Pasta Imperfect - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,39

Philip interjected. "All the years I've known you, Sylvia, and we've never discussed our postcollege years. You didn't start out agenting right away, did you? What was your first job after you graduated college?"

"Look, look." Gillian waved her hand madly to catch our attention. "There's that woman with the funny eyebrows. Over there with that group of people standing in front of the tobacco store."

Funny eyebrows? I looked for Helen Teig among the half dozen or so people milling around the doorway, but failed to see her. Heck, those people weren't even tourists. They were natives. Look at them! Their tasteful, form-fitting slacks and tops. Their sumptuous colors. Their intricately tied scarves. Their hot sunglasses. They could all afford to shed a few pounds, but leave it to the Italians to accent their least flattering features with style and flare, not to hide them.

I nodded in their direction and commented to Gillian, "Those people aren't on our tour."

"Yes, they are. I can tell from their campaign buttons. They were all wearing them when they went out this morning. It looks like they're backing some old bald guy who smokes a cigar. I wonder what office he's running for. The woman with the Magic Marker eyebrows has hers pinned to her scarf. See?"

Campaign buttons? I darted another look at the group. Oh, my God! She was right. They weren't Italians. They were my Iowans dressed up like Italians! Eh! The two Dicks, Helen, Grace, and Lucille had traded in their farm caps and polyester wind suits for Ferragamo and Prada. They looked nothing like themselves anymore! Uff da! How would I ever find them in a crowd if they didn't stick out like sore thumbs? A ripple of panic fluttered along my breastbone. This was terrible!

"Sorry for interrupting," Gillian apologized, "but I had to point that woman out to you. Don't you think someone like that would make a great character in a book?"

"I couldn't agree more," Marla said agreeably.

Wow. These two had really turned a corner.

She touched Gillian's hand with genuine affection. "Those are the kind of brows that could definitely 'wing upward in heart-stopping shock' at the sight of ten inches of flaming virility."

Okay. So maybe I'd been a bit premature.

Gillian didn't miss a beat. "But you have to agree, Marla, dear, that she looks like the kind of woman who would be smart enough to know that no matter the size, it wouldn't throb."

Gabriel tented his hands over his face. "Kee-reist."

"Okay, Philip," Marla snarled, "I know what you said back at the hotel, but you need to settle this for us. When you're in the act, does it throb or not?"

Gabriel dropped his head to the table and huddled beneath his crossed forearms. "Kee-reist."

"Really, ladies," Blackmore said, chagrined. "I'm not in a position to --"

"I'm warning you!" Gillian raved. "You need to sign her up for a course on basic human anatomy. She just doesn't get it!"

"Come to think of it, it doesn't actually throb," Jackie said, angling her head in thought. "It kind of..." She flipped her hand back and forth, searching for the right word.

"Quivers?" I asked excitedly.

"Nope. It's more like..." She snapped her fingers with sudden inspiration. "Imagine you're a steam locomotive that's chugging uphill. Slowly at first, then a little faster, throttle wide open, whistle blowing, smokestack steaming, boiler blazing, faster, hotter, faster, hotter, until...BOOM!" She smacked her palm with her fist, knocking everyone back in their seats. "You hit the crest of the hill and explode like a volcano. BOOM. BOOM. KAPOW. WHOOSH." She nodded with satisfaction. "It's kinda like that."

Gabriel lifted his head, joining the others around the table who were gawking at her, mouths open, eyes wide. They looked really stunned, but I couldn't tell if they were reacting to the content of her presentation or the fact that she'd mixed her metaphors so badly.

"You know this...how?" asked Philip.

Jackie paused, her smile inching into a grimace. "Um...Reader's Digest?"

This elicited a bout of restrained laughter from everyone except Sylvia, who was slouched with relief, looking as if she'd just dodged a very large bullet.

"I don't think they bought the Reader's Digest thing," Jackie lamented an hour later. "I mean, I'm not trying to cover up my procedure, it's just a whole lot easier if people don't know. Then I'm spared having to answer all their dumb questions. I just think it works better if I keep a low profile, don't you?"

"Oh, yeah. You have low profile down to a science." We'd run