A Mistaken Identity

I met Liz in New Mexico at Ann's studio, the year before.
She was also a great admirer of Ann's. When we learned that Ann would be doing a workshop in Italy, we both signed up and arranged to be room-mates.

Liz was quite a bit younger than I was. A gorgeous blonde with a great figure. She was also very sweet and genuine, and she was a great painter.

August in Umbria was pretty warm during the day. Liz worn little short shorts and tank tops. Men whistled when she walked by. Bev said that we should tell her to wear something else, but none of us wanted to hurt her feelings. So no one said anything. After all, Liz was a grown woman.

One day, we went to a nearby hilltop town. Ann found a good spot for us to paint. Some of us stayed on the bridge overlooking a valley. Some of us went to nearby spots that they liked better. I stayed on the bridge with Bev. Liz was some hundred yards from us.

A black car went by, then it turned around, and stopped near Liz. Two men in black suits got out of the car, approached Liz. Then they tried to pull Liz into the car. Liz started screaming and screaming. Many of us ran towards her, wondering what was happening. 
Kidnapping in broad day light?

Turned out, the men were detectives from the local police department. There was a French woman of Liz's description passing bad checks in town that morning. The detectives thought Liz fit the description and they were trying to arrest her. 

Liz did not say anything when they were pulling her into the car.  She did not speak Italian. She merely screamed. Some one in our group did speak Italian and manged to clear up the situation. The detectives apologized. But the damage was done. Liz was badly shaken up.

Enza was angry. She called everyone she knew in town and demanded public apology from the authorities. She was going to the mayor. She was going to call the radio station, the newspaper . . .

After that day, Enza gave each of us a card, saying that we were students at La Romita and so on . . .  We had to carry the card with us all the time.

Liz had a terrible sore throat for the next few days. She became very quite. We did not know what to do to help her. Tea and sympathy?
Liz did not want to call long distance to tell her husband - she did not want to alarm him, since there really was not anything that anyone could do.

A mistaken identity! 

We told her that we were there for her - as if that helped any.

It was not a good experience for her.