The Affair (13 page)

‘My sister Claire’s got a lovely boyfriend. Did I tell you that she works for
Vogue
magazine in London? She’s glamorous and clever and her boyfriend is a stockbroker so they’ll probably be rich and have a big house and lots of children. My mum and dad are really proud of her.’

‘I’ll bet they’re even prouder of you,’ Diana told her, ‘and I bet Claire’s jealous. You’re working on the movie of the century with some of the world’s most famous stars. After this, you’ll be able to hand-pick the jobs you want anywhere in the world. You’ll never look back.’

‘You seem very cheerful,’ Helen said, looking at her curiously. ‘At least one of us is.’

‘I think we’re lucky to be here and we should make the most of it. Why don’t you and I go out tonight, Helen? I’ll treat you to dinner somewhere nice.’

‘OK,’ Helen agreed, with a brave attempt at a smile. ‘I’d like that.’

After they finished eating, she asked the waitress for a glass of milk. ‘Want to see something cute?’ she asked.

Diana followed her out of the bar and over towards the far wall of the studio where, under a large bush, there was a heaving mass of grey and white furry bodies. A cat lay full length, her eyes closed to slits, as half a dozen wriggling, mewling kittens scrambled over her and fought to attach themselves to her nipples.

‘They’re only a week old.’ Helen poured the milk into an old saucer lying by the wall and slid it towards the mother, who immediately began to lap at it with a delicate pink tongue. She bent to pick up a kitten and it was dwarfed by her hands.

‘They’re lovely,’ Diana said.

‘Aren’t they? I pop out here to watch them playing whenever I can find a moment.’

She was mesmerised by them, like a child, and Diana was glad she had found something to lift her low mood. It occurred to her that feral cats might well have fleas but she didn’t want to spoil Helen’s fun. With her face lit up and her blue eyes sparkling, she had a fresh, natural beauty to rival that of any movie star – even Liz Taylor herself.

Scott took Gianni out for lunch at Chechino’s, an old-fashioned restaurant that had been recommended by the foreign press hacks. ‘Order the
coda alla vaccinara
,’ they urged him, and there it was on the menu. He asked Gianni what it was and for once he was stumped for the English word, but began to wave his arm behind his lower back, repeating ‘
La coda, la coda
’. Eventually Scott worked out that it was oxtail and gave it a wide berth. He ordered a bottle of Chianti, though, and when they finished it he got another.

Gianni’s language skills were superior to Scott’s and so they conversed almost solely in English. The man was in his mid-twenties and had a wife and two children – one of two years old and the other a baby, he said, rocking his arms to demonstrate.

‘Doesn’t your wife mind you going out every night?’ Scott asked.

Gianni rubbed his fingers and thumb together. ‘We need the money.’

Talk turned to the Cleopatra film being made at Cinecittà and Gianni told him that two months into shooting it was already the most expensive film ever made. Elizabeth Taylor’s million-dollar fee was one cause, but tales of excess spending kept filtering out of Cinecittà. Almost the entire cast and crew were on full pay for the duration even though only a fraction of them were being used at any given time, so most were sitting around with nothing to do. They’d spent quarter of a million dollars on a special kind of mineral water for the bar, but there was a sign there telling them not to be wasteful with plastic cups – as if that would make all the difference.

‘Have you been inside?’ Scott asked.

‘Yes, there is a side entrance. I got thrown out but not before I’d had a look around. Unfortunately the security guard took the film from my camera.’ He rolled his eyes. It was a hazard of his trade.

‘Any stories about the stars making unreasonable demands?’ That’s the kind of thing that would make a printable story.

‘Of course!’ Gianni told him. ‘I hear they flew in some chilli for Signora Taylor from her favourite restaurant in Hollywood.’

‘Which restaurant was it?’

Gianni screwed up his eyes trying to remember. ‘They have Oscar parties there sometimes and it is famous for its chilli.’

‘Chasen’s?’ Scott guessed.

‘That’s the one. So they spend with one hand, but with the other they try to save money. Just yesterday Rex Harrison was told he no longer had a personal driver but had to share one with other actors. I hear he was so angry that he said he was going to …
fare sciopero
. How do you say? To stop work. Everyone clapped and cheered and he got his driver back.’

‘That’s great, Gianni. Cool. I’ll do a story on that. Could you get me a picture of Rex Harrison in his car, with his chauffeur?’

‘No problem,’ he shrugged. Scott noticed that he had polished off some pasta and a meat dish and was mopping up the sauce with a piece of bread, as if he were still hungry.

‘Want anything else?’ Scott asked. ‘Dessert? Company’s paying.’

Gianni began to peruse the menu, reading the main course section. He looked as though he wanted to ask something but was embarrassed. ‘Could I have another
secondo
?’ he asked, blushing.

‘Of course you can.’

Gianni ordered another helping of the hefty meat dish he’d had for his main course, while Scott drained his glass of wine. The dish arrived and Gianni dipped his fork into it but didn’t start eating. After a while Scott got up to go to the gents’ and when he came back the meat dish had disappeared.

‘All finished?’ he asked, surprised. ‘Should I get the check?’

‘
Molte grazie
,’ Gianni said, looking somehow bashful.

Scott paid and still couldn’t put his finger on what the man might be embarrassed about until they walked out of the restaurant and each headed towards their own scooter. It was the careful way Gianni placed his camera bag in a back compartment of the scooter that gave the game away. Scott guessed he had asked them to put that meat dish in a carton and he was taking it home for his family. They must be really hard up. He resolved to get him as much work as he could in future, to try and help out.

The day after
Midwest Daily
ran the Rex Harrison story Scott took a call from someone very grumpy at the Twentieth Century Fox press office.

‘Who the hell are you? Some college kid straight out of diapers? Did nobody tell you that we’re happy to help the press so long as you don’t fuck with us? Well, now you’ve fucked with us and I’m going to make sure you don’t get any press releases from the film set, no interviews, no invitations to special screenings, no nothing. Not on this or any other Twentieth Century Fox movie ever. You happy now, college kid?’

The phone was slammed down and Scott stared at it, grinning. He guessed it was the sign of a successful story if it got them so riled. Gianni’s photo of a glowering Rex Harrison had complemented it perfectly.

Meanwhile, there was another photograph Scott wanted. He considered asking Gianni to take it but decided that he couldn’t put him at risk. This was his hometown and he had family here, so Scott would have to get this one himself. He bought one of the new Kodak Colorsnap cameras that had just been launched and a couple of rolls of film, then he drove to Piazza Navona and parked round the corner. His heart was pounding and he wrapped his scarf around his face, as if against the cold.

Just across the square from the building where the Ghianciaminas lived there was a stairwell connecting some offices. Scott had never seen anyone there when he drove past. The entrance was through a gated courtyard but the gate was slightly ajar. He walked in unchallenged and made his way upstairs to the spot where there was an open-air walkway. He crouched on his heels and got the camera ready, then he lit a Camel. If he heard anyone coming, he would quickly stand up and walk down the steps as if leaving after an appointment.

He sat on his heels and waited and watched the entrance to the Ghianciaminas’ home. At the usual time, Gina emerged with her basket and his heart did a little flip to see her, even at that distance. She walked up the road towards the market. If only Rosalia, the nurse, had her innocent freshness. There was something about Rosalia that felt burdensome. She needed so much from him: kisses, compliments, reassurance – no matter how much he gave, she needed more. He should have broken up with her long before because he knew she wasn’t for him, but he was being a coward about the tears and recriminations he knew would follow. Instead, he was making the gaps between their dates slightly longer, which only had the effect of making her more anxious when they were together.

The door of the Ghianciaminas’ home opened again and a group of men emerged and walked down the street. Their backs were to him so he couldn’t see if Gina’s brother was among them. This was useless. They continued to the far corner of the square and then suddenly one of them turned back, as if he had forgotten something. As he got closer, Scott saw that it was his attacker. He ducked his head below the parapet, pointed his camera in the general direction and pressed the shutter. He wound on the film then pressed again, then a third time. His heart was beating so hard he felt it would leap out of his chest as he listened for footsteps on the stairs below.

After several minutes of silence he raised his head again. All the men had gone and the street was empty. He hurried down the steps, jumped onto his bike and drove all the way across town, past the Colosseum, past the meat market, as far as he could go before the buildings began to thin out and he could see countryside beyond. Only then did he stop and finish off his film with some shots of a goat tethered by the roadside. He put the film into the cardboard envelope that had come with it, then looped round past an industrial estate in Ostiense until he found a tiny pharmacy with a Kodak sign above the door. He handed over his film, took a receipt and agreed to pick up the prints the following week.

Arriving at the studio on the 13th of December, Diana could sense the heightened atmosphere on the
Cleopatra
set. Actors and technicians had turned up at Cinecittà even though they hadn’t been called and were sitting around in the commissary or the bar, whispering and watching. Outside the
paparazzi
had got wind that something was up. Everyone coming into the studios was offered money to take photos that day: five hundred dollars, a thousand dollars, or millions of
lire
. Little did they realise that only a select handful of people would be permitted onto the sound stage to watch the filming, and even they would be searched on the way in, because Elizabeth Taylor had a nude scene in which Cleopatra would be massaged by her handmaidens.

Security had been tight around the set since a girl had been caught the previous week with a camera hidden in her bouffant hairdo. Diana knew there was no chance she would be allowed into the sound stage – she’d only seen three scenes being shot in two and a half months. Like everyone else, she was curious that day and she joined Helen in the bar from where they could watch the comings and goings.

Eddie Fisher hurried between his wife’s dressing room and the sound stage, head down, as if on some vitally important mission, but, as Helen whispered to Diana, he was probably just making sure her special chair was set up in the right place. When Elizabeth finally appeared in full Cleopatra hair and makeup with a bathrobe wrapped around her, Eddie was glued to her side, part of a little entourage of assistants fussing over her. When she saw the crowd watching from the terrace outside the bar, Elizabeth waved and called ‘Hi there!’ before disappearing into the building.

‘When are you going back for Christmas?’ Helen asked. ‘I hope you’ll be here for the Christmas party at Bricktop’s. Isn’t it amazing that we’re all invited, and not just the stars? I can’t wait.’

‘Of course I’m staying for it,’ Diana told her. ‘Irene Sharaff has offered to lend me a dress. I’m sure she’ll lend you one as well if I ask. She’s got dozens.’

‘Fab!’ Helen said. ‘You’re a brick. I haven’t bought anything new in ages.’