Scott called round at Helen’s pensione the evening after her vitamin shot and found her looking cheerful and full of beans.
‘It’s wonderful. I wish I’d known about this doctor months ago. Thank you so much, Scott.’ She threw her arms around his neck.
‘Wanna come out for dinner? My bike is round the corner.’
‘I’m not hungry but we could have a drink if you like.’
Scott looked at her skinny arms. ‘You need to eat, sweetheart. You’re all skin and bone.’
‘I know. None of my clothes fit any more. I’m sure my appetite will come back soon.’ She laughed. ‘Tell you what. Could we get an ice cream? I love ice cream.’
‘Sure can. I know a place not far from here.’ He’d noticed it because it reminded him of an American soda fountain with high stools on which you sat at a counter. There were no other customers. They chose stools with a view into the street and perused the menu.
‘Could I have one of those?’ Helen pointed to a picture on the wall of an ice cream sundae with three different scoops of ice cream – vanilla, strawberry and chocolate – and some pink syrup and sprinkles on top. ‘It looks divine.’
Scott laughed and ordered her one, requesting just a coffee for himself.
‘What’s your job?’ she asked. ‘Did you tell me and I’ve forgotten? I’m famous for that.’
Scott decided not to mention that he was a journalist. The press had a bad name at Cinecittá and he didn’t want her jumping to the conclusion he was only befriending her to get information about Taylor and Burton. ‘I’m a writer. A struggling writer.’
‘How romantic!’ Helen licked a spoonful of ice cream. ‘Do you write love stories?’
‘Not exactly. I write crime stories and sometimes there’s love involved. Gangsters and their girlfriends. Say, I was wondering if you and Luigi were ever an item?’
Helen shuddered and shook her head, but she wouldn’t meet his eye. ‘He’s disgusting,’ she exclaimed with feeling. ‘I really hate him.’ The question seemed to have upset her and he regretted asking it because she stopped eating and simply toyed with her ice cream as it melted into puddles in the dish.
‘I hope he’ll leave you alone now, but tell me if you have any trouble and I’ll deal with him. OK?’
She nodded, but a dampener had been put on her mood. ‘Do you have a girlfriend?’ she asked, and Scott found himself telling her about Rosalia, who still called the office from time to time.
‘I don’t understand why she doesn’t have more pride,’ he complained.
Helen had a distant look in her eyes. ‘If she could only get you back, she could pretend the rejection never happened and that it was all a misunderstanding. Then she could stop thinking of herself as the kind of girl men always leave.’
‘Is there such a thing as the kind of girl men always leave?’
‘I think so,’ Helen frowned. ‘Don’t you?’
‘No, I think they just need to meet the right person. And maybe stop trying so hard.’
All of a sudden Helen leaned her head in her hands and seemed exhausted. ‘I need an early night, Scott. Sorry I’m not much company.’
‘Hey! I’m just glad you’re on the mend. Let’s go out again in a few days when you’ve got your appetite back. Why don’t you give me your number?’
Helen scribbled the phone number of her pensione on the cover of a matchbook. ‘I won’t hold my breath since you’ve already admitted you’re the kind of guy who doesn’t return girls’ phone calls.’
‘Idiot!’ he grinned. ‘Of course I’ll call. We’re friends. It’s the girls who try to force me down the aisle on the second date I tend to dodge.’
When he dropped her off, he put his arms round her and hugged her tight, then kissed her forehead. She looked very vulnerable as he drove off, and he decided that he would definitely try to see her again soon. Perhaps he would find out more about this Luigi character as well, so he could protect Helen from him.
Every evening Scott had a few beers in one of the bars round the Via Veneto or Via Margutta, where he kept his eyes open and watched the comings and goings, especially the furtive deals in which money was palmed from one person to another and small paper packages given in return. It wasn’t long before he noticed Luigi, the dealer he’d seen with Helen, but this time he was talking to an actor Scott vaguely recognised. They disappeared to the men’s toilet, then the actor left first, glancing around self-consciously, before Luigi sauntered out and stood near Scott at the bar.
‘Bella serata,’ Scott ventured in Italian, and Luigi looked up at him. ‘Do you speak English?’
‘When I feel like it.’
‘The town is full of actors at the moment. Must be good for business.’ Luigi shrugged and Scott continued. ‘I hear they’re all alcoholics or drug addicts. They pretend to be someone else at work during the day then use mind-altering chemicals at night so that they never have to face up to who they really are.’
‘That’s profound,’ Luigi replied. ‘Are you a philosopher?’
‘No, just a businessman,’ Scott lied. ‘Look, I know this is a long shot and I’m sorry if I’m way off target but I saw you going to the gents’ with that guy and I wondered if by any chance you know where I could buy some cocaine? I heard it’s easy to find drugs in Rome. Someone told me that certain bartenders will even supply you from under the counter if they know you, but I haven’t been able to find any like that.’
‘If that was the case, the quality would not be good,’ Luigi scoffed. ‘Every time it changes hands I expect it will be cut with farina. You need to buy from a dealer if you want it to be pure.’
‘You sound like a guy who knows what he’s talking about. Can I buy you a drink?’
‘Sure.’ Luigi made a face as if it was neither here nor there to him and ordered a coffee and a Jack Daniel’s.
‘So how does it work when famous people want to buy drugs?’ Scott asked. ‘Let’s say Elizabeth Taylor fancied a couple of tabs of LSD for a party. How would she get them?’
Luigi gave a sly smile. ‘I imagine she has trusted people she would send out to make enquiries. For all I know, you could be one of them.’
‘Well, maybe I am,’ Scott grinned. ‘So does that mean a dealer could be supplying lots of famous people without even knowing it?’
‘Some, perhaps. Other dealers have more personal relationships with their clients. They know the precise type of product the client prefers, the exact strength and purity, and make sure they supply what is wanted. The client will pay a premium for guaranteed quality.’
‘I bet you know a lot of famous people yourself,’ Scott hinted. ‘Who are your favourites?’
That was the tipping point. Luigi couldn’t resist boasting about the international stars he had dealt with. The names tripped off his tongue in a libellous stream. He said they always sought him out when they were in Rome and he never let them down. Many of them were household names across continents.
‘The Via Veneto is my patch. Anyone who wants to buy anything round here has to go through me.’
Scott took mental notes but knew he could never print any of this information when the only evidence he had was the word of a shady Italian dealer.
‘I’d be honoured if you would sell me a little something,’ Scott said. ‘Just so I can enter their illustrious company. How does it work?’
Luigi glanced round but the barman was serving someone at the other end of the bar. ‘You want cocaine?’ He named an extortionate price for a paperfold of the stuff.
Scott sensed it was several times the market rate and that Luigi saw him as a patsy, but he nodded agreement. He had just enough cash on him. ‘Shall I go to the gents’?’ he asked.
‘Cup the money in your palm and we will shake hands. You must leave the bar immediately afterwards.’
The deal was done, and Scott said goodbye. As he walked down the street, he wondered what to do with the cocaine. He’d never taken it before and was curious to see what it was like but he didn’t want to do it on his own. He’d heard it intensified the sensations during sex and wished he had a telephone number for that long-haired, barefooted girl. He climbed on his Vespa and drove round to the building on the Via Margutta where he had met her but the lights were out and nothing was happening. He couldn’t even ask after her because he’d never discovered her name. It was a shame. She would have been the ideal person for a cocaine experiment.
He stuck the paperfold in his back pocket and drove home to write notes on his conversation with Luigi, for a new section of his journalism article. Shame he couldn’t name all the celebrity drug users Luigi had mentioned. You couldn’t have everything …