1A/N: A one-shot followup to the 1972 movie "Avanti!".
Permesso
"Oh no!" Pamela Piggott stared at the number on the scale before stepping off and trying again. "Don't say that!"
Her roommate Susan Olander stuck her head into the bathroom from the sitting room. "Pamela, every girl I know hates the lavatory scale; you're the only one I know that complains when it goes down."
"You don't understand, I can't lose weight - I'm getting close to weighing eight stone."
"Over six months ago you said you told Dr. Shaftsbury that you wanted to lose two stone. You're over half of the way there and now you want to gain it back? I just don't understand you; if it's your clothes you're worried about, I'm sure the shop has something you could wear with no problem."
"I DO want to lose the weight; but I can't. I...made a promise."
"A promise?" Susan asked. "To who?"
"Someone I met. He liked me just the way I was and he said he didn't want me any thinner."
"He must have been lying; men do that. Tell you what - prove me wrong. Gain the weight back and see his reaction."
"It's not that easy. I might see him in about five months; but when I think about him I'm so happy I guess I forget to eat. Then when I weigh myself I get mad" Pamela said, looking at her chart on the wall as she marked her weight. The line on the chart moved down another pound. "So I tell myself to fatten up on a buttery scone to make him happy, and the thought of him happy makes me happy and I just nibble a little bit and tell myself I'll eat something fattening tomorrow."
"You're crazy."
"I am. It wasn't that way with Bertram; he always complained about my weight and it made me unhappy and I ate more."
"Then he left you for that skinny ticket agent in Kensington and took your telly and hairdryer with him. That is what I expect from a man. This new boyfriend is probably just hiding the same feelings. Tell you what - just wear some fat clothes and go see him."
Pamela shook her head as she continued to get dressed. "He's not from England. I don't even know if he'll show up; he didn't exactly say he'd be there, but I have to go try when I go on holiday this summer."
"You're going to have nothing BUT holiday if you don't get to work" Susan reminded her.
"Right" Pamela said with resolve, giving the offending bathroom scale one last dirty look as she shook her finger at it. "This isn't over yet, my friend." She rushed out of the lavatory and stuffed her feet into her shoes before running out the door.
A scant twenty minutes later she stood breathing heavily at the front door at work, the "Outer Beauty" boutique on the King's Road. Instead of rushing in immediately, she found herself reading the sign on the front display window:
Under New Ownership Next Month
Outer Beauty and Inner Piece Merge
To Become
The Knew You
Pamela reread the sign four times before entering the shop. "Harry? Harry?" she called, looking about for her manager.
A curly-haired man of some height came out of the back room; dressed in a black Nehru jacket, he contrasted with the small shop's selection of colorful attire. "You needn't shout; I assure you your normal voice carries well enough on its own." Harry York-Ford didn't get excited, and he didn't quite grasp why others did so often.
"Harry, what's with the sign? Did George sell us out to the enemy?" George Higgins was the seldom seen owner of Outer Beauty, while Inner Piece competed next door for some of the same customers. Although the two shops had very few goods in common, experience proved that few people shopped at both; once a purchase had been made in one the person tended to leave the area rather than looking next door.
"You knew that he was always looking to sell out and move down south; I guess he finally got an offer that he couldn't pass up. Apart from that, I don't have any details yet; the new boss of the operation is supposed to be here today to get a feel for the place and he's supposed to go over our inventory to see what we have."
Pamela frowned, then had a mad thought. What if the new boss was him?
Wendell Armbruster, Jr.
Wendell had come to the Grand Hotel Excelsior in the Island of Ischia on the Bay of Naples, Italy to claim the body of his deceased father during the previous summer. His American father had died in an automobile accident during his yearly holiday there with a British woman - Pamela's mother, who was discovered had been having a yearly affair with him for ten years every July 15 to August 15. In the course of arranging for the bodies to be claimed, the two had met and shortly became involved before burial details had been finalized. Wendell had flown back to his wife, children and control of Armbruster Industries while she returned to her shared apartment in London.
But what if he had bought the shop and promoted her to be the boss? Americans did that; they bought and merged and reorganized companies like socks in a drawer. That would be wonderful, she thought.
But there was already a new boss coming in. With a pout she realized that it was just a fantasy; a world-wide manufacturing company wasn't going to buy a small boutique in London. But it was a nice dream, and she continued to imagine various versions of it while she went about straightening shelves and helping the occasional customer.
Shortly after eleven, a thin man entered the shop as the small bell tinkled above the door. Pamela moved quickly to approach the man.
"Yes sir, may I..." she started before pausing in mid-sentence. The man's right eye was clouded over, nearly all white. He was dressed in a smart, shiny black suit but the eye was a little unnerving. She quickly tried to recover while concentrating on his good eye "...help you? Maybe you have your eye on something for a gift" she continued, before wincing on the inside for putting it that way.
The man didn't seem to take any insult. "My name is Armando Trotta" he said with an Italian accent. "I am here, not to buy, but to see what you sell. I represent the new owner, yes?"
"Oh yes, we've...ah...been expecting you. Let me get my manager, Mr. York-Ford. Harry!" she shouted. Harry came back out and would have gently admonished her for shouting again, but Pamela introduced their visitor before he could begin. After greetings were exchanged, the two showed Armando around the shop and walked him through the storeroom in the back.
"So Mr. Trotta, do you have a lot of experience with sales?" Harry asked.
"You might say. I work with the American Armed Forces back in Italy with certain...supply issues. I have much experience with what you call being a middle man. I will arrange to buy things and you will arrange to sell them. Perfecto!"
"So do I, ah, still have a job?"
"A job?" Armando smiled for the first time. "Of course you do! In Italy, we are smart enough to know you can't do everything by yourself. There, I have family. Here, I will have you."
"That's reassuring" Pamela said. At least not everyone was going to get sacked.
"But do not be afraid of the change when she come. Change is good."
"Will you change much?" she asked.
"I'm not sure, but the first thing is to get some calories into you" a voice said from behind. A man's voice. An American's voice.
Pamela turned and saw Kendell standing in the doorway to the storeroom with the most serious look on his face. Somehow he had silenced the bell on the front door when he came in - not impossible if you knew where to look.
"Scuzzi, this issa my boss, Mr. Wendell Armbruster. Mr. Armbruster, this issa Harry York-Ford, the manager. And this issa..."
"...the wonderful but undernourished Miss Pamela Piggott" Wendell finished.
"Of course" Armando continue. "I remember her, but she no remember me" he said as he shrugged.
"Remember?" she asked, suddenly a little light-headed.
"Yes, when we bury your mother and his father in the Carlucci family plot. I was the one in the brown suit."
"I'm sorry," she apologized "I don't remember who was there helping."
"It was an emotional time for us all" Wendell jumped in. "Some of the details are still a little fuzzy to me, quite frankly. Look, it's almost noon. Why don't Armando and I take Miss Piggott out for lunch and fill her in on the changes." He swept his arm towards the door and Pamela started walking in the direction indicated, a smile broadening across her face. "We'll be back around three."
"Three?" Harry exclaimed. "A three hour lunch?"
Armando straightened his hat. "Of course. You can't have a proper lunch in one hour" he said as he joined Pamela and Wendell.
She turned to her manager. "You really can't, you know" she said with a slight giggle before turning and disappearing out the door, tinkling the bell.
...
At the restaurant, Armando conveniently excused himself to go chat up a girl while Pamela and Wendell sat and ordered. Pamela hemmed and hawed a little at the menu, reading out the items and looking for a reaction from Wendell. Finally, he very slowly and deliberately closed her menu. "Pamela, order whatever you want."
"I don't know what I want. What do you want me to want?"
"Nothing. Everything. Fat, thin, I don't care."
"But you said..."
"I know what I said. But I said that because I didn't want you to obsess on your weight trying to get thin; I wanted you to be happy. I'll be happy if you're happy no matter what you eat. Although if you try to only have an apple three times a day..." he said, recalling her planned meal while in Italy.
"In that case, maybe some pasta then. I haven't had a good plate of pasta since...well, a long time."
"I know. Pamela, I'm going to come out and say it now; I can't go on living by playing sneaky sneaky every summer in Italy."
She put her finger to his lips. "Wendell, don't say it. I know. When I think about what we had on Ischia I get so happy, but when I think about your family I get unhappy again."
"So do I."
"Don't say that either. You've got a wife and two sons to spend your time with when you're not involved in proxy fights."
"The proxy fights were over within an hour after I hit the boardroom; who do you think ran the company when my father was off wrinkling the sheets with your mother?" Before Pamela could object he amended his remark. "Let's say while he was off soaking in the ambiance of the Grand Hotel Excelsior - complete with a band that played their song, a maitre'd that knew their favorite dish, and a...ahem...rock that was within swimming distance from the pier."
"That's better. Although I doubt your father wore black socks like you did in an attempt to keep from being completely nude."
"That wasn't the reason, and you know it! My shorts came off while I was struggling to catch up to you."
"At least they washed up on the beach afterward" she giggled. Wendell had to laugh as well; it was funny - now.
"You got me off track" he continued. "What I was trying to say was that I got all that business taken care of; I think I can say figuratively and literally that I know where the bodies are buried. But after that..."
"No, don't. Let's just enjoy a nice leisurely lunch..."
"Um..."
"...and eat whatever we want and watch the people go by..."
"Pam..."
"...and then you'll climb back in your taxi or airplane and fly back home..."
Wendell was still trying to get a word in edgewise. "But..."
"...and we'll have Arnoldo or whatever his name is running the place and I'll find somewhere else to go for holiday July 15th to August 15th and...
At this point Wendell stuffed a roll into her mouth; gently, but firmly like the kid plugging the hole in the dike with his finger. Her eyes widened for a moment until she got the message and removed the roll, splitting it and spreading some butter on half. "At least you could have buttered it" she said before returning the edible to her mouth in a more conventional fashion.
"Sorry, it was an emergency. So much has happened since I left on that helicopter back on Ischia that I don't know where to start" he said, smiling nervously. "Oh well - when in doubt, do it in a businesslike fashion. Please don't interrupt until I'm done. One - I got Bruno buried without anyone the wiser; I guess you would have heard if THAT had gone wrong. Two - I got the proxy fight won. I think we already covered that one. Three - I'm a widower. Drunk driver. Four - Armbruster bought the shop you work in and the one next door. You've figured that out by now."
He looked at his fingers to keep track of the points he was making. "Five - I love you. Six - and you'll love this one - Carlo tells me that Anna gave up her child for adoption and somehow or other I seem to have ended up with it. With Bruno dead and her in prison I just couldn't see the kid raised an orphan. Seven - damn, what was seven again? Oh yeah, you said Betram took your Picasso posters so I bought you a real Picasso. Hope you like his 'Asleep' painting. Eight - will you marry me?" He picked up the piece of roll that had dropped out of Pamela's hand and tried putting it back. It fell out again. "Huh" he muttered.
He shrugged and gave up, then sat back and watched. Pamela's face changed like clouds taking turns blocking out the sun on a windy day. An expression would show, only to be wiped out by the appearance of the next which in turn was replaced by another. He loved them all, but knew that the next move was hers. After a time her expression stabilized and she really looked at him, deeply and intently. "What was number eight again?"
Wendell made a show of counting on his fingers as if he couldn't remember. "Five...six..." he mumbled to himself "...oh yeah, eight. Will you marry me? Permesso?"
Then the best expression of all appeared on her face. "Avanti" she said softly.
The End
A/N: Another Billy Wilder film, this one from his late period. It had...ah...nice scenery but I wanted to fine-tune the ending a bit. The book cover art is Picasso's "Asleep" (1932) and does bear a bit of a resemblance to Juliet Mills so I used it as the work mentioned in passing; the movie doesn't actually say which Picasso posters she had.
