Authors: Anita Hughes
She gazed at the gleaming toaster and coffeemaker and pictured waking up together on Sunday mornings. She imagined sitting at the round glass table eating scrambled eggs and bacon and whole wheat toast. She pictured drinking cups of fresh ground coffee with nutmeg and cinnamon.
She walked to the desk and pulled out a piece of paper. She would write Philip a note asking him to join her at Rosati’s. Then she’d browse in the boutiques on the Via Condotti and buy a silk dress or some lace underwear.
She glanced at the dining room table and saw a stack of photos. She picked up a photo of Philip and her sitting at a café in the Piazza di Trevi. She was wearing a floral dress and Philip’s arm was draped around her shoulder.
She flipped through the stack and saw a photo of them having a picnic at the Villa d’Este. There were pictures of them putting their hands in the Mouth of Truth and standing in front of the Castel Sant’Angelo.
Amelia heard the door open and turned around. She saw a man with wavy blond hair and blue eyes. He wore a yellow collared shirt and blue jeans and had a camera slung over his shoulder.
“You must be Ann.” Max held out his hand. “We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Max, Philip’s friend.”
“Philip wasn’t here so I was going to leave him a note,” Amelia explained. “I don’t understand, who took all these photos?”
“I did,” Max replied, taking a peach from the wooden bowl. “Would you like a piece of fruit? The peaches are delicious.”
“Why would you take pictures of us?” Amelia asked.
“I take pictures of everything; cats, flowers, children.” Max bit into the peach. “I just took some great photos of nuns riding Vespas in Saint Peter’s Square.”
“But there are so many,” Amelia insisted. “It’s as if you were following us.”
“I’m thinking of starting a wedding photography business,” Max continued. “So many couples get engaged or elope in Rome. You are the perfect couple, the camera loves you.”
Amelia flushed and turned to the desk. She picked up a piece of paper and read the first paragraph.
Hollywood Royalty or Hotel Maid?
When I played Good Samaritan to a Hassler hotel maid a few weeks ago, I didn’t know she was really the actress Amelia Tate. I rescued Miss Tate in the pouring rain when she hadn’t money for a taxi. I shared my cab and when she fell asleep on my shoulder I carried her to my apartment.
Over the last three weeks, Miss Tate and I have developed a friendship but she still hasn’t revealed her identity. During long walks and intimate dinners, she maintains the fiction she is an American learning Italian and working at the Hassler. Why would the actress predicted to be the next Audrey Hepburn pretend to be a maid? And what does her deception say about the moral climate of Hollywood?
Amelia dropped the paper and felt her heart pound in her chest. She glanced around the room and suddenly didn’t know where she was. Everything looked different: the narrow bed, the plain brown sofa, the fire escape hung with Philip’s dress shirts.
“Why did Philip write this?” Amelia asked.
Max scanned the paper and put it down. He paced around the room and ran his hands through his hair. “I can’t tell you, I’ll lose my best friend.”
Amelia walked to the door and turned the key in the lock. She slipped the key in her pocket and sat at the dining room table.
“We’re not leaving until I hear the whole story.”
Max poured two glasses of scotch and handed one to Amelia.
“I was a photographer at your press conference,” he began. “You looked stunning in that pink satin gown and white gloves. The next morning I showed the photos to Philip and he recognized you as the maid who fell asleep in the taxi.” Max sipped his scotch. “It was my idea that he write a series of articles about a movie star pretending to be a hotel maid. Adam bought the articles for twenty thousand dollars.”
“Twenty thousand dollars!” Amelia gasped. “This is my first starring role, no one is that interested in me.”
“Adam upped the stakes a little,” Max conceded. “He said he’d pay Philip twenty thousand if he could convince you to marry him without revealing who you are.”
Amelia felt the room spin. She remembered Philip ripping off his mask and dropping to his knee. She saw him open the black velvet box and take out the diamond and sapphire ring.
“He bought a ring,” she stammered.
“Borrowed it,” Max corrected. “He has to return it tomorrow.”
“Why would he do such a thing?” Amelia asked, her eyes filling with tears.
“Philip is the most upstanding guy I’ve ever met,” Max replied. “He doesn’t cheat at poker and he never takes a piece of fruit at the market without paying for it. He didn’t see any other way out.”
“Out of what?” Amelia frowned.
“After Philip graduated from Yale his father expected him to join Hamilton and Sons. Philip said he wanted to be a journalist and the old man demanded he repay his college tuition. If he couldn’t start paying the loan in ten years, he had to join the company.” Max paused and looked at Amelia. “He could never be a stockbroker, he has to be a writer.”
“He told me he loved me,” Amelia whispered. “He asked me to marry him.”
“He thinks you’re the nicest girl he’s ever met,” Max insisted. “He never wanted to hurt you.”
Amelia pictured the room in Portofino with the white lace bedspread and silk pillows. She remembered Philip drawing her onto the bed and shuddered. She stood up and took a deep breath. She took the key out of her pocket and opened the door.
“Don’t leave.” Max jumped up. “Let Philip explain.”
“You’ve explained everything perfectly. Please give Philip a message for me. Tell him thank you for rescuing me from the Trevi Fountain and showing me the Vatican and helping me find Sophie.” Amelia smoothed her hair. “Tell him I had a lovely time and I never want to see him again.”
Amelia ran down the stairs and through the Piazza di Trevi. She raced up the Spanish Steps and entered the gold revolving doors of the Hassler. She walked quickly to the elevator and pressed the button. She leaned against the mahogany paneling and burst into tears.
* * *
Amelia poured tea into a Limoges cup and added milk and honey. She gazed around the living room at the black and gold marble floors and the yellow silk curtains and the ivory silk sofas. She saw the crystal vases filled with yellow and white tulips and the sideboard set with a silver tray of scones and strawberry jam.
She remembered when she arrived in the Villa Medici Suite and it had all seemed like a fairy tale: the ivory Bentley that picked her up at the airport, the huge bouquet of pink and white roses. She had been so excited about being in her favorite city and filming
Roman Holiday
.
Now she glanced out the window at the Dome of Saint Peter’s Basilica and the outline of the Roman Forum and felt like she couldn’t breathe. How could she let herself fall in love with Philip? She remembered waking up in his apartment. She saw him standing at the counter, preparing fresh muesli and cut berries.
She put the cup on a white china saucer and walked to the balcony. She would finish shooting and return to Los Angeles. She would concentrate on reading scripts and finding her next role.
There was a knock on the door and she crossed the marble floor to answer it.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” Sophie entered the foyer. She wore white linen slacks and a yellow silk blouse. Her hair was knotted in a low bun and secured with a gold chopstick. “My father arranged a meeting with Pope Francis and I don’t know what to wear. Should I wear the vintage red Valentino or the turquoise Dior?”
“You’re meeting the Pope?” Amelia walked into the living room. She sat on a blue velvet love seat and tucked her feet under her.
“Pope Francis visited Lentz a few years ago,” Sophie replied. “Theo is so excited he keeps changing his tie. I’ve been having the most wonderful time. Last night my father and Theo discussed building a children’s hospital in Lentz. My father offered to donate the land and Theo knows a wonderful architect.”
“I’m so happy for you.” Amelia smiled.
“Theo asked my father for my hand in marriage,” Sophie continued. “We’re not officially engaged because he wants to propose with my mother’s engagement ring but we started planning the wedding. It will be next summer in Lentz and I want you to be the maid of honor.”
“You’ll be the most beautiful bride, I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Without you I never would have had the courage to fall in love.” Sophie’s eyes were huge. “I almost kissed Marco for getting me a taxi and I paid the woman at the market thirty euros for a basket of cherries. I want everyone to be as happy as I am.”
Amelia picked up the porcelain teacup but suddenly her hands shook and she spilled tea on her floral dress.
“Are you all right?” Sophie asked.
“Philip asked me to marry him at the masquerade ball. I was too flustered to reply but this afternoon I went to his apartment to say yes.” Amelia wiped her dress. “I found an article he wrote about Amelia Tate pretending to be a hotel maid. Everything was a lie: the night in Portofino and the romantic dinners and the moonlight strolls on Palatine Hill.”
“He wouldn’t have proposed if he didn’t mean it,” Sophie insisted.
“Adam was going to pay him twenty thousand dollars if I agreed to marry him without revealing my identity,” Amelia explained. “I kept putting off telling him the truth because I didn’t want to lose him.”
“I saw him looking at you at the restaurant in Trastevere.” Sophie frowned. “He was crazy about you.”
“Lots of actresses fall in love on the set: Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton, Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy, Nicole Kidman and Tom Cruise. Sometimes it lasts and sometimes it becomes part of the memory of the wonderful people and the delicious foods and the exotic location.” Amelia’s mouth trembled. “I can’t think about Philip.”
“You can’t turn off your feelings for someone,” Sophie shook her head. “It’s like trying to dam a waterfall.”
“I loved him and he lied to me about everything.” Amelia let the tears spill down her cheeks.
“Theo and I are supposed to visit the orphanage in Pompeii.” Sophie hesitated. “I’ll tell him I can’t go and we’ll watch Italian movies with English subtitles.”
“You must go.” Amelia wiped her eyes. “Pompeii is fascinating.”
“I told Theo I want separate rooms.” Sophie blushed. “Now that we’re getting married I don’t want to spoil the wedding night.”
“You two are perfect together.” Amelia tried to smile. “I can’t wait to be the godmother of six towheaded children.”
* * *
Amelia walked to the marble bar and poured a shot of amaretto. She watched the sun set behind the Colosseum and pictured Audrey Hepburn in an ivory Givenchy gown accepting her Oscar for
Roman Holiday
.
Maybe if Audrey had married James or run off with Gregory Peck she would never have been a famous actress. Amelia thought of all her wonderful movies:
Sabrina
and
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
and
My Fair Lady
and shivered.
She saw herself gliding down the red carpet in a fabulous gown by Elie Saab or Oscar de la Renta. She imagined standing at the podium, thanking Sheldon and clutching the small gold statue. She pictured Sophie and Theo waving and clapping.
She finished her amaretto and walked inside. She walked into the bedroom and climbed onto the four-poster bed. She pictured Philip’s dark eyes and smooth cheeks and felt her heart break.
Philip knocked on Adam’s office door. He paced around the small reception room and ran his hands through his hair.
“I was waiting for you to show up.” Adam wore a striped shirt and khakis. “I figured either Amelia turned you down and you’re hungover, or she said yes and you’re deciding how to spend the money.”
“The proposal was perfect.” Philip entered the office. “Amelia was overwhelmed and asked if she could give her answer tonight. I could tell in her eyes that she is going to say yes.”
“I’ll call Sergio and tell him the deal is on,” Adam beamed. “Maybe he’ll fly us to his private island to celebrate.”
Philip stuffed his hands in his pockets and took a deep breath. “I’m not going to write the articles, I’m in love with Amelia.”
“What do you mean you’re not going to write the articles?” Adam demanded.
“I’m going to tell Amelia the truth and ask her to forgive me.” Philip paced around the room. “I don’t care if I have to work for my father, I can’t live without her.”
“What if she says no?” Adam tapped the silver cigarette case and stuck a cigarette behind his ear.
Philip glanced at the red linoleum floor and the beige plaster walls. He saw the wooden desk and the metal garbage can and the framed photograph of Angelina Jolie. He gazed out the window at the Piazza di Trevi and felt a small pang in his chest.
“At least I’ll know I tried.” He walked to the door and turned the handle.
“That’s the problem with women.” Adam flicked the cigarette in the garbage can. “Even when we don’t understand them they make us crazy.”
* * *
Philip smoothed aftershave on his cheeks and slipped on a blue blazer. He put his keys in his pocket and grabbed a piece of paper. He was going to write Amelia a note asking her to have dinner at La Quirinale. Then he was going to buy her a bouquet of yellow roses or a silk scarf from Gucci.
He pictured her expression when he brought out the oval diamond ring. He saw her sparkling brown eyes and wide white smile. He knew she was going to say yes, it was written all over her face.
He opened the door and saw an older woman with blue eyes and auburn hair. She wore a pale yellow Chanel suit and white sunglasses. She carried a lizard-skin bag and had beige Ferragamo pumps on her feet.
“Mother, what are you doing here!” Philip exclaimed. “You’re supposed to be in Bermuda.”
“There was a hurricane, we caught the last plane out.” Lily took off her sunglasses. “I think the jet lag caught up with me, I’m dying for a glass of water.”
“Are you all right? You look a little pale.” Philip poured a glass of water and filled it with ice.