Feast of Saints (26 page)

Although Clara hadn’t erased all of her goodwill with him, he was not pleased that she’d conned him into being a social planner, especially if it meant arranging a date between Lilly and Alan Hume. He’d grown to enjoy Alan’s company, but even if he weren’t himself set on having Lilly, he wouldn’t recommend that she set her sights on him. Alan talked about women cavalierly, including those with whom he’d been intimate, and he’d proclaimed that he had no interest in settling down any time in the next decade.

It was afternoon before there was a break in filming long enough for Jake to seek out Alan. He found him lounging in a shadowed alcove bordering the piazza in front of the Cathedral of Assisi. Leaning against the cool stone, the two men had an unobstructed view of Lilly working closely with Maya in a tent set up for touch-ups beside the Cathedral’s courtyard.

Jake watched as Lilly moved from one part of Maya’s body to another, touching here, smoothing there. He had been tortured by those same hands in that same way. When Lilly touched Maya’s shoulder Jake felt it on his own shoulder. When she stroked Maya’s temples he felt his own frown relax. As he watched, he realized that Lilly turned the irritating, mundane, repetitive process of getting ready for filming each day into something holistic, damn near mystical. She constantly encouraged with quiet words and a gentle touch, effortlessly smoothing the transformation from actor to character.

As soon as Lilly completed her work, Maya walked to her mark in the courtyard. Monty was determined to capture both Maya and the front of the medieval cathedral. Jake knew that actually coming to Italy, instead of recreating the courtyard back in LA, had been at Maya’s insistence. It looked like she was paying for that today. Monty directed her to hold poses that most humans would find difficult to sustain for any extended period while the cameramen filmed her from several angles. Then they moved to the pathway leading to the courtyard. Following Monty’s direction, Maya ran, tripped and fell; ran, tripped and fell, over and over again.

Lilly stood on the sidelines, watching Maya intently, her eagle-eye looking for any flaw in the effects. As soon as Monty called, “Cut!” Maya sagged on the cathedral steps. Lilly darted to Maya’s side like a field medic, carrying water and her touch up kit. She knelt next to Maya, handing her the drink with a hearty smile, murmuring words to rally her spirits, before reaching for the tubes, pencils, powders and brushes that would correct Maya’s sweaty sheen and running makeup.

The crew scrambled to set up the next scene. The afternoon was fast becoming too sunny for filming. Silk shades were assembled to filter the sun and soften the glare.

In the next scene, Maya sat on the cathedral’s steps before Assisi’s deeply agitated bishop describing her encounter with Blaylock on the flower-strewn streets of Spello. The film crew would head to Spello later this week for some ambiance shots, but the actual confrontation between Sofia and Blaylock would be filmed on a sound stage in New York.

Italian actor Raoul Bova had been cast as the bishop of Assisi. The day before, they had shot the scene in which Blaylock confessed to the bishop, a friend and confidant, his interest in Sofia. Unbeknownst to the bishop, but by this point clear to the movie’s audience, Blaylock had greatly downplayed the extent of his fascination with Sofia.

In Bova’s scene with Maya, the bishop is alarmed to learn that Blaylock had revealed himself to Sofia. In the lore of the story, the appearance of an angel before a mere human was an event orchestrated from above, tightly controlled and scripted. The stuff of miracles. Blaylock’s appearance to Sofia was completely unauthorized and would get him in big trouble. The kind of trouble that could find him falling from heaven, straight to hell.

Bova had been well-cast, Jake was pleased to see. He was extremely handsome and his authentic Italian accent made every line he delivered sound interesting no matter how banal.

It was a shame that Allegrezza would be killing him off, Jake thought. Although he quickly revised that thought as the scene wrapped up and he watched Lilly walk up to Maya and greet Raoul with a broad smile. Yet another rival. The trio fell into an easy conversation. Jake was too far away to hear what they said, but Lilly and Maya’s laughter rang throughout the courtyard. Jake was going to have to find a way to win over Lilly before he imploded.

“Care for a pint?” Alan asked, pushing off of the stone wall.

Jake glanced up at the clock tower.

“Why the hell not,” he said. He could fulfill his duty to Clara by inviting Alan to dinner and warn him off Lilly in one fell swoop.

“Lead the way, friend,” said Jake.

“Leave it to you to find an Irish tavern in the middle of the Italian countryside,” Jake remarked to Alan, shaking his head as he settled into the old wooden booth at Finnegan’s.

Jake watched as the younger man salted the foam on his heavy stout and asked sourly, “How do you drink that and keep from getting too bloated to film?”

“Oh ho!” exclaimed Alan, making a show of hefting his pint to his mouth. “It’s in my genes. You Americans have weakened your constitution with your nancy light beer.” Alan squinted at Jake’s offending beverage and shivered in disgust. “It’s despicable.”

Jake laughed and lifted his pinky in a dainty salute as he sipped his light beer. Changing the subject, he said, “So, it seems we’ve been invited to a home-cooked meal this evening.”

“Is that so? Who is doing the cooking?” Alan asked.

“Maya, Lilly and Clara. Clara says that they want to try their hand at authentic Italian cuisine.”

“Well then, count me in. Was it Maya’s idea to include me? That would be jolly good luck.” Maya had rebuffed Alan on more than one occasion, much to his chagrin.

“Apparently it was Lilly’s,” said Jake, watching Alan’s face carefully. Alan was well aware of Jake’s interest in Lilly, but Jake wasn’t sure that their newly formed friendship had enough miles to keep Alan from poaching on her.

Alan’s eyebrows rose in a sudden spark of interest, and he turned on the thousand watt smile that had won him the part of Blaylock.

“Wee Lilly? The dishy sprite? Wants me for dinner?”

Try as he might, Jake could not hide the hardening of his jaw. Alan’s smile broke with a cough.

“Well, that’s just cocked up, that’s what that is,” Alan said, taking a swig of his stout.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Jake said dourly.

Trying to cheer him up, Alan said, “I’m sure I’ve only been included so that
you’ll
come.”

“Not likely. If Lilly could have found a way to invite you without inviting me, she’d have done it. A little hard when I’m staying under the same roof.”

“It can’t be that bad, can it?” probed Alan.

“Yes, it is. And I’ve got no idea how to fix it,” Jake said, scowling into his beer.

“How did it get so bollocks’d?” asked Alan.

Jake had considered this very question for weeks. He said, “Lilly told me she didn’t want to start something, and I didn’t take no for an answer. Not to sound like an arrogant ass, but the truth is no woman has ever said no to me before. I showed up at her house, uninvited, and….” Jake scrubbed his hand over his face, humiliated all over again remembering that confrontation.

“What exactly happened?” Alan asked, aghast. His expression earned a hard stare from Jake.

“Not what you’re thinking. I tried to get her to admit that she was interested in me. She was pretty mad. She thought I was abusing my position to pressure her into… a relationship. She’s right, at least, about my pressuring her. If it were anyone but Lilly, I probably would have been sued. Rightfully so.”

“You’ve blown this up out of proportion,” said Alan consolingly.

Shaking his head, Jake said, “No, no I haven’t. Her exact words were: I make her feel like giving in to my sexual needs is a part of her job.”

Alan tongued his cheek, trying to come up with a helpful response to that. Giving up, he stood and clapped Jake on the back, “Buck up, mate. I’ll get us another round.”

Jake growled in frustration at the white plastic handheld showerhead. The villa’s centuries-old plumbing left much to be desired. The “shower” was a rubber hose attached to the brass spigot of an ancient claw-footed tub. The trickle of water it produced didn’t make a dent in the stubborn, greasy hair gel that had built up after three days of filming in Italy. At the studio, Lilly had stocked his bathroom with some kind of herbal concoction that efficiently washed out the greasy gel, leaving his hair soft and minty. He would have sent someone out in search of it, but the bottle he’d left back in LA didn’t have a label. He was pretty sure Lilly mixed it herself.

Jake stared broodily at his reflection in the gilded mirror. The buzz from the beers he’d had with Alan earlier in the afternoon had worn off and left him with a dull headache. Toweling the wet clump of matted hair at his forehead, he realized he wasn’t going to be able to get a comb through it.

Jake searched the bathroom, then the suite, for anything to help him with his hair. There was nothing for it. He was going to have to ask for help. Throwing on an undershirt and sweats, he stepped out into the hallway to knock on Lilly’s door.

“If you’re looking for Lilly, she’s in the kitchen,” said Clara, who was stepping into her own room down the hall.

“Thanks,” said Jake, waving the towel he still held in his hand. He headed toward the stairs.

As he approached the villa’s kitchen, he could hear laughter and several voices, male and female.

“No, no, no,” rang out the distinctive voice of Raoul Bova, “Not like you are patting a friendly dog. Hard! Like this!” Jake entered the kitchen as Raoul reached around Lilly to smack down a lump of raw dough on the marble baker’s counter in front of her.

Maya stood next to Lilly with her own lump of dough and began mimicking Raoul’s pounding, yelling out, “Bad dog! Bad dog!”

Lilly was laughing hard. “I’m calling the PETA people on the both of you!”

“Peeta?” Raoul asked, “I do not know this reference. Is it CIA?
Polizia
?” Raoul was standing close behind Lilly, his arms wrapped around her as he worked the dough in front of her. The exuberant trio had not noticed Jake in the archway, nor did they hear when Alan walked up behind Jake.

For Jake’s ears only, Alan said quietly, “I don’t think either of us is the one she wanted over for dinner, mate.”

Without taking his eyes off of Raoul’s dark arms wrapped around Lilly’s middle, Jake rumbled, “To borrow your expression, this is seriously cocked up.”

At Alan’s laugh, Maya looked up. “I hope you’re not looking for your dinner yet. Raoul’s giving us a cooking lesson. But Lilly and I are such slow learners, it’s taking forever to get started.”

Maya turned to Lilly. “Where’s that traitor, Clara? Has she deserted us already?”

Jake released the seething breath he’d been holding. “She’s upstairs,” he said flatly. “She sent me this way when I was looking for Lilly.”

Lilly looked enquiringly at Jake, taking in his overall appearance.

“I need help with my hair. I can’t get the gel out,” Jake said, getting right to the point. “Did you bring any of that shampoo you make?”

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t, Jake. But I can make something to cut through the gel if you can wait a few minutes. I think we’ve got everything here I need.” Lilly stepped away from Raoul to wash the flour and dough from her hands.

Raoul set two wine glasses on the counter across from the work area, filled each with a rich Chianti Classico and gestured for Jake and Alan to sit.

“Soon the kitchen will fill with scents as beautiful as the
bella donne
,” he said, swirling his wine glass toward Lilly and Maya. Bova was so fucking charming, Jake wanted to rip out his Italian throat. But instead he sat, drank and watched Lilly’s back as she gathered up fresh herbs and began crushing them in a small bowl. To the bowl she added lemon juice and a generous helping of olive oil, whisking it together swiftly to emulsify the mixture. When she was satisfied with the consistency, she covered the bowl with cheesecloth and inverted it over another bowl, straining out the herbs. When she was done, she took up the final product and turned to him.

“Okay, James Dean,” she said, “Let’s see if we can bring that hairstyle into the new century.”

Jake downed the rest of his wine and followed her out of the kitchen. Upstairs, Lilly stopped at his door and waited for him to open it. However, when she walked into his bathroom with its ornate tub and scalloped marble sink, she tsked.

“This won’t do at all. I’ll break your neck trying to wash your hair in that sink. Let’s go to my room. It’s not nearly as pretty, but much more functional.”

For the first time in what felt like weeks, Jake cracked a smile. Lilly was going to wash his hair.

In her room, Jake looked around. It was much, much smaller than his suite, and the bathroom was no bigger than her bathroom at her home in LA. But she was right. It was much more functional. She had an actual shower, and the sink had a smooth, rounded edge instead of the flowery, scalloped design in his bathroom.

Lilly set down the oil and herb mixture and pulled a chair into the bathroom. It fit, just barely. She positioned the chair with its back to the sink and covered it with towels.

“Sit here,” she said, “and lean your head back over the sink.” Jake did as he was told and Lilly stepped up close to examine the gooey mess that was his hair. His attempt to shampoo it had only made it worse. Now, instead of just sticky, it was hard and congealed.

She touched the glop at the front of his head and probed it gently so as not to pull on the roots. “Wow, what have you guys been using?” she mused.

“Dunno,” Jake shrugged, eyes closed.

Lilly picked up the bowl containing her mixture and poured it over his hair, gently massaging it into the stubborn mass.

Jake could feel when her fingertips finally nudged through the glop to his scalp. He expected her to immediately begin combing out the tangles, but she took her time to evenly disperse the conditioner, threading her fingers through his hair to make sure that when she did finally put a comb to it that she wouldn’t stretch, pull or break the strands. The process of massaging in the oil took nearly ten minutes. When she was done and finally picked up a comb, it slid effortlessly through his hair.