Chapter Twenty-four
My bedroom was unbelievable – like something from a fairy tale – and I felt like a queen as I starfish-stretched in my king-size bed, sliding my legs up and down the silky sheets. The curtains were heavy red velvet and as I pulled them open, the view of the Grand Canal was breathtaking. A moving work of art. The morning sun shone bright as people scurried past, gondolas bobbing up and down on the water, men in black and white stripes getting ready to sing for their supper, breakfast and lunch. Tables and chairs were beautifully laid outside, full of people breakfasting al fresco, as locals flew by on bicycles to get to work and tourists posed for photos.
The stars were all staying at the Cipriani, so there was no danger of bumping into Brad Pitt over breakfast. It was 7.30 a.m. and I had to be at the venue for 11 a.m. for a twelve-hour shift, so there was plenty of time, but I felt weirdly nervous to be back working again after such a long break. Especially with people I hadn’t met before. How had I even landed this job? It was like being in a dream. I couldn’t wait to meet everyone and settle in at Palazzo del Cinema, the place of filmmakers’ dreams. The hotel phone rang and jolted me from my reverie, as I stood at the window watching the world go by. It was an old-fashioned rotary dial in cream, and I was living Mum’s Marilyn Monroe fantasy as I sat on the bed and picked up the receiver.
‘Hello?’ I breathed, in my most glamorous voice.
‘Ah good, you’re up. Breakfast in ’alf an hour?’ Phoebe croaked in reply.
‘Perfect.’ Scrambled eggs and smoked salmon flashed through my mind, and my stomach rumbled. ‘Are you heading home today? Or planning to smuggle yourself into the festival with me?’
Phoebe laughed. ‘The latter. You are my Trojan horse. Word on the street is that both Ryans are already here, as well as George and Amal, and Jacob Elordi. A man for every generation.’
‘Which one are you hoping for?’ I asked, with a smile.
‘I’m not fussy,’ she breezed. ‘One of them… all of them. Potato, potata.’
‘OK, well don’t get me into trouble on my first day,’ I said, imagining Phoebe being ejected by security, while trying to convince them she’s my emotional-support human. ‘I doubt the assistant make-up artists are entitled to an entourage.’
‘Tsk tsk, Abi. Don’t diminish yourself. You’re one of the glitterati out here, remember. Part of the A-team. And I need to see you safely into the hands of your A-list employer.’
‘Is that what you’re planning to say?’
‘I’m still thinking it through. Come down for breakfast and we can work on it together.’
I jumped in the shower and lathered myself up with all the Elemis products, like a modern-day Cleopatra. Fluffy pink towels and shimmery gold tiles, with wall-to-wall mirrors. There was no escaping my face. I felt both anxious and excited for a new start, and nervous for Tony arriving back to the vineyard and reading my letter. My phone-checking tic was back, even though I’d only just woken up. I needed regular updates from Holly throughout the day, so I knew what was happening and who was where. Tony wouldn’t be back until at least lunchtime and even then, I’d have to wait for Holly to deliver the letter. Did I really want to lay it all out for him when it was too late to change things? There was still time to pull the whole idea – Holly could just chuck the letter in the bin.
I put on the most appropriate work outfit I had in my holiday wardrobe. A black jumpsuit with a gentle sequin. A tiny bit of sparkle, but loose and comfortable. With a pair of chunky gold earrings and my new gold flats. Italian leather, of course. Minimal make-up, but enough to make it clear that I knew what I was doing, and I was ready to take on both Ryans, George, Amal, and Jacob – all at the same time if necessary. Or more likely – a list of randoms from around the world that I’d never heard of. I spritzed on some Dior perfume and ran downstairs for breakfast. The hotel was full of original art and beautiful people. Italy really was a fabulous country – there was no doubt about that.
The restaurant was plush and ornate, with starched white tablecloths, silver cutlery and crystal glasses on every table. The waiting staff danced from guest to guest, delivering plates of tiny Italian cakes – pan del doge, with fruit and hazelnuts, the smell of cinnamon and sugar making my mouth water, as they wafted past. I spotted Phoebe by one of the enormous windows, oozing diva energy as she ranted into her phone and slid into the chair opposite – elegant and throne-like, in deep red velvet and a gold gilt frame. A waiter came rushing over and Phoebe held up her hand masterfully, as I silently perused the menu.
‘Macchiato caldo, please,’ I whispered. ‘I’ll be a minute to order my food.’ I’d almost forgotten ever making my own breakfast. Forty grams of oats soaked in soya milk overnight and topped with almond butter and honey – my standard weekday staple. How had I managed to stay so controlled for so long, when there were so many other breakfast options to enjoy? Phoebe snapped her phone shut and threw it in her bag.
‘Honestly! Being mansplained about my commission payment by a grad,’ she said, furious. ‘Cheeky bastard.’ She was wearing a voluminous red dress with black dots, and giving off ladybird vibes. A ladybird boss bitch.
‘I’m sure you’ll get what you’re owed,’ I said, as my coffee appeared, and the waiter presented Phoebe with a beautiful puff pastry horn, then piped it full of delicate custard cream, while we watched.
‘Venetian cannoncini,’ he announced, with a smile.
‘Grazie,’ Phoebe said, clearly impressed.
The waiter hovered, waiting to take my order.
‘I’ll have one of those as well, please,’ I said, pointing at the cream cake. ‘And the eggs royale.’ I wasn’t sure when I’d eat again and it seemed only right to have a royal breakfast, while staying in this palace.
‘I’ve booked us a water taxi in an hour,’ Phoebe said. ‘So look alive.’
‘Is everything OK, Phoebs? You’re more on edge than I am and it’s making me nervous. Are you worried about your little chaperone scam?’
‘Not at all. And it’s not a scam – I’ve got to make sure you’re handed over to the right person.’
‘Yeah, right. Well, just to be super clear in case of any misunderstanding later. I will disown you immediately if it kicks off, so don’t rely on me to back you up.’
‘Charming.’ Phoebe flicked her fringe out of her eyes and bit into her cream horn. ‘I spend every waking hour of my life backing you up.’ Her phone started vibrating again and she snatched it up as my breakfast arrived, the waiter proudly holding the plate aloft then whipping away the cloche to reveal eggs royale on buttery muffins, toasted to perfection. It was so theatrical, I almost clapped. If only I didn’t have to listen to Phoebe wittering on while I ate.
Tony would never have sat opposite me on his phone. He’d have been chatting away, fascinated by the art, and no doubt asking the waiter who had painted what, and which pieces were originals. He’d want to capture the beauty of the hotel, the city, the views, the breakfast – all the while telling me how different it was from LA. I snapped out of my daydream as Phoebe finished her call and the waiter came back with my cream cake.
‘I’m switching my phone OFF,’ Phoebe said, disgruntled. ‘That’s two calls already and it’s not even 9 a.m.’
I nodded. ‘Enjoy your breakfast and eat it slowly – you’ll give yourself indigestion.’
‘It’s not like you to languish over food.’ She eyed me with suspicion. ‘What’s up with you, anyway? You seem… different.’
‘Do I? How?’
‘I don’t know, you’re glowing and happy, like there’s a secret joke I’m missing.’
‘Am I?’ I couldn’t help a goofy smile.
‘You’re doing it again,’ she said, pointing at my mouth.
I felt myself blush under the interrogation. ‘Wellll… I did kind of meet a guy in San Gimignano.’
‘A guy?! As in a man? When? Who? Show me his photo immediately.’
‘It’s nothing really, and it might never be, in fact I’m kind of waiting to hear from him, hopefully today.’
‘Take a breath, love.’
Still no new messages as I swiped my phone to bring up Tony’s photo.
‘Ve-ry niceeeee. Hot, hot, hot! He looks familiar in that American swoon-fest type of way. Well, that explains why your face is permanently lit up. You look great, Abi, despite your, er… check-in outfit yesterday. It’s been a while since there was a guy. I’m delighted for you.’
‘As I said, it’s nothing really. Not yet, at least.’
‘Nothing really is better than the kind of nothing there’s been for the past few years. I’ll see you in reception in ten, yeah?’ She was already up and making her way to the door.
‘Lovely to have breakfast together,’ I called after her.
This was it. It was really happening. I ran upstairs and brushed my teeth, gathered up my make-up bags and had a final check in the mirror. Tanned, smiling and happy. My brown hair now streaked with blonde, and a few new freckles, but the same me underneath. I’d be fine.
‘You’ve got this,’ I said to my reflection and blew myself a kiss. Time to go.
*
‘When you said, “water taxi” I kind of assumed we’d be getting a gondola,’ I said, nonplussed as I followed Phoebe onto the speedboat.
‘A gondola?! Across open waters? Don’t be ridiculous, Abs, we’d capsize in a second. Those sticks the gondoliers use don’t stretch down to the bottom of the ocean, you know.’
‘I haven’t ever been on one, so I…’
‘Obviously,’ Phoebe snorted. ‘They are playboats for the canals. You wouldn’t hop on one of those things to get anywhere fast.’
The speedboat was an entirely different matter. That got us somewhere plenty fast. Halfway across the river, I wished I’d put a life jacket on, as the driver bounced us across the water, through the wake of the Vaporetto and over to the Island of the Lido on the Venice Lagoon. It was traumatic.
‘Grazie mille,’ Phoebe whispered, her gills green as the driver helped her off the boat, a mischievous look on his face. I silently followed, scared I might throw up. Not a great start to the working day, but the beauty of the venue made up for it. The Palazzo del Cinema was a phenomenal building. Decorated with the flags of every country, the red carpet rolled out ready to welcome the great and good of the film world. Sadly, that wasn’t my entrance, and I could see a separate desk to the left at the back that looked more like my kind of place.
‘We need to go to gate three,’ Phoebe said, looking around earnestly.
‘I bet it’s this one,’ I said, walking straight over to the stern-looking lady behind the lectern, holding a clipboard full of names.
‘Ah buongiorno, signorina,’ Phoebe started. Oh no. It was going to be impossible to disassociate myself from her in this scenario. The lady had just watched us both stagger off the same boat and walk the long way round.
‘Good morning,’ she said, in perfect English. A tiny badge with ‘Chiara’ etched into the brass was pinned to her lapel. ‘How can I help you ladies?’
‘Abigail Mason,’ Phoebe said, clear as a bell. She had some front – I’d give her that. Chiara waited patiently for the second name, looking between the two of us. ‘She’s with me,’ Phoebe said eventually, when the silence got too awkward.
‘Well, I can only allow the names that are authorised, for security reasons of course,’ Chiara said, checking through her list. She eventually got to my name and typed a series of numbers into her laptop. A photo must have popped up as she immediately turned to me.
‘Abigail?’
I nodded.
‘Look this way, please.’ She pointed to her right and as I followed her finger there was a flash and a whirr. They’d got me again. My security pass for the Venice Film Festival was even worse than the one for Moonmen – something I hadn’t thought possible.
‘This is Phoebe Barrington, my agent,’ I said. ‘Can you check if her name is on the list too, please?’
Chiara went all the way through the list, then shook her head. ‘It’s not, no. But you do have a platinum pass, which is access all areas and means you can sign in a guest.’
‘Access all areas?’ I repeated, astonished. I couldn’t believe my ears.
‘Yes. If you’re happy to vouch for her, she can come in with you.’
I nodded silently, in shock.
Phoebe could barely contain herself. ‘See?’ she said, slapping me on the arm. ‘I said you had friends in high places.’
A platinum pass? Surely Blake hadn’t got me a job and upgraded my access? This was turning into the best apology of all time.
‘OK, here you go,’ Chiara said, handing Phoebe a red lanyard. ‘Your pass only works on the front door. Abigail will need to accompany you within the building.’ Phoebe did a happy dance as she put her lanyard on, and Chiara turned to me. ‘You are working with Jemima Andams in Room 17. Through the doors, take the elevator to the second floor and it’s the fourth door on the right.’
‘Lovely, thanks,’ I said, taking a deep breath. This was so bloody cool. ‘Let’s do this.’ Phoebe and I walked down to the backstage entrance, and I buzzed us both in. There was a flurry of activity on the other side as a group of guys wheeled an enormous elephant down the corridor. The organised chaos of being behind the scenes. I’d missed it. There was nothing more exciting than the opening night of a new show. Seeing everything come together for the first time, getting the actors ready for their big moment, and seeing the audience go wild with applause. We were a team, and we were all in it together. We followed Chiara’s instructions and got in the lift, quickly moving down the corridor to find my room. I was nearly an hour early, but I wanted to make sure I was in the right place.
‘Here it is,’ Phoebe said, stopping outside Room 17, constantly scanning faces as people rushed past.
‘I doubt either of the Ryans will be wandering aimlessly around the backstage corridors,’ I said, knocking tentatively.
‘Come innn!’ a sunny voice sing songed.
I opened the door into a large, airy space, curtains cordoning it off from other similar spaces no doubt. There was a floodlight in the centre of the room and two make-up tables set up in front of a huge mirror. And there, stood in a gold jumpsuit, wearing an apron and a welcoming smile, was the actual, real-life Gem Adams.