“You know I wouldn’t allow just anyone to get close to my grandsons. I made that mistake with my sons. I released them to the world and hoped they would follow their happiness.” She took another deep drink. I could smell tomato on her breath as she sighed. “I fell in love with Eleni the moment I met her. She used to sing for Casino Portofino. But…my son was prone to addiction, and I think her love for him made her weak enough to join him. My son could never quit. She could. She’d always go back to him, and it wouldn’t be long before they were right back where they started.”
“I know,” I whispered. “Big told me.”
“He never talks to anyone about it. Not even me.” She looked behind me for a second. “They both wasted away before his eyes. My husband—Tullio—tried tough love with our son, but nothing seemed to help him. In the end, it was like they went under together. My son told me after Eleni died that, if there was a heaven for men like him, Eleni would be there to meet him. He missed her and always regretted the man he could never be for her. At her funeral, he sang “Are You Lonesome Tonight.”There wasn’t a dry eye in the place.” She wiped at her eyes, smearing her makeup.
“That’s so sad.” I wiped my eyes too. They were burning from holding back so much emotion, even though tears slipped down my cheeks, which I quickly dried. I hated that Tullio—my Tullio—had to experience that. I hated that anyone did. I also hated that Kitty had to experience the death of a child. No matter how old, I couldn’t imagine a child not always being a baby to the parents. It should be that way, in my opinion. That was why my heart always broke for my brothers. Their parents didn’t see them that way. But I would. They would always be my baby brothers.
“Gio’s dad?” I asked to change the subject. I could see Kitty was slumping in her seat, something I’d never seen her do. It made her look her age.
She took a deep breath and sat up straighter in her chair. She waved a hand. “Lives in Palm Springs with his wife. He goes by the name Loyd Johnson most of the time. He tries to hide who he is—who he came from. My husband—Old Gio—knew our son wasn’t made for that life years ago. I love my son, but he’s a whiner. But who am I to judge? Everyone, especially in show biz, calls me Kitty. You know my real name.”
“Canta.”
“Canta Maria Ducci. I never changed my last name, though. There’s nothing wrong with Johnston if it belongs to you, but…” She scoffed, sending another blast of spicy breath my way. “I told him I had his Johnson for him when I first found out he was doing it.”
That elicited a laugh from me. First, she said Johnson, and then she said Johnston, and then she was back toI told him I had his Johnson for him. Kitty wasn’t feeling any pain from the drinks she’d had.
“You’re one of a kind, Canta Maria Ducci.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” She smiled. “I’ve been told that all my life.”
“That’s the truth.” Rocky sauntered up to the table. She must have caught me telling Kitty that she was one of a kind.
Speaking of one of a kind…seems like I was surrounded by those types. Rocky, or Raquel, Barcelona fit that bill too. Her hair was a dark auburn in this light, but in darker rooms, it was close to chestnut. She had a lot of it. Her hazel eyes were cattish, streaked with honey stripes against a backdrop of green and blue, and her skin was fair, but bordered on tan. It was flawless.
Even though I understood what drew Gio to her, I didn’t think he realized it yet. Like his casino, his tastes seemed to be flashy. Rocky didn’t need to be. She was the flash. And her aesthetic was a perfect mixture of rough around the edges and feminine. She was the type of woman who could pull off a lace dress with combat boots.
Actually, the first time I’d ever seen her feet was on this trip. She always had them hidden in either boots or sneakers in Vegas.
Georgia and I loved her. So did Kitty. I knew it was only a matter of time before Gio did too. Or recognized it.
Rocky pulled out a chair, and the plate she ordered from her room was delivered to her a few minutes after. She thanked the waiter and then dug in. She enjoyed eating.
Georgia joined us a few minutes later. She was wearing a dress from House of Sicilia. Dulce had said she had to have it. It was from their new summer line, and it was blue and flirty. Her small purse was similar in color to her dress with a majolica pattern and lemons. Her sandals were platform wedges. Her glasses were sitting on top of her head, holding her hair away from her face.
All that noticing of what she was wearing, and I still didn’t miss the accessory who let his hand slip from her hip before he took off in another direction, fixing his suit as he did.
Rocco Fausti.
The three of us raised our brows at her as she took a seat.
She totally ignored us. “What’s for breakfast?”
“You already know,” Kitty said to her. “You ordered ahead of time like the rest of us.”
And like magic, the dishes Georgia had ordered ahead of time were set down in front of her, piping hot. Rocky was almost finished with hers, and Georgia was picking, mostly at fruit. Kitty continued to guzzle her Bloody Mary until nothing was left and another one was delivered to her without asking.
Rocky cleared her throat and set her napkin down. “So, another day of shopping? Massages? Waxing?”
“Whoever called waxing pampering must have been a man,” Kitty said.
“Amen, Ms. Kitty,” Georgia said with a sweet Southern twang, lifting her cup of expresso in toast.
I stood abruptly and all eyes flew to me. “We’re in Italy!” I rasped out. “Let’s connect to the land, get our hands dirty, our feet on the ground! Let’s talk to locals and eat local dishes. Let’s just…be.”
I looked at Kitty, and it was almost like I’d pointed at her or pushed her back. She sat back in her chair some.
“You’re from around here, right?” I asked.
