Blonde Ops (18 page)

He stared, openmouthed. Who wouldn't gawk at the First Lady being photographed in a place like
this
, and in a dress like
that
? Pointy satin heels peeked out from the draped hem of her gown as she posed.

Angelo shot from different angles, on the floor, and then up on a ladder. When he climbed down, he signaled for a change, and Aldo brought out a different piece of camera equipment. Ugi and Joe, accompanied by Ortiz, were allowed to fuss with Mrs. Jennings's hair and face.

“Everyone, take five minutes!” Candace shouted, then waved me over to where she stood with Taj.

“I'll be right back,” I said to Dante, and ran to see what she wanted.

“Delivery boy is back,” Taj said coolly, looking in Dante's direction. Their eyes locked, and that unfriendly aura that had simmered between them at the office made the vast space of the Pantheon interior feel small.

“Why is
he
here?” she said, flicking a hard eye at Dante.

“Dante delivered Ugi's makeup,” I said.

“Get him out of here—I can't have any distractions!” Candace hissed in my face, “Stay in the vicinity—and out of trouble!”

Glad that Taj had nothing else to add, I passed water around, then went over to where Dante stood, waiting.

“We've been officially kicked out. We won't be able to see anything from here.”

Winking, he grabbed my hand and tugged me away. We walked around the curved wall, toward the exit, away from the photographers, and then slipped through a small archway that led into a narrow hall ending in a small door banded with heavy rusting iron. Smiling at me over his shoulder, Dante pressed on it, and it cracked open just enough for us to squeeze through. Darkness and cool musty air flowed out. I wasn't sure I wanted to go in—it looked like spider territory. Dante disappeared through it, and soon all I saw was his tan hand, reaching out to me.

“Come,
bella
,” he said.

A look back—we were alone. I took a deep breath, and then his hand, and passed through the opening, forcing myself not to think of creepy-crawly things. Dante reached over me with his free hand and gently pushed the door closed. We were in total darkness. I didn't like being cramped in the passageway, unable able to see, even with him.

“Watch the steps,” he said. “There's no light. We'll go slow. Keep your hand on the wall.”

I reached out and my fingertips met cold, damp stone. I shivered, fearing what I might touch, but started climbing up after him.

So many steps! The thud of our footfalls on the stone staircase and Dante's soft breathing were a steady cadence, encouraging me to go on. Just when I resolved that I couldn't climb another step we reached another door. Dante pushed it open and dazzling light flooded in. I blinked several times. When my eyes adjusted all I saw was blue sky and rooftops.

We'd taken the old staircase … to the top of the Pantheon!

I stepped outside. There was no better view. In the distance, over a sea of terra-cotta tiles, TV antennas, and power lines, I could see the Coliseum, broken and white, like a tiny crumbling cake. Church spires with glints of gold and copper pierced the sky. In the far distance, I was sure I saw the buildings of the Vatican. A flock of birds flew overhead. It was … magical.

“Here,” Dante said, “we see everything. Careful,
bella
.”

He stepped onto a precarious-looking walkway, the railings broken and rusted in spots. Eventually we came to another set of crumbling stairs, this one going straight up the dome. He went up a few steps before turning to me.

“At the top of the steps is the
occhio
.”

“Huh?”

“The, how you say? The eye—where the light comes in.”

Cautiously I scrambled over and looked down.

The photo shoot continued on below us. Everyone looked so tiny; there was Candace, in her bright red Dolce & Gabbana suit. There was Mrs. Jennings in another Roman-style gown. And Sophie, chatting with Kevin, standing very close and smiling at him. When had they gotten so chummy? Maybe she was trying to get her name off the chore chart; I couldn't blame her for that. I spied the Secret Service agents, and then Taj, Taliah, and the other models hovering close by. Taj ignored them, his eyes on a notebook in his hands. Every now and then he scribbled in it. What, no electronic tablet? Mr. “I can ruin anyone's life in keystrokes and not get caught” was going low-tech?

Suddenly, he looked up, right at me. Our eyes locked for a long moment. Did the corners of his mouth twitch upward into a smile? It was too far away for me to tell, and I backed away.

A few steps down from the opening, Dante took my hand, holding it loosely. I prayed that it wouldn't sweat. Nervously, I licked my lips, and hoped I didn't have coffee breath.

“Tell me more about where you live,” he said.

I was a bit disappointed that he wanted to talk, but answered anyway. “It's just houses and stores and schools. Nothing exciting.”

He shook his head. “I see pictures, videos, so many things to see and do, you have all kinds of people, and music. Here, everything's old. America is always changing, always new and exciting.”

I didn't see how endless shopping malls and highways were exciting. “A great place to visit is—”

“No.” He shook his head. “Not visit, I want to live there.”

“But Rome is so beautiful,” I protested. Why would he want to give up all this—and for what? Fast food, an overabundance of car dealerships, and suburbia?

Drawing one leg up so he could lean on his knee, he ran a hand through his hair, messing it up to look even better. I loved that he seemed to have no idea how …
delizioso
he was. He stared into the distance and I could tell he was gathering his thoughts. I waited, content to just sit there and be.

“My father, he died young, so as the only son, I must help my family. I have a younger sister and my mother. We all work together. It's a hard, but good life.” He turned to me, his eyes somber. “But I want something more. I want to go to America, see everything.”

I studied the stone under my feet, tracing the roughness of the weathered surface with my forefinger. “If you want to go to school, you can get a student visa. Then you could decide if you wanted to stay.” I wondered if he wouldn't get homesick after living in this romantic city. At this point, I was pretty sure I could live in Rome forever. It would be easy to trade Starbucks for corner bakeries, traffic jams for walks to work, and mega–grocery stores for street vendors.

His voice was earnest. “I could visit you.”

His assured smile broke my heart. I wanted to spend every moment I could with him, but I had no clue how long I'd be here. Would I be sent home as soon as they were finished with Mrs. Jennings's shoot, or would I stay here until Parker was well enough to fly back to New York? I had no assurances to offer him, so I stayed quiet.

He moved closer, a finger trailing down my cheek, tender and lingering. “I like you,” he whispered. “You're kind, and …
bellissima
 … so beautiful.” He bent his head toward me.

His lips were soft, and nipped playfully at mine.

I didn't want playful. My hand delved into his hair and I urged him nearer, so that our chests touched. He deepened the kiss, exploring my mouth with his so slowly that I burned for more, and sighed in bliss.

We pulled apart, both reluctant.
This
was the place to be romanced by Dante—on top of the world—but it wasn't the time. I looked over my shoulder, half expecting to see Ortiz, or to hear my name being screeched by the blonde beast herself.

“They're going to come looking for you,” Dante said with a last quick peck.

“Probably,” I said. “But I don't care. This place is amazing.”

“I don't want you to get in trouble. Take a few photos, then we go. We can come back another day.”

I nodded and regretfully moved away from him. Pulling out my phone, I clicked a few shots of the view around me, then returned to the oculus and peered down. Right below me was the First Lady, in the beam of light. Then she really did look like a goddess.

What a great shot!
I lowered myself so that I lay flat on the roof and adjusted my elbows on the lip of the oculus to get the right angle.…

I heard a crack, the gritty grind of stone on stone, and jerked my elbows back just in time to see a small chunk of the edge fall away—down to where Mrs. Jennings stood.

I screamed in warning. A second later, the sickening thud of stone dashing onto the marble floor below echoed up. Shouts of alarm rose up.

“Bec!” Dante's voice shattered my eardrum. And then his hands gripped me, dragging me back, away from the opening. I fought to get up, frantic to see what happened, but he wouldn't let go.

“No! It's dangerous! I shouldn't have let you go so close!”

Crash!

The stairwell door splintered open and Ortiz burst through, gun drawn—and pointed at us.

“You!” She waved her weapon at Dante. “Let her go and back up! Hands in the air!”

Dante nervously raised his arms.

“It was an accident!” I shouted, gaining my feet somewhat ungracefully. “The stone crumbled when I was on the edge. It's
not
his fault, it's mine!”

Ortiz didn't take her eyes off Dante, but with one hand, waved me over. “Bec, come here,
now.
”

I snatched a quick glance down the hole; Mrs. Jennings was safely surrounded by the agents off to the side. A sigh of relief escaped. I walked toward Ortiz. “It's my fault, Ortiz. I was trying to take a picture and then I heard this cracking.…”

She didn't look like she was buying it.

“Really! I swear!”

Bravely—or foolishly—I stood in front of Ortiz, forcing her to lower her gun. “Mignone already searched him, Dante can't and wouldn't harm Mrs. Jennings,” I insisted.

Dante's formfitting tee and jeans made it obvious that he wasn't hiding any guns. Grudgingly, Ortiz reholstered her weapon.

“Whose bright idea was it to come up here?”

I stayed silent.

She glared back at him. “I thought so. No more secret rendezvous, Romeo. Clear?”

He nodded soberly, his arms still raised.

“C'mon, Juliet, let's go.” She gave me a nudge toward the stairs.

I didn't know what Ortiz was thinking, but I knew that Dante wasn't a threat. Even if it had been his idea to come up here and take pictures.

At the bottom, Ortiz talked with the others, Candace sending a scathing glare in my direction. Both of them might end up hating me by the time the shoot was over—if they didn't already. Mrs. Jennings looked over at me and frowned. “I'm sorry!” I mouthed. Her mouth quirked into a comforting smile, letting me know she wasn't mad. But she was probably the only one.

The agents and Candace, then Mrs. Jennings seemed to be disagreeing over something. Everyone waited. When Mrs. Jennings moved to the steps and Angelo followed with his camera, I knew she must have convinced them to stay and finish. Another win for me. If they had gone, I'd be responsible for the cancellation. My record was really taking a beating.

Dante was escorted to the barriers none too gently by Case. Feebly, I waved good-bye. He shrugged and without putting on his helmet, got on his Vespa and sped away. My perfect afternoon—ruined by crumbling rocks and bad timing.

I stood there, not sure if I should move. Sophie and Kevin were closely huddled over a tablet, talking. Having nothing to do but try
not
to put Mrs. Jennings in mortal danger, I moved across the plaza, away from the lights and the people.

If anything fell, exploded, or crashed around the First Lady, I wasn't going to be the cause.

 

TRICKS AND TIPS FOR
THE EDGE-Y GIRL

Never give it all away—not everything you know, everything you are, or what's underneath that fabulous wardrobe. Nothing is as alluring as a little mystery.

18

“I told you to stay out of the way—not disappear and then try to brain the First Lady of the United States with a piece of masonry!” Candace snapped, then added, “This is why I don't have kids. I'm not going to let you out of my sight when we're at St. Peter's Square. I'm beginning to feel sorry that I decided to keep you.”

What was I? A dog?

My eye roved over the crowd as she made her way back to the First Lady, the photographers, and Taj. Lidia caught my eye and scowled. Angelo took a few more photos with Taliah, Adele, and Marina, now in different outfits, who posed like nymphs. Their long, flowing—and almost sheer—green dresses did not hide the fact that they were only wearing thongs underneath. It didn't seem to faze the First Lady, who smiled and posed elegantly.

A breeze seemed to come out of nowhere, pulling Mrs. Jennings's diaphanous silk scarf from her shoulders.

“Bec! Chase down that scarf!” Candace shouted.

Run, Bec. Fetch, Bec. Heel, Bec.

At first I didn't move. Candace glared at me.

“That's an Hermès, and you'll be paying for it if it goes AWOL!”

With my nonexistent intern paycheck?
Knowing I was pushing Candace's patience—and considering that I'd almost killed the First Lady—I obeyed. But before I could sprint toward the fleeing scarf, a cyclist weaving through the crowd caught my attention. And Nelson's. The police shouted at him to stop but too late, the biker raced past the officer at the barrier and into the square.

Shouts rang in the air. A few police ran after the bike, but they weren't agile or fast enough to catch him. Mrs. Jennings was surrounded by a human cage of agents even though the biker wasn't near or heading toward her. In a flash he whizzed by me. I caught a flash of mirrored shades, long limbs, and tanned skin. Faster he went, head down, body straining forward, like he was aiming—for Taj.