Pasta Imperfect (10 page)

“I’m serious about my dress!” I called after her.

Her hand fluttered lazily in the air. “Yeah, yeah.”

Was it my imagination, or had she just blown me off? Oh yeah, I’d handled that
really
well.

Nana shuffled around to face me and followed the direction of my gaze as I threw daggers at Keely’s back. “Well, would you lookit that,” she said, nodding toward the rosebud dress. “Her outfit’s kinda like the one you bought for the trip. Same ruffled hem and everythin’.”

“It’s not ‘kind of’ like my outfit. It
is
my outfit!”

“No kiddin’? She find it in the same catalogue?”

“Not exactly. She found it in my suitcase.” I latched on to Nana’s arm and navigated her toward an empty table. “Let’s sit. I have an earful for you.”

When I finished informing Nana about my clothing crisis and Mom’s unwitting part in it, she sat back in her chair and gave a little suck on her teeth. “I knew we shoulda done somethin’ about your mother years ago, Emily, but your grampa was always hopeful she’d change.” She shot a look heavenward. “Are you listenin’, Sam? She changed all right. She got worse!” She exhaled a disgusted breath. “Okay, dear, short a killin’ or maimin’, you have any ideas what we should do about her? Now’s a good time to plan ’cause she’s back in the room, readin’ the first contest entries that come in.”

“Where’s George?” I asked, aware of his absence for the first time.

She managed a hesitant smile. “He’s makin’ his way down to the dinin’ room. And that’s the other thing, Emily. We gotta figure out how to get her outta my room. If she hadn’t went out with Alice and Osmond after the fire drill last night to buy some gelato, I never woulda had any time alone with George. By the way, I like it that this hotel has fire drills. They must have a real good safety record.”

I let that pass. “You got together with George? Okay, ’fess up. Did you…
do
anything?”

She lowered her voice. “You bet. But we done it so fast, I’m a little fuzzy on the details. Don’t mention it to George, Emily, but we mighta left out a step or two.”

“You can’t recall which ones?”

She shrugged. “I betcha it was somethin’ in the middle. But I don’t understand how we coulda left anythin’ out. We was followin’ the directions in that book real good.”

“Book?” My smile morphed into a frown. “What book?”

She peeked around her to see if anyone was watching, then quietly unzipped her pocketbook and slipped out a ragged paperback. I glimpsed the title.

“The Barbarian’s Bride?”
I eyed the blond hair, bare chest, and bulging biceps of the male cover model and realized that he looked a little like Duncan. “Where’s the bride?”

“Inside the barbarian’s lair, havin’ a panic attack. The barbarian kidnapped her in chapter one, so he’s struttin’ around in his animal skins, makin’ like he’s gonna ravish her, which is really upsettin’ ’cause she made a vow to her father on his deathbed that she wouldn’t ‘couple’ with no one ’til her weddin’ night. My guess is, she’s Catholic.”

I shook my head. “You better read fast before your book falls apart. Where’d you pick that thing up anyway? The senior center book sale?”

“I bought it new from that Michaels woman our first night in Rome.”

“New?” I regarded the shabby cover, the dog-eared pages, the faded color. “You’re kidding. It looks older than the Rosetta stone.”

Nana touched the book’s broken spine with affection. “It’s on account a my hands. When I get to readin’ them love scenes, it makes my palms all sweaty.” She compressed her lips as she studied the book’s cover. “George don’t read much, Emily, but I’m not gonna let that come between us. He says he did read a best seller a few years back. Some book about the thrills a off-trail hikin’. All the famous climbers endorsed it, but George thought it was all hype and way too risky, so he didn’t pay it no mind when he went to Yosemite.”

“How is he able to climb mountains with only one leg?”

“Denial. I don’t think he realizes he’s only got the one.” Nana stuffed the book back into her pocketbook and when she looked up again, broke out in a smile. “Well, would you lookit that. There’s my sweetie pie now.” She raised her arm to signal him.

I gazed toward the dining room entrance to find George taking small, robotic steps toward us. He was walking so stiffly and holding his head so erect that he looked as if he was wearing a straitjacket instead of the same tartan plaid shirt he’d been wearing yesterday. “Why is he walking like that?”

“Lower back pain.”

I frowned. “He never mentioned back pain on his medical form. When did that start?”

“Last night. I was readin’ the barbarian’s first hot love scene out loud, and I asked if it was actually possible for a fella to twist hisself into the kinda contortion the author described.”

“And?”

She winced guiltily. “It wasn’t. He needs lots more practice.”

“Good morning, everyone!” Duncan’s voice suddenly filled the room. “Or should I say,
buon giorno
?” He strode into the dining room, positioning himself in a central location where he could be seen and heard by all of us, and rattled off a spate of Italian that was as incomprehensible to me as an aria sung by one of the three tenors, but just as captivating.

“For your benefit, allow me to translate,” he continued. “I have a few announcements for you this morning.” As George eased gingerly into a chair beside Nana, Duncan raised a thick manila envelope above his head.

“This just arrived by messenger. Partial reimbursement for the loss of your belongings in Rome.”

I cast a look about the room, noticing my red silk halter top on a perfect stranger, and my sleeveless button-front blouse on someone else. Was there
anyone
on this tour who hadn’t ripped off a piece of my wardrobe?

“If you’ll remain at your tables, I’ll come around to distribute the funds. I have money for everyone except” — his eyes roved the room until they settled on me — “everyone except Emily, who’s the only person on the tour lucky enough not to have had her clothes go up in flames.”

My eyes grew wide. My mouth fell open. No money for me? But…but…he
had
to give me something! Okay, it was a minor technicality that I still had clothes, but the thing was, EVERYONE ELSE WAS WEARING THEM!

“This is a free day for you, so visit some of the open-air markets and replenish your travel supplies. Tomorrow we’ve decided to treat you to an unscheduled day trip to Pisa, with all entrance fees paid by us.”

Oohs. Aahs. Titters. George stuck two fingers in his mouth to whistle, then froze up like a rusty pipe halfway through. I shot him a panicked look. “What’s wrong?” I mouthed.

“Old rotator cuff injury.” He hedged. “It flares up sometimes when I move the wrong way.”

Right. Like when he tried to become a human pretzel. I massaged my temple. Oh, God. And this was only day two.

“The Leaning Tower won’t be reopened until June of next year,” Duncan went on, “but Pisa itself is a great place to spend the day. I’ll assign a nine-fifteen departure time for tomorrow morning and to make sure you don’t forget, I’ll post the time in the lobby as a reminder. Any questions?”

I saw a woman wave her hand in the air and when she stood up, I noticed something else. She was wearing my favorite lemon yellow sundress with the thin shoulder straps and fit - and - flare shape! AARGHHH!

“How are we supposed to find our way around Florence without getting lost?” the woman asked.

“I have city maps for each of you. I’ll leave them at the front desk, so grab one before you head out.”

I darted a look around the room — at all the strangers wearing my clothes — and started to hyperventilate. A sheen of perspiration bathed my throat. I became paralyzed by a single thought.
What if I never got my entire wardrobe back?
Oh, my God. I’d spent forever poring over Victoria’s Secret, Spiegel, and Nordstrom catalogues to find just the right clothes for this trip. I wanted my stuff back! Now!

“My last item of business is information that I wish I didn’t have to share with you,” Duncan announced. “There was an accident on the stairs last night. Some of you might have been awakened by the commotion in the lobby. One of our tour guests tripped on the runner and fell down the entire flight of stairs. Unfortunately, she didn’t survive the fall.”

Gasps. Murmurs of shock. “Who was it?” Dick Teig called out.

“The guest’s name was Cassandra Trzebiatowski. From Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania.”

A perfect example of why including last name and place of residence on your standard three-by-four-inch name tag was often optional.

“We’ve notified her family, and they’ll be flying someone over to handle all the necessary arrangements for the body. In the meantime I can’t stress enough how important it is for you to watch your step on the stairs and to use the handrail. Let’s try to avoid another tragedy while we’re in Florence.”

A hush fell over the room. I heard George whisper to Nana, “What’s the body count now, Marion? Five or six? I’ve lost track.”

I slumped forward, holding my head in my hands. Nana patted my back with a sympathetic hand.

“You didn’t have nothin’ to do with this, Emily, so try not to fret about it.”

“I’m cursed. I really am. I’m right up there with the Red Sox and the Cubs.”

Nana’s hand worked faster. “Listen to me, dear. If you want drugs, I can help. There’s no shame in takin’ somethin’ that’ll help you cope.” She rummaged in her pocketbook and slapped a small plastic tube onto the table. Anbesol. Extra strength.

“I don’t have a toothache.”

“Don’t matter. This stuff will numb you up real good whatever your problem is.”

I lowered my forehead to the table and groaned.

“Try to get a grip, dear. Remember what happens when you get stressed.”

Remember? Good God, how could I forget? I got hives. But not just normal hives. I got…I shot straight up in my chair. Of course! Why hadn’t I thought of it before? I grabbed Nana’s face and kissed her. She was
such
a genius.

“Any other unfinished business you’d like to discuss before we break for the day?” Duncan asked.

I stabbed my hand in the air and, when Duncan acknowledged me, scooted my chair back and stood up. “Hi. I’m Emily. The person whose suitcase some of you helped empty last night.”

Preening. Giggling. Wide smiles.

“I can see that many of you are wearing the clothes you borrowed from me, and I just wanted to say you look really great. I hope my wardrobe can add to your trip in some small way.”

Cheers. Hoots. Scattered applause.

“You probably thought this was going to be a long speech, but that’s all I really wanted to say.” I waved to everyone in the room and started to sit down, only to pop back up and press my hand to my forehead to indicate my forgetfulness. “I’m sorry. There
is
one more thing I forgot to mention.”

The applause died down. I smiled sweetly into the faces that peered up at me. “I have this embarrassing skin condition that’s highly contagious, so if any of you start breaking out in a gross-looking, itchy red rash all over your body, don’t get too upset. If you get treatment quickly enough, the damage to your liver will be only minor. And you’ll be happy to know that the recommended treatment is known to have caused infertility in only five of twelve lab rats, which means, you can look great in Italy and
still
have children! Maybe. Isn’t that great?”

I maintained my smile as half the room made a sudden stampede toward the door.

I might be from a little town in Iowa, but I hadn’t just fallen off the turnip truck.

I
was loitering in the hotel lounge a short time later, impatiently waiting for Jackie, when I saw a familiar face grab a map off the front desk and blow past me like a Ferrari. “I’m sorry about your roommate,” I called toward Brandy Ann as she headed for the door.

She ground to a quick stop and turned around, her eyes locating me amid the dozen guests who were huddled in tight knots, examining their city maps. She hazarded a tense smile and retraced her steps back to me.

“You heard, huh?” She ranged a look around the room. “I guess everyone has heard by now.”

“Duncan told the group at breakfast.”

She nodded. “I don’t do breakfast. Too many carbs and refined sugars in breakfast food. A person would be better off opening a vein and injecting cyanide.” She doubled her fist and gave her arm a quick pump, inflating her biceps like a rubber tire. My eyes rounded. My stomach muscles twitched. A person of normal intelligence would
not
want to get on Brandy Ann Frounfelker’s bad side.

“Really bad luck on Cassandra’s part,” Brandy Ann admitted. “But she brought it on herself. I don’t want to be judgmental, but anyone who owns shoes like that has to have a death wish. They might have looked great with the dress she snitched from you, but look where they got her.”

“You didn’t seem too happy last night that she grabbed my dress away from you.”

“I wasn’t. I even made some inane remark, threatening her. Did you hear me? Heat of the moment. But I got over it.”

Before or after Cassandra fell down the stairs? I wondered.

“The thing is, I can’t let all these petty distractions grab my attention. I need to stay focused on my outline and pages and submit the best entry I can.”

Personally, I considered death more than a petty distraction. “Duncan told me Cassandra had completed two novels and was beginning work on a third. Sounds as if she really knew how to stay focused.”

Brandy Ann barked out a sour laugh. “She paid Keely a ton of money to coach her through those first two books.”

“Cassandra subscribed to Keely’s Internet service?”

“Until recently, when Keely raised her rates. Then Cassandra apparently decided to go it alone. I read some of her work last night. It wasn’t half-bad. She had talent. It’s a shame she’s dead. Like they said in that old movie, ‘she mighta been a contenda.’ ”

“Brandy Ann!” Amanda trotted up beside us, her inch-long hair devoid of spikes, but her nose still armed to open aluminum cans. “I’m ready to make the move. It’s really easy when you don’t have luggage.”