An Apartment in Venice (19 page)

“Nope. All done. When I woke this morning, my fingers had all turned to thumbs. If I have enough eggs, I’ll start over and make you an asparagus, tomato frittata.”

“Yum, that sounds good. But why are you here?”

“Got my own unit off in good time and the other emergency was handled sooner than expected, so at least we have today to fritter away.”

“Good. Shall we see a flick?”

He laughed. “What’s on?”

“That just popped out. I ought to go shopping for my apartment.”

His face sagged. Then he said, “Sure.” He opened the fridge, pulled out ingredients for a frittata and began chopping. “Ouch!” He grunted and reached for a clean towel to wrap his bleeding finger.

Giulia came up behind him and put her arms around his narrow waist. “Oh Chuck. I’m sorry.” It wasn’t the cut she was sorry about. “Come sit.”

He did. “It’s nothing. I forgot old Remo came by to sharpen my knives.”

She sat across from him and held his hand. She opened the towel; his finger was still oozing blood but didn’t look bad. She wrapped it up and ran to the bathroom to look for adhesive bandages. “First shelf on the left,” he called.

“Now,” she said when they’d managed to get the finger wrapped after some jostling and laughing. “We need to talk.”

He nodded but said nothing.

“You know I plan to move on Thursday. But after two nights alone in that bed… well, one and one-half actually. I’ve been torn.”

“Don’t be,” he said taking both her hands in his. “Stay with me. It doesn’t have to be permanent, you know. Give us a chance, Giulia. Let’s see how things go. There’ll always be another apartment.”

Oh Lord! His feelings are right out there, loud and clear.
She felt herself wavering. Through all the years of working toward her own Venetian place, never had she expected a man like Chuck to come into her life. The way he’d been there for her, he should have ridden in on a white horse. What would her grandparents think if she changed her mind?
Ha.
She knew that answer. Maybe she could get some of the money back for them. But what about that little girl in the attic? What about Aunt Loretta?

But that little girl and Lettie are both gone. What about the grown woman sitting right here? The woman who wants this man?

Chuck was quiet. He seemed to sense a turmoil raging inside her head.

“Have you ever had an idea or dream that spurred you on year after year?”

“Yes.” he said. “But, you can’t touch a dream. Can’t see it or hold—”

“I know. Believe me, I know,” she said, “But I-have-to-do-this. If I don’t, I’m afraid I’ll lose a piece of me.”

Chuck sat up taller, inhaled and pressed both palms down on his thighs. “So what can I do? To help you leave me, I mean?”

“Chuck. Don’t play dirty. I’m not leaving you.”

“Feels like it. I thought we had something worth holding onto.” He stood up, looked at her, dumped the chopped veggies in the trash and left the room.

His reaction was like a slam in her chest. This tender, sensitive man had just walked away from her, obviously fed-up.

She hadn’t handled anything right. She was crazy about him. Didn’t want to lose him. But, dammit!

Late Thursday afternoon, all her stuff had been lugged up the thirty-two steps into her new apartment. Chuck was ready to treat his two protégés who’d helped with the move. They were already out the door. He turned to her. She knew he expected an invitation to come back later.

“Chuck, I… I need to be here alone tonight. Can I see you tomorrow?”

His eyes widened, then narrowed into a cold glare. He shrugged his broad shoulders, turned and slammed the door in her face.

She felt shocked, but she’d written the script for this moment years ago and had to go with it. After she heard his heavy steps fade away, she leaned her back against the door of her new apartment, closed her eyes and shouted, “I’m here. I did it!”

She felt nothing. The feeling of elation didn’t come. But she wasn’t ready to give up. She had waited all her life for this and rushed to one of the living-room windows overlooking the rio—her rio now—still expecting to feel exhilarated. But the water wasn’t rippling to catch the dying light of the day; it seemed stagnant and sluggish.
Tomorrow. When the sun comes out and people are out and about, then the euphoria will come.

She got busy. Unpacked clothes and books, and started on the kitchen and remembered she hadn’t shopped. Didn’t have one coffee bean. No bread, no cream, no yogurt or fruit. She jogged to Campo Santa Margherita and made it into the COOP Supermercato ten minutes before closing. Rejuvenated, she decided to hurry home, do a few more chores, and maybe wander back for a bite at one of the cute cafés clustered in the campo.

After organizing the kitchen, though, she felt exhausted. Maybe a slice of toast after her shower. Then she entered the bedroom and saw the bare mattress. She’d forgotten to make up the bed first thing as she’d always done when moving to a new place. No. She hadn’t forgotten. She’d put it off because part of her hadn’t wanted to consider crawling in alone. She threw herself across the cursed thing and wept. Had the years of working toward a bright, shiny dream all been for this? This empty illusion of success? Empty because Chuck was not here?

The last few nights in his bed, they’d made love but only when she initiated it. Had he pulled back to protect himself? Did he doubt her love? Or?
Oh God.
Did he doubt
his
love for her? She scrambled for her phone and called him. Maybe he’d come back if she begged. It rang and rang but he didn’t pick up. She almost hung up, but he’d see her number so she left a pitiful plea for him to come back. She dragged a quilt and pillow onto the couch in the living room and sobbed herself into a stupor.

* * *

It was late when Chuck put the guys on the train for Vicenza and headed home. His phone had rung while in the bar, but it was too noisy to do more than look at the ID. He hadn’t expected her to call and wouldn’t have talked to her with the young fly-boys around anyway. No doubt they speculated about him, but that wasn’t a big concern; newbies always speculated about officers. At home, when he finally listened to her message, he threw the phone on the bed and said, “That little bitch!”

He felt jerked around. He’d felt that a lot lately. But… hot damn. She wanted him with her in that damnable place after all. Maybe this could all work out if only he could be patient a little longer.
How much patience do I need with that tawny kitten?
As he slid into bed, he felt more lonely than he’d felt since Babička died. Since he’d been a child, she’d been his best friend, but as he rolled over, he knew he’d really prefer a certain curvy body to spoon around.

* * *

It was dark and quiet in her new neighborhood, but Giulia roused enough to drag herself to the bathroom. A glance in the mirror showed puffy eyes and sallow skin. After a scalding shower, she made up the bed and crawled in. And cried. Again! So many tears after years of none. She had not allowed time for relationships. Certainly not for tears. She’d held out for the glowing dream.

To hell with dreams.
But, girl, one thing is certain. If you want to stay in this town, you’ve got to show up for work tomorrow morning.

Yet, there she lay, straining to hear Chuck’s key in her door. After an eternity, she quit listening and drifted off.

* * *

Giulia’s place was not as convenient to the train station as Chuck’s, and she needed to allow time to catch a crowded vaporetto. Would she see him at the station? Maybe after her classes she might find him and invite him for coffee. She’d use the same words about the enticing variety of coffee drinks offered as he had used that first time with her. Whatever method, it was up to her now. He must feel used. All her doing.

Dreams. Bah, humbug. Scrooge? Should she offer Dickens to her students? Maybe they could analyze his quirky characters? Which ones? But instead of Dickens’ characters, thoughts of Chuck kept moving through her mind all the way to class. Lord, how she missed their morning joshing.

There were few absences on Fridays—it was a military base after all—but most students’ minds had flown elsewhere. Usually her Friday class read scenes aloud from plays, but with the Ogle deposition last week and her move with all its upset, she’d forgotten to assign work and prepare.

“I have a confession,” she said. “A crisis or two landed in my lap the last few days, and I’m not prepared. Have any of you ever experienced that phenomenon?”

Of course, they enjoyed a good laugh on her.

“Today, I’d like to hear how you think books, plays or movies affect your lives.” After a few minutes of awkwardness, they opened up and seemed to forget she was in the room. Their opinions about the mess “so-called leaders” had made of the world surprised her. She’d expected young military people to be brainwashed to accept authority not only in their immediate units but in political officials as well. What astounded her even more, was that to bolster their opinions, many cited bits and pieces from Shakespeare, Whitman, Dos Passos, Hemingway and authors she wasn’t familiar with. The time flew.

Fifteen minutes before the end of the period, she asked, “How would you like to continue the discussion next Friday, but with a central focus?”

“Could the focus be our suggestion?” a student asked.

She laughed, “You read my mind.” She closed her briefcase and said, “Take the rest of the period, and when you have a consensus, let me know by email. No later than Tuesday, please. I’ll re-confirm the same way, and we’ll see what happens next Friday.” She left them buzzing together.

As soon as she was out the door, she tried calling Chuck. No answer. Maybe he’d left for the weekend. She left yet another forlorn message and started for home. Home. The only “home” was in his arms.

* * *

Her new apartment needed lots of tender loving care, but she dumped her stuff and went out. Where? Anywhere her feet would take her. The city was hers now. She could meander with no return flight schedule lurking over her shoulder. Soon she found herself at the far end of Piazza di San Marco leaning against a pillar of a bookshop that displayed large art books. A small basin, almost like a cul-de-sac-pond, had been created by the dead end of a narrow canal. A gaggle of polished, black gondolas jostled each other gently.

Gently was the operative word here, she thought, as she watched the action. The slightly-asymmetrical boats were decked with brocaded cushions in exotic colors and embellished with fringes and tassels of golden threads. Gondolas were prized possessions. She’d heard that gondoliers treated their unique boats with more tenderness than they did their wives or girlfriends. With a phone mounted on a short pole, a dispatcher handled calls as they do at any taxi station anywhere in the world. No one seemed conscious of the beautiful buildings around them that represented varying centuries of architectural designs. All attention was given to the excited customers eager to board.

A polite twitter of Japanese tourists waited in line two by two, the way they tended to walk through the city. One gondola nudged forward and a ganzer—a retired gondolier—hooked a curved stick to the inside gunwale and helped pull it to the steps for the animated travelers. He held it steady and offered his arm to passengers as they stepped in. A gondolier could easily manage this maneuver, but she guessed they sympathized with these old fellows, who probably had trouble leaving the only environment they’d ever known. But she noticed most tourists did tip the ganzer.

A gondola ride was expensive—last time she checked it was seventy-five euros for forty-five minutes—about ninety dollars. The new euro had gone into effect in January of 2002, a little over a year ago, but already the dollar had lost ground. She’d ridden once with her dad and brothers, but the boys had acted up, so that didn’t count. Would she ever ride with Chuck? Would he ever call?

She turned away telling herself to go back and work on her apartment, but instead she moved into the maze of streets leading in the opposite direction. Soon she stood beside the Grand Canal near a station for
uno traghetto
, a bare gondola with no chairs and no glitzy decorations. This boat was used solely as a ferry to cross the Canal and manned by two gondoliers, one in front and one behind. It bobbed waiting for more passengers.

Three people were already standing in the ferry-gondola to make the short trip across the busy waterway. It had been awhile since Giulia had done this, but now that she lived here, she might as well get in the groove. She gave a fifty-cent euro coin to the gondolier in the rear and as soon as she stepped in, he shoved off. Smoothly, thank God, because at first, her knees felt unsteady and she worried that she’d embarrass herself, but the old balancing trick came back. In no time they were on the other side at Campo San Silvestro. And now, she had to acknowledge her true destination. Her heart raced and the lump in her throat was about to choke her, but she would not back down. Soon, she was pushing the button on Chuck’s intercom.

“Si?” he answered.

“
Sono io,
it’s me,” Giulia said in a breathy voice.

“
Chi è?
Who is it?” He sounded impatient.

“Sono Giulia,” she said.

The door clicked. She started up the stairs. Would this be her last time? He was standing at his open door when she reached his floor.

“Ciao,” she whispered. “
Permesso?
” she asked, feeling that he might refuse her entrance.

“
Certo,
“ He stepped back to let her in.

“I’ve missed you,” she said raising her eyes to his face.

“I see.”

His face looked hard, stony. They were barely inside his apartment and stood within touching distance. “I was wrong last night; I didn’t want to be alone.”

“I got your call but couldn’t take it until the boys were gone. It was late and… wasn’t sure exactly what you wanted.”

“Wanted you,” she said. She was looking at her feet but felt his body heat.

“Me or sex?”

Her head jerked up. For a moment, she thought he’d been joking, but his jaw was set and his lips—those lips—had tightened into a hard, tight line.

“You!”

“I needed to be sure because… Giulia? I want a lot more from you. So I’ll ask again, only me?” and this time she detected a slight curve to his lips.

“Sometimes it’s hard for me to separate the two,” and a little smile crept across her lips, too.

He opened his arms and she flowed into them. “Now, tell me what’s going on.” And he nipped her neck.

“I can’t say for sure. But it’s not working. When I walk into my apartment, it feels like a Christmas morning that Santa forgot.”

“I’m sorry.” Against the side of her neck, he whispered, “I wondered.”

“You know I had mixed feelings about going ahead with this,” she said, “but felt too committed to stop. All the scrimping I’ve done. All the free time I’ve given up to work extra hours toward this… this damned dream—”

“How can I help?”

“Hold me.”

“That’s easy, angel, but I need—”

“You need?” again Giulia felt afraid.

“I meant what I said, Giulia. I want a lot more than sex. If you can’t give that, I need to know it now.”

She melted against him. “I want more, too,” she whispered.

“Good! But before anymore talk, how about we take care of the sex first.”

She laughed with such relief that for a moment she feared she’d slip into hysterics. He took her hand and led her down the hall. Lowering his voice into an authoritative tone, he said, “I’ve always found when planning crucial strategy sessions, it’s best to get complex pressures out of the way at the outset. And recently, I’ve had pressures building that need to be handled.”

“Handled?”

“You are a pill.” And he swept her up and tumbled her onto his bed.

“Chuck?”

“Yeah,” he said beginning to undress.

“I’ve been walking and fretting and feel grungy. Could I shower?”

“Of course. I’ll join you.”

She felt at peace. All the apartment hassle could be sorted out. She was at home with Chuck, and that’s all she cared about. After teasing in the shower, they moved to his bed. His cock had risen in the shower, but now they lay together just holding and holding. He seemed unwilling to start anything. She reached to stroke him, and before he could restrain her, she was kneeling over him with her mouth around his penis. He gasped and raised his head. “You don’t need to do this.”

She looked up surprised. A little frown creased her brow. “But I want to. I want to taste you, love you this way. Lord knows you’ve tasted me. We
are
talking about some sort of partnership, aren’t we?”

“Hope so.”

“Well then, it’s only fair for me to have my way this time, right?”

“Right,” he sighed and let his head fall back onto the pillow.

“I’m not an expert at this, but I think I can figure it out as I go,” she said letting her tongue flatten along the underside of his stiff penis.

“You’re doing… just… fine,” he gasped sounding short of breath.

A glistening drop leaked out, and her tongue curled around it. She liked the taste and his special scent. What was it? She ran her hands gently over his shaft that pulsed with heat. She closed her mouth over the head and half sucked and half tickled.