“Because even in Italy, you frighten the other drivers! Remember that guy you made cry?”
“Okay,” Magpie agreed. “That’s fair.” She looked at me. “A few incidents and everyone gets all testy about it. I’ll take the back.” She practically jumped in.
I looked toward the house, but Noemi hit the horn again. I took the passenger seat and couldn’t find a seatbelt. By the time I confirmed it, though, it was too late. Noemi had turned around, and in a cloud of dust, we were speeding away from the villa. By the time it cleared, we were gone.
My hands curled around the door handle, or whatever it was, and my knuckles were bright white from the pressure. Even though Noemi didn’t seem like a bad driver, the hills were winding, and she was taking them fast. I would have closed my eyes, but I was too afraid to. Maybe I’d have time to open the door and jump out and save myself in time. I would have rested my head against the window, but they were down, along with the top. Wind whipped against me and through my hair. Magpie had a permanent hand on her hat.
“I love this car!” Magpie said, and we swerved with a turn. “What did you say it was? I know it’s a Fiat but can’t remember the type.”
“It’s a ’57 Fiat-Abarth 750,” Noemi shouted over the wind.
“This would be such a cute car for you, Stella Stellar.” Magpie shouted in my ear. She was wedged in the middle of the seat, leaning between me and Noemi.
“That’s what I thought too!” Noemi hit the horn,meeeeep meeeep, at a slower driver and then made a hand gesture at them as we passed. “I think the color might be wrong. My friend has a silver too. But! I thought the red was a bit showy and wanted to drive it.”
“Me?” I looked at her. “Drive?”
“Well, yeah,” Noemi said. “Matteo can teach you. Noproblema.”
“I think that’s a splendid idea!” Magpie dug around in the back seat and came up with a leather bag. She set it between us, using the strap to dangle it. “What’s this?”
“A camera. I was going to take a few pictures of Stella with it, but then decided to take them on my cellphone instead. That way I’ll have the pictures back pronto. I have a guy in Hollywood who’s really interested. Remember that documentary I did?”
Magpie tapped her lip. “The one about Sicilian being a language, not just a dialect, and how Italy as a whole felt about it?”
“That’s the one! Well….” She drew the word out. “It’s going to be shown at the Cannes Film Festival!”
“Woo hoo!” Magpie patted her head. “Way to go, Doll!”
“Way to go!” I said, even though I had no idea what that was.
Noemi smiled at me. “I wanted to invite you and Matteo to come along with me and my family. I want to get you out there. I know—I just feel it in my bones—that you have what it takes. The camera will love you!”
“I think the camera would love Matteo,” I said, glad to finally have something to take my mind off the ride.
Noemi laughed. “None of the Fausti men will actorsing. Believe me, I’ve tried to convince all the ones I’ve met. And that’s been a lot over the years.”
“Will singprofessionally,” Magpie put in. “Luca enjoys singing very much.”
“And what a voice he has.” Noemi sighed. “Their faces…you can stare at them for hours and not get sick of them. Better yet, they’re like watching a black and white film or reading a divine book that you can mostly understand from another time in history. You can find so much depth, romance, and intrigue there. And youalwaysfind something that makes each man unique, and youalwaysfind something you didn’t the first time.”
Magpie pulled an envelope out of the bag. “What’s this?”
“I brought along the script for Stella to read over. She’s so perfect for Valentina.”
Magpie started to read it, and I had to admit, it was nice hearing her voice while we explored the Tuscan countryside. She stopped a few seconds later, tapped her front tooth, then did something with her phone. She handed it to me while music played.
“Set that on the dash, Stella Stellar. We need some background music.”
Noemi sighed again. “‘Amore mio aiutami.’ Love it. And love Piccioni. Perfect.”
“I think so too,” Magpie whispered. Then she continued reading the script.
With the warm weather, the soft Italian music, and the way Magpie’s voice brought the script to life, the turns seemed like a dancing sway instead of serpentine twists to make me sick.
Every once in a while, Magpie would read a line and Noemi and I would glance at each other. I loved the way Magpie was reading, how she took the emotion from the line and brought it to life. She should have been an actress. She was like an Italian Marilyn Monroe. She even walked like her—a little sway to her behind.
Magpie did it again, brought the line to life, and Noemi and I looked at each other. I must have moved my eyes forward first, because I screamed “GUY!” a few seconds before Noemi screamed “SHIT!” and hit the brakes.
