Rant

“Viola, mi amore, what have you planned for my birthday? No holding out on me, eh?”

I turn to the producer, unsuccessfully hiding a cringe at the way the star of the show we're filming is shouting at his wife on the phone.

Blair rolls his eyes in commiseration. “That temper, yeah?”

I look at the man who is still shouting and gesticulating. Clearly, from the ranting going on, he is hardly giving his wife a chance to reply. With a nod, I pretend great interest in my manicure.

Finally, he pauses. His wife’s voice jumps into the silence. “Lorenzo, If I tell you what I’m planning for your birthday, you’ll get upset. You’ll have to wait until we get back from this ridiculous trip to Sicily.” There is a bitter twist to her voice as she finishes.

Lorenzo waves his arms and starts shouting again. His Italian accent becomes more pronounced with each word. “Basta! The family wants me there, Viola. You know Mama’s in ill health again. Sicilia! Who goes to Sicilia in the heat of the summer?” We all know Viola's not invited to go with him to visit his family in Milan.

Blair and I turn away when Lorenzo notices us listening in. Like we have any choice but to hear, what with all the shouting. We’re just waiting for him to calm down and get off the phone so we can continue filming.

“This one will be another flop if he doesn’t get it together,” Blair mutters under his breath. I nod in agreement. What should have been a promising future for this power couple and their two children who relocated to America for fame and fortune has been progressing in fits and starts. More fits than starts, if you ask me.

It didn’t help that their well-publicized move was eclipsed by the discovery of a worldwide virus that was killing people.

“We’ll get some footage of him kissing up to his family on Thursday,” I counter. “Their fans will eat it up.”

Blair shakes his head dolefully. “Dunno about that.” He looks at the production schedule, biding his time until Lorenzo gets off the phone.

“He’s wasting all our time.” I look around the room, noting the film crew on standby, along with makeup and all the others who are hinging their continued employment on a successful production of “Lorenzo and Viola: America is for Lovers.”

After another shouting rampage, we hear Viola on the other end of the conversation. “Look. Lorenzo. All you have to do is make nice. I’ve got to drag the kids halfway around the world with the damned paparazzi sticking their cameras in our faces and hoping for a tantrum.”

The room goes silent. Is this a public rebuke? Surely Viola knows she’s on speaker.

“A tantrum by the children. Lola’s finger up her nose, that sort of thing,” she rushes to continue. I almost feel sorry for her. Although she should have known that marrying this larger-than-life public figure was going to lead to these kinds of outbursts. Or maybe she only saw the genteel side of Lorenzo when they were dating. Rumors ran rampant about the famous Italian son and the Eurasian actress and how we wooed her. And how she led him by the nose to turn away from his family.

“Viola. Our son has had his birthday bash. Now it’s my turn.” With no satisfying way to slam down his cell phone, Lorenzo drops the phone on the table, suddenly realizing the crew of nearly twenty people are standing around gawping at him.

“Donne!” Lorenzo shakes his head and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Where were we?”

The nineteen pairs of eyes that were trained on him while he was losing his cool suddenly look elsewhere.

Blair appears at Lorenzo’s side. “We’re ready for you, sir.”

Lorenzo claps Blair on the shoulder, giving the producer his most winning smile, the one that’s gotten him out of hot water time and time again. “I’m all yours, amico.”

Those in the room titter at his lightning-fast change in behavior. Blair motions the camera crew in for a close up.

“Give us your best, Lorenzo.” With a nod to the head camera man, Blair counts down on his fingers.

Lorenzo looks directly into Camera One. “My long-suffering wife will be joining me, along with our children. Poverina, she’s got two terrors to wrestle on the trip.” He smiles self-deprecatingly and points to himself. “Mi scusa. Make that three.”

Blair motions for the cameras to stop. “Well done, sir. We’ll pick up when you touch home soil.”

Lorenzo drops the smile and picks up his phone, hitting Redial. We are, once again, forgotten.


***
785 words

Prompt: Write a story or poem in which you throw the guise of fiction over a well-known contemporary person or situation to include as the focus of your work.