, but they fall short.

  “I cannot move, Edgardo. My fear is paralyzing me.”

  “If you don’t move, that crowd is going to knock you off this ladder, and then there will be no fear left since you’ll be sprawled on the ground dead.” Edgardo is fuming mad, no doubt at discovering my escape.

  Taking another peek below, I see the young man who was screaming “ti amo” earlier is beginning to climb the ladder. He probably wants to help me, but then again, he might be some lunatic.

  “Don’t worry, Francesca. Aldo is coming to help you.” He smiles up at me.

  The ladder pitches violently to the left with the added weight of this buffoon.

  “Francesca, quick! Climb! There are only three steps. No, wait; make that one step you have to climb on your own. I can reach you after that,” Edgardo says, waving his hand hurriedly.

  Shutting my eyes tightly for a few seconds, I summon every ounce of internal strength and then propel my legs forward. Somehow they obey and move. As Edgardo promised, he grabs me on either side of my waist and hoists me through the window. The young man with his cell phone in hand has reached the top rung of the ladder just in time for Edgardo to shut the window in his face. But Aldo still snaps my photo even though the image will probably come out grainy with the glass obstructing his view. Edgardo locks the window and checks the locks on the other windows.

  I sit down on my bed, massaging my calves. Every muscle is taut with tension.

  “What the hell were you thinking? You could’ve been killed!” Edgardo is in my face, screaming at the top of his lungs.

  “Shhh! You will wake up Giuliana!”

  “Oh, trust me, she is awake already. Listen to that crowd out there.”

  I can hear the crowd outside, yelling my name repeatedly, begging me to come back out.

  “Who helped you get out, Francesca?”

  “No one!”

  “I’m not an idiot! Where did you get that rope ladder?”

  “Online.”

  “You rarely go on the Internet. And you have personal shoppers!”

  “I am a prisoner here! I have only been out when we went to the jewelry stores and when we had lunch at Trattoria L’incontro. I am going pazza! Pazza!” I point to my head, not caring if I wake up the entire household now.

  “You should have thought of that before you came then,” Edgardo says in a low voice.

  “Yes, Francesca. We all know how hard it is for you to sacrifice and think of someone else besides yourself.” Giuliana stands in the threshold of my bedroom. Her stony gaze meets mine. Even in her fragile state, her eyes still possess great strength. But instead of feeling ashamed over my actions and words, I become infuriated.

  “How dare you! You more than anyone know how much I have sacrificed and what I have sacrificed!”

  Giuliana hobbles over to me with her cane. She is a good two inches shorter, yet it feels as if she towers over me.

  “That was not a sacrifice. After all, you admitted to me your first love was acting.”

  Giuliana turns to leave. I begin to rush after her, but Edgardo stops me with his hand, whispering, “No more.” But it is Giuliana’s coughing that convinces me to drop my battle.

  Tears silently fall down my face. Only Giuliana has the power to completely devastate me.

  21

  Pia

  I’m sitting at a table in the back of Zia’s bakery, waiting for Lorenzo to show up. He seems to have inherited his aunt’s notorious tendency to be late. Glancing at my watch, I see he’s already a good fifteen minutes late. He texted me five minutes ago to say he was on his way. I’m reading the rag mags that the previous customer left behind. Francesca is all over the front pages—or rather I should say her derrière is.

  The headlines run the gamut from “Caught!” to “Crazy Forever!” and even “Jewel Thief!” The last headline is next to a photo of Rocco Vecchio holding the rope ladder Francesca was using to climb up to her bedroom.

  Shaking my head, I whisper to myself, “What the hell were you thinking, Francesca?”

  Now I really need to find out if she is involved with Rocco, but from the looks of it, she has to be. Putting the rag mags aside, I take out my cell and call Gregory, hoping to kill some time until Lorenzo shows up.

  “Hey, sweet pea. What’s up?”

  “Sweet pea” is Gregory’s endearment for me. “Hey! Painting?”

  “What else? I love to paint, but I think the fumes from all the painting I’ve been doing are getting to me. I feel as if I’m literally eating, breathing, sleeping paint!” Gregory heaves a long sigh.

  “Here you go, Gregory.”

  I hear a woman’s voice cooing to my man.

  “Who is that?” I snap, not caring that my voice is dripping with jealousy.

  “Madeline Drabinski.”

  “What is she doing there?”

  “She knows Nathan Horowitz and came over with him. She wants to interview me for Profile and write about the upcoming show.”

  “How long have you known about this?”

  “I just found out about it today when she and Nate came over. What’s the matter with you, Pia?”

  Realizing how crazy I sound, I decide to tone it down.

  “Sorry. I’m not crazy about Madeline.”

  “Why? Has she been nasty to you in the office?”

  “Not necessarily, but I think she was very upset that Colin let me interview Francesca alone. She had wanted to conduct the interview and just bring me along for the ride since I had an in with my aunt’s knowing Signora Tesca. I know this is going to sound ridiculous, but I can’t help feeling she scored this interview with you to sort of rub it in my face.”

  “That is ridiculous, Pia. She doesn’t even know we’re dating, does she?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “See! How would she know we’re dating if you haven’t told her, and I definitely haven’t gotten around to it since I only just met her an hour ago?”

  He’s probably right. I decide to drop it.

  “So I was thinking of bringing dinner to you
tonight. Give you a break since you’ve been a hermit for the past week.”

  “Thanks, Pia, but I’ve got cold cuts. I’ll just make myself a quick sandwich. I really can’t take more time than it takes to eat quickly and get back to work with the show just three weeks away.”

  “Oh, okay. I guess I’m not going to see you much until close to that show.”

  “Sorry, sweet pea. Please understand. It’s just that when I’m in the zone, I can’t afford any distractions. Luckily, the creative streak has been hitting full force and I haven’t gotten stuck.”

  “You’d better get back to your painting, Gregory!”

  Ughhhh! Madeline’s voice again.

  “We’ll catch up with you next week. See how the work is coming along.”

  A man’s voice, no doubt Nathan Horowitz.

  “Hold on, Pia. Let me say good-bye to them.”

  “That’s okay, Gregory. I should let you go anyway.”

  “All right. I’ll call you tonight.”

  “Just as you did last night,” I gently remind him.

  “Shoot! I forgot. I’m sorry. Okay, I really gotta go. Later!”

  Gregory hangs up. My spirits feel low. I’m just being selfish. If the tables were turned, and I got a huge writing assignment, I know I would be blowing Gregory off, too, and doing nothing but writing.

  “Hey! Why the long face?”

  Lorenzo is standing over my table, holding a cup of espresso in one hand and a cannoli in the other. I can’t believe I didn’t even notice him come into the bakery.

  “It’s nothing. How are you?”

  “Fine. Sorry again I’m late.”

  “That’s okay. I had a phone call to make that kept me occupied.”

  “Along with these?” Lorenzo holds up the rag mags with his aunt’s photo plastered all over the covers. He smirks as he flips through the pages.

  “Those aren’t mine. I found them here.”

  “Uh-huh! And my name is George Clooney.”