A Miracle in Monopoli: The Gelato Diaries

By Peter Palmieri

A hilarious journey to Italy that will make you stand up and cheer.

On vacation to Southern Italy with her mother, Gemma Wilkins, a talented singer who suffers from paralyzing stage-fright, learns a life-changing lesson in courage when she meets a tortured soul the British Tabloids have named The Sexiest Man in Italy.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Peter Palmieri
• Release date: Dec 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9798583951994

Book preview

Thank you for downloading A Miracle in Monopoli. Be sure to check the back of the book for a special free offer. Now, pour yourself a glass of wine (or a cup of tea), sit in your favorite chair, kick up your feet, relax, and enjoy the book.

Chapter One

An audition

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.

This time she’d be fine. Everything would flow, like crystal waters of a babbling brook over a bed of smooth, shiny river pebbles.

For six weeks, Gemma Wilkins had been practicing her Zen breathing technique. Right hand on her chest, left hand on her tummy, breathing through her diaphragm. When she tried to explain it, her mother said, How do you breathe through your diaphragm? I didn’t even know you used one.

Gemma had grown interested in meditative breathing after reading that Buddhist monks could regulate physiologic activity with delicate precision. Some yogis were so adept at controlling blood flow they could achieve temperature differences of four degrees Fahrenheit from one ear lobe to the other. Though Gemma, for the life of her, couldn’t imagine a practical application of such an incredible feat, she surmised this might just be the ticket to overcoming her stage fright.

Stage fright was a physiologic phenomenon—the activation of the sympathetic nervous system. Gemma had come a long way in thwarting it. She was now capable of walking out onto center stage without the annoying jitters. She would hold her chin up high, counteracting the muscle contractions that attempted to pull the shoulders down, the pelvis up, curling the body toward the fetal position. Even her voice remained steady. But then…

She let out her breath through pursed lips and opened her eyes to get a glimpse of the woman auditioning, a tall blonde, mid-thirties, athletic build. She was singing Somewhere Over the Rainbow, a standard, but something about the scenario was out of sorts. It made Gemma wonder what a Wagnerian production of The Wizard of Oz might look like, Dorothy in Valkyrian garb with a horned helmet on her head. Still, the woman’s voice poured out like pancake syrup. A little too sweet, perhaps. She took egregious liberties with the melody and added superfluous runs, laying it on thick. Too much frosting on the cake for Gemma’s taste. But she remained in pitch. And hey! She was out there doing it. She was really singing. Gemma looked on from the offstage with a twinge of envy.

A voice from somewhere in the auditorium called out, Thank you. The singer cut off. She let out a short gasp and forced herself to smile. The woman brought her palms together as if in prayer and gave a solemn nod. It was a very Zen gesture, Gemma thought. Then she marched offstage, in Gemma’s direction, wiping a tear from her cheek. Gemma embraced her as she came off stage, kissed her on the cheek, and said, That was lovely.

The Valkyrian smiled back and said, Break a leg.

Gemma hated that expression. Break a leg. She was pretty sure no one uttered that before a downhill skiing competition. How did it ever take hold in theater circles?

A woman’s voice lifted up from the darkness of the auditorium. Gemma Wilkins.

Gemma lifted her chin, exhaled sharply, and walked out onto the stage. Three judges sat in the front row: a stocky woman, an elderly man with round glasses and a violet beret, and a bald man with a silk scarf tied around his neck. Every audition Gemma had been to, there was a bald judge with a scarf on his neck. It was an industry mandate, apparently.

It’s been a long day, Gemma, the bald man said. And you are the last singer on our roster.

The stocky woman let out a sigh of relief.

The bald man smiled feebly. I sincerely hope we saved the best for last.

That was the crazy thing about it. At every audition, as she took the stage, Gemma always felt the judges were rooting for her. Once, a judge even told her, You have that Broadway look. Do you have the pipes to match?

And then she’d always let them down. No, she left them hanging.

What song will you grace us with today? the bald man asked.

"You’ll Never Walk Alone," Gemma replied.

"From Carousel. One of my favorites. Very well. Whenever you’re ready."

Gemma straightened her shoulders. In her mind, she went over the first line.

When you walk through a storm, hold your head up high. And don’t be afraid of the dark.

She imagined herself singing the words, hearing the sound of her voice fill the auditorium.

The stocky woman cleared her throat, throwing off Gemma’s concentration. She zeroed in on that first line again.

When you walk through a storm, hold your head—

Anytime you’re ready, the bald man said.

Just get that first line out, Gemma told herself. The rest of the song would follow. It was like getting dental floss out of one of those small plastic boxes. Once you got it going, you just keep pulling it out. How the hell did they fit so many miles of floss into such a tiny box, anyway?

Is there a problem? the man with the round spectacles and beret said. He had a thick British accent.

There’s no problem, Gemma said.

Very well, then, my dear. If you don’t mind.

Gemma took a deep breath.

When you walk through a storm, hold your head up high. And don’t be afraid of the dark.

She could hear her voice, in perfect pitch, every word enunciated clearly. But no one else could. It was all in her head. She hadn’t sung a single bar.

The stocky woman shifted in her seat and was about to say something. Gemma cut her off. Thank you very much, Gemma said. Thank you.

The judges exchanged perplexed looks. I thought that was our line, the bald man said to the woman.

Gemma brought her palms together, gave a heartfelt bow of her head, and glided off the stage.

Chapter Two

Pack your bags

Gemma cradled the teacup in her hands and gazed out the kitchen window onto the Brooklyn skyline. Her mother rested a coffee mug on the kitchen