Maggie Beautiful put a hand on my arm, stopping me. “You have a red-hot heart, doll. He knows it. He’s worried. He—he loves you so much. You are the first…person in his life that he ever calledhis.”
I trembled with anger, but her words softened my heart a little.
She put her nose in the air, sniffing. “Do you smell that?”
“Smell what?”
As soon as the words were out, the smell reached me too. The distinct smell of hair burning. I looked her over, and she looked me over, but we found nothing. Then we turned at the same time.
Signore Butta stood behind us, tilting from one side to the other, smiling. Smoke rose from the top of his head like a bonfire party.
The looks on our faces, plus our immediate charge, must have frightened him because he screamed “MAMMA MIA!” before taking off in the opposite direction. We gave chase, me in the lead, Maggie Beautiful right behind. Suddenly she lunged and flung herself on his back, taking him down.
“Put him out!” she screamed over his cries.
I kept slapping at his head to put the fire out. He thought he was being assaulted.
“Please!” he begged. “I am a good boy! I am good to my MAMMA!”
“Tell him, Maggie Beautiful,” I said between attempts at fire control. “Tell him we’re not here to hurt him! Tell him his hair is on fire.”
She couldn’t. She was too busy laughing. After the situation was finally under control, I attended to a hysterical Maggie Beautiful and a crying Signore Butta. Once I was able to get him to understand what had happened, he reached to touch the top of his head and winced.
“Ah.” He smiled at me, his cheeks tear-stained. “Not the first time, ah?”
This sent Maggie Beautiful into another fit of hysterics, Signore Butta not long after, and me right behind.
“Oh heavens,” she hardly got out. “Could you see Brando’s face right now if he were here?”
I could and then I couldn’t catch my breath.
As the three of us rolled around in the dirt, I took her hand and squeezed. “No matter why you’re here, Maggie Beautiful,” I said through laughter and tears. “It’s good to have you.”
“It’s goodto be,” she said. “Come on. Let’s get SignoreButtback to town, get his groceries, and then we’re going to talk more about why I’m here.”
* * *
Life with Maggie Beautiful was never dull. She was the heart of the party, so to speak. When she was around, everything seemed to burst with life. So it was no surprise that when we reached the village, she bought Signore Butta his groceries and then tackled the hard conversation without preamble.
“He doesn’t talk to me,” she said, eyes on her cold treat as we walked side by side. We both felt like we were owed gelato after our near-death miss. “But I know when he needs me. He needed me to be here. I think…” She sighed. “I think he’s lonelier than he’s letting on, too. Brando is tougher than steel, but when you came into his life he suddenly had a soft spot. He doesn’t do well with those. After you were married, the soft spot turned to mush. Which means he’s vulnerable. For a man like him, that’s a hard adjustment. He’s fighting it. And in doing so, the rest of his armor has grown stronger to protect his weakness.”
“I would never hurt him—in that way.”My body belongs to him, along with my heart and my soul.
“Those two weeks are hard on him too, doll.”
We left the conversation alone after that. In a few steps, three or four Italian men praising our beauty surrounded us. Maggie Beautiful lifted her arms to them, bowing as if she had put on the performance of her life. I didn't like the way they were clapping and jeering. It was Puddin’ and the gang all over again,al frescostyle.
I found us transportation and we went home. But it only reinforced the life force that was Maggie Beautiful. When I was around her, I had to put up a shield so I wouldn’t get sucked in too deep.
For the most part, she was a great help. We mostly hung aroundDare Alla Luce,getting our hands dirty with work. And I wasn’t the only one who fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. Maggie Beautiful seemed to find a stride of her own—still, she was Maggie Beautiful, and we did most of this in sequins and with a drink in hand.
I began to question her about Luca Fausti. When she drank, she became a bit softer and was more likely to answer my inquiries without too much suspicion. Maggie Beautiful might have captured her innocence in a jar, but she was far from naïve. I had to tread lightly, or she’d question my questions.
The day before we were set to go back to Milan, I stood at the sink, doing dishes. She was putting on her own little show with a bottle of wine and some cheese.
“Maggie Beautiful,” I said. “Did Luca Fausti have any other children?”
She took a deep drink of wine, swallowed, and then put the cheese on her nose before she flipped it in her mouth.
