Lessons Learned

seen more of Chicago in the flight into O’Hare than during the day and a half she’d been there. Cab drives from hotel to television station, from television station to department store, from department store to bookstore and back to the hotel again weren’t exactly leisurely sight-seeing tours. Then and there she decided that when she took her vacation at the end of the month, she’d go somewhere steamy with sun and do nothing more energetic than laze by a pool from dawn to dusk.
    The only hour remotely resembling fun was anothershopping expedition where she watched Carlo select a plump three-pound chicken for his cacciatore.
    He was to prepare his pollastro alla cacciatora from simmer to serve during a live broadcast of one of the country’s top-rated morning shows. Next to the Simpson Show in L.A., Juliet considered this her biggest coup for the tour. Let’s Discuss It was the hottest hour on daytime TV , and remained both popular and controversial after five consecutive seasons.
    Despite the fact that she knew Carlo’s showmanship abilities, Juliet was nervous as a cat. The show would air live in New York. She had no doubt that everyone in her department would be watching. If Carlo was a smash, it would be his triumph. If he bombed, the bomb was all hers. Such was the rationale in public relations.
    It never occurred to Carlo to be nervous. He could make cacciatore in the dark, from memory with the use of only one hand. After watching Juliet pace the little green room for the fifth time, he shook his head. “Relax, my love, it’s only chicken.”
    “Don’t forget to bring up the dates we’ll be in the rest of the cities. This show reaches all of them.”
    “You’ve already told me.”
    “And the title of the book.”
    “I won’t forget.”
    “You should remember to mention you prepared this dish for the President when he visited Rome last year.”
    “I’ll try to keep it in mind. Juliet, wouldn’t you like some coffee?”
    She shook her head and kept pacing. What else?
    “I could use some,” he decided on the spot.
    She glanced toward the pot on a hot plate. “Help yourself.”
    He knew if she had something to do, she’d stop worrying, even for a few moments. And she’d stop pacing up and down in front of him. “Juliet, no one with a heart would ask a man to drink that poison that’s been simmering since dawn.”
    “Oh.” Without hesitation, she assumed the role of pamperer. “I’ll see about it.”
    “Grazie.”
    At the door, she hesitated. “The reporter for the Sun might drop back before the show.”
    “Yes, you told me. I’ll be charming.”
    Muttering to herself, she went to find a page.
    Carlo leaned back and stretched his legs. He’d have to drink the coffee when she brought it back, though he didn’t want any. He didn’t want to board the plane for Detroit that afternoon, but such things were inevitable. In any case, he and Juliet would have the evening free in Detroit—what American state was that in?
    They wouldn’t be there long enough to worry about it.
    In any case, he would soon be in Philadelphia and there, see Summer. He needed to. Though he’d always had friends and was close to many of them, he’d never needed one as he felt he needed one now. He could talk to Summer and know what he said would be listened to carefully and not be repeated. Gossip had never bothered him in the past, but when it came to Juliet… When it came to Juliet, nothing was as it had been in the past.
    None of his previous relationships with women had ever become a habit. Waking up in the morning beside a woman had always been pleasant, but never necessary. Every day, Juliet waschanging that. He couldn’t imagine his bedroom back in Rome without her, yet she’d never been there. He’d long since stopped imagining other women in his bed.
    Rising, he began to pace as Juliet had.
    When the door opened, he turned, expecting her. The tall, willowy blonde who entered wasn’t Juliet, but she was familiar.
    “Carlo! How wonderful to see you again.”
    “Lydia.” He smiled, cursing himself for not putting the name of the Sun ’s reporter with the face of the woman he’d spent two interesting days in Chicago with only eighteen months before. “You look lovely.”
    Of course she did. Lydia Dickerson refused to look anything less. She was sharp, sexy and uninhibited. She was also, in his memory, an excellent cook and critic of gourmet foods.
    “Carlo, I was just thrilled when I