Pasta Imperfect - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,6

to sit down every day and grind out page after page of fiction. I regarded her with even greater respect than before. "How many chapters have you written so far?"

"One. But like I told you, it's award-winning." She blew another bubble. I gritted my teeth. If she did that one more time, I might be forced to grab it out of her mouth and stick it in her ear. "What I really need is an agent," Keely confessed. "That's part of the reason I'm on this trip. Gillian and Marla's agent is here, so I need to impress her big-time. I'm hoping if she reads my award-winning chapter, she'll like it well enough to represent me. Her name's Sylvia Root. Ever heard of her? They call her 'the barracuda.' High-powered. Ruthless. Cojones the size of Jupiter. She's every author's dream. And by the way --" She reached into her pocketbook, pulled out a business card, and handed it to me. "I run an online romance writers' critique service, so if you ever need help with your novel, e-mail me. I offer special rates to people I've met."

I skimmed her card. Romance Solutions. Become a published author. Manuscript critiques offered by award-winning writer, KEELY MACK. Reasonable fees.

"Whoops," said Keely, "there's my roommate. Gotta run. She wants to explore the grotto where all the popes are buried. She has this obsession with dead people. She wants to break into the market with the first zombie romance. Isn't that a kick? She'll probably start a hot new trend."

Good reason to stick to nonfiction.

The queue to reach St. Peter moved quickly. I kissed his little bare toe, then pondered what other part of the statue I'd be kissing if the early Romans had worn wingtips instead of sandals. "If kissing the Blarney stone imparts the gift of gab," I commented when Jackie and I were through the line, "what gift do you suppose kissing St. Peter's toe imparts?"

"I don't know, but if you start speaking in tongues, I'm outta here."

After oohing and aahing over the magnificence of Michelangelo's dome and Bernini's sunburst, we snapped some photos of the gilded lanterns surrounding St. Peter's tomb and headed back toward the entrance. "Hi, Jackie," gushed two blonde women wearing Landmark name tags.

A minute later a spit-polished man with a trim beard nodded at Jackie. "Ms. Thum."

I slanted a curious look at Jackie. "How do all these people know you?"

"It's called networking, Emily. Isn't that what a good travel club escort is supposed to do? I attended the seminar last night, introduced myself to all the guests, and the dividend is --" She shot me a toothy smile. "They remember me."

"Of course they remember you! You were wearing a leather bustier!"

"If you lower your voice, I'll let you borrow it sometime." She sidled closer to me and spoke in a whisper. "That man who just acknowledged me? He's apparently a real biggie in the industry. Gabriel Fox. He's a senior editor at Hightower and is supposed to be editing both Marla and Gillian. Boy, I wouldn't want that job. Can you imagine the egos? Anyway, they call him 'the book doctor.' If there's anything wrong with a book, he's the guy who's supposed to be able to fix it. But you know what I don't get?"

I could see the red-and-green umbrella of our tour leader bobbing conspicuously in the air near the front entrance. "What don't you get?"

"All these wannabe writers are all in competition with each other, right? So how come they want to help each other so much? I mean, you should have been there last night. It was a lovefest! When a guy's in competition with you, he stabs you in the back and steamrolls you into the pavement. When a woman's in competition with you, she becomes your best friend! It makes no sense to me."

"Maybe you need to boost your estrogen level. It might improve your understanding." I spied everyone in my group huddled around a baseball-capped Duncan Lazarus and his umbrella. Grace and Dick Stolee, Helen and Dick Teig, and Lucille Rassmuson -- all of whom had gained a ton of weight since our trip to Switzerland last year. The Severid twins, Britha and Barbro, who were absolutely identical except for one characteristic, which they stubbornly refused to reveal. Nana and George. Alice Tjarks, the former voice of KORN's agricultural report, with her new camcorder. Osmond Chelsvig, with his double hearing aids and bigger camcorder. And Mom, listing like the Tower