Although she’d planned to arrive at the villa fifteen minutes late, just for the pleasure of making Mr. Movie Star wait, she was habitually punctual, and at 10:05, she started to hyperventilate and had to head for her car. She glanced into the rearview mirror as she pulled up to the front entrance of the villa. The curls peeking out from beneath her hat made her want to rush back to the farmhouse and organize something.
She noticed a man skulking in the shrubbery-a very badly dressed tourist, by the look of him. She felt an unwilling flash of sympathy for Gage. Despite his disguise yesterday, he hadn’t been able to keep his hiding place a secret from his fans.
The fan wore an ugly checked sport shirt, baggy Bermuda shorts that nearly brushed his knees, and thick, crepe-soled sandals with white socks. A Lakers cap shadowed his face, and a camera hung from a strap around his neck. His purple fanny pack sagged like a bruised kidney at his waist. He spotted her car and began walking toward it, shifting his weight from side to side in the awkward gait of the overweight and out of shape.
She braced herself for a confrontation, then looked more closely. With a groan, she banged her forehead against the top of the steering wheel.
He stuck his head in the door and grinned. “Morning, Fifi.”
8
I refuse to be seen in public with you!”
His knees bumped the dash as he folded himself into her Panda. “Believe me, you’ll enjoy the day more this way. I know this is going to be hard for you to believe, but the Italians love my films.”
She gazed at his geeky outfit. “You have to lose the fanny pack.”
“I can’t believe I’m out of bed this early when I don’t have to work.” He slouched down in the seat and closed his eyes.
“I mean it. The fanny pack goes. I can deal with the white socks and those sandals, but not that fanny pack.” She looked again. “No, I can’t deal with the white socks either. They both have to go.”
He yawned. “Okay, let’s see… how will the story play out on Entertainment Tonight?” He dropped his voice into television-announcer mode. “The recently disgraced Dr. Isabel Favor, who’s apparently not as wise as she wants her legions of worshippers to believe, was seen in Volterra, Italy, with Lorenzo Gage, Hollywood’s dark prince of dissolute living. The two were spotted together-”
“I love the fanny pack.” She threw the Panda into gear.
“What about the sandals and white socks?”
“A retro fashion statement.”
“Excellent.” He squinted, then fumbled with the zipper on the pack. She wondered how someone so tall fitted into a Maserati.
“What were you doing in the shrubbery?”
He stuck on a pair of clunky black sunglasses. “There’s a bench back there. I was taking a nap.” Despite his complaining, he looked healthy and rested. “Nice hair this morning. Where did the curls come from?”
“A sudden and mysterious electrical failure that rendered my hair dryer ineffective. Thanks for the hot water. Now may I have my electricity back?”
“You don’t have electricity?”
“Strangest thing.”
“It could be accidental. Anna said they’ve had water problems at the farmhouse all summer, which is why they need to dig.”
“And why she told you I have to move to town.”
“I believe she mentioned it. Dump the hat, will you?”
“Not a chance.”
“It’ll draw too much attention to us. Besides, I like those curls.”
“Be still, my heart.”
“You don’t like curls?”
“I don’t like messiness.” She gave his clothes a telling glance.
“Ah.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Just ‘ah.’ ”
“Keep your ‘ahs’ to yourself so I can enjoy the scenery.”
“Be glad to.”
It was a beautiful day. Hills stretched to the horizon on either side of the road. Oblong bales of wheat sat in one field. A tractor moved through another. They passed acres of sunflowers drying in the sun but not yet plowed under. She would’ve loved to see them in bloom, but then she would’ve missed the sight of the grapes ready for harvest.
“My friends call me Ren,” he said, “but today I’d appreciate it if you’d call me Buddy.”
“That’s gonna happen.”
“Or Ralph. Ralph Smitts from Ashtabula, Ohio. It has a certain ring to it. If you have to wear a hat, I’ll buy you something a little less eye-catching when we get there.”
“No thanks.”
“You’re one uptight chick, Dr. Favor. Is that a building block of your philosophy? ‘Thou shalt be the most uptight chick on the planet’?”
“I’m principled, not uptight.” Just saying it made her feel stuffy, and she wasn’t stuffy, not really, not in her heart anyway. “What do you know about my philosophy?”
“Nothing until I got on the Web last night. Interesting. From what I read in your bio, you built your empire the hard way. I’ve got to hand it to you. Nobody seems to have given you anything for free.”
“Oh, I got a lot for free.” She thought of all the people who’d inspired her over the years. Whenever she’d reached a low point in her life, the universe had always sent her an angel in one form or another.
Her foot slipped off the accelerator.
“Hey.”
“Sorry.”
“Either pay attention to the road or let me drive,” he grumbled. “Which you should have done in the first place, because I’m the man.”
“I noticed.” She gripped the wheel more tightly. “I’m sure my life story is boring compared to yours. Didn’t I read that your mother’s royalty?”
“A countess. One of those meaningless Italian titles. Mainly she was an irresponsible international playgirl with too much money. She’s dead now.”
“I’ve always been fascinated with the influences of childhood. Do you mind an intrusive question?”
“You want to know what it was like growing up with a mother who had the maturity level of a twelve-year-old pothead? I’m touched by your interest.”
She’d imagined herself staying aloof today instead of chatting away. Still, what else could he do to her? “Professional curiosity only, so don’t get sentimental on me.”
“Let’s see, maternal influence… I can’t remember the first time I got drunk, but it was around the time I grew tall enough to pick up the liquor glasses her party guests left around.” She didn’t hear any bitterness, but it had to be lurking around in there somewhere. “I smoked my first joint when I was ten, and a lot more after that. I’d seen a few dozen porn films before I was twelve, and don’t think that doesn’t screw up your adolescent sexual expectations. In and out of boarding schools all along the East Coast. Totaled more cars than I can count. Arrested for shoplifting twice, which was ironic because I had a fat trust fund and way too much disposable income for a snot-nosed punk. But, hey, anything to get attention. Oh… snorted my first line of coke when I was fifteen. Ah, the good old days.”
A lot of pain hid behind his chuckle, but he wasn’t going to let her see a bit of it. “What about your father?” she asked.
“Wall Street. Very respectable. He still goes to work every day. The second time around he made sure he married more responsibly-a blueblood who wisely kept me as far away as possible from their three kids. One of them’s a decent guy. We see each other occasionally.”
“Did any angels show up in your childhood?”
“Angels?”
“A benevolent presence.”
“My nonna, my mother’s mother. She lived with us off and on. If it weren’t for her, I’d probably be in prison now.”
As it was, he seemed to have made his own kind of creative prison, playing only villainous parts, maybe to reflect his self-image. Or maybe not. Psychologists had a bad habit of oversimplifying people’s motivations.