The Five-Day Dig

by Jennifer Malin

  Again, she felt that twinge of possessiveness. His dating Enza would be good, she pointed out to herself –one more reason not to mistake his flirting for meaning anything. She backed the car out of the spot and maneuvered through the parking lot. “I’m afraid so.”

  “You can’t actually be second-guessing your decision. This is the dig of a lifetime.”

  “I’m anxious about the television aspect. I would have rather helped off-screen, but Dunk nixed that idea. Hopefully, we’ll have very little on-screen time – or I will, anyway. You can be on camera as much as you want.” She pulled out onto the highway. “The other question is what Dr. Farber will think about the project.”

  “He’ll love the publicity.”

  “I hope so.” Charged with nervous energy, she slid into the fast lane like a native Italian. “But he’s not known for loving my ideas. Maybe the problem is in the way I present them.”

  “Would you like me to tell him? I guarantee I’ll sell him on it.”

  She shook her head, half-sorry to decline because she believed he could easily do it, and half-annoyed to feel less sure of her own ability. “I’ll tell him.”

  “Well, if he doesn’t like the idea, he can cry you a river. We’re on summer break, and he has no jurisdiction over us. ... I’m so excited I could kiss you!”

  The image gave her a start, and she reproached herself for taking him too literally. She managed a laugh. “Not while I’m driving, please.”

  “I could always come by your room later.” He made the comment lightly, but she felt his words go straight to the core of her body.

  Her reaction startled her. Again, she was just feeling the intensity of the moment, she told herself. Concentrating on the road, she said, “Except you have a date with Domenico’s daughter – someone closer to your age.”

  “I like my chances with you better.” His tone was teasing. “You’re attracted to my intellect.”

  Staring straight ahead, she forced a smirk. “Well, if I’m destined to give in to you someday, it won’t be tonight. My nerves are fried. Where can I eat dinner without running into Dr. Farber? I’m not ready to face him yet.”

  A pause followed, during which she worried whether or not he could sense that she’d developed a crush on him. If he tossed out one more flirtatious comment, she only hoped she could come up with another retort.

  “There’s a pizza shop right down the street from the hotel.”

  Thank heaven he’d moved on. “Oh, right. Do you know if they sell alcohol?”

  “Only Peroni beer.”

  “That’ll work.” She took a deep breath and continued watching the road.

  “Champagne would be more appropriate. How about we toast this news at breakfast tomorrow? Shall we meet then to go over logistics?”

  “Sounds good. Meanwhile, Dunk is going to e-mail me details, so I’ll forward them to you as soon as I get them.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  A half-hour later, she walked into a small shop dominated by a glass display case featuring a selection of rectangular pizzas. A teenage couple in front of her paid the young woman behind the counter and left, each carrying a soda and folded-over pizza on a paper plate.

  The server looked at Winnie. “Come posso aiutarLa?”

  She pointed to a veggie variety. “Questa, per favore. E un Peroni.”

  “A beer?” the server asked.

  Obviously, her accent needed work. “Yes, please.”

  A few minutes later, she stepped outside, carrying a small pizza box and a brown bag holding a beer. She started down the sidewalk toward her hotel. As she passed a grocery shop, Dunk Mortill emerged from it with a full shopping bag.

  After such an emotion-packed day, she wanted to be alone, but she could hardly ignore him. She fell into step with him. “Buona sera, Dunk. I didn’t realize you were staying here in the Borgo, too.”

  “Yes, I have a suite a block away.” He glanced at her fast-food dinner. “Opting for a takeaway meal tonight?”

  “I have a lot to do – arrangements to make, now that I’m staying in Italy longer for ‘The Dig.’ ”

  “Is there any chance you can stop by my suite for a moment and chat about our project?” He gave her a full-on grin, complete with dimples. “I have a wine that goes perfectly with pizza.”

  That celebrity mystique of his again gave her a false sense of talking with a longtime friend, but she didn’t want to be drawn deeper into his web and possibly his show. She smiled back. “It’s tempting, but I already have a beer.”

  “I also have a photo to show you – a close-up of the tablet Domenico Rentino found with the grocery list.”

  That piqued her curiosity, but she tried not to show it. Still smiling, she nodded toward the bag he was carrying. “Did you buy everything on the list?”

  “No, this is dinner, but if the inscription is an ancient recipe, I’ll get the ingredients before we do the program. Are you sure you can’t stop for a minute? My suite is just around the corner.”

  She hesitated. He’d hired her to be his inscriptions expert, and translating a little tablet would only take a minute. Besides, she wanted to know what the text said. “OK. And I can spare some of this pizza if you’re interested.”

  “Brilliant.”

  He took her to a rehabbed medieval building fronted with warm Tuscan-orange stucco and desiccated wooden shutters. Unlocking his private door with a big iron key more suited to a chatelaine than a modern keychain, he led her into a studio apartment.

  The living area, appointed with somewhat shabby antiques, included an armchair, a Récamier lounge and a small case of books. A bistro table stood in one corner. Next to that, additional shelves held a microwave, a small fridge and pantry goods.

  He headed for the dining area. “Make yourself at home while I stash away a few things.”

  She put her dinner on the table and looked around. “This place is wonderful – more like an apartment than a hotel.”

  He pulled a bottle of Chianti from a rack and set it on the table, then grabbed a corkscrew from a shelf. “A noblewoman once lived here, or so the proprietor tells me.”

  She wandered over to the bookcase and skimmed the titles on the top shelf: Rick Steves’ Rome, Lonely Planet Italy, Crime and Punishment, and Controlled Demolition.

  “Controlled Demolition?” she read aloud. “You really do dabble in everything.”

  The wine made a glugging sound as he poured two glasses. “Oh, I thought that could teach me something about building structure, which might be useful in archaeology.”

  “Interesting concept.” She wondered if he was as well read as he let on, or if appearing eclectic was part of his TV persona.

  While he laid out plates and napkins, she returned to the table and sat down, lifting the lid of the pizza box and taking out a slice for herself. “Do you get to stay here throughout the making of your show?”

  “Actually, we’re all invited to stay at Villa Rentino during the dig. We can move in next weekend.”

  “Wow. That’ll beat my hotel room.” It would also put her in the same house with Domenico, not that she expected anything to come of it. After digging all day, she wouldn’t exactly present an attractive picture in the evenings.

  Dunk grabbed a photo from a shelf and set it in front of her, then took the seat across from her. “Here’s the so-called grocery list.”

  While he helped himself to pizza, she examined the image. It was indeed a list of foodstuffs. “Water, barley, yeast,” she read, “triticum purpurea – purple wheat? Whatever that is.” She considered the ingredients for a moment. “Maybe this is a recipe for beer.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “If it’s beer, we’ll make an exception to the five-day rule and brew some ahead of taping.”

  “What for?” She took a bite of the pie: hot, thin-crusted and slightly spicy. Chaz had given her a good pizzeria recommendation.

  “For each episode, we do an experimental-archaeology segment and recreate som
ething from the time period we’re studying.” He looked at her over the rim of his wine glass with crinkles around his eyes. “This time, we’re going to reenact a Roman mystery initiation.”

  Warning bells clanged in her head. Performing initiation rites smacked of sensationalism, not science. And he’d said she would be expected to participate in all parts of the show. She dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “No one knows what those rites entailed.”

  “That’s where the experimentation comes in.”

  “You mean the guesswork.”

  “Educated guesswork.” He moved the photo back to the shelf. “Our time may be limited, but we’ll do what research we can. Tomorrow I’ll start asking around and see if the locals have any idea what that ‘purple wheat’ on the list could be.”

  She scanned her memory for any familiarity with the term. Nothing came to mind. “I’ve read a lot of classic works, and I’ve never seen it mentioned.”

  “But not all classic works have survived to our time, so it’s fortunate they aren’t our only source of information.” He flashed his dimples at her again. “You might be surprised what juicy tidbits you can glean from folks who live in the area of an archaeological site.”

  “Folklore can be helpful, but it’s notoriously inaccurate. It’s like playing Whisper Down the Lane.”

  “You mean Chinese Whispers?” He laughed. “We’re not talking about children on a playground here. Adults take their oral history seriously.”

  “I take it with a grain of salt.”

  “Then I suppose I have more faith in human memory than you do.”

  “No doubt.” She picked up her wine. “I wish you luck.”

  He lifted his glass to her. “Cheers.”

  Begrudgingly, she clinked glasses with him.

  After taking a sip, he said, “Actually, I might start probing tonight at the wine bar on the corner. Would you like to join me?”

  No chance, she thought privately, but she didn’t want to appear rude. “Maybe another time. I really have to get back. Besides the flight changes, I have to call my sister and let her know I’m staying longer. She’s ... er, looking after things at home.”

  Worse yet, she still had to break the news to her boss, but she didn’t mention that.

  “Fair enough. I’ll walk you back to your hotel when we’re finished here.”

  While they ate, she asked him about the everyday routine during filming – how long the workdays would be, where they would eat their meals, how often the cameras would be on them. To her surprise, he told her that due to the series’ official cancellation, they would have to make do with a reduced budget and a limited crew.

  “But don’t worry,” he added. “When we first started out, we worked that way all the time. We’ll recruit local students and enthusiasts to help with the grunt work. Domenico has offered to supply some paid laborers, too.”

  He turned the conversation to her current book, and she got caught up in expanding on her ideas. The next time she looked at the clock, it read eight-thirty. “Uh oh!” She jumped up. “I have to run.”

  During the short walk to her hotel, while he talked about his hopes for the special episode, her mind wandered. Silently, she rehearsed how she would present the news to Farber about “The Five-Day Dig.” Should she act excited and hope that her mood would be contagious? Or should she adopt a deferential attitude and apologize for not consulting him before accepting? The thought of toadying to him disgusted her, because she was still annoyed about his lack of support for her that afternoon.

  As they stepped up to the hotel, she only wished she had told him as soon as she’d agreed to do it. She should have known that the longer she waited, the harder it would be to broach the subject.

  SEI

  AFTER DUNK SAID goodnight to her, Winnie entered her hotel lobby alone. She had just about resolved to take the chicken’s way out and e-mail Farber with her news when she spotted him talking to a clerk at the front desk.

  Wishing she’d peeked in a window before coming inside, she avoided looking his way and tried to slip by unnoticed behind him.

  “Winifred!” he called, just as she thought she’d made it. “Wait up.”

  She slowed her pace so he could catch up but continued to the elevator and pushed the “Up” button. “Buona sera, Will.” Faced with him for the first time since her presentation, all thoughts of acting deferential vanished, and she decided to put him on the spot. “Did you enjoy my lecture today?”

  “Oh, I got held up with a potential donor and had to skip it. But that’s not important.” He dismissed the topic with a wave of his hand. “What’s this I hear about you appearing on a reality TV show?”

  “Reality TV?” She bristled. The news had spread fast, but she supposed “The Five-Day Dig” had fans as well as cast members at the conference. Naturally, Farber was already making judgments about her decision. In spite of her own doubts, she had to defend the show. “It’s more of an archaeology exposé for laypeople.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I’ve seen the show once or twice. I know what it is.”

  “Who told you about the offer?”

  “I just saw Charles going in to the wine bar down the street. He mentioned the plan to film on Rentino’s estate and that you both agreed to appear on the episode.”

  So the kid couldn’t keep his mouth shut. And, apparently, he hadn’t sold the project to Farber as well as he’d predicted. That didn’t make things any easier for her.

  She gathered her thoughts. “You have said again and again what an excellent archaeological prospect Domenico Rentino’s estate presents. I figured that we couldn’t refuse. Growden won’t even have to finance the excavation – though it would be nice if you could come up with the cost of the flight change for Chaz, considering how little we pay him.”

  “Certainly. I just wonder whether this type of program will show the university in its best light.”

  The elevator opened. They stepped inside, and she hit the buttons for her floor and his. “Actually, I doubt we’ll even get much airtime. From what I understand, the show regulars do most of the talking. If you’re concerned, I’ll ask the producers if we can avoid mentioning we’re from Growden.”

  “No, no, no.” He hesitated. “But perhaps Growden would benefit more by sending someone who is accustomed to speaking for the university.”

  The nape of her neck grew hot with suppressed rage. First, he hinted that he didn’t approve of her appearance on the show; now he was suggesting that someone else should take her place? Him, probably. Obviously, he had a problem with her rather than “The Five-Day Dig.” She fought to keep her composure. “Both Mortill and Rentino read my book and felt I was the person for the job. Their objective is to get inscriptions translated, not promote our school.”

  “Did they ask for Charles, too?”

  She stared at him, unsure where he was leading, but his expression looked blank. “I suggested Chaz to them,” she said, “because his dissertation is on sacrifice in Roman religion, and there’s a fresco onsite that depicts ancient rites. He’ll bring a lot of insight to the project, and the experience is a windfall for him.”

  The old elevator seemed to take forever to reach the fifth floor. She looked up at the numbers over the door. The “3” went dark, and the “4” lit up.

  “Five days isn’t enough time to excavate a site near Pompeii,” he said. “The number of finds could be vast.”

  “I agree, but we can’t do anything about that. What Chaz and I can do, if we’re onboard, is make sure everything is properly documented.”

  “Could they use someone with more experience? I’ve authored books on Roman pottery, silver and glass.”

  Her gaze shot to meet his. Did he really think she would give up her place to him? As many doubts as she had about the show, she wasn’t about to let him steal an opportunity like this from her. She lifted her chin. “I believe the regular cast includes a Roman expert.”

  Finally, the e
levator stopped on her floor. She stepped out into the hall, while he remained inside. As the doors started to close in front of him, he called, “Tell them I’m available if needed!”

  The doors closed, and she stood there in disbelief. He wanted her to get him on the show in addition to her and Chaz? Shaking her head to herself, she walked away. Having him on the team to find fault with her continually would almost be worse than him taking her place.

  At least now he knew, she thought as she entered her room.

  Once settled in, she got started on her remaining list of things to do. Rearranging her plans with the hotel and airline went surprisingly smoothly. If Farber wouldn’t approve any funds for her costs, she didn’t mind dipping into her own savings. Living alone was expensive, but the book had brought her some extra money.

  Next she had to let her sister know about her change in plans. She picked up her phone and sat on the bed, staring at it. Christina always meant well – or seemed to mean well – but she had a way of pushing Winnie’s buttons like no other person on the planet. Even when Christina tried to be supportive, she usually ended up saying something hurtful.

  She pulled up the number on her phone and punched it. As she waited for it to ring, she glanced up at a Romanesque Madonna and Child print hanging above the bed. The stylized, emotionless figures of medieval painting rated among her least favorite types of art. Oddly, she did like Egyptian artwork, which was just as stylized. She guessed her father’s interest in Egypt had influenced her.

  “Hello?” her sister’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

  “Hi, Christina. It’s me.”

  “Hey, I’m glad you called.” She sounded more tense than glad, though. “How did your lecture go?”

  Winnie leaned back with one elbow on the pillow. “Pretty well. Will Farber didn’t even attend, but a few of my peers complimented me on it.”

  “I knew you would ace it. Maybe it will open up some doors for you.”