Authors: Anita Hughes
Rome in Love (11 page)
Amelia turned around and smiled. “I don’t need one. It couldn’t possibly rain, the night is too perfect.”
Amelia watched couples spread out wool blankets and unpack baskets of fresh fruit and sliced cheeses. She pictured Sophie’s picnic of sausage and green olives and crusty baguettes and realized she was starving.
She glanced at her watch and hoped Sophie would arrive quickly. Soon the lights would dim and it would be impossible for Sophie to find her. She turned around and saw a man standing beneath an arch. He wore navy slacks and a white button-up shirt and carried a wicker picnic basket.
“What are you doing here?” she asked as he walked toward her.
“I was supposed to write an article about a winery in Tuscany but it got canceled because of the rain.” Philip spread out a checkered blanket. “I had a sudden urge to hear classical music, so I bought a ticket.”
“I’m meeting a friend.” Amelia explained. “She got stuck in traffic; there was an accident in Casperia and the road is closed in both directions.”
“She won’t get here until midnight.” Philip frowned. “The Italian police don’t work during dinnertime, they’re home eating gnocchi and lime spumoni.”
“I should go.” Amelia gathered her purse.
“Don’t be silly,” Philip insisted. He unpacked containers of thick sandwiches and sliced pickles and cut peaches. He took out a bottle of Chianti and two plastic glasses. “I made BLTs with heirloom tomatoes and extra bacon. There are fresh raspberries and a chocolate torte, I can’t eat it all myself.”
Amelia smelled bacon and avocado and her shoulders tightened. She didn’t want to go back to her hotel suite and stare at the twinkling lights of the city. She didn’t want to spend another night nibbling room service pesto ravioli and wondering if she made the right decision. She suddenly pictured Whit sipping a glass of Chianti at Il Gabriello and felt like she couldn’t breathe.
“I suppose I should stay.” Amelia hesitated. “Sophie could arrive any minute.”
“While you wait you can pour two glasses of wine.” Philip handed her the bottle. “And try the peaches, they’re from Signora Griselda’s garden.”
They listened to Puccini and Vivaldi and ate pancetta and figs wrapped in prosciutto. The BLTs were delicious, with crisp lettuce leaves and sweet tomatoes and olive oil and sea salt. During intermission they talked about Rome’s torrential rain and crowded streets and expensive restaurants.
“Living in Rome is like falling in love with the wrong woman.” Philip sipped his wine. “You think it’s all priceless art and delicious pastas and then you discover the streets are dirty and the fountains overflow and it costs ten euros for a packet of potato chips.”
“Why don’t you go back to America?” Amelia asked.
“Because when you let yourself be seduced by Michelangelo’s paintings and Puccini’s operas and Bellini’s architecture there’s no place like it,” Philip mused. “That’s the thing about love, it rarely makes you happy.”
Amelia ate a sliver of chocolate torte and dabbed her mouth with a napkin. She glanced up and saw Philip staring at her.
“What are you looking at?” she asked.
“Those earrings,” Philip said. “They’re spectacular.”
“My boyfriend gave them to me before I left for Rome,” Amelia replied slowly. “We broke up, he didn’t like being apart or my choice in careers.”
“My girlfriend got an MBA and joined a merchant bank.” Philip ate a bite of chocolate torte. “Suddenly she could only buy her coffee at Zabar’s and her underwear at Saks. She spent so much time on the Upper West Side she decided to get an apartment.”
“I’m sorry,” Amelia murmured.
“I still had the neighborhood cats for company.” Philip shrugged. “I left a bowl of cat food on my fire escape and they visited every night.”
Amelia wanted to tell him when she was on the set she felt like Dorothy in the Emerald City. She loved slipping on Princess Ann’s pink satin ball gown and white silk gloves. She loved skipping through the streets of Rome with the cameras trailing behind her. But she realized Philip still thought she was a maid at the Hassler.
She glanced up at the sky and felt a large raindrop fall on her forehead. She saw people open umbrellas and slip on brightly colored raincoats. She watched Philip close their picnic basket and hastily gather their blanket.
They ran across the soaking grass and stood under a stone arch. Amelia watched the musicians scurry off the stage, carrying their instruments. She watched the rain come down in sheets, crushing the beds of daisies. She hugged her arms around her chest, feeling cold and wet and miserable.
“I should have known if I was with you I’d get wet.” Philip shook the rain out of his hair. “You’re like a lightning rod for water.”
“It can’t rain.” Amelia sighed, gazing at the muddy field. “It was such a beautiful evening.”
Suddenly the feeling of elation from the beautiful music and delicious sandwich and fruity wine was replaced by an aching loneliness.
“I was wrong when I said you were prettier when your hair wasn’t wet and your lips weren’t blue.” Philip pulled her toward him. He kissed her softly on the mouth, cupping her chin with his hand. “You’re beautiful when you’re soaked, like a painting by Botticelli.”
Amelia pulled away and felt her legs trembling. She pictured Whit’s dark curly hair and blue eyes and her heart pounded in her chest.
“I should go, I’m going to catch a taxi.”
“Don’t be silly, we’ll wait until it stops raining and catch a taxi together.”
“It’s almost stopped.” Amelia turned to Philip and extended her hand. “It’s been a pleasure, thank you for inviting me.”
“Ann, wait!” Philip called after her. “You’re going to catch pneumonia.”
Amelia strode through the field, covering her hair with her hands. She ran faster, her shoes sinking into the mud. She reached the gravel driveway and saw a yellow taxi idling at the side of the road.
“Good evening, Miss Tate.” The driver grinned, opening the door. “The concierge told me to wait, they didn’t want their favorite movie star to get wet.”
Amelia climbed into the taxi and leaned against the cushions. She gazed out the window and saw the ancient ruins and marble statues and stone arches. She remembered the warmth of Philip’s mouth on her lips and shivered.
Philip tapped on his laptop and leaned back in his chair. He pictured Amelia in her tan slacks and cashmere sweater. He saw her glossy brown hair and the sparkling diamond earrings in her ears.
He hadn’t meant to kiss her, but she looked so lovely with the raindrops in her hair and her sweater clinging to her breasts. He hadn’t expected her lips to be so soft and her skin to smell like raspberries and some kind of floral perfume. He remembered her running across the field and groaned. He had probably scared her off and ruined his chances.
“Signora Griselda gave me your mail.” Max appeared at the door. He wore a blue collared shirt and jeans and sneakers. His hair was freshly washed and his camera was slung over his shoulder. “It looks like you have a female admirer.”
Philip took the ivory envelope and recognized his mother’s handwriting. She refused to use e-mail and sent her letters in thick envelopes doused in Chanel No. 5.
“I got some great photos last night before it started raining harder than the deluge.” Max pulled out a chair. “Amelia is very pretty. If I wasn’t the wingman of this operation I’d take a shot at her myself.”
Philip grabbed the camera and clicked through the pictures. He saw Amelia leaning back on her elbows, looking up at the stars. He saw her eating a slice of chocolate torte and dabbing her mouth with a napkin. He saw her large brown eyes and her small pink mouth.
He knew what he was doing was wrong, he should have told her the truth. But she was so easy to talk to; he didn’t want the evening to end.
“I’m lucky I didn’t ruin my camera,” Max continued, adding milk and sugar to a mug of coffee. “I met a Belgian nurse who offered to share her umbrella. What happened after it started raining?”
“We ran under a stone arch. I don’t know what got into me, but suddenly I pulled her toward me and kissed her,” Philip replied. “She just broke up with her boyfriend, I think I scared her off. She ran across the field and got into a taxi.”
“A recent breakup is good.” Max nodded. “It means she’s used to sleeping with a warm body and having middle-of-the-night sex. You have to ask her out again.”
“I think I should stop.” Philip shook his head. “I feel terrible pretending I don’t know who she is.”
“You’re not the Pope and this isn’t the Vatican.” Max grabbed an apple and polished it against his sleeve. “You’re a journalist writing a story for his boss. Without the countess’s contributions I’m not going to be able to afford a plate of spaghetti unless I get paid.”
“What if I ask her out again and she says no?”
“She’ll say yes.” Max took a bite of the apple. “This time pick somewhere dry, preferably with a fireplace.”
“I’ll think about it,” Philip murmured.
“I have to return Dominique’s umbrella.” Max walked to the door. “I’m going to ask her to take my temperature, I think I’m coming down with a cold.”
* * *
Philip walked to the counter and sifted through his mail. He remembered Amelia’s innocent smile and felt like he’d swallowed something whole. He would tell Adam she refused to go out with him. He would return the euros and tell him to deduct what he owed from his paycheck.
He picked up his mother’s letter and tore open the envelope. He scanned the flowery cursive and read out loud.
Darling Philip,
Your father told me you are coming home in August and I’m so pleased. I’m sure you’ll get your own place soon but I stocked the pantry with your favorite muesli and I renewed our subscription to the
New Yorker
and the
Atlantic
.
I’m planning a small dinner party at Gramercy Tavern and inviting Daphne. I ran into her at Barneys, she cut her hair and it looks lovely. I know you had a falling out but you were such a beautiful couple. I’m sure now that you will be in the same line of work you’ll have so much in common.
Please don’t think I’m interfering, but I can’t help wanting you to be happy. To me you will always be the little boy sitting at the kitchen table drawing hearts on Missy Smith’s Valentine’s card. You’ll understand when you have children of your own.
I’m off to buy your father some clothes for Bermuda. I tell him they have perfectly fine shops, but he won’t get on the plane without a selection of linen shorts and leather boat shoes.
Mom
Philip crumpled the letter and threw it on the counter. He couldn’t spend his days watching imaginary numbers dance on a computer screen. He couldn’t live in a world where success was determined by the size of an engagement ring and the price of a prep school education.
He sat at his desk and took out a sheet of paper. He scribbled a note and stuffed it in an envelope. He grabbed his keys and ran out the door.
Amelia stood in front of her closet and selected a turquoise chiffon dress and silver sandals. She tied a white scarf around her hair and put on oversized sunglasses. She rubbed pink lip gloss on her lips and spritzed her wrists with Estée Lauder’s Lovely.
She was meeting Sophie to go shopping on the Via Condotti and have lunch at Caffé Greco. Sophie had called that morning and apologized for standing her up at the concert. The road was closed for hours and she didn’t get home until midnight.
Amelia pictured the plaid picnic blanket with the platters of sandwiches and fruit and chocolate torte. She saw Philip pouring glasses of red wine. She remembered the kiss under the stone arch and shivered.
She lay awake all night thinking about Whit. She remembered his smooth cheeks and Hugo Boss cologne. She could call him and say they couldn’t throw away four years; they should wait until she finished filming
Roman Holiday
. She imagined drinking Bloody Marys at Clock Bar and talking about his new factory and the pile of scripts on her bedside table. She saw Whit kissing her on the mouth and telling her how much he missed her.
But then she remembered Whit running up the Spanish Steps and her stomach clenched. He made it clear he didn’t want to be with her if she was an actress. Suddenly she thought about Sheldon and what he would say if Philip learned her true identity and leaked the story. Playing Princess Ann was the most important thing in the world and she couldn’t do anything to jeopardize her career.
She grabbed her white leather tote and walked to the door. She was going to spend the afternoon with Sophie browsing in Prada and Fendi. They were going to eat seafood pasta and spumoni in the oldest café in Rome. She was going to forget about Whit and Philip and concentrate on acting.
* * *
Amelia took the elevator to the lobby and found Sophie perched on a gold velvet armchair. She wore a white linen skirt and a yellow silk blouse and white leather sandals. Her hair was scooped into a bun and covered with a yellow scarf. She wore oval sunglasses and carried a red leather purse.
“You look gorgeous.” Amelia smiled. “Is that purse new?”
“I bought one for my lady-in-waiting but it was so soft I had to buy one for myself.” Sophie nodded. “I don’t know what the Italians feed their cows, in Lentz the leather is stiff as a board.”
“Aren’t you afraid someone will see us?” Amelia asked, glancing around the marble lobby. It was midday and the space was filled with women in sleek linen dresses and wide hats and oversized sunglasses. They wore gold sandals and had bright leather totes slung over their shoulders.
“I told you no one knows what I look like.” Sophie smiled. “As long as we wear our sunglasses we resemble all the other shoppers.”
They stepped into the noon sun and Amelia felt warm and happy. The Via Condotti was flanked by stately palazzos and filled with boutiques with white awnings and tinted windows. They drifted in and out of Valentino and Burberry, admiring silk blouses and geometric scarves and jewel-encrusted sandals.
