Excerpt: Teatro

Filomena turned to me, and I had an inexplicable impression of a cat pouncing. “So, Signorina Bacardi,” she purred, “you must be quite proud of your young man’s success.”

I smiled brightly and artificially. “Oh, yes, his plays have been doing rather well.”

Filomena returned a smile that was equally bright and artificial. “Yes, and such a surprise, too. If I may speak frankly, Signorina Bacardi, I’m afraid his early work showed little promise. But he’s certainly producing good work now. Sometimes it’s hard to believe that these newer plays are the work of the same... man.” Her sharp, bright blue eyes pinned me to the back of the chair.

I tried to shake the image of myself as a small and frightened mouse clutched in her paws. “Oh, do you really think so? I thought that some of his earlier work had potential, but of course I am a biased observer.”

“Of course,” Filomena said smoothly. “So, how long have you known Signor Valenti?”

I don’t know what came over me then. Perhaps it was just a moment of boldness. Perhaps it was that Filomena de Fiore was the scariest person I had ever met, and I was trying to hide my fear by brazening it out. Or perhaps I was just tired of politics and mind games and wanted to speak plainly. In any case, I said “Why don’t you tell me, Madama de Fiore? I’ve no doubt you know all about us already.”

A moment after the words had left my mouth, I froze in terror. I half expected her to have me carted off to the dungeons, or possibly something worse. But of all things, Filomena de Fiore laughed.

“I like people who say what they mean. It saves all this tedious posturing. Very well, signorina, I’ll tell you what I know if you tell me what you know, hm?”

I stiffened. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Very well then, I won’t insist. In any case, I believe I’ve guessed more of your secrets than even you know.” I wondered if she planned to elaborate on this cryptic remark, but she merely stirred her tea and took a long, slow sip before continuing. “Let’s start with your young man, shall we? Marco Valenti, age twenty-three. Of an old family, though not as wealthy as some, nor as important as they would like to think. His brother Paolo will inherit the family lands when their father dies, though Marco will probably get a generous allowance. In the meantime, as his father has refused to continue paying for his lifestyle of drinking and loose women—”

“I’m not a loose woman!”

Filomena gave me a sad smile. “I wasn’t talking about you, child. I envy you your innocence. At any rate, Marco has been forced to support himself by writing plays, which met with no great success until about a year ago, when he started writing exclusively for Il Teatro Spettacolare.” She took another serene sip of her tea. I said nothing.

“And then there’s you, signorina. Giulietta Bacardi. Twenty-one years old, third daughter of Rocco and Isabella Bacardi. Your father was a cloth merchant, one of the richest in Fioralba until a few years ago, when a series of shipwrecks ruined him. Shortly afterwards he died of overwork and nerves, leaving debts and a ruined business behind, and your mother has had to rely on dressmaking work, taking in laundry, and the occasional kindness of relatives to get by. With your oldest sister Flavia already married off, that left you and your sister Letizia to make your own way in the world. Letizia currently works in a bakery in the Via Ampia. You yourself secured a job as costume designer for Il Teatro Spettacolare, which is at the moment heavily in debt despite some success over the past year with, ah, Signor Valenti’s plays.”

All I could think of to say was, “Do you have a file like this for everyone in the city?”

She smiled her pouncing-cat smile again. “Only those of interest.”