Let's Make Pasta
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Transcript of Let's Make Pasta
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Let’s make pasta By Carlo Caccavale ©
It is finally springtime in Switzerland. The lake of Geneva shines under the late March sun, reflecting crystal blue skies, after the dreadfully gray and sad Mittel-‐European winter.
Sophia is pervaded with the energy of springtime this morning, brushing off the winter’s lethargic drowsiness. She draws her bedroom’s heavy curtains and opens all windows of her large apartment overlooking the lake to soak the sunlight in.
Oh, it feels so good. Some warmth, at long last! Springtime always makes her feel like the girl of her youth when, young and
carefree on a day like this, against her mother’s warning (“you are gonna get a cold”), she would go to the beach of Pozzuoli and stick her feet in the chilly Mediterranean sea.
It is such a gorgeous day, how am I going to make the best of it? She fusses around the large, opulent apartment; she helps the maid for a few
minutes to clean the carpets and dust the heavily gilded antique furniture. Then, bored and restless, she watches TV although, despite having moved to Geneva with husband and children in tow almost a decade ago, she still understands very little
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French. No, the TV is not working. She glances at the phone and finally settles on making a call.
Thirty miles along the lake, close to Lousanne, sits a small village called Tolochenaz. A few thousand souls live a very simple, healthy and upscale life – Switzerland-‐style.
It is divinely warm and sunny at La Paisable, the villa in the countryside of Tolochenaz that Audrey purchased a long time ago when, tired of the Hollywood celebrity game, she decided to take refuge somewhere authentic, European; a place she could call home.
Terrible winters notwithstanding, she has been really happy in Switzerland – two husbands later, she has found love again in her golden years with Robert. “You are seven years younger than me, people will talk… Will you manage?” Audrey asked Robert as soon as they started dating, back in 1980. But people talk anyway and she has never been happier in her life. Her children are older now, men -‐ Sean lives mostly in Los Angeles, Luca shares his time between his dad, in Rome, and her, in Switzerland. Old age never felt more fulfilling.
Perfect day for gardening, Audrey thought, waking up to the sunny morning. And here she is, in the garden, sitting on the grass surrounded by a few daffodils timidly opening up to the hopeful spring sun, geared up with a large straw hat and gardening gloves, brandishing scissors, digging, pulling, planting, pruning. She feels energized, very much alive.
“Madame Hepburn, a call for you,” says her maid, appearing at the large French doors opening to the garden.
“Who is it?” Audrey removes her hat and dubs a delicate pearl of sweat from her forehead.
“Madame Loren.” “Ah, Sophia… I’ll be there in a second.” Audrey always takes Sophia’s calls – she is one of the few people for whom
she is always available. They have known each other for a long time but it is only in the last few years,
after Sophia came back from her stint in the Italian prison, that they have cemented a friendship, a clear case of opposites attract.
In fact, they are so different, physically and personality-‐wise: one earth, the other air, one physical and extroverted, the other reserved and ethereal. “I should detest Sophia, since she stole my Oscar,” said Audrey at a dinner in honor of her friend a couple of years before, referring to her 1962 nomination for Breakfast at Tiffany’s and the Oscar she lost to Sophia Loren for her performance in Two Women, “but she is not only a most talented actress but also, and above all, a true friend.”
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“Bonjuor, Sophia”, says a perky Audrey over the phone. “Isn’t this a glorious day?”
“It is, that’s why I am calling you.” Audrey lets herself fall on a large, cushy and comfy chair, the antithesis of the
dark velvet, stately sofa Sophia is sitting on in her intimidating oaky library. “Then, tell me everything,” continues Audrey. “I was thinking… Carlo and the boys are in Paris until tomorrow, I am alone
and don’t want to waste this gorgeous day – God knows what this unpredictable Swiss weather will bring tomorrow… How about I drive to La Paisable and we spend the day together? Unless you already have plans…”
Audrey stretches her neck to both sides. This gardening affair is old already and yes, it would be fun to spend the day with Sophia; she is a source of amusing stories… And that accent of hers, both in English and French is so entertaining… “Sure, I would love to. I will put together some lunch and we can eat in the garden.”
“I have an idea, let’s make pasta,” says Sophia enthusiastically. She rarely eats pasta for the obvious dietary reasons but today it is sunny and she is in the mood.
“I am afraid I don’t have pasta at home.” “Maro’, you survive on carrots like a rabbit… let me get there and we’ll go
shopping together.” It’s a deal. Audrey hangs up and removes her gloves and hat. “Marie, would
you make sure the gardener cleans up my mess and finishes up planting and all?” And she disappears into her bathroom.
The blue Mercedes smoothly and quickly crunches the 30 miles that separate Geneva from Tolochenaz. Sophia sits comfortably in the back and absorbs the beauty of the glistening lake. She is elegantly casual in a light cashmere sweater, flowy pants and Ferragamo moccasins. Audrey made her appreciate moccasins, a kind of shoes Sophia had never considered neither elegant nor flattering before. But the way Audrey wore hers, looking comfortable yet glamorous, convinced Sophia to look into the style (especially since her feet were tolerating high heels less and less) and call Ferragamo’s widow Wanda to discuss a potential adoption of the flats. As it turned out, it was a perfect marriage – she was able to keep her feet happy and her style glitzy.
The street veers away from the lake. A couple of turns and a glorious countryside opens before Sophia’s large and dark sunglasses. She removes them to take in the understated beauty of the large estate of La Paisable.
“Sophia, darling.” A couple of kisses, European style. “Audrey, you look gorgeous.” They flow inside, through a large and bright foyer, into the intimate and cozy
parlor. They sit down. Tea is immediately served. “You know Audrey, you are aging so gracefully. What’s your secret?” “The secret, my dear, is that je ne give-‐a-‐fuck, comprend”
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They giggle. Sophia cant’ help feeling a little stab of jealousy at Audrey’s apparently nonchalant relationship with herself, her lack of self-‐absorbedness which makes her so appealing, confident and real. Sometimes she would like to be less concerned with aging and the image she has to keep up for the industry and the magazines and the fans. When she was young, she was a carefree, independent spirit – does age ruin everything?
“Whatever it is, you are truly beautiful. Maybe your secret will rub off on me.” “Of course, but only if you’ll let it. Listen, we are supposed to be fabulous, but
really, screw fabulous. Look at my hands -‐ I haven’t had a manicure in 3 weeks and I don’t care,” says Audrey, proudly showing grown cuticles and natural nails. She lights up a cigarette.
Sophia extends her arm to admire her perfectly manicured hands. “Tesoro, I have my manicure done every 3 days and I love it!” “See, we are who we are!” says Audrey. They both chuckle at their differences, at the way they see life and what
affects them. “So, here we are, 2 girls alone – no husbands, boyfriends, kids… We should go
wild!” Sophia sips her tea. “Well, how about we start with making lunch? I’m hungry,” says Audrey,
standing up. “Let’s go to the kitchen and see what’s in that sad fridge of mine.”
“Not much,” says Sophia, looking for something edible in the almost-‐empty refrigerator. Sophia moves around a bottle of milk, half a wheel of Brie cheese, a box of crackers. “No wonder you’re so skinny,” she says. “So, as I said on the phone, let’s make pasta. I really am in the mood for some good, earthy tomato pasta alla sorrentina, come la faceva mamma quando ero bambina.”
The beauty of having Audrey as a friend is that not only is she Audrey, but also that she understands Italian – this is what Sophia told her sister when she first cemented this friendship. Having lived in Italy for some time and married an Italian man, Audrey is pretty fluent in Italian and it works so well for Sophia, who sometimes gets tired of speaking a foreign language and easily falls back to her mother tongue. Audrey understands that today’s meal will be pasta the way Sophia’s mother used to make when she was a child, Sorrento-‐style. And she is looking forward to the treat.
“We need to make a supermarket run – there must be a supermarket around here – and buy everything. My chauffeur can take us.”
“Ok, let’s, but I’ll drive,” replies Audrey. She grabs a silk scarf from behind the kitchen and quickly wraps it around her head.
“Oh, the wind!” yells Sophia from the passenger seat of the spiffy, convertible Austin Martin Audrey is driving like a formula one pro.
“Yes, isn’t it fantastic?” Audrey yells back. Sophia grabs her teased mane of hair with both hands, trying to keep it in
place, to no avail.
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“Just let it go, Sophia!” incites Audrey. Sophia considers it. Then. “Ok, je ne give-‐a-‐fuck!” she screams and lets her
hair go wild in the warm wind. Audrey removes her scarf and does the same. They both explode in a fragrant laugh and a hair tornado.
“Listen, God knows I love living in Switzerland, but the produce here is atrocious. Looks at these sad tomatoes…” Says Sophia picking up pale and shriveled vegetables that barely resemble tomatoes. “Ah, the tomatoes in Napoli…”
“Sally Tomato…” Smiles Audrey to herself. “Where? What kind of tomato is that?” “It was the name of a character in Tiffany’s…” “Good, but that won’t help with the sauce,” replies Sophia. ”Here, this is the
best of the worst.” She picks up a handful of blush tomatoes and put them in a bag. “The secret is to add some conserva, how do you call it…? Ah, tomato paste, to brighten up the sauce, you know. They must have some here, no?”
They peruse the small supermarket under the discreet glances of the other customers. Audrey is not an unlikely sight around here but Audrey and Sophia together, hair disheveled, pushing a grocery cart… they certainly make an impression even on the most jaded.
“Pasta… Umm, let’s see…” Sophia scrutinizes the small selection of available pasta with the concentration of a surgeon.
“German pasta? Oh Dio, siamo arrivato alla fine del mondo!” Audrey chuckles. Sophia is so colorful and her expressions, with her slight
Neapolitan accent, always crack her up. “German pasta will cause the world to come to an end” – ah!
She finally settles with an Italian brand. “Sottomarca,” sub-‐brand, she says, “but at least it’s Italian.” “You must have some basil in that farm of yours?” “The best, plant to table”. “La Sorrentina also needs some good, fresh mozzarella, but look at this sad,
processed cheese… Ok, will do without. Let’s pay and go.”
“Here, pick some good leaves and wash them up,” directs Sophia. Audrey carefully selects the best, greenest basil leaves from a bunch her maid
has picked in the herb garden. She then raises the privileged leaves in front of her eyes in appraisal.
“Audrey, it’s basil, not diamonds. Just throw them in here.” She lifts up the lid of a small pot where chopped tomatoes are already simmering.
“How long will it take?” asks Audrey. “15 minutes. We can start boiling the water for la pasta.” Even though Sophia
has rarely been inside Audrey’s kitchen, she seems to own the space. She confidently opens doors and drawers and pulls out exactly whatever spoon, knife, ladle or plate she is looking for.
“Nu’ poco ‘e questo”, she says in Neapolitan throwing a pinch of salt in the pot, “Nu poco ‘e quello.” She lets a touch of grinded pepper fall on the red sauce.
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Audrey laughs as she opens a bottle of Chateau Rayas and lets it breathe for a moment.
“You are a comic genius in your native language. American audiences will never know, too bad…”
Sophia puts her hands on her hips. “They love me for my inner talent…” Audrey laughs again. Then she pours 2 glasses and hands one to Sophia.
“Here, to spring.” The glasses clink. “Che buono questo vino!” “Robert’s choice. He has completely re-‐stacked the cellar.” “He has excellent taste,” says Sophia. “Thank you, darling.” They chuckle. “The sauce smells divine,” says Audrey. “How did you learn to cook?” “I don't know… I guess by observing, and tasting. Food to me is related to
memories; the nicer the memory, the better my food.” “Ah,” chuckles Audrey, “here’s the title of your cookbook, when you write
one: Recipes and Memories… Not bad, huh?” “Fantastico… To the book.” Another toast, another refill. “This pasta, for
instance,” Sophia continues, following her train of thoughts, “My mother used to make it during the war, when we were… on a budget. Another dish I make perfectly is the Easter Pastiera. This little woman made it for me when I was in jail… The guards delivered it to me with a message. More or less it said: “Dear Sophia, may this cake I made for you with my hands ease and sweeten your sojourn in jail.’ It was delicious and it did!”
“How…?” Audrey asks tentatively. “You can ask, go on,” invites Sophia with a relaxed smile. “Well, you know, how was it?” “You know what? In the end prison wasn’t that bad. I mean, at first it was
horrible. When I arrived I was in shock and I remember all these women in the other cells screaming my name, like I was there just visiting and signing autographs… When they closed the door behind me, I fell on the bed and cried all night. The solitude, the humiliation, Oddio… But then I got over it; you know me, you need to look at the bright side. I had a lovely, freshly painted pink, clean cell, I had a TV set, they let me wear a DVF wraparound – I was a stylish prisoner.”
They both laugh. “It was humbling and liberating,” Sophia continues. “No make-‐up, no false
eyelashes, no hairpieces, no jewelry – it was just me. And the amazing people who came every day to leave messages of support and encouragement and incredible food. I gained two kilos but je ne gave-‐a-‐fuck…”
Another laugh. “I certainly didn’t feel alone all along; I felt I was surrounded by so much love.
And of course my family came to visit every day… I had no real privileges but I was treated with honest respect. It was spa for the soul, you know?”
Audrey nods and smiles. “So, how’s life in the love boat?” asks Sophia, lazily stirring the sauce.
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“I cannot explain, Sophia. He is just perfect for me and I hope I am perfect for him, too. He is the man I want to get old with. Older, I mean.”
Another chuckle. “It’s just a good match… Is everything ok with you and Carlo?” Audrey asks. “Why? Sure, I mean, we have been married for such a long time…” Audrey looks at Sophia, unconvinced. “Ecche’… Ok, I love Carlo, he has been a good husband, almost a father to me.
But now, looking at you, how radiant you are, I wonder… You had the courage to divorce the men you didn’t love anymore and look for more passion in your life… You didn’t settle… I mean, I love Carlo, but sometimes I think about what I have been missing out in life; the excitement of romance, a passion that sweeps you away. Maybe I should have married Marcello but then, on second thought, I don’t really think I was his type. Look at him, he ended up with women like Faye and Catherine, blonde, frosty bitches…”
They laugh and Audrey toasts: “To frosty bitches.” Glasses clink again. Audrey refills them. “Oh well,” Sophia seems to wrap all these considerations up. “And what about
acting? You haven’t made a movie in some time… Ah, the water is boiling.” She opens up a package of pasta. Penne sink into the pot.
She joins Audrey at the table and helps her set it for lunch. “Did I tell you I have just accepted a position with Unicef?” says Audrey as
she places forks next to plates. “Unicef? The big organization for children?” “Yes. I will be their Goodwill Ambassador.” “Gesu’, and what would you be doing?” “Well, basically my task is to inform, to create awareness on the needs of
children.” Sophia looks at Audrey questioningly. “I will become their spokesperson, their image, if you will. This assignment is
designed for me to attract attention to the poorest countries in the world, where children are most in need of food, medicines – you name it. They want me to travel the world. I would be going to Southeast Asia, Africa, poverty-‐stricken countries, meet with the deprived and the destitute and just raise awareness. I will be followed by reporters and photographers…”
“In Africa? Who’s going to do your hair and make up?” They laugh. “I know, I know it is not about glamour, Audrey… But what they are asking of
you seems to be really tough.” “It is, and I thought about it. I discussed it with Robert and with the boys… It
is something I have to do and they are supporting me.” Audrey sits down at the table and collects her thoughts. “I was just a little girl when my parents divorced. My mother was Dutch and
she decided to move back to the Netherlands and took me with her. That’s where we were when the war broke out; we were in Arnhem when the Nazi’s occupied Holland.
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“My mom was blue-‐blooded, a baroness, and we were used to certain comforts… Well, after Hitler invaded us, there were no more comforts. Times became hard for everybody, aristocracy included. We had land and palaces but no food. I suffered from malnutrition. I was sensitive and became depressed and, in the end, the only thing I was able to feed was my malaise. Food became my obsession, hunger my sickness…
“Millions of children are starving from famine, drought, wars… I am just not able to neglect it any longer. I never cared much for celebrity, you know that, but now I'm really glad I've got a name because I'm using it for what it's worth. It's like a bonus that my career has given to me.”
Sophia absorbs the moving speech, visibly touched. “You ask about my acting, well I have recently realized I’ve been auditioning
my whole life for this role -‐ and I finally got it.” Sophia quickly wipes a tear from her eye. “Mi fai piangere…” “Oh, don’t cry darling.” “You are just too good, una santa!” “Hardly a saint… I am just a mother and so are you. Listen, make me a
promise, today, here: promise me that should anything happen to me, should I not be able to do this at some point, you will step in and become a Goodwill Ambassador for Unicef too…”
“Me?” Sophia is astounded. “Yes. Do promise!” Sophia smiles uncomfortably for a second, maybe looking for a way out. But
Audrey has pinned her with her stern glance and unmovable resolve. Sophia sighs. “E prometto, prometto… I promise. You’re going to be a hundred year old lady and still travel around the world for your children…” They look at each other with the affection of old friends.
“I’ll drink to that!” Audrey raises her glass, Sophia joins her in a toast. They down the wine. Then -‐ “Uhhh, la pasta…” Sophia runs to the stove and removes the pot with the boiling pasta. Swiftly,
she drains it and pours it in a large bowl. She ladles rich tomato sauce on top, sprinkles it with basil and, after
vigorously stirring the pasta, brings it to the table. “Mon Dieu, che spettacolo!” exclaims Audrey. Sophia smiles and spoons very generous portions onto their plates. “Here, eat. You’re not going to get this pasta in Africa”.
The End
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