A Fashion Felon in Rome (2 page)

Like a student cheating on an exam, Denise looked over at my sketch pad as I protectively turned away to shield my idea from her view.  Evelyn’s pad was conspicuously blank as she made constipated expressions, apparently trying to drum up an idea.  Tomaso, meanwhile, was furiously sketching his
design onto paper and utilizing a rainbow of colored pencils.  Judging his design as too intricate, I felt confident in the simplicity of my idea.  Just from 15 minutes in Sophia’s presence, I intuitively felt that she was gregarious enough to desire a red gown but sufficiently elegant to prefer a classic design.

Sophia circled the room, peering over shoulders to glimpse the early stages of what would become her
persona for the Cannes Film Festival.  “Is she receiving a special award or something?” Tomaso wondered aloud as he chose yet another colored pencil to complicate his design.

“I don’t think so,” I replied, grinning at how similar his reaction was to Richard’s.  Men
, fashion designers or not, simply couldn’t understand the importance of a woman’s attire.

“There’s going to be a red carpet,” Denise cut in.  “Actresses from all over the world will be there, and most of them will be younger than Sophia.” She lowered her voice to a shrill whisper.  “The cameras will be flashing, and she needs to look good.”

“Exactly,” Evelyn concurred, giving Tomaso a look of blended amusement and appreciation as she flipped her sunny blond hair.  Glancing at her hands, I noticed a sizable diamond on her left ring finger.  She was quite the coquette for an engaged woman.

“So what do you do in Barcelona, Tomaso?” Denise jumped in foolishly.

“Um, I design clothes,” he deadpanned. “But in my spare time, I like to take my speedboat out on the water.” His eyes sparkled with practiced charm.

“Speedboat?” Denise parroted.  “Wow!

“I love boating,” Evelyn added.  “It’s always been my dream to own a yacht.”

“Yeah, I think a lot of people dream of owning a yacht,” I said sarcastically, resisting the urge to roll my eyes at the women’s vapid chatter.

Casting a feline glare my way, Evelyn persisted, “How long have you owned the speedboat?”

“Since my 18
th
birthday.  It was a gift from my parents,” Tomaso revealed as Denise and Evelyn bordered on salivating.  So the guy came from money? So what? I’d take my hard working project manager Richard any day over a spoiled pretty boy like Tomaso.

Mercifully,
Sophia glided over to our station, saving me from the mind-numbing emptiness of the conversation and wearing a poker face as she examined our sketches.  “Hmm, very nice,” she said to no one in particular.  “Write your names at the top and then leave the sketches on your chairs,” she instructed like a school marm.

“Are we finished?” I asked with surprise.

“For today, yes.  Round two will take place next week when I eliminate one of you and have the other three work with fabric to bring your designs to life.  And even if I don’t ultimately choose your dress to wear to the festival, I may like it enough to wear elsewhere.” She dangled the possibility like an intangible golden carrot.  I didn’t really care where Sophia wore my dress design.  She could wear it to the grocery store for all I cared as long as she wore it
somewhere
.  That way, I would receive international exposure and be able to shut down my tailor shop.  In its place, I could open up my dream boutique, selling nothing but evening gowns for the gloriously full-figured woman.

Placing my sketch face-
down on the folding chair, I rose and bypassed the buffet table, even though I was craving more “hors d’oeuvres.” After my explosive coughing fit, I would never eat anything in front of Sophia Pucci again.  No, I wouldn’t even drink a glass of water.  I needed her to think of me as a competent professional, not a bumbling moron.

Hailing a cab to take me back to my hotel, situated near the shimmering
Fontana di Trevi,
I exhaled with relief that I had jumped through my first hoop in Italy.  I would call Richard later to share everything with him, but for now, all I wanted was to fall into a deep sleep.

***

I spent the next week as a happy-go-lucky tourist, exploring all of Rome’s treasures from
Il Colosseo
to
Piazza Navona
.  Frequently missing Richard, I thought how much more fun I would have with him by my side, experiencing the Italian wonders with me.  Indulgently, I filled my belly with greasy pesto pizza, heaps of pasta swimming in naughty cream sauces, and enough
gelato
to fill an Olympic size swimming pool.  Feeling about 5 pounds heavier at the end of the week, I waddled back to the convention center to face my next challenge.

A hush fell over the entire ballroom as I entered, imagining that everyone was thinking, ‘Ugh, it’s that crazy woman who almost choked to death!’  Ignoring the stares, I walked over to my designated area and joined my fellow designers.  Denise’s expression was solemn as Evelyn stared down at the carpeted floor.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, startled by their somberness.

“Tomaso was killed in a boating accident this morning,” Denise revealed gravely as I gasped in horror.

Chapter 2

“That’s terrible!” I cried in disbelief, a vibrant vision of the young man floating through my mind.  How could he be dead?

“It’s awful,” Denise concurred, unable to suppress a shiver.  “It was all over the Italian news this morning.”

“Was anyone else hurt?” I asked.

“I don’t think so.  From what I heard, his boat smashed into a rock.  Somehow he lost control of it,” Denise replied.

“That’s what I heard too,” Evelyn said shakily.  “They don’t know what caused it, but they think it could be some kind of mechanical failure.”

“Or it could have been just an accident,” I suggested.  “How early this morning was he on the water? If it was before dawn, then maybe he didn’t see the rock.”

“But he said he’s been boating since he was 18, remember?” Denise protested.  “I don’t
think someone with that level of experience would make a careless mistake like that.”

“Well, however it happened, it’s absolutely terrible,” I exhaled a trembling breath and slumped my shoulders.

Directly in front of me, a set of nude mannequins stood waiting to be dressed up in sample gowns.  Fabrics and scissors lay on an oblong table, untouched.  How could we focus on such a frivolous project after receiving the harrowing news of Tomaso’s untimely death? 

“Did you know that Tomaso was only 25?” Evelyn asked sullenly as I flinched.

“Only 25? This keeps getting worse and worse.” I shook my head sadly, thinking how ‘untimely’ wasn’t a strong enough word to describe how Tomaso’s life had been nipped in the bud.

In contrast to her first grand entrance, Sophia walked solemnly into the room as all eyes immediately fixed on her.  She parted her lips to take a breath, as though poised to make
an announcement.  Obviously, the news of Tomaso’s boating accident had reached her as well.

“I would like to say
buona mattina
, ladies and gentlemen,” she began. “But it is not a good morning at all.  You have probably all heard about the death of Tomaso Alegres.  Very, very sad.” She bowed her head respectfully as I wondered if she was just putting on an act.  Something in her demeanor was insincere, plastic, Oscar-seeking. 

She gathered up a dramatic breath and affixed her hand to her brow.
“I don’t know why this happened.  You can imagine the scandal this will cause.  I was trying to do a good deed by inviting you amateur designers to Rome.  It was supposed to make me look good…” she stopped herself as I realized the real reason she had brought us to Italy: for publicity.  Certainly, she could afford Armani’s finest attire and the most outrageously priced pair of Jimmy Choos.  She didn’t need a bunch of no-name wannabes to dress her up at a discount.  No, Sophia wanted to draw attention to herself, maybe even appear heroic for sparking the careers of emerging artists.

Before Sophia could continue her theatrical monologue, a group of police officers barreled into the ballroom. 
A short, stocky man at the front of the pack tapped Sophia on the shoulder and whispered something into her ear.  She visibly stiffened, nodded, and addressed us once again.

“I’m sorry to inform you that today’s round two
elimination and audition has been postponed.  Come back next week at this time and we will try to move forward.”

Next week at this time? Next week at this time, I was supposed to be on a plane back to New York! And back to Richard.  Plus, I had only budgeted for two weeks in a Roman hotel.  I couldn’t afford to stretch my budget even one more night.  The cautious, wise side of me screamed to go home now.  Just get on a plane and go. 
This adventure had already fallen apart at the seams.  But the reckless, daring side whispered to me to stay and see it through. 

Bewildered by the bizarre turn of events, I made my way towards the exit as a pair of officers approached Evelyn and Denise.  Pretending not to notice, I kept walking, wondering if I was hallucinating as I heard someone whisper:

“It was no accident.  Someone cut the brakes on Tomaso’s boat.  He was murdered.”

***

In the safe cavern of my hotel room, I closed the curtains, contemplating whether I should call Richard.  If I told Richard that someone in my group had died---perhaps even been murdered---he would be on the first plane to Rome.  And I didn’t want to disrupt his life, especially his job.  He
was always juggling so many projects at his pressure cooker Manhattan job that I didn’t want to add any stress to the mix.  Plus, I was in no imminent danger as far as I could see.

Denise and Evelyn popped into my mind as I wondered why the officers had approached them.  Were they suspects?  Both of them had flirted rather shamelessly with Tomaso.  Had one--
-or both---of them become involved with him? But we had all met just a week ago.  It seemed too soon for anyone to become romantically linked, or had I been in a secure relationship for too long?  Yes, I was being naïve.  Tomaso was a gorgeous Latin man who could have easily seduced both Denise and Evelyn, among other women.

Then there was the issue of accident versus homicide.  If Tomaso had just arrived in Rome, then he couldn’t have made any enemies yet.  Except perhaps for a scorned woman like Denise or Evelyn if they had indeed been intimate with him. But did either of those women have even the slightest knowledge of boats and how to sever a
brake line? Evelyn had mentioned her desire to own a speedboat, but she could have just been spewing hot air.  She probably knew as much about boats as Sophia knew about poverty.  Nothing.

Anyone who clipped the brakes would have had to possess at least a rudimentary knowledge of boats
and electrical wiring.  And he or she would have to have known which boat was Tomaso’s.  Presumably, Tomaso didn’t lug his own boat all the way from Barcelona.  So he must have rented a boat from somewhere in Italy.

I scavenged around in my purse, retrieving a
full color pocket map of Rome. Unfolding the map, I visually scanned for blue lines and the nearest body of water.  Tourist cruises ran daily along the Tiber River, which was also the closest waterway to the convention center.  Perhaps that’s where Tomaso had met his demise…

My cell phone ringing snatched me out of my investigating.  Seeing Richard’s info on the screen, I smiled and picked up.  “Hi
sweetie!”

“What’s wrong?” He asked reflexively.  Darn it, I had tried my best to sound normal, but I guess he knew me too well to be fooled.

“What do you mean?” I feigned ignorance.  “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Babe, I could hear it in your voice.  You sound very tense.  What’s going on over there?” The blaring of police sirens and other city noises transmitted through the phone, telling me that Richard was in his midtown office.

“Nothing.  I guess I’m just a little homesick.” And that wasn’t a lie.  The thrill of spooning
gelato
into my belly every day had faded the moment I found out about Tomaso’s death.

“Well, you’ll be back here in a week.  And believe me, I’m counting the days.”

“So am I.” I bit my lower lip to prevent myself from telling Richard anything about the unfortunate event that had snaked its way into my life.

“How’s everything been going with the design competition? Did Sophia pick the winner yet?”

“No, not yet.  I’ll let you know when…” I trailed off as the ringing of the hotel phone startled me.  “Um, can you hold on a second, sweetie? Someone’s calling me at the hotel.”

I tossed my cell onto the bed as I picked up the hotel phone
from the nightstand.  “Hello?”

“
Signorina
Macchio?” A firm male voice inquired.

“Yes
,” I replied nervously.

“This is
Detective Giancarlo Cantino.  I’d like to have a word with you regarding the death of Tomaso Alegres.”

Chapter 3

The burly, raven haired police officer stood menacingly in the hotel lobby.  Next to the uniformed giant was a startlingly handsome man in a black leather jacket and form fitting jeans.  They looked directly at me as I stumbled over my own feet, petrified of whatever inquisition awaited me.
  Maybe I shouldn’t have hustled Richard off the phone without letting him know the possible peril I could be in.  I could easily be whisked away to the police station without anyone back home knowing where to find me.