The Sweet Life

by Rebecca Lim

  At the market, she used a combination of really bad phrasebook Italian and smiling sign language to buy fresh bread, salame, soft cheese, olives and red grapes, blushing a little as the boys manning the stalls tried to flirt with her in broken English. She kept walking as she scoffed her way through her purchases, soon passing through the ancient Porta Salaria, or ‘Gate of Salt’ – a breach in the towering walls surrounding the historical heart of Rome. The city walls bore the evidence of layers of history all jumbled together. Janey stopped for a moment by the ruins of a tomb that commemorated the life of some eleven-year-old poet prodigy from the first century AD, a time so long ago that she couldn’t quite wrap her mind around it. And just like that, she’d entered the old city, flanked by a seething mass of kamikaze traffic.

  It felt incredible to have absolutely no agenda for the day, Janey mused, crumpling up her last paper bag before stowing it away in her pack. She couldn’t remember a day recently when she’d been so free of responsibility. A sudden surge of sorrow that her mum wasn’t here to see the ancient and the new collide so spectacularly made tears spring into her eyes. She would have loved all this, thought Janey wistfully. The mad market, the crazy traffic, all of it. She blinked furiously before fumbling for her camera, taking a photo of the glorious chaos around her, and walking on down sun-drenched streets in the direction of the famed Via Veneto, which Em had urged her to visit.

  ‘Even if you never see that Fellini movie,’ Em had said, ‘and it’s probably number 581 on your list of things to do before you leave for Rome, at least you can park your bum and have a coffee where most of the people in the film used to hang out in real life. It’s a must-do street, and not just for sad movie-buffs like me. I have six vital words for you: tiramisù at the Café de Paris. Eat some for me, I beg you.’

  Passing one luxury hotel after another on the famous thoroughfare, Janey was suddenly struck with a fantastic idea. She would call Em and the others, right now. She checked her watch and worked out that it was around nine-thirty in the evening back in Australia. At least one of them had to be home.

  Janey ducked into The Hotel Majestic, smiling shyly at the liveried doorman who held the door open for her. She was met by a rush of cool, lightly perfumed air. The place was stuffed with antiques, towering floral arrangements, and rich-looking old dudes with blingy wives and truckloads of matching luggage. From what she could see, the hotel lived up to its name with bells on.

  ‘Uh, telefono?’ she asked the bored-looking concierge, who haughtily lifted an index finger in the direction of the hotel’s business centre, a compact space containing a couple of telephone booths and some office equipment, presided over by a serene young woman in a black suit.

  The woman explained the rates to Janey in perfect English before motioning her into one of the booths and closing the glass door with a smile.

  With excited anticipation, Janey took off her sunglasses and rang Em’s number, holding her breath as the call connected. Speaking to her friends was worth the small fortune she would probably have to pay.

  ‘Emily speaking,’ said Em in her proper answering-the-phone voice.

  ‘It’s your Rome correspondent here,’ said Janey breathlessly, ‘reporting to you live and direct from . . . Fellini central!’

  Janey felt sure Em’s answering shriek could be heard with arctic disapproval in the hushed reception area. As it was, the young woman sitting just outside the phone booth raised her head briefly and smiled before returning her gaze to the fax she was reading.

  ‘OMG!’ Em squealed, back once more in over-the-top Em-mode. ‘I was just thinking of you, Janes! You’re the spookiest mind-reader ever! What time is it there? Where have you been? What have you seen? What have you eaten? How’s the mysterious aunt? What’s her pad like? Mega-plush? Plush? Or just semi-plush?’

  ‘Slow down! Slow down!’ Janey laughed, thinking with a pang how good it was to hear her friend’s voice. ‘I’m – at this very moment – sitting in a nicely appointed phone booth in a five-star hotel in the epicentre of your must-do street, if you must know. Haven’t tried the coffee around here yet, but I think that and a big fat serve of tiramisù are definitely next on my list. It’s about one-thirty in the arvo, my yummy paper bag brunch is a very distant memory, I’ve already eyeballed more Roman ruins than you could shake a stick at, and I still haven’t actually sighted or spoken with my mysterious aunt. Fell asleep soon as I got here,’ Janey added sheepishly. ‘Missed her again this morning. And her pad is off the mega-plush end of the spectrum. Her building’s even got one of those lifts you see in 1950s spy movies!’

  Em sighed. ‘I want photographic proof of everything, Jane Gordon. I’m giving you permission to bore me to death with your holiday snaps as soon as you get back because it can’t be any worse than what I’m going through right now! Gabs is away at her grandmother’s beach house this weekend, and Ness is – you guessed it – working her night shift at the cinema to save up for the latest Chloé “It” bag, so I’m drowning my sorrows in microwave popcorn and ’90s slacker movies. How sad is that? I was, like, two when some of these were made. So seriously, are you totally loving it?’

  ‘Apart from Ness’s walk-in wardrobe, it has to be the most amazing place I’ve ever seen! You can’t go three steps without falling over a Roman ruin, or a crazed Vespa driver. I never thought I’d be so completely in love with a place! Not to mention meeting the guy of my dreams ten seconds after leaving the airport . . .’ Janey added tantalisingly.

  ‘You can’t be serious?’ Em interrupted.

  ‘Get this! I walk out the airport doors and he’s standing there holding a sign with my name on it and murmuring, “I’d know you anywhere, signorina.” And not only that, Em, he’s total crush material from head to toe! Tall, dark, gorgeous, and dressed like an international man of mystery. The real kind,’ Janey laughed, ‘not the Austin Powers kind.’

  ‘Who is he?’ Em breathed. ‘He knew who you were?’

  ‘He’s my aunt’s personal chauffeur, Luca,’ said Janey. ‘Even his name’s divine! And he’s picking me up tonight at eight . . . but only to take me to my aunt of course.

  ‘He probably doesn’t even remember what I look like, Em,’ she added. ‘He’s the sort who deals with sophisticated people all day, all year round. If you’ve ever seen an elegant Roman woman in full war paint, big hair and designer gear – and I passed plenty on my way here – someone who looks like me wouldn’t even rate a second glance! As soon as he dropped me at my aunt’s place, I’m sure he pretty much forgot I existed.’

  ‘You’d be surprised, Janey,’ Em replied. ‘Since Ness performed emergency wardrobe surgery on you that night, and you started trial-running the principles of high fashion during the last week of school, even Cameron Mallory and his too-cool-for-school skater crew were suddenly asking about you.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ Janey shot back with disbelief. Cameron Mallory and his skater boy buddies were the hottest Year 12 guys at Selbourne High. They never noticed anybody, mainly because they didn’t have to. Every guy wanted to hang out with them. Every girl, from the smallest Year 7 pipsqueak upwards, wanted to date them.

  ‘Believe it,’ said Em. ‘Apparently, a millisecond after you walked by him on the last day of school in that very Jessica Simpson-esque ensemble you were wearing, he was asking Jenny Kyriacou’s older brother who on earth you were. Like you haven’t been part of the school furniture since, well, forever! It was pure genius to throw your long cardie over that grey T-shirt dress Ness lent you. And only someone with stick legs like yours could get away with wearing black tights and red open-toed wedges. In winter.’

  Janey snorted. ‘He was probably asking, Emily, because I trod on his toes as I clomped past. I almost did a Naomi Campbell off those platforms that afternoon, that’s how out of control I was in them! If Gabs hadn’t grabbed me by the elbow I would’ve fallen flat on my face as the final bell went.’

  ‘Well, believe what you like, Janes, but if you keep up
this whole dressing-like-a-Hollywood-starlet thing, don’t be surprised if Cam Mallory suddenly sails up to you on his Dogtown skateboard next term and asks for your phone number,’ said Em loyally. ‘Jenny said he sounded pretty keen to get to know you. And we do have an end-of-year formal coming up. You could do worse. Way worse.’

  ‘Don’t do my head in!’ Janey turned as the hotel employee tapped on the glass door of the phone booth and indicated that she was about to be charged for a second block of time. ‘Gotta go,’ Janey said, miming her thanks at the young woman. ‘Apparently I’m about to blow a second huge chunk of change if I don’t get off now. And I really want that tiramisù that I promised to eat for you! Tell the others I’ll try to call again.’

  ‘Soon as you get back to luxury central, check out if your aunt has a computer,’ Em advised. ‘She should, if your description of her pad is anything to go by. If my calculations are correct, I’ll tell the others to expect a bit of MySpace or telephone action from you either really early or really late our time.’

  ‘You got it,’ Janey replied. She replaced the heavy black old-style receiver in its cradle. It suddenly struck her how far away her besties were. Rome would be ten thousand times more breathtaking than it was already if those guys were here as well. She was so used to sharing everything with them, highs and lows. She felt her eyes misting again, and had to compose herself before leaving the booth.

  Janey grabbed her sunnies, paid her phone tab with a smile, and walked quickly back across the reception area towards the revolving front door of the hotel. But before she could enter it, she heard someone call out her name. Janey spun around in surprise.

  ‘Thought it was you,’ drawled the tall, blond young man in a confident American accent, looking Janey up and down appreciatively. He took off his Ray-Bans and slicked back his perfect hair with one tanned hand. ‘Brandon, remember?’

  Janey coloured. Freddy’s friend, the preppy guy with the amazing sky-blue eyes. Of course, he had to stand there looking like a male model, while, thanks to her long walk and her conversation with Em, she looked like a sweaty, shiny, emotional fur ball. Janey wondered why he’d even bothered to call out to her.

  ‘Mmm-hmmm,’ she said. ‘Um, fancy meeting you here.’ She winced at how lame she sounded, just wanting to escape.

  Brandon surprised her by apologising. ‘Look, I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable yesterday, grabbing you like that. I forget how full-on we can all be! Especially Freddy, who can be a pretty forceful character. You’re both so . . . different. It’s hard to believe you’re related.’

  Janey blushed even more wildly.

  ‘I meant that in a good way,’ he said hastily. ‘Look, can I buy you a coffee? I can feel foot-in-mouth happening again. You have this effect on me . . .’

  Janey shot him a look of pure astonishment and Brandon laughed. ‘Honestly, there’s something about you, Jane, that makes me say and do all the wrong stuff. Let’s start over?’

  ‘Uh, my friends call me Janey, and I’ve already got a date, s-sorry, and I’m pretty keen to keep it.’

  But Brandon wouldn’t be deterred. ‘Would he mind if I crashed it?’

  The determination on his face made Janey burst out in giggles, despite how uncomfortable she was feeling. ‘It isn’t with a he, but with a giant serving of tiramisù. At the Café de Paris. I promised someone I’d make haste there forthwith and genteelly stuff my face with it. You can come along if you want. But it won’t be pretty!’

  Brandon’s shoulders relaxed, and he gave a pearly-white grin. ‘I’d like that. I haven’t been there in ages and I can’t imagine anyone better to share a very rich, very fattening dessert with.’

  For a moment, Freddy’s flawless features bobbed up in Janey’s mind and her smile died. There was someone better, right there. She sighed inwardly before tucking escaped tendrils of hair back under her cap and saying brightly, ‘Lead the way!’

  Janey and Brandon spent so long laughing over coffee and cake at the Café de Paris that she had to sprint like a madwoman to make it back to Celia’s apartment in time to have a shower before meeting her aunt for dinner. The day had already brought a surprise new acquaintance, not to mention an avalanche of new sights, tastes and experiences, and Janey couldn’t believe there was still more to come!

  She began to feel really nervous about finally meeting her aunt, and it took her ages to work out what to wear. She finally settled on the classic red-and-white striped halter-neck top and skinny jeans, cramming her feet into the red wedges and praying silently that she wouldn’t topple out of them right under Luca’s nose. After achieving the usual slightly lopsided results with her hair straightener, she tied a jaunty silk scarf around her neck and let herself out of the apartment just before eight. She walked carefully down the front steps of the villa at the same time that Luca pulled up at the kerb in the shiny black car.

  Luca slid elegantly out of the driver’s seat and held Janey’s door open for her as though she were visiting royalty. ‘Ciao bella!’ he said, as Janey slid into the front passenger seat, glad she hadn’t lost control of her treacherous footwear.

  He didn’t really mean the ‘bella’ bit, she told herself sternly. He’s just being polite. But her heart felt like it had skipped a beat regardless.

  Luca turned the car in the direction of Celia Albright’s favourite trattoria, Da Edoardo. But he had to charm Janey into telling him about her day, because all of a sudden she was tongue-tied. She’d been looking forward to seeing Luca all day, and now here he was, and here she was, and the trip was probably half over already, and she’d probably never see him again after today and, well, what was the point anyway?

  As the car entered Rome’s old city once more, and Janey couldn’t manage anything more than one-word answers, Luca began talking about himself, and how he was taking time off from his second year of architectural studies at the University of Rome to indulge his passion for meeting people from around the world, and to figure out what he really wanted to do.

  ‘I am lazy, no?’ he laughed. ‘At least, my father, he think so. He is quite the famous architetto here, in this country, and he is angry that I “waste my life”. But I enjoy very much the driving, and to talk with new people.’

  ‘Will you go back, do you think?’ Janey asked, her interest piqued. ‘I’m hoping to do, um, journalism or psychology one day. My friends seem to think I’m a good listener . . .’

  ‘Perhaps, in time,’ Luca replied airily, avoiding a bus that swung out without warning from the kerb. ‘But not yet, I think. The Australians, they are good to me. I meet many interesting people from your country, some I have even visit, in Sydney, Perth, your Great Reef.’

  ‘The Great Barrier Reef?’ Janey exclaimed as Luca nodded. ‘I haven’t even been there yet!’

  And despite herself, Janey started to describe her day – fluffing her Italian verbs at the undercover market, her long walk, braving the super luxe Hotel Majestic. ‘And would you believe I met one of Freddy’s friends there when I went in to use the phone?’ she said. ‘He just happened to be there – visiting his uncle – isn’t that incredible?’

  Luca glanced sidelong at Janey as he negotiated another impossible overtake. ‘Veramente? It is indeed incredible, signorina. Rome is a big city. Chi? Who was it?’

  ‘Brandon,’ said Janey happily. ‘The male modelly one, not the horrible one – Paolo, I think his name was – who looked at me like I was something stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

  Brandon and I had afternoon tea at the Café de Paris. He even gave me his mobile number! I thought he’d be a bit stuck up, looking the way he looks, but he’s not. He’s actually really, really nice.’

  Janey still couldn’t believe how much she and Brandon had had in common and how the afternoon had flown by. He rocked out to the same bands she was into (The Killers, Franz Ferdinand, Good Charlotte, Powderfinger), loved reading trashy thrillers like she did, and had lost his mum at a really young age as well. The similarities b
etween their lives – apart from the fact that Brandon’s dad was a mega-wealthy industrialist from the east coast of America who was currently based in Italy doing million-dollar business deals – were amazing.

  ‘Why are you surprised that this Brandon, he is nice? You are not “stuck up”, as you say, yet you are also—?’ Luca hadn’t finished his sentence before Janey burst out laughing.

  ‘It’s lovely of you to even suggest that I’m remotely as good-looking as Brandon is. But it’s just the clothes, Luca. Until this week, I was a fashion dyslexic!’

  Luca shot her a puzzled look as he prepared to make a right turn past a cluster of haphazardly parked Vespas into a narrow one-way street. ‘I do not understand you?’ he said.

  ‘No, you wouldn’t,’ Janey continued, amazed at how her life was suddenly filled with cute guys who seemed totally interested in her. The Janey of last week seemed a whole lifetime away.

  Note to self, she thought. Do something nice for Ness when you get home. She so deserves it.

  The thought of having to return home soon made Janey’s smile dim a little, and it disappeared altogether when Luca announced, ‘We ’re here, signorina.’

  Celia

  Luca swung his lean, athletic frame out of the car and opened Janey’s door, pointing out the brightly lit trattoria where her aunt would be waiting. He shot Janey his usual dazzling smile before jumping back into the car and roaring off up a narrow side street that was little more than a cobbled laneway.

  ‘Well, that’s it then,’ Janey told herself a bit forlornly as Luca’s tail-lights vanished. ‘That’s probably the last time you’ll ever see him, so stop being stupid, stupid.’

  She turned her attention back to the tiny piazza where Da Edoardo was located and her mood began to lift. It was one of a string of buzzing eateries facing onto the miniature square and its sparkling, central fountain. Sidewalk tables spilled out in all directions, crowded with local families and couples of every description enjoying a Friday night out. She navigated her way past the trattoria’s crowded entrance and scanned the bustling restaurant for her aunt.