Philip stood on the corner of the Piazza del Popolo and gazed at the crowded cafés and elegant boutiques. He saw children playing hopscotch next to the marble fountain and a vendor selling sunflowers under the Egyptian Obelisk. He spied a man wearing a yellow collared shirt and blue jeans and white sneakers. He had a newspaper open in front of him and wore dark sunglasses.
“If you sit here any longer, they’ll charge you rent,” Philip mused, approaching the square table.
“Canova has the best people watching in Rome.” Max folded his newspaper. “After a few hours the waitress takes pity on me and brings me free Napolitanos.”
“Why the sunglasses?” Philip sat opposite him. He wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and tan slacks. He had scuffed loafers on his feet and a black leather watch around his wrist. “You look like a spy in a James Bond movie.”
“The countess and I were having some fun with whipped cream in the kitchen,” Max replied. “Her daughter came home and found us. Alessandria is twenty-two with long black hair and more curves than the Appian Way. Mirabella told her I was the pastry chef.” Max took off his sunglasses and squinted in the sun. “It turns out Alessandria and I played footsie at Alpha’s last week and she still has the hots for me. I spent the morning hiding in the pantry.”
“I can’t say you don’t deserve it.” Philip laughed, gazing longingly at Max’s plate of lemon sea bass fillet and Parmesan cheese ravioli. “Don’t you ever feel guilty for taking the countess’s money?”
“Adam is the one who should feel guilty.” Max cut a slice of fillet. “I have a fine arts degree from Parsons and he pays me less than the woman who mops the office floor.”
“You’ll never guess who I fished out of the Trevi Fountain last night, the maid from the Hassler. She was high as a kite on champagne and soaking wet. I took her to my apartment to dry off.” Philip handed his phone to Max. “Does she look familiar?”
Max grabbed the phone and studied the photo of Amelia. Her eyes were huge and her damp hair was plastered to her head. She wore Philip’s flannel robe and sipped a cup of coffee.
“That’s Amelia Tate, the star of Roman Holiday.” Max whistled.
“I told you.” Philip grinned, eating a bite of Max’s ravioli. “She was embarrassed when she sobered up but she still didn’t tell me who she was.”
“Why would one of the hottest actresses in Hollywood be running around Rome masquerading as a hotel maid?” Max leaned back in his chair.
“I would love to know,” Philip mused, dipping a baguette in olive oil.
Max drummed his fingers on the white linen tablecloth and studied the photo. “You’re not the only one. I bet the readers of Inside Rome would love to know, too.”
“What are you saying?” Philip frowned.
“Adam is always complaining his readers only want to read about who George Clooney is married and who got kicked off The Bachelor,” Max continued. “But what if you got an exclusive on Amelia Tate—the rising movie star with a dark secret?”
“We don’t know she has a dark secret,” Philip protested.
“She’s lying about who she is, she has to have a reason,” Max insisted. “We can follow her for a week, I’ll take the photos. We’re bound to uncover something juicy.”
Philip pictured Amelia’s sparkling eyes and wide smile. He saw her devouring a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon. “She’s an actress, she’d know if she was being followed.”
“I have a better idea!” Max exclaimed. “You can ask her out, see how long she’ll date you without telling the truth.”
“We’re not the Enquirer, we don’t make up stories.” Philip shook his head. “I don’t want to do anything to hurt her.”
“Any publicity is good publicity,” Max replied. “You’ll be getting her name in front of thousands of readers who will flock to see her movie.”
“What if I ask her out and she says no?” Philip wavered.
“You’re not that hard to look at. Come on.” Max ate a last bite of sea bass and grabbed his sunglasses. “Let’s pitch it to Adam before Inside Rome goes out of business.”
* * *
“I like it.” Adam nodded, looking up from the tear sheets spread out on his desk. “It has everything my readers want: celebrity, secrets, scandal, all in beautiful Roma.”
Adam was only a year older than Philip but he had thinning brown hair and a slight paunch. He wore a blue shirt and khakis and had an unlit cigarette behind his ear.
Philip glanced around the small office and tugged at his collar. The ceiling was made of plaster and the floor was peeling linoleum. A metal garbage can held a pile of cigarettes and candy wrappers. There was a framed Sports Illustrated cover on the wall and a signed photograph of Angelina Jolie.
“God she’s beautiful.” Max stared at the photo. “I don’t believe Angelina Jolie really gave you her autograph.”
“That was two years ago at the Venice Film Festival.” Adam sighed. “She was about to promise me an interview when Brad Pitt whisked her away on a gondola.”
“But it needs to be big.” Adam turned to Philip. “You have to go all the way.”
“I beg your pardon,” Philip spluttered.
“You get Amelia Tate to agree to marry you without revealing her true identity and I’ll pay you ten thousand dollars.” Adam aimed carefully and flicked the cigarette into the trash can.
“Ten thousand dollars!” Philip gasped, leaning forward in his chair. He pictured his father in his gray herringbone suit and black tasseled shoes. He pictured the brick headquarters of Hamilton & Sons with the gold plaque on the building. “We just met, how am I going to propose?”
Adam walked to a metal safe and took out a wad of euros. “I’ll give you three weeks. Take her to Il Pagliaccio and Imàgo’s and Aroma. Show her the Villa Medici and the Castel Sant’Angelo. I want pictures and lots of juicy details.” He peeled off ten notes and placed them on the table. “If you fail, you owe me six hundred euros.”
“Do you ever smoke these things?” Max tapped a cigarette from the box of Lucky Strikes on the desk.
“Are you kidding?” Adam stuck another cigarette behind his ear. “Cigarettes will kill you.”
* * *
“Take her to Agata e Romeo, it has a drop-dead view of the Colosseum,” Max mused. “The veal terrine with artichoke is delicious and the chocolate soufflé with Tahiti vanilla ice cream is perfection.”
“How do you afford to eat at fancy restaurants?” Philip asked, gazing at the wad of euros on his desk.
He swiveled in his chair and glanced at the view from his narrow window. He saw schoolchildren tossing coins in the Trevi Fountain and couples eating gelato. He saw women in silk dresses and large straw hats and men in summer suits carrying leather briefcases.
“I didn’t say I pay for them.” Max shrugged, sniffing the coffee in Philip’s coffeepot.
“I hate doing something underhanded.” Philip frowned. He remembered her easy laugh and a knot formed in his stomach. “I don’t want to ruin Amelia’s career.”
“She’s the one who lifted a maid’s uniform from the Hassler.” Max inspected a tin of biscuits. “And what about your career? Or do you want to become a stockbroker with a temperature-controlled office and a secretary who schedules your dentist appointments.”
Philip pictured his father’s Wall Street office with its rich maple floors and dark paneled walls. He saw his secretary with her pearl necklace and the cubicles full of young men wearing dark suits and red ties.
He could pay his father a first installment and beg him for an extension. He could get a studio apartment on the Lower East Side and pound the streets until a newspaper hired him. He could go back to reporting about the credit crunch and low-interest mortgages and the stock market in China.
“How would I ask her out?” Philip rubbed his forehead. “I don’t even have her phone number.”
“You’re the Yale graduate, you’ll figure it out.” Max took a note from the pile of euros. “I saw a pair of earrings that match Alessandria’s eyes. They’re the most beautiful shade of blue, like two sapphires.”
“What about the countess?” Philip raised his eyebrow.
“You’re right.” Max grabbed another note. “I’ll buy her a pair, too.”
Philip leaned back in his chair, picturing Amelia waiting at the taxi stand. He saw her sitting in his bed with the sheets pulled around her shoulders. He saw her standing next to the Trevi Fountain, her red dress clinging to her thighs.
He pulled a sheet of paper from his desk and grabbed a pen. He scribbled his signature and sealed the envelope. He stuffed the wad of euros in his pocket and ran down the steps.