APRIL IN ROME
Chapter Seven

A black rainy Monday night in May welcomed Jack back home to California. It was the hardest feat of his life to board the private Lear jet and leave Rome behind. The incredible magic that had taught him how to live and how to love was now lost to him. The magic of Rose existed now only in his memory. The one true thing that had kept his sanity, his hopes and his dreams alive was gone. She was no longer in Italy; she had left them both behind. His mind kept frantically searching for the answers to his unsated quest. Where was she? How was she? And tragically, he knew without a doubt, that Rose must hate him now. That torrid gut-wrenching night in April, he had felt it over the lengthening distance between their cracking hearts.

It wasn’t supposed to end like that. It should have been the happiest day of his life. But fate had cruelly barged in and dealt them such a horrendous blow. And he couldn’t let it end like that—she was the music of this soul, his reason for his being. She made his life worth living…nothing could heal the wretched despair that now heavily clouded his gloomy looming future. Only Rose…his all.

Since then, Jack’s gut had twisted continually and his heart had split in two. He had barely slept or eaten in days. The muscles in his body involuntarily quivered like an addict deprived of their dependency and nourishment. His bloodshot eyes reflected a poor bum that had been on a two week drinking binge. Normally impeccably groomed, he had as yet to shave the growth of beard and overly long shaggy hair he had grown for his Valor role. The stress levels were so intensely high he felt he might explode at any moment. His haggard mind kept replaying the same mournful song of what should have been or if only.

He grievously tried to recall his unsuccessful bid to find Rose in Rome. His first reaction when he finally gained his ambiguous bearing was to find Martin. He’d know where she might have fled. However, immediately after the party, he and his family had left Italy for a lengthy secluded vacation on a remote island somewhere and were impossible to contact. Martin’s personal assistant, Bodine, had informed Jack that even he couldn’t get in touch with the director. The only slightest hope he had been given was a reluctant promise that Lewis would tell Martin when he called that Jack desperately needed to talk with him. But when the hell would that be?

And then there was his disastrous DiStefano visit before final departing Italy. Victor DiStefano had been polite enough but mysteriously flat out refused to divulge Rose’s possible whereabouts. Jack had actually begged and practically tried to bribe him. But Rose’s uncle kept reiterating that he wasn’t "at liberty" to say. Finally after probably taking pity on his sorry plight, Vic reluctantly revealed that Rose had phoned and said she was leaving Rome that night—some family emergency but that maybe she’d return in the spring.

Jack had instantly hung his head and hastily took his leave. Dropping his pounding head to the steering wheel, he closed his watery eyes. Rose was getting further and further away from him, and he couldn’t stop her. He was so depressed and downcast that Donna DiStefano must have sensed his apparent misery and abruptly halted his leave.

Closing his tortured, grief-stricken eyes, Jack began to recount again for the hundredth time that mysterious intriguing conversation.

"Mr. Dawson. Wait!"

Looking up, he had cast Rose’s aunt a curious and hopeful glance. With great hesitancy, she approached him.

"I overhead your impassioned inquiry to my husband into our niece’s whereabouts and…" She suddenly stopped and stared at the St. Mary’s medallion that Jack now wore around his neck. She recognized it instantly.

"That’s Rose’s necklace." It was more of a statement than a question. She was almost hypnotized by the fact that he was wearing it. And what was that he read in her widened eyes? Disbelief and the immediate realization and knowledge of Rose’s and his most precious intimacies? Surely that was just his guilty conscience playing with his volatile emotions.

Attempting to break the interminable silence, he pleaded, "Mrs. DiStefano, I need to speak to Rose…just for a little while. Can you help me, please?"

Jack’s sorrowful eyes were brimming with moisture; wetness that had always been foreign for his usually wild and happy go lucky party boy image. His voice fairly cracked with uncertainty. He could tell she was fighting an inward battle of some kind. Biting her bottom lip, she looked down and inexplicably probed, "Mr. Dawson, has Rose ever talked much about her life back in America?"

Bemused yet becoming increasingly wary for some uncanny reason, he sadly admitted, "No, not really, but…"

Heavily sighing and making up her wavering mind, she finally locked turbulent brown eyes with his pleading gaze. Coming to a final decision, she sorrowfully emphasized, "I’m sorry, Mr. Dawson. I simply can’t betray our family’s confidence…but good luck in your search for Rose because I’m afraid you might need it!"

"But…" She never heard his halted protest. Donna DiStefano hurriedly walked back inside and slammed the massive door—shutting him out like a cold, dark tomb.

Immediately, a darker cloud, if possible, descended upon Jack. He couldn’t fathom the DiStefano’s adamant denials at his impassioned requests. It was almost as if they were guarding a precious family secret. Initially, he had been confident that he could find her. After all, there couldn’t be that many DiStefanos in Texas. He tried to recall that town Martin had mentioned at the opera that first night when they first met. Rose…something.

It completely escaped his memory; he couldn’t quite grasp it. Just when he thought he might recollect the name, it eluded him like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. He wryly admitted that then he had been too swept away by Rose’s bewitching spell to pay close enough attention. But at the time, it seemed so insignificant.

Suddenly, Jack began to frantically panic. He realized that he actually knew very little about Rose’s past. She had elusively mentioned a "seedy" family life at the wrap party that had instantly touched a curious cord in him. He had intended to ask her about it afterward but "things" had happened that had wiped out such seemingly minor trivialities. The more Jack thought of it, the more he was convinced that Rose and her family were hiding something.

Could the DiStefano family be somehow connected to the notorious Italian mafia in America? But that was such a ludicrous cliche! He’d more than likely been watching too many "Godfather" type movies. But on the other hand, Rose had been very close-mouthed about her family except to mention "self-promotions". Nevertheless, his elusive Rose was becoming more fleeting with each ragged breath he took.

He wouldn’t rest until he found her again. The insurmountable pain in his chest couldn’t continue like this. He had to find an absolution to the grievous deeds he had committed. Before he could do that, he had to find her.

And he knew just the person to help him. Although it was getting quite late, he hastily grabbed up the phone and dialed his best friend and confidante, Tommy Maguire.

Tommy Maguire lifted a wondering brow and softly sat the phone back down in its cradle. Turning, he briefly glanced at his lovely blond Swedish wife, Helga and shrugged at her inquiring visage.

"That was Jack—issuing a desperate summons."

"Can’t it wait until tomorrow, Tommy? I realize you two haven’t seen each other in several months, but it’s storming outside and terribly late," Helga softly reasoned.

"I know, but he sounded quite upset. I can’t imagine what this can be about." Kissing her soft cheek, he reassured her, "I’ll be back later; just keep my place warm."

As Tommy knocked and entered Jack’s oceanfront home, he stopped short. Jack was pacing furiously and he looked awful, the worst he had ever seen him. Instantly concerned and still puzzled, Tommy grudgingly admitted, "Jack! You look like hell…like something the cat dragged in!"

Jack stopped his nervous pacing and began rubbing his tired strained neck, but when he gazed into his best friend’s direction, Tommy couldn’t believe what he saw there—tears of grief!

"My God, Jack, who died?" he mistakenly questioned with immediate sympathy.

Waving his hand, Jack downheartedly denied, "Nobody—but Tommy, I desperately need your help!"

Becoming more perplexed and curious by the minute, Tommy inquired, "Sure anything I can do, compadre. Tell me, what’s wrong?"

Jack exhaled gently and becoming more determined and urgent with purpose, he demanded, "Whose the best team of private investigators in the world…with impeccable credentials and connections. Access to federal, state, and city government agencies—all the bureaucracies? But above all that, they can’t know the meaning of failure!"

"Whoa, settle down buddy. What’s all this about anyway?" he uneasily queried. "Is this illegal?"

Sighing heavily, Jack wearily bade, "Sit down, Tommy, this may take a while."

At last, Tommy sat back in the leather chair and scratched his chin reflecting on his friend’s sordid tale of lost love in Rome. So, he inwardly reflected, Jack had seemingly gone and finally fallen head over heels in love. Of course, the telltale signs were all before him but still unbelievably skeptical he curiously asked, "How long did you know this Rose anyway?"

Slowly turning his back, Jack began guiltily gazing out the open French doors. Becoming uneasy, he quietly admitted, "Two weeks."

Raising a doubtful brow, Tommy laughingly deducted, "Just two weeks? What was so…" His voice trailed off and he slowly began shaking his roguish head with dawning amusement, "Oh, I see, didn’t quite get your fill, huh?"

Whipping around, Jack pierced Tommy with two shards of hard, cold steel. "It was nothing like that, Tommy!" Jack coldly admonished. "Not at all like the rest. This is different. I now know the difference between lust and real love. I felt it in Rome. I can’t let her go, Tommy! I need her! Please!" He desperately pleaded.

Tommy knew Jack well enough to know the misery mirrored in his friend’s mournful countenance was real. His heart went out to him. After all, Tommy loved Jack like a brother; they had been friends forever. And for Jack to admit any real emotions was startling to say the least. Finally relenting, Tommy threw up his hands, "Let’s see. Where do we start? Do you have any photos? What do you know about her? Every minute detail could help."

Slightly smiling Jack said, "Thanks, Tommy."

"OK, Jack. Let’s put on a pot of coffee and get down to business."

"Got any pictures, Jack?" Tommy hopefully inquired.

"Regrettably no, but how about a physical description?" Jack dejectedly answered.

Tommy was diligently writing every word his friend was uttering. Secretly watching Jack, he mentally compared him to a romantic poet reciting the perfect love poem for the most beautiful goddess ever created. Yes, the boy definitely was infatuated. He caressed each word describing the woman like a haunted man hopelessly lost in love.

"She sounds beautiful, Jack," Tommy couldn’t help comment.

"She is, Tommy, she is," Jack softly confirmed.

"Got any distinguishing characteristics like birthmarks, scars, tattoos…" Tommy innocently asked.

Jack broke out into the first actual smile that he had grinned since that last April night in Rome that lit his eyes like twinkling blue stars. A slight chuckle rumbled in his chest and he reflectively mentioned, "She has a small tattoo of a yellow rose on her left back shoulder blade."

Tommy instantly saw the grin spread across Jack’s features and had to join him in a muted friendly laugh.

"Okay, one yellow rose tattoo…so, let’s talk geography now…where does she live?"

"I know she lives somewhere in Texas, a small town called Rose uh something. I just can’t remember the last syllable. She’s an only child and her mother, Laurel, is deceased. However, her father is away a lot…he’s into public relations or 'self-promotions' whatever the hell that means." Jack again realized that he knew next to nothing about the woman that he had grown to love in too short a time. Grasping for straws, he spun around and suddenly snapped his fingers. "Her birthday is on Halloween!"

"Now, that’s a start," Tommy encouraged. "You have a birth year? It’ll help with the driver’s license department and social security records. It could validate an official identity."

Jack slowly turned his back and braced himself against the open door jamb. Bending his head, he began nervously chewing on his bottom lip. Becoming very distant and more hesitant by the moment, he sheepishly and quietly revealed, "She’s seventeen."

Tommy’s widened eyes nearly popped out of their sockets before he jumped out of his chair incredulously shouting, "Shit, Jack! A Goddamn minor? Don’t you know that’s jail bait?" Tommy couldn’t believe his friend’s careless stupidity. What was he doing cavorting with an innocent girl who was nine years his junior? There were plenty other older women constantly vying for his attention, beautiful females that literally threw themselves at his feet. What the hell was Jack thinking…of course, that was just it, Tommy mused, Jack wasn’t thinking! "Just how well did you get to know this girl anyway? Don’t answer that. You obviously slept with her! Am I right?" he harshly reprimanded.

Endless silence hung in the thick air.

"Never mind, Tommy. Just find her. No matter how much it costs or how long it takes. But, yesterday isn’t soon enough." Then in a small shaking, cracking voice, "Please, Tommy. I can’t bear this much longer."

Something about Jack’s state of duress cut Tommy’s empathetic heart to the quick. Letting out a long breath, he reluctantly relented. "Jack, I’ll do my very best…I just hope you find what you lost in Rome." Then to belatedly jab at his conscience, he lightly scolded, "I just hope you don’t end up in jail over this!"

A month later, they still had turned up nothing. The only official municipalities in Texas were Rosebud and Rosenberg. However, not one DiStefano resided in either location. Texas school records and the Department of Public Safety Driver’s License division didn’t list a single Rose DiStefano in their vast databases. But mysteriously, the Internal Revenue Service, Census Bureau, or even the Social Security Administration didn’t either. It was as if she had vanished from the face of the Earth.

At one point, Tommy suggested looking in other states, but Jack firmly believed that Rose had to be somewhere in Texas. Exasperated, he raged, "Why does it have to be such a big goddamn state?"

Then suddenly he remembered Rose and his conversation in Florence at the tattoo shop regarding "sizes" and he wistfully grinned.

Noticing the pensive smile, Tommy asked, "What’s so amusing my friend? Whatever it is, it looks good on you. The first sign of life I’ve seen in you since you got back!"

Sadly averting his haunted eyes, Jack admitted, "Just a memory, Tommy."

Deciding not to press further or intrude into his friend’s intimate memories, Tommy abruptly changed the subject and sincerely implored, "Jack, the team of PI’s and I are really starting to suspect the Italian mafia theory we previously discussed. I know it sounds quite dramatic and a tad preposterous. But, we have absolutely no leads thus far. I mean, let’s be rational. Fake towns, "seedy" life style, "self-promotions", family confidences, no Rose DiStefano records of any kind—it’s like she’s hiding out and they are being quite thorough in erasing all evidence of Rose. You said yourself that she was elusive about her father and family. And if that’s the case, which we truly believe it is at this point, then there’s no tighter lipped clan on the whole goddamn planet! I hate to dampen your hopes, but we may never find her."

Jack turned around and leaned against his Los Angeles upper floor office window overlooking the sprawling metropolis, which reflected the millions of tiny lights that glittered like fireflies. As he reverently clutched the necklace that he now continually wore around his neck, he gazed up at the heavens. He inhaled deeply and quietly murmured, "God, Rose. It’s been too long and too lonely without you. Where are you?"

As the weeks crawled by, forbidden thoughts of Rose turning to another man out of loneliness, pain, and hurt would not leave him. He could envision the man at her side offering her protection, solace and love. Far worse, Jack could not blame her for reaching out under the circumstances of what had occurred April in Rome. He could comprehend the torment that she must have endured. He had felt it, too. With shame, he recognized his own part in all her suffering. His silence, his procrastination of officially breaking off that sordid affair with that viper, Gabrielle, had cost them both dearly. How and why did he ever dally with that hateful, vindictive, conniving lil’ bitch?

Nonetheless, it was he that was responsible for this tragic misunderstanding, not Rose. Jack could not erase the agonizing memory of when Lovett had told him that he had ordered her away supposedly as a result of his instructions. Gabrielle, that devious slut, to waltz into his room unannounced and uninvited; to mislead Lovett so that through his ignorance, he’d sent Rose away. And the audacity to claim that she was his fiancee of all things! Shit!

Nevertheless, he knew what had been bandied about in the gossip columns and he should have set all that crap straight long ago. Unfortunately, he knew Rose had to believe it as truth. Did she hate him now? Whispering to the room, he softly murmured, "We shall see, mia—we shall see."

Chapter Eight
Stories