CHAPTER 13

ARRIVEDERCI, ROMA

The next time I saw Melody, her skin was covered in sores and she looked emaciated and deathly ill. She refused to tell me anything and wouldn’t let me take her to a doctor, no matter how much I begged. I was scared out of my brain and had no idea what was going on with her. I had no choice but to call my parents, tell them she was sick, and plead with them to wire money to buy her a ticket home, which they did. They were furious at me for not taking better care of her, but what could I have done? She was an adult and I couldn’t control her. I was having enough problems of my own, which I certainly didn’t let them know about. Putting her on the plane back to America was a huge relief.

Safely ensconced back at Pensione Ginevra, I received a call from someone I’d met while working at Cinecittà, famous Italian singer-songwriter Memo Remigi. He told me about friends of his who had a band that was looking for a female vocalist. Their previous singer, also an American girl, was getting married and going back to the US. He gave me the number of the bandleader and I set up an audition for the next day.

“I Latins ’80” (pronounced Ee Lateens Otanta) was a touring band specializing in a pop/funk/bossa-nova sound similar to Brasil ’66—hence, the name. The band members were Franco Marcangeli on keyboards, Lino Ranieri on bass, Wilfred Copello on drums, Rosalba di Marzo on vocals, and Vincenzo Barbera on lead guitar and vocals. Much to my surprise and elation, I auditioned and got the job! I shared singing duties with Rosalba, who was twenty-one, same as me, and we immediately became best friends. The guys were excellent musicians, seemed like good people, and were paying me to sing, so I couldn’t have been happier!

A couple of weeks of rehearsals in Rome and we hit the road, traveling city to city from Catania in the southern tip of the “boot” to Bergamo in the north. Their music wasn’t exactly my cup of tea, but they allowed Rosalba and me to cover some American rock and pop tunes, which we sometimes translated into Italian. In between songs by popular ’70s Italian female artists like Mina, I got to sing “Yesterday” by the Beatles and “Ain’t No Sunshine When She’s Gone” by Bill Withers, which Rosalba and I changed to “Comè Buio la Città” (roughly translated to “How Dark Is the City”). We generally played one- or two-night gigs at large venues, then packed up the van and headed to the next town. Visiting so many beautiful places and immersing myself in the sights, sounds, and culture of Italy was a huge bonus. Once in a while we’d land a job that would last a week or two, which gave me an opportunity to explore, have a life, and sometimes even have a romantic rendezvous, however short-lived. In Lake Lugano, the band opened for jazz great Herbie Hancock, and he and I engaged in a very sexy make-out session in a broom closet after the show, which ended abruptly when Vincenzo discovered us and insisted I get into the van to head to the next town.

Rosalba and I usually shared a room, and once in a while, her Neapolitan mamma would join us on the road, cooking scrumptious Italian meals for the band. I vividly remember her staring at me, bug-eyed and mouth agape, when I told her I didn’t know how to cook. Worried I’d never catch a husband, she literally forced me to learn. It turned out to be one of the best things that ever happened to me, because cooking Italian food later became a passion of mine, and still is. During the long hours in the van, driving across the county, Rosalba helped me learn to speak Italian—a lifesaver since no one in the band, including her, spoke more than a few words of English. Not being able to express yourself is a great incentive to learn a language!

During a month-long gig at the beautiful rooftop garden of the Casino di Sanremo, my parents maxed out their credit cards and came to see me in the band—their first and only trip abroad together. Rosalba’s mamma and papa were visiting at the same time, and even though our parents couldn’t understand a word the other said, they all ended up bonding over big bottles of Chianti. On my parents’ last night in Italy, Rosalba and I discovered that the male members of the band were being paid exactly double what Rosalba and I were getting. (I guess pay inequality isn’t exclusively an American issue.) After a year of touring with the band, the combination of being pissed and hurt about my pay and a rare wave of homesickness prompted me to walk out between sets, grab my suitcase from our apartment, and join my parents on a plane back to the US. I wonder whether the band is still waiting for me to come back from the break. I kept in touch with my dear friend Rosalba and visited her and her family many times over the years.