Pete said that he, Peg and Alys were walking back through the Piazzale degli Uffizi when they witnessed an accident.
What kind of accident? said Massimo.
A Vespa drove into a living statue. What are the chances of that? he said.
High, if you don’t like mime, said Evelyn.
Ulysses laughing.
The living statue didn’t even cry out, said Pete. Such was the focus and dedication of the craft.
Romy was driving the Vespa? said Ulysses.
No, Temps. Romy’s the living statue.
Romy’s a living statue? I don’t believe it.
Alys couldn’t either. There she was, bending down to administer first aid to this white-faced Jean Seberg lookalike, when suddenly – Hello, Alys, it’s Romy – Alys almost shit herself. Sorry, Evelyn.
We’ve all done it, Pete.
She studied at Lecoq, said Pete.
How d’you know all this?
She told us.
I thought she’d just been run over? said Evelyn.
Yeah, but not badly. Mostly shock. The Vespa driver came off worse. Apparently, he had to choose between taking out a group of tourists or a statue. So he took out the statue. Well, you would, wouldn’t you? The surprise he got when the statue spoke. Fell back and slammed his head against the stone. Ouch, said Pete.
And here they come now, said Massimo.
Alys and Peg appeared at the side of the church, arms tight around a limping, white-faced sheet.
Evelyn couldn’t wait to explain all this to Dotty.
From the moment Romy sat down in the salotto, she was her charming and animated self. Albeit no longer an adolescent but a woman in her late twenties, just as Alys was. Peg said she thought Romy talked a lot for a mime artist.
How’s your mum and dad, Romy? said Ulysses.
Oh my goodness, Mr Temper. How their lives changed after Florence. My father didn’t write his book on Henry James, but he did eventually write a bestseller under the pseudonym of Dante Pelloni. A romance/thriller about a man who went to Italy in search of love, but whose wife tried to murder him with the help of a local builder.
I read it! said Evelyn. How I laughed when the chandelier fell on him!
It’s been optioned for a film, said Romy. Ali MacGraw’s pencilled to play my mother.
And how is your mother? said Ulysses.
Really good. She’s head of marketing for a drinks company. Dating a friend of Onassis.
Romy Peller was the breath of aria fresca they all needed: a joyous and slightly barking counterpoint to the grief that had beset the previous two years. She taught Pete the stuck-in-a-glass-box mime routine and Pete spent the following week trying to escape from something he couldn’t see, which Col said was the story of his life anyway, so what was new?
And in a delightful twist of events, Romy Peller fell head over heels in love with Alys. They jumped into bed together in a lodging house near the Accademia. They had history, they had ease and the sex was great. So what d’you say? said Romy. （She had just asked Alys if they should give it another go.） You and me, kiddo. Love’s bright dream? said Alys.
Oh God, said Romy. Please don’t say I ever said that to you.
You said that.
Romy squirmed and lit a cigarette. She blew out a long stream of smoke. And in answer to my question?
Yes, OK, said Alys. But let’s take it slow.
Romy laughed because Romy didn’t know the meaning of the word slow. But she did encourage Alys to pick up her guitar and sing from the church steps that night.
Alys sang ‘Freedom of the Open Road’ and Massimo pointed to Pete and everyone cheered. She also sang ‘The Tower of Rotherhithe’， a song Peg had never heard before. And walking back across the square, Peg asked Ulysses when Alys had written it and he said when she was fourteen. That threw Peg. That the kid had understood the depth of her pain all those years ago. Peg thought it the most beautiful song she’d ever heard. She wrote a note saying just that and slipped it under Alys’s bedroom door. Neither woman would talk about it for years.
A week or so later, Ulysses said to Alys that Romy was more than welcome to move into the pensione, but Alys said no fucking way.
Oh, said Ulysses. He rather liked Romy.
I mean, not yet, said Alys. For the first time in my life, Uly, everything’s good and stable. I want to keep it that way.
When Amarcord finally opened at the old Rex later in ’73, the rough edge of grief had been planed smooth and everyone was up for the occasion. Peg wasn’t just dressed up to the nines but the tens as well. Pete had his head held high, which was an anatomically rare occurrence, and that brief moment when he appeared on screen – oh God, how proud they were! – face looming out of the black, full of intention, full of yearning. He said he’d had a line but they’d cut it and Alys said, What’s a line when you can convey everything in a look? Ask Romy. And Pete turned to Romy and Romy nodded and Pete seemed happy with that. He even started getting fan mail again. God knows how they knew where he lived, but that’s showbusiness for you. Nothing’s sacred.