Pasta Imperfect - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,34

look at Barbro. I warned her off with my eyes. "Well," I addressed Barbro, slapping my thighs, "now that we know you're not dead, let's get you back on your feet."

When we had her upright again, Jackie handed Barbro her plastic Farmacia Comunale sack then stood back and gaped at the two women. "Wow, you two are twins! I never would have guessed."

I stared at Jackie, deadpan. "You never would have guessed? They look exactly alike. How could you not have guessed?"

She dropped her chin and narrowed her eyes at me. "Excuse me? Don't twins usually dress alike? Please note. They're not dressed alike. It's very misleading."

Britha smiled at Jackie with indulgent eyes. "You're very...tall, aren't you, dear?"

Jackie looked from Britha, to Barbro, and back again. "You're like little cookie cutters of each other. That's so cool."

"Uff da!" I said, giving the twins the once-over. "I got so caught up with Barbro, I didn't even notice what you were wearing! Would you look at you? Turn around now. Let me see." I made a little twirling motion with my finger.

Grinning, the twins spun around slowly, modeling the spandex bodysuits and cigarette pants they'd borrowed from me yesterday. "This is the first time in our lives that we haven't dressed alike," Britha confided. "It takes some getting used to."

The clothes fit like sausage casings, which shouldn't have been flattering to seventy-three-year-old spinsters who'd never been reconstructed by a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon, but the twins were so slim and trim, they looked like prototypes for Medicare Barbie. "You two look great!" I gushed.

"All thanks to you, dear," Britha said, "although --" She locked arms with Barbro and exchanged an anxious look with her. "Please don't think us ungrateful, but we did have a tiny question about your...skin condition."

"Skin condition?" Jackie frowned at me. "You have a skin condition?"

I brushed off the question. "It's nothing. Really."

"Unh-oh." Jackie wagged her finger at me. "Are your hives back?"

"No, my hives aren't back."

"You said it was highly contagious," Britha added. "So we were wondering if there was a chance we might catch it."

Jackie skated back a step. "Athlete's foot? 'Fess up. It's athlete's foot, isn't it?"

I rolled my eyes.

"Psoriasis?"

Barbro clung to her sister's arm. "The symptoms do inspire dread. You go bald, insane, then you're dead."

"Holy crap!" screamed Jackie. "It's leprosy, isn't it! You have leprosy!"

"We're not so worried about growing insane and dying," Britha explained, "but we'd rather not go bald."

"How could you do this to me, Emily?" Jackie cried. "After all we've meant to each other." She scratched a sudden itch on one arm, then the other. "Is there a rash involved? Oh, my God! I've caught it! I'm going to die! And I haven't even figured out who I am as a woman yet!"

I smiled benignly at the twins. "Don't mind her. She's a little high-strung."

"She should ask her health-care professional about Paxil," Britha suggested. "Or is it Plavix?" She strained to think. "It's the one that in most cases doesn't cause erectile dysfunction, serious heart problems, or death."

"Okay," I said, hoping to restore order. "The truth is, I lied about my skin this morning. But I had an ulterior motive. I'm trying to get my clothes back."

Britha made a metronome of her finger. "You lied? Did you hear that, Barbro? She broke a Commandment."

"But I do have a skin condition! At least, I did last month. It's just not active right now. So you're not going to go bald and die anytime soon," I assured the twins. "Keep my clothes for as long as you need them. Just get them back to me before we leave, and whatever you do, don't tell anyone they're mine!"

"You made it all up?" Jackie accused, fire in her eyes. She gave it a moment's thought. "Euw, I like it. You are so clever, Emily." She embraced me in a bear hug that lifted me completely off the floor. "So," she said when she set me back on my feet, "I've seen enough. Can we leave?"

"Before you go --" Britha removed her camera from around her neck and held it out to me. "Would you mind taking a picture of us with the rooftops of Florence as a backdrop? No one back home will believe how far up we are. I bet we're even higher than Lars Bakke's grain elevator."

The standard height against which all things are measured in Nepal is Mt. Everest. In Chicago, it's the Sears Tower. In Windsor City, it's Lars Bakke's grain