Chapter 16

Chapter 16

December 26th Milan

N ina heaved her suitcase into the back of her father's BMW. She went down her checklist: Ticket. Passport. Phone. Then she remembered what Frankie said about wearing red underwear for New Year's Eve. Neither of them had any idea where that tradition came from and decided it was probably a man. Nonetheless, why tempt fate? She checked her carry-on bag one more time: makeup, haircare, contact lens solution, bandanas, and yes, the red undies. She deliberately put them in her carry-on just in case her suitcase went to parts unknown. When she heard Giovanni's luggage was sidetracked to Milan, she offered to try to fetch it for him, but it was too late. It was already on its way to Naples. Or so they were told.

When she arrived at the airport, she checked her large suitcase, went through security, and waited at the gate. The only flights to Milan left around midnight so she opted to leave late Christmas night to arrive the following morning, giving her almost two full days in Milan before she moved on to Naples.

The airport was relatively quiet. She assumed most people were where they were planning to be. People-watching was one of her favorite pastimes. It was grist for her writing mill. People were smiling. In an airport in New Jersey? She snickered. Miracles happen . It was still Christmas, after all.

Everything seemed to be running smoothly. Too smoothly? Not that Nina was a negative person; she was just wary when things were going well. Her experience with Hollywood was one big example after another. You're on a hit TV show, and it gets cancelled. You're hired to write a sitcom, and even though the ratings were good, new executive management decided to "make some changes in programming." There was always the opportunity to have the rug pulled out from under you.

At the moment, she was secure with her podcast. It was successful, and she was basically the boss. But life is filled with "you never knows." Frankie was often on her case about keeping a positive attitude, reminding her that the "you never know" can lead to something good. She knew Frankie was right. Even though Nina had been through several huge disappointments, she always managed to land on her feet. So far .

She was excited to see Jordan again. He was a Brit with a keen sense of humor. He had several well-made and successful films under his belt, and Nina knew that one does not necessarily include the other. You could have a great film, but if nobody watches it, then it's not deemed a success. Conversely, you could have a financial blockbuster with a mediocre script and talent. So much of Hollywood was hype, which was another reason she was happy to meet up with Jordan. British filmmakers were focused on the script and good actors. Celebrity wasn't necessarily the driving force.

She remembered an interview with Helen Mirren when the host had asked her how often people bother her when she is out to dinner with friends. Nina couldn't remember the exact quote, but it was something to the effect that the royal family was the country's celebrities, and the rest were commoners.

The gate attendant announced they would begin boarding soon. Nina had decided to try a boutique airline that featured only business class for the eight-hour flight. She heard that some of the smaller airlines do not get priority when it came to takeoff and landing, but that was a rumor. She couldn't imagine adding one more thing for an air traffic controller to think about. The only people who were getting priority treatment were those flying first or business class. ATC prioritized flights if there were delays. At any given moment, there can be up to five thousand planes traversing the friendly skies. She didn't want to think about that.

Boarding went quickly, as there were only seventy-six seats on the plane. So far, so good. She reminded herself to stay positive in spite of the fact she hated to fly. Most people did these days, but it was often a necessity.

Once they reached cruising altitude, the flight attendants brough warm finger towels before they served dinner, and she had choices. A real menu! The food was remarkably good, the seats reclined, and the TV screen in front of her was substantial.

About two hours into the flight, she noticed that she wasn't feeling claustrophobic. She took it as a good sign.

Nina pulled a fashion magazine from the side pocket of her seat. She never considered herself a fashion maven, not even close, but she appreciated interesting and unique designs. She read that Italy was kicking the pants off Paris when it came to the fashion scene. No pun intended. Gucci appeared to be fueling the fashion renaissance, with Moschino mixing bizarre elements such as fringed hems on everything. Armani was still classic, while Prada featured whimsical accessories. Fun seemed to be an ongoing theme.

She chuckled, remembering Amy's garb from two years ago. She better not see the article Nina was reading, or she'd go back to her mismatched outfits, purple hair, and clunky boots. Wait. Amy hadn't given up the clunky boots, but at least now they were designer! Ha!

An announcement came over the PA informing the passengers they were beginning their descent into the Milan area, and they would be landing in approximately thirty minutes. Nina wondered what time it was; then the pilot announced it was eleven-thirty in the morning, and the flight was due to arrive at noon.

Once the plane landed, it took little time to get off. She easily found her way to the baggage claim, passing rows and rows of holiday trees and decorations. Global Entry also went smoothly, as did getting her luggage. She made her way to a line of taxis. Jordan had given her his address, which she handed to a cab driver who spoke fluent English. She asked him about the Gothic Duomo that housed da Vinci's famous mural, The Last Supper . He explained that it took six hundred years to complete the building. It was no wonder it was one of the largest cathedrals in the world. He went on to explain the word duomo signified the principal church of the town, and not necessarily a cathedral.

"There must be over a thousand churches in Italy, no?" Nina asked.

"Yes. And there are nine hundred in Rome alone," he shared, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. "To be honest, I do not believe anyone knows the total number, because there are many small chapels in villages all over the country. But did you know that only one-third of the country actively participates in religion?"

"Seriously?" Nina was surprised.

"Depends on what part of the country you live in. There are a lot of old traditions that are mixed into their beliefs."

"That makes sense. I know there are a lot of superstitions associated with the culture."

"Very true," he replied. "We are going to pass the Duomo; it's in the Brera section of the city and about a five-minute walk from where you are staying. But if you want to go, I recommend you get tickets in advance."

"Noted." Nina wasn't sure how much time she would have to be a tourist. She was going to follow Jordan's lead.

The driver added one more fun fact. "More visitors go to churches here than the people who live here."

"Get out! Seriously?"

"It's true. Almost every tourist goes to at least one cathedral. See, you will go to one too, I am sure."

He had a very good point. Everyone she knew who had traveled to Italy went to at least one or more.

"Almost there." He turned into the Brera District of Milan. It was a quaint neighborhood with three-story buildings that flanked the narrow cobblestone streets. It exuded history with its architecture, cafés, museums, and galleries. There were window boxes filled with seasonal greens hanging from many of the buildings. Nina understood why Jordan would want to live there. It was a balance of industry and art.

The cab pulled in front of a nondescript building on a quiet street. The driver rolled her suitcase up to the door and rang the buzzer. She was surprised when it opened to what appeared to be a freight elevator. She paid the driver, thanked him, and gingerly entered the caged lift.

" Grazie . Thank you. Enjoy!"

" Ciao !" Nina called out.

She pushed the button that said P LEASANCE . It was the top floor. When the elevator creaked and jangled to a stop, the door opened directly into Jordan's apartment.

"Nina! Bella !" He threw his arms around her and rocked her side to side. "I am so happy to see you! Come."

He ushered her to the large living space with an open floor plan. The modern interior was in vast contrast to the historical exterior. On one end was a wall of windows and doors that opened to a roof terrace. The two bedrooms were on opposite sides of the living area.

"This is gorgeous," Nina exclaimed. "It's deceiving on the outside. I was expecting, well, I really don't know what I was expecting." She laughed.

"Let me show you to your room. You must be exhausted."

Nina followed him past the large sectional sofa, then past the long island kitchen counter. There was a bathroom and then a modest-sized room that obviously served both as a guest room and his office.

"Am I going to be in your way?

"Not at all. I am on holiday. No work for me this week."

"Great!"

"Are you hungry? Tired? What would you like to do first?"

"Take a shower and change into a fresh set of clothes."

"Coming right up." He unfolded a small stand and plopped her suitcase on top. "There are fresh towels in the bathroom."

"Wonderful." Nina knew she was running out of steam, but masked her exhaustion as best she could.

"I'll make us a cuppa." He was referring to the British slang for a cup of tea.

"Fab. Thanks," Nina said. "I'll be right back."

"No rush, darling."

Nina opened her suitcase and chuckled. Frankie was right about her wardrobe. Good thing she bought a couple of new tracksuits, a pair of jeans, and a blazer. She refused to wear anything but her hiking boots while she was traveling. She knew she would be doing a lot of walking. She had brought one nice pair of flats for dinners and the New Year's Eve party.

She pulled her locks into a tight bun and donned a shower cap. When she turned on the shower, she noticed that it wasn't as hot as she was accustomed to. Jordan had told her it was considered "instant heat," but it wasn't really all that hot. Warm, yes. Hot, nope. Some things you take for granted.

She finished quickly, toweled off, and jumped into a fresh pair of fleece pants and a matching hoodie. She wrapped her hair in a bandana and swiped on some lipstick. If they were going somewhere special, she would up her outfit to fit the circumstances. For now, comfort was key.

"Ah, there she is." Jordan handed her a warm mug. "Honey, correct?"

"Yes. You have quite a memory." Nina was impressed.

"Isn't it odd the things that one remembers?" Jordan replied.

"I totally get that. There are days when I can remember what I wore the first day of class when I was in the fifth grade, but don't ask me what I wore to a party last month."

"Exactly. Selective memory, I suppose."

"Isn't that what they say when people choose what they want to remember?"

"Yes, that too," he snickered. "So, my darling, what would you like to do today?"

"I have no idea. I've never been to Milan before."

"Ah, well, we have a fabulous museum just a few blocks away. You up for some culture?"

"I suppose it couldn't hurt." Nina chuckled.

"Are you hungry?"

"Not right now. But I am sure I could go for some veal Milanese later!" Nina was referring to the way a certain dish was prepared. The veal was pounded into thin cutlets, dredged in egg mixture and breadcrumbs, fried, and served with arugula, sliced cherry tomatoes, and shaved Grana Padano cheese on top.

"When in Milano . . ." Jordan joked.

He pulled out one of the stools at the counter and patted the cushion. "Sit. Tell me all about your life."

Nina laughed. "I was an actress. Then a writer for television. Now I do a podcast. That's it."

"All of it?" He gave her a quizzical look.

"You know the rest. You're in the biz."

"Somewhat. Good thing for residuals."

"Are you working on anything now?" she asked idly.

"I have a few ideas floating around." He raised his eyebrows. "But, as you said, you know the rest."

"I am sure you wouldn't have a hard time finding the production money," Nina said confidently.

"You'd be surprised what the expectations are. Guarantees. Who can guarantee anything today?"

"You mean besides politicians making fools of themselves?"

"Sweetheart, they've been doing that for well over a thousand years."

"My point, exactly," she retorted.

"Touché."

"So, tell me what's going on in that creative mind of yours?" she asked.

" When Harry Met Sally on The Orient Express ."

"Huh?" Nina asked with bewilderment.

"Six episodes. Murder, mayhem, and romance. Each episode from the point of view of one of six different people. Do you remember Murder 101 ? It was a Hallmark series. She was a professor of crime writing, and the hero was a police officer. Sexual tension. Banter. A murder to solve."

"Sounds like it's been done before."

"Yes, but not necessarily the mash-up I have in mind."

"Continue," Nina probed.

"Each episode shifts perspective, so you keep guessing until the end. And of course, you don't know if the romance is real or if it's a guise to hide the real murderer."

"Sounds a bit like Knives Out . Please don't compare it to Glass Onion . That was horrible."

"I agree. I think it was the usual bunch of celebs sitting in a room figuring out how to make a few extra million dollars. The star power of the movie was the draw, plus the success of the first movie to entice viewers."

"Gotcha. I understand why you don't want to deal with Hollywood."

"Precisely. I have some serious connections with producers whose shows have been picked up by BritBox and Acorn, two excellent digital streaming services."

"Would you be the producer?"

"Yes, but I also want to write it."

"Ah. Tell me more." Nina rested her elbow on the counter, chin on her fist.

"I thought it was rather serendipitous that you contacted me."

"Oh?" Nina's eyes went wide.

"Yes, because I thought of you as a co-writer."

"Me?" Nina was stunned. "I wrote a sitcom. I've never written a film."

"Oh, darling, a script is a script. It's how it's developed that counts."

"This is very intriguing, Jordan." Nina smiled. "Do you have an outline?"

"Indeed I do. Wait right here. You don't mind if I go into your room, do you?"

"My room? Ha! It's your office." Nina chuckled at Jordan's polite inquiry.

"I want to make certain you don't have anything you don't want me to see."

"Like what? Another pair of sweatpants?"

"A-hem. Speaking of sweatpants, that jogging suit is perfect for hiking, but when you are in Milan, well, darling, you should up your game a bit. No offense."

Nina laughed out loud. "None taken! You sound like Frankie. But remember, I've been sequestered at home for a couple of years. First was writing the show, and now the podcast. No one cares what I look like."

"Well, you should care." He patted her on the knee. "Be right back."

Nina pondered what he said. Had she become lazy? Sloppy? Wouldn't Richard have mentioned something? She contemplated how she dressed when they were together. Not shabby, but not glamorous, either. Perhaps Jordan had a point.

Jordan went into the room that was his office, now Nina's guest room. He plucked a folder from his desk and brought it out to the kitchen counter and handed it to Nina. She scanned through the pages.

"Interesting. But how can I help?"

"Dialogue. You have a knack for it."

"Why, thank you, Jordan. I really appreciate you saying that."

"I remember when we worked on that movie, and you had a suggestion for your character, and it worked beautifully."

"Thank you again. Coming from you, that is very high praise." Nina put the pages back into the folder. "So where do we go from here?"

"Are you available? Are you willing? I can't pay you anything right now, but if it gets optioned, we'll split the option money, and we can draw up a contract for when it goes into production."

"You mean if it goes into production?" Nina corrected him.

"My dear girl. Positive thinking." Jordan grinned.

"Again, you sound like Frankie."

"Frankie sounds like a very interesting person."

"Yes, she is. And she is half the reason I'm here. Her boyfriend's family lives in Salerno, and he invited us to share a house in Baronissi. His cousin is a professor and has friends who are swapping their house for Giovanni's apartment in New York. They wanted to spend New Year's Eve in the Big Apple."

"Brilliant."

"And generous. We are only responsible for our airfare and meals."

"Now that is one fine Christmas gift."

"You're right. Which reminds me, I need to find a gift for him."

"Any ideas?"

"Well, the airline sent his luggage here, and last I heard, it was slowly making its way to Naples, but nothing yet."

"Sounds like he might need a shirt. Sweater, perhaps?" Jordan suggested.

"Excellent idea!"

"I have a few from time to time." Jordan smiled. "Are you up for a stroll, or do you need a nap?"

"I'm good. Let's take a stroll and sit at a café and pretend we're European," Nina joked.

"Do not joke. European? Hardly. I'm a Brit!"

"But you live in Europe."

"Details. Details. Now go put on a pair of slacks. You do have a pair, I trust?"

"I think comedy may be in your future, because it ain't in the here and now," Nina volleyed back.

"But first you must tell me why you reached out, or did you simply want the charm of my company?"

"Because I'm getting bored." Nina sighed. "Podcasting is fun and topical, but that's just it. There's little room for creativity. Besides, there are a zillion podcasts now, and I doubt if I'll be relevant in a year. You know how fast technology changes and how everyone needs to be part of the latest annoying social media."

"Do I ever. You do have a good point. So what do you want to do about your boredom?"

"I think you may have solved that riddle." Nina winked and got up from the stool. "Pardon me while I slip into something more appropriate for the fashion capital of the world."

"Brilliant!" Jordan called out after her.

Nina rummaged through her suitcase. Slacks? Yes. Whew. White shirt? Yes. Slightly wrinkled, but the blazer will cover the creases. Shoes? Done. Now what about this hair? She remembered the black felt floppy hat she stowed in the pocket of the suitcase. Hello, friend. Within a few minutes, Nina transformed into a respectable tourist. Not runway material, but also not lying on the sofa eating bonbons, either. She returned to where Jordan was looking over his notes.

"Ta-da!"

"Much better, darling. Now I won't have to explain that you're a waif if I run into any of my friends."

"When did you turn into such a snob?" Nina joked.

"I've always been a snob; haven't you been paying attention?" Jordan quipped.

"As if." As she looked around his immaculate digs, she could see how it was possible. His taste was flawless. Several pieces of fine art graced the walls. The furniture was sleek, modern Italian, featuring a three-seater Dante sofa, and the lighting complimented every item on the concrete wall unit. "Do you think having good taste makes one a snob?"

"No, but it helps," he snickered. "Come. Let me show you my slice of heaven."

He donned a Dolce gorgonzola, in the blue-cheese family; then osso buco, cross-cut veal shanks cooked in herbs and wine; and a side of polenta, the Italian version of grits. Nina was convinced she was going to tip the scales when she got back to the States.

One of the things she appreciated about Italian cuisine was the pace in which the dishes are served. No one is rushed. You are expected to eat slowly. Savor. Enjoy. She thought she might be able to get used to this pace. Such a contrast from the New York metropolitan area.

"Tell me, what made you decide to move here instead of going back to England?"

"Have you ever tried the food there? Mean cuisine."

"Too much bangers and mash?"

"Exactly. Where else can you find such a variety of freshly prepared dishes? And people who love to cook and eat?"

She raised her glass. "And drink wine."

He clinked glasses with her again. "Milan is where industry meets artistry. It's a perfect place for me right now."

"I can understand that." Nina recalled Jordan's relationship with Paul had lasted for several years. Now Jordan was on his own, and in a friendly environment with great food, art, music, and fashion.

He smiled at her. "I'm rather keen on us working together. You always brighten my day."

Nina almost spit out her wine. "Me? Brighten?"

"Yes. Because you are so ‘in-your-face'. You pluck all the nuggets and savor them."

Nina was surprised. "I do?"

"Darling, I don't think you fully appreciate yourself. Look what you've accomplished. You take a troubling situation and find a way to flip it."

"Huh. I guess I'm always in survivor mode."

"Well, it's working for you. And do not underestimate yourself." He became slightly animated. "Why on earth would someone of my stature consider working with you?" he joked, but then got serious. "It's because you are talented."

Nina sat in silence for a moment. She was blown away. Jordan was a mentor when they worked together. He was successful, and his words meant the world to her. She started to tear up.

"You're not going to cry, are you?" He handed her his handkerchief.

"Me? Never," she sniffled, and happily took the folded linen.

"Aside from going over the outline tomorrow, what else would you like to do?" he asked.

"I think I've been bitten by the Renaissance bug. Do you think we could go see da Vinci's Last Supper ?"

"I would be delighted to take you there. I'll phone my friend at the Santa Maria della Grazie church, who will be able to get us a private tour."

"Aren't you fancy?" Nina gave him a sly smile.

"Always, darling."