Stella Mia Read online

  “Sciocca.” I am nothing more than a silly girl I whisper to myself as I take in the view of the Mediterranean Sea from the aerial tramway that is taking me back into town.

  I’m silly for thinking that perhaps Carlo and I shared an attraction. He was probably just being polite by acting as if he were interested in hearing me sing a second time. But then why did he insist on holding my hand during the reading and later kissing it before we parted? Does he do this with all the young women he meets?

  With some of the extra money Carlo gave me for his reading, I decided to buy my tram ticket. While I love the beach and spending most of my time there, I need a break—not just from the scenery but also from the gypsies. Though I love them, it’s difficult to have a few moments to myself. Maria refuses to let me give readings alone any longer because of what happened with Rinaldo. And even when I’m walking along the shoreline while the gypsies are engaged in another activity, someone eventually calls out to me to join them. They’ve also asked me to sing every night. I don’t mind that as much. Tonio has even been giving me lessons on his mandolin and lets me practice when he’s not using it.

  I was afraid when I told Maria this morning that I would be heading into town that she would say she was coming with me, but thankfully she didn’t. She just asked me to be careful. I think she feels less worried about my giving readings alone in the piazza because it is so crowded. But I’ve decided not to work today. Part of me feels guilty that I will not be making any money, but I want some time to myself to relax and not have to predict my clients’ destinies. But there is another reason for my going to the piazza. I want to see if by any chance one of the hotels or even the restaurants finally needs more maids or any other workers.

  Although I have at least another month before Maria and her family leave Taormina and travel to the next town where they will set up camp, I want to begin looking for other work now. I’m beginning to prepare myself that the likelihood of staying in Taormina is quite low. But still, I must do my best to at least try and find other employment that would allow me to stay here.

  As I walk along the Corso Umberto, I pass several fancy clothing shops. But I dare not loiter in front of them, for staring at merchandise I might not ever be able to afford will only make me too sad. The scent of fresh brioche reaches my nose, and I see I am approaching Angela’s bread shop. I was planning on visiting her after I made my inquiries at the hotels and restaurants. Deciding to see my friend and buy a brioche, I step into the shop.

  Angela is behind the counter, placing brioche that have just come out of the oven onto an ornate platter.

  “Buongiorno, Angela.”

  “Sarina! Che bella sorpresa! What a nice surprise!” She comes around to the front of the counter and hugs me. “Why have you stayed away so long? I was beginning to think you had left Taormina and you had not even wished me good-bye.”

  “I know how much you like surprises so I thought if I waited this long to visit you, you would definitely be surprised!” I laugh.

  “Tsk . . . tsk.” Angela shakes her head. “Basta! Enough with the jokes! Is everything all right? I was worried about you.”

  “I’m fine, Angela. I’ve actually been busy working. That’s why you haven’t seen me, although I must admit this isn’t my first time in town since you last saw me over a month ago. I’m sorry I didn’t stop by the other times, but I was quite busy and needed to be able to catch the last tram to the beach before they suspended service for the night.”

  “You are staying by the beach? No wonder you are so tanned. You secured work at one of the hotels overlooking the beach?”

  “No. I had no luck there either.” I hesitate before continuing. I know what so many people think about gypsies, but I don’t want to lie to Angela, either. She fed me when I was starving those first few days after I had arrived in Taormina.

  “Dio, mio!” Angela makes the sign of the cross. “You didn’t become one of those women, did you?” Angela’s eyes open wide. I have no idea what she means at first, but then I realize what she’s suggesting.

  “No! Of course I did not become a puttana!”

  “Ah! Grazie, Dio!” Angela clasps her hands and holds them up over her head, thanking God that I haven’t resorted to becoming a prostitute. “I’m sorry, Sarina. But it seems like you are reluctant to tell me what you are doing for work, so naturally my mind rushed to that awful conclusion.”

  “It’s all right. I met a family of gypsies, and they’ve been very kind to me. When they heard I had no success in finding work, they offered to teach me how to read tarot cards and work with them. I mostly do my readings on the beach. We make good money with all the tourists staying there and even the residents from town who go to the beach for the day. But sometimes I come up to the piazza and offer readings on the street.”

  “Sarina, listen to me. You must not trust gli zingari! Of course they were kind to you. They wanted to ensnare you and use you to help them make more money. When you least expect it, they will steal all of your savings. My mother used to say, ‘Gli zingari non hanno le anime,’ and as such cannot feel guilt for conning and hurting others.”

  “That is absurd, Angela! Where does it say that gypsies don’t have souls? They are just trying to make a living like the rest of us. I know the horrible reputation that gypsies have. Yes, it is true that a few swindle people and have no remorse for doing so, but Maria and her family are different. Besides, gypsies aren’t the only ones known for conning people.”

  “I hope for your sake, Sarina, you are right. Well, I am not going to spend our entire visit lecturing you. All I ask is that you be careful. Please promise me that.” Angela places her hands on my arms, forcing me to look into her eyes.

  “I will. Thank you for your concern, Angela. I will probably just be reading the tarot cards until the end of the summer. The gypsies plan on leaving Taormina then.”

  “That makes me feel better. But I would relax more if you left them before their last day in Taormina. I fear they will find a way to get the upper hand with you. Have they told you the exact date they plan on leaving?”

  “No.”

  “Ah! They are clever. I might be wrong about them as you say, but I always believe it is better to err on the side of caution. See if you can get them to pinpoint the exact day they plan on leaving. That way you can disappear conveniently and be certain your money is safe with you.”

  Silently, I laugh to myself over Angela’s paranoia. But I am also touched that she is looking out for me, much the way she would if she had a child. Angela and her husband were not able to conceive. By the tenderness she’s shown me, I can tell she would have been an excellent mother.

  “You are a very wise woman, Angela. You are right. It never hurts to be careful. I am always telling my clients that when I give them a reading.”

  “Maybe you can come back later and give me a reading? That is if you have the time and won’t risk missing your tram back to the beach. Who knows? Maybe you’ll see that I will come into an inheritance from an unknown wealthy relative, and I can finally be the one relaxing by the beach and shopping at all the exclusive boutiques in Taormina!” Angela winks.

  “You never know!” I laugh.

  “I will pay you, of course.”

  “No, please. After all the food you’ve given me, I could not take money from you. Please think of it as my way of repaying your generosity. I didn’t come in here just to visit you, Angela. The smell of your heavenly brioche made its way to my nose out on the street. I must buy one.” I take some money out of my small leather satchel that I purchased from a street vendor shortly after I began reading fortunes.

  “Put your money back into your purse!” Angela hurries away and steps behind the counter before I can protest. Picking up a brioche with a pair of tongs, she places it in a napkin before handing it to me.

  “Grazie. But that really isn’t necessary, Angela.” I take a bite of the still-warm brioche and savor its subtle sweetness.

 
“You will be paying me with the reading. That’s enough.”

  “So how is business?” I can’t help noticing that the bread shop has not had one customer since I walked in. Usually, the mornings are the busiest time.

  “It’s been a bit slower lately. But it happens. I’m not worried. That is how it goes—up and down, much like life, right? At least the few hotels that buy from us are still being loyal and not going to a couple of the new bakeries that have surfaced in the piazza.”

  “I will tell my clients whom I give readings to in the piazza to come here if they are hungry or are looking for good bread.”

  “Grazie, Sarina. Is that what brings you to town today? You will be working?”

  “No. I decided to take a break today. I want to try and see if any of the hotels have openings for work now or even at the end of summer. As I mentioned earlier, the gypsies will be leaving Taormina, most likely in August, so I’d like to find other work that would allow me to stay here.”

  “I thought you said you made pretty good money giving readings?”

  “I do, but I’m afraid that once summer ends and most of the tourists leave, I won’t be making enough money to continue supporting myself.”

  “That is true. But I must warn you. It will be even harder for you to find work at the hotels or restaurants this late in the season or even for the fall. Many of them hire temporary workers for the busy summer season and then let them go once autumn approaches.”

  I hadn’t even thought of that, but Angela is right. My spirits sink.

  “If only you could sing! Ha! Villa Carlotta is looking for a singer to entertain their guests in the evenings. But that is the only available job I have heard of.” Angela begins wiping her display counter with a wet towel.

  “What did you say? A singer?” My heart stops beating for a moment.

  “Si. They used to have an opera singer. She was quite good. A man from the famous opera house in Milan, Teatro alla Scala, was vacationing at the Villa Carlotta and heard her sing. He offered her a job. Talk about luck! She moved to Milan two weeks ago, but Silvano still has not been able to find someone to replace her.”

  “Is Silvano the owner of the Villa Carlotta?”

  “Yes. Silvano Conti. He’s quite wealthy and is in the process of building another hotel, but this one will be in Enna. He’s been away a lot, overseeing the construction of the new hotel. But he was here yesterday and told me he’d be staying put in Taormina for at least another week or two because of work that needs his attention at the Villa Carlotta. It’s an exquisite hotel. I’m sure you must’ve noticed it when you were trying to find work. Did you ever inquire there?”

  I shake my head no. “The name doesn’t sound familiar. Perhaps I did go in it, but did not take notice of its name. I would’ve remembered it.” I do not tell Angela that my little sister’s name is Carlotta, and that’s why I would’ve remembered the hotel. I also don’t reveal to her that I sing for I’ll feel like a fool if I don’t get this job at the Villa Carlotta. I know it is a long shot. Surely, Signore Conti will want a seasoned singer. But I must try. It might be my only way of staying in Taormina.

  “Where exactly is the Villa Carlotta?”

  “It’s on Via Pirandello, just a few minutes from the Corso Umberto. You can’t miss it.”

  “Maybe I didn’t inquire there for work when I first arrived in Taormina. I don’t remember going onto Via Pirandello.”

  “You probably didn’t. Like I said, it is an exquisite hotel. You would have most certainly remembered it.”

  Glancing at the clock that hangs on the wall by the shop’s entrance, I say to Angela, “I should get going if I want to make my inquiries and have enough time to return and give you your reading before the last scheduled tram departure. Thank you for the brioche, Angela.”

  “È niente. It’s nothing. I look forward to your reading.” Angela smiles and waves to me as I leave the shop.

  I walk as quickly as I can to Via Pirandello, but then I realize I’m just making myself sweaty, and I don’t want to show up at the Villa Carlotta looking disheveled. Forcing myself to slow down, I pray fervently to God, asking him by some miracle to let me get the singing job. Perhaps the hotel’s being called “Carlotta” like my sister is a good omen.

  After what feels like an eternity to me, I finally reach the Via Pirandello. I walk down the street, but do not notice an elaborate hotel as Angela described the Villa Carlotta. Then again, many of the hotels in Taormina are gorgeous. I begin to make out a large brick building that has arched windows, giving it a Middle Eastern feel. Many of the buildings and even the churches in Sicily have Middle Eastern traits from when the Arabs occupied the island. I remember learning in school that many of the churches used to be mosques. That’s why so many of the churches feature large rounded domes. Once I get closer, I can make out the words Hotel Villa Carlotta etched in black cursive at the center and top of the building. I remember a few of the other hotels in Taormina choose to use the English word for hotel instead of the Italian word “albergo.”

  My pulse is racing. For a moment, I contemplate walking away. Closing my eyes, I will my nerves to calm down. Taking a deep breath, I enter the hotel, and at last my breath is taken away. The interior of the hotel is beyond grand and much more impressive than its exterior. The walls are painted in warm shades of coral and orange. Beautiful, enormous vases stand in various corners and niches around the lobby. Windows surround the interior, giving majestic views of Taormina’s natural beauty.

  “Buongiorno, signorina.” A middle-aged man with a thick mustache, a deep olive complexion, and the most intense black eyes I’ve ever seen greets me.

  “Buongiorno, signore.”

  He looks at my hands, no doubt noting I don’t have any luggage.

  “May I help you?”

  Swallowing hard, I’m tempted to say I walked into the wrong hotel and leave, but I know I must take my chance or else I will always be wondering. “Someone in town mentioned to me that the hotel is looking for a singer. Do you know if the owner is here today, and if so may I speak to him?”

  The man sizes me up from head to toe before saying, “I am the owner of the Villa Carlotta. My name is Silvano Conti.”

  “Mi dispiace. I’m sorry. I did not know. My name is Sarina Amato.”

  “Non preoccuparti. Do not worry. You said someone in town told you I was looking for a singer?”

  My spirits lift. So it is true. “Si. Angela, who owns the bread shop.” I suddenly realize I don’t know Angela’s surname. “I’m sorry. I do not know her surname.” My face blushes slightly.

  “Everyone knows Angela and her famous bread! We carry her bread in our restaurant.” Silvano laughs. Something about the way he laughs bothers me slightly.

  “I am sorry to disturb you. But I would like to apply for the position. That is unless you have hired someone else already?”

  “No, no. I have only had a handful of people come to me, and I wanted to run when each of them sang. I was about to give up the idea of even having a singer. So you sing? Where have you worked before? You look quite young if you do not mind my saying so.”

  “Yes, I sing. I have not sung for money before, but I have been told my voice is strong by those who have heard it.” I silently pray he at least gives me a chance and lets me audition.

  “Si, si. I suppose it would not hurt to hear you sing.” He says this with what sounds like resignation in his voice.

  He has probably heard the same from the other people who applied and believes I will be as atrocious as them. Anger begins to fill my veins, as my mother always liked to say—usually in reference to my father, of course. Signore Conti seems to have already made up his mind without knowing a thing about me. I will prove him wrong. My hesitation and fears from a moment ago vanish as I focus instead on singing the best I ever have.

  “Grazie, signore,” I say, forcing my voice to sound sweet.

  “Follow me. We’ll go into the bar. Our previous singer us
ually sang on the dining patio outside while our guests had their dinners. But when it was raining or in the cooler months, she sang indoors.”

  “So you do not hire singers just for the summer months?”

  “No. Our hotel has quite a reputation. While our rooms are not completely booked in the cooler months, we still get enough guests for me to be able to keep the nightly entertainment.”

  I’m pleased to hear this since if I am hired I won’t be forced to look for other employment in the fall and winter.

  “The singer who left us was quite talented. She was an opera singer. Though I was upset to lose her, I am also quite proud that one of my singers is now at the famous La Scala, the opera house in—”

  “Milan. Yes, I have heard of it.” I cannot hide the irritation in my voice this time. Again, Signore Conti is making judgments.

  “Ah! Of course you have heard of it.”

  “Did she usually sing opera here?”

  “Sometimes, but I asked her not to sing it often. I wanted a more relaxed environment. After all, the tourists are coming to Taormina for rest. While I am an opera enthusiast myself, there is a time and a place for it. However, I must say the few occasions she did sing opera the guests did not seem to mind and were also pleasantly surprised. Perhaps I should have let her sing it more often.” Signore Conti shrugs his shoulders. “You don’t sing opera, do you?” He has an amused expression.

  “No, I do not.”

  “That is what I thought. Well, enough talk. You came here to sing after all. You can stand over here.” Signore Conti gestures toward the open windows to the back of the bar. Now that we are no longer talking, I can take in the room that houses the bar, which is exquisite. What looks to be limestone rocks make up the wall behind the actual bar. A few arches are carved out of the limestone rocks, and elaborate silver sculptures sit in the open spaces. The windows are not as large in this room, creating a dimmer interior. I can imagine how it must look at night.

  I walk over to where Signore Conti has gestured for me to stand. He goes behind the bar and takes a glass and a decanter of liquor. Pouring himself a drink, he comes back around the bar and takes a seat on one of the stools. A worker, no doubt the bartender, arrives and nods his head at Signore Conti as he begins lining up clean glasses on the counter behind the bar. He isn’t wearing a bartender’s uniform, but just as I think this, I notice he heads for a door to the back. He doesn’t even glance my way. I look around the room and notice there is just a maid cleaning the small tables that surround the bar area. Relieved there aren’t more people to witness my audition, I clear my throat a few times.