“Seventeen.” A look passed between Ruby and Stefano. “My performance didn’t make the cut, but I managed to gain a part in another film as soon as I returned to Los Angeles. That was Moonlight Dance.”
“And what a film that was,” Stefano said with a smile.
Ruby chuckled. “Had to learn how to dance for that one.”
“You sure did,” Stefano said.
“And then I made Diary of a Pioneer Woman.”
Ariana was used to her aunt’s rambling train of thought jumping the tracks. “Back to 1952.”
Ruby’s eyes sparkled. “That was the most amazing year of my life.” She blinked rapidly and seemed to slip into a memory of a faraway time.
Stefano cleared his throat. “Since Ariana is here, I could make a nice dinner for us.”
Ariana felt a sudden urge to get out. She glanced at her aunt. “I know you’ve been dying to try that new restaurant in Rancho Mirage. We could go there. You, too, Stefano.”
Ruby smiled, shaking herself from her memories. “Only if you’re up for it.”
Ariana shifted. “I’m feeling better just thinking about it.” Ruby loved to dress and go out. “Then you can tell me all about your trip to Italy. Phillip has talked about going. Maybe you can tell me where to go.” Ariana noticed Ruby’s smile dissipated at the mention of Phillip’s name.
“I love all of Italy, but my heart lies in Lago di Como and the villages that line its banks. I saw such a sweet old villa in Bellagio, and I thought it would be so lovely to have—”
“But having a second home there would be difficult at your age,” Ariana said.
Ruby pressed her lips together in a thin, perturbed line. “Not you, too, Ariana.”
“I mean—”
“I know very well what you mean. Dr. Lettie uses the same words.” Ruby huffed. “My ankle is nearly healed now. Anyone could step off a curb the wrong way. You forget that my grandmother lived to one-hundred-and-two, and that was before the advent of fancy antibiotics and such. She swore by a shot of tequila after supper. And I have every intention of outliving her.” She picked up her cocktail for a sip.
“Point taken,” Ariana said sheepishly.
Ruby stood. “If we’re going to dinner, we’ll have to bathe and change.” She peered at Ariana. “You’re sure you’re feeling better?”
“Absolutely certain.”
Ruby hesitated and motioned to the box of photos and mementos. “You’re welcome to go through those albums, but please keep everything together. I haven’t been through that in years.”
Ariana promised, and Ruby sashayed from the lanai bent on a new mission, giving Stefano instructions along the way. Shaking her head, Ariana opened an old album and sipped her drink. As she’d told her aunt, she was feeling better, but she was still concerned. If these episodes were stress-induced, what could she possibly change in her life? She’d worked hard to create the life she’d dreamed of living.
And with a baby on the way…
As Ariana sorted through the mementos in the cigar box, she couldn’t help smiling at the assortment Ruby had saved.
Coins imprinted with Repubblica Italiana, paper lire, train tokens, curled black-and-white snapshots of people she didn’t recognize. She unfolded a few pieces of paper.
“A script.” Ariana smiled at the notes pertaining to movement and inflection scribbled on the side. “Must have been Ruby’s scene.”
A red-and-blue corner of a thin envelope marked Per Via Aerea peeked from the stack. It was addressed to Miss Ruby Raines at a Hollywood address. The faded red stamp read Poste Italiane with the postmark, Roma. Ariana ran her fingers over the faint writing.
She opened the envelopes, but they were empty, long ago robbed of their contents. Ariana sighed, thinking about the lost art of letter writing. She had little to cherish from Phillip. Texts and emails were often deleted, though she had plenty of photos on her phone.
Ariana thought about the necklace Ruby had on. It was clearly old and cherished, yet she’d never seen her wear it. Her aunt usually favored more extravagant jewelry. Maybe it had some significance, like the scattered tokens and opera pamphlet Ruby had saved. Ariana decided to ask her aunt about these things later.
Chapter 2
Rome, 1952
* * *
Niccolò held out his hand to her. Tentatively, Ruby rested her fingers in the fold of his palm, setting off the sizzle that coursed through her every time she touched him. Instead of giving their lire to street vendors for hot paninis made from the finest thin-sliced prosciutto, the freshest tomatoes and basil, and the creamiest mozzarella and then nursing small, strong espressos at a café where they could sit for hours and watch people, he’d suggested a surprise.
“Do you trust me?” Niccolò’s vivid blue eyes sparkled with mischief, and his subtle, melodic accent mesmerized her.
For some reason she couldn’t fathom, Ruby nodded. “Where are you taking me?”
Shifting the cloth bag he had thrown over his shoulder, Niccolò grinned. “I want to show you the very best performance in all of Rome. Maybe the best you’ll ever see.”
Ruby glanced down at her clothes. She wore a simple cotton seersucker dress she’d made before she left Texas. “I hope it’s nothing fancy.”
“It’s very fancy,” he said, guiding her in the direction of trailers that were being used for various filming needs. “But I have a plan. Come on.”
They’d finished the first week of filming, which had commenced with the opening reception scene shot at the baroque Palazzo Brancaccio filled with Italian nobles in their gowns and jewels who’d answered a casting call. They were just as intrigued by the Hollywood film as the ordinary people who lined the streets during filming.
Now, much of the cast had dispersed to explore the city on their day off. She’d heard Audrey Hepburn mention that her mother, Baroness Ella, had made reservations for high tea at Babington’s, an English tea house near the exclusive Hassler hotel where Miss Hepburn was staying. Others, including the director, might be watching dailies or sipping a Bellini or Negroni on Via Veneto, a fashionable street filled with cafés.
Ruby had heard about the Italian cocktails and wondered what they tasted like, but she’d promised her parents not to drink alcohol and to watch herself around boys. Once this week, she’d settled for a chilled latte macchiato and had felt very grown-up, indeed.
Wine didn’t count, she’d decided after a few days in Rome. Even kids her age sipped red wine as they ate lasagna or ravioli or other pasta she could hardly pronounce. And she was supposed to be eighteen, so she had to act the part. A part within a part, she mused, making herself laugh.
Holding his fingers to his lips, Niccolò led her into the costume trailer. He tapped on the door. “David, it’s me. Niccolò.”
The door swung open, and the sound of jazz music wafted out. Niccolò handed his bag to a young male assistant to the wardrobe supervisor.
“Amaretto and limoncello,” Niccolò said. “Very fine.”
“Excellent. You surprise me,” David said in a Midwestern drawl. He looked inside the bag and then motioned them in. “You can borrow most anything but items reserved for Miss Hepburn, Mr. Peck, or Mr. Arnold. And don’t spill anything on the clothes. Niccolò, I have your suit ready over there.”