Gaetano and I spent a lot of time together. Now that we spoke only Italian, he no longer tried to show off the bits of English he knew. He accepted my make-believe boyfriend and seemed to respect that we were only friends. He asked me about the boyfriend occasionally, and I made stuff up on the spot, hoping I wouldn’t be caught in a lie.
Part of me wanted to like him. I knew he still wanted to be more than my friend in spite of what I said. It would have been easier in some ways if I could just let my guard down, but I didn’t know if I ever was going to stop finding Jonas in my thoughts late in the evenings when everything else was gone.
Once we passed the monastery where he lived. Visitors were allowed into the church and on the grounds, but the dormitory was for monks and male students only. I teased him that he was like a little monk.
“If I am a monk, it’s because of you.” He knew how far to go with me. “You are a sly fox. Quanto sei forba.”
Slowly, I relaxed around him. I relied on him for certain things and enjoyed the teasing between us, as long as he wanted nothing more, or if he wanted more he could contain it. We had gotten past the point of just hooking up, and I liked having him as a friend. I suspected that sometimes he took the hillier roads so I had to hold him tighter on the vespa.
But, I would not let myself expect to see him outside the università. If the class got out early, I went to Lucy’s apartment or to buy lunch.
Wednesdays, when the stores were closed in the afternoon, I went to the outdoor market to browse the clothes and shoes I couldn’t afford. Sometimes, when I didn’t see Gaetano after class, I sensed that he was following me. But when I looked up, he wasn’t there.
On the festa della donna, the feast day celebrating women, he brought me mimosa flowers and took me out for lunch at the Osteria la Chiacchiera, where I got pici boscaiola, the thick pasta of Siena in a rich creamy mushroom sauce. After lunch we walked in giro around the city. Every woman had a bunch of mimosa. I was happy to be one of them. For once I felt a part of Siena, a citizen.
Gaetano stopped at a palazzo and asked me to wait for him outside the building while he picked something up from a friend. I leaned against a wall, holding my spray of mimosa, staring up at the window he might be behind. It was cold and I wished he had asked me up.
I envisioned someone crashing through the glass, being thrown by him and then I knew what he was doing, why he didn’t ask me up. I remembered when we first met what Dino said about him being a criminal. I thought of the fight the second time I saw him. When he came back down, I glanced at his jacket, suspecting it was fuller, that there was money in his pocket.
“What?” he asked. “How did you know where I was?”
“You saw me looking? I just guessed that was where you were. I expected someone to come flying out of one of the windows.”
“Why would that happen?” he asked, playing dumb.
“Because you’re like a bookie, aren’t you? That’s what it is.” I nodded at his expression of surprise. He understood the English word bookie. I kept walking when he stopped. After a while he caught up to me.
“Gabi, I told you it’s normal for many men of the south to do things that are a little illegal.”
“A little illegal?” I turned to him and shook my head. “And you wonder why you have the bad reputation if Southerners do what is a little illegal.”
“Gabi, aspetta,” he stopped me on the street, to concentrate fully on the conversation. It was impossible for him to multitask. “I do this, so I will have more money. I need it. I don’t have enough for what I need.”
“Gaetano, I don’t really care how you get money. It doesn’t matter to me. I’m not your girlfriend. It doesn’t bother me in the least. Do what you want.”
He smiled at the way I said “non mi fregga niente” about his activities with the passionate dispassion of a true Italian. There was nothing else for either of us to say about this revelation. We shrugged at each other and decided to get an espresso.
“Did you get mimosa?” I asked Olivia when she came to see me on Friday. We were sharing a loaf of pane proscuitto that I bought for her in the macelleria with the big pig out in front. I finally had the courage to go in. It was down the road from my apartment and every single tourist seemed to need a picture with the big pig. They made the best proscuitto bread, though, and Olivia was a fiend for it.
“I don’t have a Gaetano, Gabriella. I’m not going to get mimosa from anyone.”
“He was just doing it to be nice. He’s not my boyfriend.”
“But you are his tesoro,” she teased.
“I really think he understands that there is not going to be anything between us. I think he knows that we are just friends.” Olivia looked at me with an expression that was becoming quite familiar. She narrowed her eyes and tipped her chin in disbelief. “Okay, okay, well, I understand that there is going to be nothing between us. So there is going to be nothing between us. We won’t even see him tonight, okay?”
“I like seeing him. I want to see him. He’s funny. I don’t get mimosa from him, but I still think he’s cool. And he’s cute too, those sexy eyes.” Gaetano was endearing himself to her. I wondered if this was his evil plan. “Why don’t you do something about it? Why don’t you get with him? You don’t really have anyone at home, do you?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t.”
That was the sad truth. I didn’t say anything else, and she let the subject drop.
I called the monastery, but I couldn’t get in touch with Gaetano. Olivia and I drank a few glasses of wine with some pasta at my apartment. Then we went to Le Colonial.
“Look, your roommate is here,” Olivia said. She was looking over to where Janine was holding court with two guys. She was wearing a low-cut black shirt. Her blonde hair was pulled dramatically off her face. Olivia turned to me. “She is able to get that look with the cheap blow dryers from the Upim?”
“She’s a pro. Do you want to stay?” Olivia shrugged. It was stupid of me to not want to be where Janine was, but I thought about avoiding her completely. Janine caught my eye and waved us over.
“Hey, Janine, what are you up to? You remember Olivia?”
“Hey,” said Olivia. Janine gave her a big smile that didn’t hide the fact that she was no longer happy with the boy-girl ratio. She introduced us to the guys, Luigi and Carlo. I gathered that she didn’t know either one of them and that she was out alone, because Michelle was with Duccio.
Luigi couldn’t speak English as well as Carlo, so it made it harder for him to speak with Janine. She focused on Carlo. But Luigi was beautiful. He smiled at me. We were communicating. He didn’t understand me as well as Gaetano. I would be self-conscious of my accent if it weren’t for the buzz.
I laughed at his hemmed jeans. Luigi told me I had a good liver–un buon fegato–and that’s why I could drink so much. I was drinking glass after glass of gintonnico, saying buon fegato over and over again. I liked understanding new phrases right away and alcohol helped me do that. I leaned into Luigi. I wanted to be normal; I wanted to forget and get caught up in something like every other American girl in Italy. I didn’t have anyone at home. It was true. I was free and I should act it. I wanted to kiss this Italian. I told Olivia so in fast English.
“Do you want me to go back to Firenze?” Olivia asked.
“No,” I said, taking Luigi’s hand in my lap. “I’m not going to do anything.”
But that was a lie. It was not my intention. I wanted something. I wanted to get over this hump with this man.
Olivia started to say something, but then I saw Olivia looking up at Giovanni, Gaetano’s friend. He caught me before I had done anything wrong. We waved to him, but he didn’t come over. Luigi wanted to know who he was, if he should be worried.
“Amico,” I said, assuring Luigi that he was a friend. My eyes were scanning for Gaetano. This wasn’t going to help my fake boyfriend story. Everyone was finishing their drinks. They wanted to leave. Olivia asked me ag
ain if I wanted her to come home with me. Yes, I told her. Carlo and Janine were holding each other tight as we started to walk out. Luigi pulled me into his chest. Then I saw Gaetano with Paolo, saw that he already understood everything that was going on. His gray eyes were on fire. I was no better than any of the other American girls. And then I thought of his temper and that time I saw him fight.
“I’ll be right out. I have to go to the bathroom,” I said to Luigi. And to Olivia, “Come with me. It will look better.”
“Come va?” I asked Gaetano. He smirked at me. I kissed him on both cheeks. He nodded his head.
“Bene. Ciao, Olivia.” We looked at each other until I felt Paolo, Giovanni and Olivia getting uncomfortable. I am not yours to be jealous of, I wanted to tell him. I am not anyone’s. I am alone. Now there was a dark cloud on my good night.
Awkwardly, I told him that I got a good grade on the homework he helped me with. He shrugged. I kissed him again on both cheeks, twice. Four kisses.
“My friends are waiting for me,” I said.
“Then of course you must go. Ciao, Olivia.”
“Ciao,” Olivia said and kissed him goodbye.
Outside. Outside Carlo and Janine already started hooking up hard against the wall.
“Will you walk us home?” I asked Luigi.
“Si.”
“I’ll walk behind you.” Olivia said.
“Don’t be silly,” I said. I felt grateful to her but also somewhat embarrassed for my behavior. I couldn’t be as carefree as I wanted to be.
“C’mon, have your moment.”
“Okay, here’s my key. Walk ahead. Leave the portone open and the door to the apartment. You can take my bed.”
“You got it.”
We looked at the two still passionate against the wall. Then we started to walk. Olivia walked much faster until she was comfortably ahead of us. I shrugged at Luigi and tried to find that feeling again. He laughed and took my hand. His hands were warm. His eyes were blue and almost like Jonas’s. It was not the first time I noticed that. Luigi asked me again about the boys I was talking to in the bar. I told him they were friends.
“You have a lot of friends.”
I was charmed by the way he spoke, his Tuscan accent dropping the c when he asks about my casa. He walked me through the campo. I looked up at the tower. It grounded me. One thing solid and still in a swimming night. Our fingers were interlaced. I wanted to feel his warmth. He wrapped his arm around me.
At the portone, he told me he would call me. But I don’t have a phone. Well, he’ll see me then. We smiled. I wanted to kiss him, see those eyes close and open. I did. My hands reached up into his hair as he groaned in his throat. It was a good kiss but not the best I ever had. And while I was hoping my stomach would drop like it does when you kiss someone new, I felt a pang in my sternum. My heart hurt. It felt so different to me, bittersweet. This confirmed something I already knew. I smelled the bread starting to cook in the air. The baker was up, working. We hugged. We kissed again. This night should be wonderful even though it was the wrong boy
I didn’t invite him up. We kissed again and he left. I didn’t want to go into my apartment. I lingered in the hall until the electric light shut off. Then I went inside.
Olivia was passed out on the floor in spite of my offer. I almost tripped on her in the darkness. When I apologized, she said nothing and I whispered her name. Part of me wanted to get her up to talk. When she didn’t wake up, I turned on the light. I wrote drunken scribbles in my journal. I had been trying not to write about Jonas. What more was there to say? But I wrote instead in a sloppy hand, “When will I be over this?”
“Promise me, you’ll never start or end anything drunk.” Where did that voice come from? Once it came from me. I said it to Jonas. We thought we had it under control. It didn’t matter that we were sleeping in the same bed, for a while. We could do this.
I thought that Jonas was going to kiss me that night, but he didn’t, he hugged me. His fingertips touching my back like eyes seeing. That was all he would do at that point. So many memories are about waiting. It was easier to remember the waiting than the way it was once I got what I wanted. It hurt less, physically.
And so I was getting sober, lying in a tiny bed in a faraway place. The kiss of a beautiful Italian boy reminding me of the words of a beautiful American. Why couldn’t I shake it? When would I be over it?
Sober, no longer normal or carefree. Me once again. His.
12.
Of course, I didn’t hear from Luigi. And I didn’t really mind. I didn’t know how I could have. I guessed an American girl who doesn’t really put out isn’t that interesting for a Tuscan man as cute as he was. It was for the best. I would always be expecting something more from his blue eyes.
I didn’t call Gaetano for three days. I spent the weekend with Olivia. We took the bus to the town of San Gimignano and admired their towers. It was a quiet sleepy town, smaller than Siena.
Gaetano didn’t come to the unversità that Monday, so I called him to see how he spent his fine settimana. He sounded sad when he spoke. But I tried to keep the conversation light. I told him that I spent the weekend with Olivia.
He asked me if I wanted to go to a Brazilian club in Florence.
“Sure, I’ll call Olivia. Why don’t you ask Dino?”
He hesitated. “You want them to come, too?”
“Of course,” I said. “This way, Dino can drive. How else would we get there?”
That wasn’t really it. I just didn’t want to be alone with him. I didn’t want to be held accountable. I had made my position clear. I just wanted to be friends. But I did feel like I had disappointed him. And I prayed that he just let it go. I wasn’t going to see Luigi again, and I didn’t want to explain to Gaetano why my fake boyfriend hadn’t been an issue.
I called Olivia as soon as I hung up the phone with Gaetano and asked her to come along.
“Yep,” she said. “By the way, tonight’s the night.”
Suzie was going to sleep with Kurt.
“Huge. Good thing he has his own apartment.”
“Yeah, it would be impossible to sneak him into this fortress.”
“Anyway, they want to go to a Brazilian dance club. Before that they want to go to the Mexican place you and Gaetano were talking about it. You know where it is?” I asked.
“Yeah, I pass it all the time.”
“Does that sound bene to you?”
“Benessimo. It’s a regular international evening with the international girls.”
I met Gaetano and Dino in a piazza north of Via Stalloreggi. Dino had a bright yellow Alfa Romeo that he was very proud of. I heard that he liked to drive it fast, but neither he nor Gaetano wore their seat belts. They laughed when I asked for help buckling into the seat in the back. Dino was honestly puzzled trying to find the seat belt.
“I’m not sure there is one back here,” Dino said to a convulsing Gaetano.
“There must be a buckle if there is this,” I said, holding up the strap, making due with the limited language. Dino reached into the backseat, close to my butt.
“Bravo!” Gaetano said and winked at Dino like Dino was going to get lucky.
“Must everything be about sex with you?” I asked.
“Yes, everything.” Then he changed to English to impress Dino and me. “Everything in my life–sex.”
“Bravo,” I said and rolled my eyes.
“Faccia di cazzo,” Gaetano said. Translated this phrase seemed to mean “dickhead,” but Gaetano convinced me it was a compliment.
“Ecco,” said Dino, when he finally located the buckle. “Andiamo.”
Gaetano was being cool about everything. I thought that it might turn out to be a good night.
Dino’s driving was worse than I expected. He tailgated every car in front of him. When the cars didn’t move out of the lane, he high-beamed them. He zipped in and out of lanes in a way that would have infuriated my driver’s ed teacher.
/> “Jesus,” I said, clutching the side of my door. Gaetano relayed it to Dino, who turned while driving to look at my hands. They both laughed at me, exaggerating expressions of fear. It was a nightmare.
“Um, Dino, can you please watch the road,” I said. They laughed even harder. There were several close calls where my stomach dipped up and down. I squinted to try to avoid all of our near misses. Gaetano turned in the seat every time. I heard his breathy laughter. With eyes closed, I shook my head at him and stuck out my tongue. He laughed even harder.
“Why are you sweating?” Olivia said when she came to the door.
“You should have seen the car ride. Is that restaurant far from here?”
“No, but I think the club is.”
The Mexican place was pretty close to where Olivia lived. I suggested that we walk, but Dino wanted to impress Olivia with his car. Luckily, this ride was quick.
“You have hardly seen the worst of it,” I said to Olivia.
The restaurant looked like every stereotypical Mexican restaurant in America. There were woven sombreros pinned to the walls and colorful tablecloths that looked like Mexican blankets. It was familiar to us, but the Italians thought this would be an authentic experience. For them, Mexican wasn’t something they ordered in; it was exotic. The food was standard Mexican fare, but the cheese was different from cheddar or jack. When we tried to order Mexican beer, the cameriere didn’t know what Corona was, so we drank Sol beer instead. It tasted almost the same.
At dinner Olivia remembered what day it was. The seventeenth of March. It was St. Patrick’s Day. Olivia explained the significance of St. Patrick’s Day in America, and I added, “It’s another excuse to drink.”
“Yeah,” said Olivia. “On St. Patrick’s Day, everyone is Irish.”
“Today, we Italians will be Irish also,” Dino said, smiling at Olivia. I wondered if there would be something between them more than the minor flirtation. Were all my friends destined to match up with Gaetano’s? Was this another part of his evil plan? I looked at him, narrowing my eyes. He was also looking at Olivia and Dino. Then he saw me looking at him.
A Semester Abroad Page 12
