Amelia sat at her dressing table and gazed in the mirror. She dusted her cheeks with sparking blush and coated her eyelashes with Lancôme mascara. She rubbed shimmering lip gloss on her lips and dabbed her wrists with Estée Lauder’s Lovely.
She pinned her hair with a ceramic clip and glanced at her watch. She had an early morning call and didn’t want to be late. They were filming the scene at the Mouth of Truth and she couldn’t wait to ride through Rome on a shiny red Vespa.
She grabbed her purse and remembered Philip’s kiss at the Fountain of Four Rivers. She shouldn’t have kissed him when she still thought about Whit and should be concentrating on Roman Holiday. Then she flashed on sharing raspberry cheesecake and talking about love and books and movies. There was something about Philip that made her feel secure and happy.
She heard a knock on the door and wondered whether maid service arrived early. She opened the door and saw a man wearing a navy blazer and beige twill slacks. His dark curly hair touched his collar and his chin had a faint stubble.
“Whit!” she exclaimed, dropping her purse on the marble floor. “What are you doing here?”
“I had one more meeting with Alex Tomaselli,” he replied. “And I wanted to see you.”
Amelia picked up her purse and tried to stop trembling. She remembered him crossing the Piazza di Spagna and disappearing up the Spanish Steps. She remembered lying in bed and thinking her heart was breaking.
“I can’t be late for the set.” She hesitated. “Can we talk this evening?”
“It will just take a minute.” He entered the living room and glanced at the gold silk curtains and glass dining room table and vases of yellow and white roses. He saw the maple sideboard set with a silver coffeepot and Limoges cups and saucers. He saw a tray of fresh scones and strawberry jam and whipped butter. “I see they are treating you well.”
“Sheldon is a stickler for punctuality.” Amelia glanced at her watch.
“I didn’t want to come to Rome, but Evan insisted I take the meeting with Alex.” Whit slipped his hands in his pockets. “On the plane I watched Hannah’s Secret, I hadn’t seen it in years. You were very good. I realized I might have been hasty.”
“Hasty?” Amelia repeated.
“Insisting that you quit acting,” Whit replied. “A lot of actors move away from Los Angeles and make a movie every couple of years. You could still be an actress and we could be together.”
“But they already have established careers.” Amelia frowned. “And what about the paparazzi?”
“If you only made a movie every two or three years they wouldn’t hound you when you stood in line at Peet’s,” Whit continued. “We could lead a normal life but you could still do what you loved.”
Amelia glanced at Whit’s blue eyes and tan cheeks. She smoothed her hair and slipped on white leather sandals.
“I have to go; can we talk after I finish shooting?”
Whit caught her hand and held it tightly. He tucked a loose hair behind her ear and kissed her on the lips.
“I’ll be waiting in the lobby.”
* * *
Amelia glanced at the platters of turkey and Swiss cheese sandwiches. She saw wooden bowls of red apples and purple grapes and overripe peaches. She saw hard-boiled eggs and cinnamon Danishes and soft chocolate chip cookies.
She nibbled a grape and realized she wasn’t hungry. The crew had filmed outside all day and she felt like she had a layer of gasoline and sweat stuck to her blue crepe dress. She tucked her hair behind her ears and thought about Whit’s arrival at the Villa Medici Suite.
She remembered his proposition and wondered if she could really have an acting career if she left Hollywood. She wasn’t Nicole Kidman who could live in Tennessee and get any role or Katie Holmes who performed in an occasional Broadway play while raising Suri. She was starring in her first major role, and there were plenty of young actresses who would take her parts if she moved to San Francisco.
Suddenly she pictured Philip standing in his tiny kitchen making a bacon and lettuce sandwich and shivered. He had been very kind but their relationship was nothing more than an on-set romance. He was a struggling writer living in Rome who thought she was a maid at the Hassler. She couldn’t consider him when she was making a decision.
“There you are.” A man approached her. “I was afraid we left you sweltering on the Via dei Cerchi.”
“I wouldn’t mind a limoncello,” Amelia admitted. “But I think the scene went well.”
“The scene was good.” Sheldon nodded. He wore a checkered shirt and khakis. His thick white hair was brushed over his forehead and he wore round glasses. “If I can only get craft services to provide chilled soft drinks, my crew wouldn’t keep threatening to quit.”
“The grapes are delicious.” Amelia popped one in her mouth.
“I need to talk to you.” Sheldon frowned. “Can I see you in my trailer?”
Amelia put her plate on the table and took a deep breath. She wondered if Sheldon noticed she was preoccupied and had to repeat her lines. She followed him across the piazza and climbed the steps to his trailer.
“Have a seat.” He gestured to a blue plastic chair. There was a white metal desk and a wooden bookshelf and a potted plant. “Every movie I ask for an air-conditioned trailer with a refrigerator and a leather desk chair. I have a bad back; if I sit in this crap chair I look like the Hunchback of Notre Dame.
“I want to show you something.” He rummaged through the drawer and brought out a manila envelope. He slit it open and dropped the contents on the desk.
Amelia looked at the papers on the desk and saw glossy color photos. She picked up a picture of herself wearing the pink Balenciaga gown and diamond tiara. There were close-ups of her wearing thick mascara and bright red lipstick, and a picture of her in a polka dot dress and wide straw hat.
“These are publicity shots for Roman Holiday,” Sheldon explained. “I want you to choose your favorites.”
“What are they for?” Amelia asked.
“People, Vanity Fair, Us, E!” Sheldon adjusted his glasses. “The publicity department gets a dozen requests a day and it’s only going to increase. You’re the talk of Hollywood.”
“I am?” Amelia raised her eyebrow.
“I may have sent some of the dailies to Warner Brothers and they may have leaked one or two to the press.” He grinned. “When Roman Holiday comes out, you’re going to be the biggest star since Julia Roberts.”
Amelia glanced at the photos again and felt her shoulders relax. She looked at Sheldon and her eyes were bright.
“How can I possibly choose? I love all of them.”
* * *
Amelia hurried across the Piazza di Spagna and ran up the Spanish Steps. By the time she removed her makeup it was almost seven o’clock. She had brushed her hair and reapplied her pink lip gloss. She changed into a red linen dress and gold sandals.
She ran up the last step and heard footsteps behind her. She turned and saw two men carrying silver cameras. They wore black jeans and white T-shirts and leather jackets.
“Bella Amelia,” one called. “Uno foto per favore.”
“I can’t.” Amelia kept walking. “I’m late.”
“It will take no time at all,” the other man insisted. “Such a beautiful smile.”
Amelia felt the bulb flash and tripped on the pavement. She stood up and strode toward the Hassler. She entered the revolving glass doors and looked around the lobby.
She saw bellboys in gold uniforms carrying Louis Vuitton trunks and Dior garment bags. She glanced at the Hassler Bar and saw Whit sitting in a high-backed leather chair. He wore a navy blazer and tan slacks and held a shot glass in one hand.
“I’m sorry I’m late.” She approached the mahogany table.
“Are you all right?” Whit asked. “You look like you’ve been running.”
“I’m fine.” Amelia smoothed her hair. “I’d love a gin and tonic over ice.”
Whit walked to the bar and Amelia perched on the leather chair. She suddenly saw a familiar figure standing across the room. He wore a white collared shirt and beige slacks. He had dark wavy hair and wore a leather watch.
The man turned around and Amelia realized it wasn’t Philip. She felt her cheeks flush and something inside her shifted.
“I’m starving.” Whit placed the shot glass on the table. “Maybe we can go upstairs and order veal Parmigiana and scalloped potatoes and strawberry gelato.”
Amelia sipped her drink and thought about the glossy photos on Sheldon’s desk. She pictured long days on the set and the feeling of having done something wonderful. She remembered sitting at ReCafé with Philip and sipping tall iced coffees.
“I don’t think so,” she said slowly, setting her glass on the table. “I don’t want to make a movie every couple of years and I don’t want to avoid photographers. I want to wake up every morning grateful that I do what I love, and I want to thank every person who buys a magazine or movie ticket. I might grow to hate the paparazzi or get tired of craft service sandwiches but I love acting and I don’t want to give it up.”
“I didn’t say you should give it up.…” Whit interrupted.
“Doing something you love every two years is worse, I’ll watch other actresses get the best roles while I learn hatha yoga.” Amelia bit her lip. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going upstairs to take a cool bath.”
“Amelia, wait.” Whit jumped up.
“You left because you knew it wouldn’t work.” Amelia blinked away sudden tears. “Nothing has changed, I think it’s best if we say good-bye.”
She strode across the gold and black lobby and pressed the button on the elevator. She entered the Villa Medici Suite and went into the marble bathroom. She unzipped her dress and turned on the gold faucet. She stepped into the deep bathtub and realized Whit never said he loved her. She closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of lavender bubbles.