“All right,” he replied. “I think we should see each other again in Boston before we both go back to Rome, if you agree.” She did.
14
Summer Giulia
In late June’s rising heat, Tuscany smells heavenly. Armando’s favorite day—summer solstice—had arrived! He was in his studio poised like a dancer waiting for the sun to attain its maximum strength. As soon as it goes into Cancer, I will paint Sarah. A large blank canvas with a photo of Sarah by the side awaited his brushes. She reclined on the light tan leather divan, wearing a loose medium blue dress that revealed a good portion of her right leg. Her delicately arched ankle drew his eye. Smiling enigmatically, she seemed to be gazing off to an etheric view. Her fine and prominent neck bones framed by the long hair falling down over her left shoulder onto her breast are exquisite. She is the long-forgotten Etruscan beauty, Giulia.
He’d photographed her on the divan in the foyer below the curving stairway of her building in Rome between one of their daytime walks and evening dinners before she went home. With the ornate stairs rising gloriously like a Fibonacci spiral above the divan, it was the perfect composition. He had rushed madly back and forth, snapping shot after shot. “You will be the return of the remarkable goddess portrayed in white marble by the front entrance of the Villa Giulia! This way with your arm; your leg up slightly more; relax your lips!” Click, click, click! in rapid fire. When he developed the film, she glowed like a woman ready for love. This was his first contemplation of her face with an artistic eye. The dress’s cerulean hue brings out the subtle contrast between the color of her skin and the tan divan. Her face glows like ivory silk with a subtle emerald cast in her solemn green eyes. Huh! Never noticed the yellow flecks near her pupils. Her proud aquiline nose draws out that ancient look in her eyes. She watches through the centuries; she knows.
Glancing at the clock, he saw the sun poised at the very top of the Tropic of Cancer. He felt the urge to paint her. It is turning south again. I’m ready! His eyes narrowed to alert snake slits while he studied the long curve of her exposed leg. He detected energy lines in her groin flowing up the midline of her body and rising between her breasts, connecting with a strong line of light on her throat. Each side of her face reflected this centerline, which drew attention to her eyes. Gazing into Sarah’s enigmatic emerald-green orbs, Armando’s fingertips began to tingle and pulse. The light shimmers on the canvas. His whole body surged with orgasmic waves as he brushed on lines and points with medium blue to create a geometrical form—the lines of light between the stars of a new constellation. I see connections between the stars. As he brushed on more lines faster and faster, the form crackled in his brain and became three-dimensional. After adding touches of paint here and there, he used a thicker brush washed in gray to flesh out the form. He lowered his paintbrush. It is done, can’t touch it again. I must let it rest. My god, this took only an hour and the solstice is already past.
Armando was electrified as he walked away from the canvas. He sat down at a small round table to drink Bordeaux and appraise the abstract image. As he responded to its power, a palpable magnetic field surrounded his body. I’m ready; I will have sex with her, the only reason to paint a beautiful woman. He brought out his larger palette of flesh tones, umbers, and reds while sucking air deeply into his lungs. Returning again to the table with the wine, he placed her photo on the table, studied it for a moment, closed his eyes and then fell into stillness. Once his awareness was centered in the deepest recesses of his cranium, his eyes popped open to stare at the photo, blurring its outline. Using his knowledge of color and anatomy, he visualized Sarah nude on the divan. I want the unabridged essence—rose-pink skin, hard dark nipples, deep brown and red flowing curls, soft brown hair between her legs, deep red lips and vital green eyes. She is a miracle of vibrant flesh colors. She glows slightly redder than the dewy sheen of the leather divan. The blue dress crumpled to the floor.
The curves of the staircase sail her body into motion as she quivers with desire. My body presses on hers—the two of us on the divan, my penis like the curve of the spiral. Armando was so aroused that his chest heaved while his diaphragm sucked in and out. He was tempted to go over to the door and masturbate at the same place where she had stood some weeks ago when he first kissed her, but then he would lose the painting. Like a dog in heat, he stood up with a throbbing erection and went back to the canvas to begin painting furiously. Making love to her with each stroke, Armando watched the gorgeous nude body on the divan emerge within the initial geometrical form. As he brushed her with his fingers, caressed her with his forearms, and touched his thighs, she impregnated his mind.
Three hours later he finally calmed down and was able to finish the soft detail lines by adding light accents. No wonder I need to be alone when I paint. Exhausted, he sat back down to study his creation, one of his greatest nudes—Summer Giulia.
Sarah was on the wide porch in Boston, enjoying the balmy warm night while peepers and bullfrogs sang to the stars in the nearby pond. Her cell phone rang.
“Hello, Sarah. I’ve just gotten my schedule and I will be back in Rome by mid-July. Can I come up to see you before I go, like weekend after next?” Simon said.
“Of course! Come to our summerhouse in Western Massachusetts near Sheffield, since I’m going out there to see my parents in a few days. It’s closer to New York and is a very special place, the office building of an old quarry my mother’s parents restored. Would you like to come up? I don’t have to check with my parents. You are always welcome and we have plenty of bedrooms.”
Simon said an enthusiastic yes.
A week and a half later Simon was exiting the highway for the private road leading to Sarah’s house. The road ran alongside a quarry pond with steep granite sides dripping with green vines. Every turn in their relationship was a new chapter of a mysterious unfolding story.
What an intriguing place. How in hell did they ever find it? The quarry office was quite small and very close to the side of the drive, just like old stone houses in Wales or Cornwall. They’d transformed the old factory road into a private drive shaded by large pines. The result, Simon thought, was everybody’s dream of a hidden place. The house was fashioned of granite blocks from the quarry, which was now filled with clear rainwater. Rays of light barely penetrated the tall trees, filtering through to sparkle on the water. Simon guessed that there were large bass down there and maybe trout lurking under the ledges.
Parking by the side of the old office, he stopped to admire an enormous and vigorous ancient oak shading the drive. Sarah rushed out to greet him. I’ve never seen her smile quite like this—so eager to see me! She took his hand and drew him through a simple narrow door that admitted light through distorted glass circles in the upper casements. The smooth-cut granite walls were cool and damp, and air moved through the main room out to a screened porch, refreshing the house. Typical of a simple early industrial office, small low-ceilinged rooms opened from one into the next, and deep-set, original twelve-over-twelve windows drew ambient light into the rooms. These rooms would be very dark during the long New England winter, but today they felt cool and refreshing in the summer heat. This house is naturally air-conditioned, he thought as he admired the rough-cut stone floors smoothed by the boots of hard-working men. The old stone floors also reminded him of walking in ancient temples. The décor was complemented by early New England country-style antiques upholstered in beautiful fabric with small flowers and animals. Gleaming old leather books were scattered about. This is a special place.
Sarah studied the sexy outline of his upper lip while he surveyed the cottage, and then she led him back to the large screened porch. “My grandmother restored this in the late 1940s because my grandfather just had to have it. She hated it here at first, but once they dead-ended the road by offering the people behind us better access to another road, she grew to love it. It was a welcome retreat, an escape from the oppressive Catholic social pressures in Boston after the War. It
became my parents’ retreat in the 1980s. My grandfather did a tremendous amount of work on the building, which was worth it because it’s all made of hand-cut stone. Let me show you your room to drop your bag.”
She led him up a steep stone staircase to a narrow upper hall that was open up to the rafters. The rooms were framed on one side only. “This part of the house is not a full story like where my parents and I stay, but it’s cozy up here and guests like it.” She opened the door into a spacious room under the eaves with a dormer as wide as the room. Rusty orange chestnut floors gleamed in the sunlight pouring through the dormer casement windows. Fresh air flowed in through large screens in the window.
“It’s perfect,” he told Sarah. “I’ll sleep very well in this room.” He put his bag by the dresser and followed her back downstairs.
“Well, fancy seeing you here, young man.” William grinned and extended his strong right hand while holding a gin and tonic in his left. “Who’d ever have thought you’d make it all the way from Rome to a quarry house in New England?” he said, laughing and indicating a canvas chair for Simon. “One rule around here is no serious talk, especially about the damned Church. Especially about the pope! You agree, Mary?”
Mary smiled warmly. For a second time, her cornflower blue eyes triggered “Irish Eyes Are Smiling” in Simon’s brain. Gallantly taking her hand, he held it to his lips and softly kissed it.
“Oh, how charming!” she said. “I’m so happy to see you again, and happy to have you visit us here. We are here most of the summer because we have to close it for the rest of the year. We cherish this place. You’d be shocked by how much stone came out of this quarry to supply New England for two hundred years. Will you be taking him swimming, Sarah?” Sarah nodded, so Mary continued. “Ours is the most exquisite swimming I’ve ever experienced. It is the most beautiful and clear swimming pool in the world!”
After they ate a tray of sandwiches and salad on the porch, the afternoon heat became oppressive. Simon changed into his swimsuit and met Sarah to head for the other side of the quarry on a path through the woods. At the edge of the quarry were deep rock ledges that functioned like stairs into the pond. Sarah explained that they had been carved out during the final phase of the stone cutting. She stood on a ledge and stepped out of the loose beige cover-up she wore over her bikini. She is like a fine, tawny gazelle.
Simon was so busy trying to cover up his own peeking that he didn’t notice she was boldly studying his body. Simon is fit, wiry, strong, graceful like a well-bred racehorse—a male body I like. As they dove into the cool water, their heated skin shivered and contracted. Daringly they swam and dove deeper into where it was really cold. “How refreshing,” he said as they drifted toward the middle where they could see the house on the other side.
She swam with strong, sure strokes, stretching her limbs to warm them as her body temperature cooled off in the icy water. “Yes, I’ve never found a better place to swim in my life. Nobody knows about it except the local kids who sneak in when we’re not around. It has been a favorite swimming hole for a hundred years, so we don’t mind, since the ‘No Trespassing’ signs protect us from liability. Every summer my parents have a party and invite the members of the Sheffield historical society, who appreciate them because they saved it. Imagine if a developer had gotten it.”
They swam for a long time in the delicious water, but they eventually got cold and returned to the ledge. She climbed out ahead of him and warmed her back in the sun while rubbing her hair with a towel. He strode up the rock stairs, took her right arm to get her attention, and then gently turned her so that she faced him. “Don’t worry, I am not going to say anything but I’m going to do something.”
Water drops glistened on his face and chest as she engaged his determined dark eyes. I really like his ways. In slow motion, he moved both hands up to her face and kissed her for a second time as she allowed her body to slide into his. This time she felt the energy in his lower body when he pulled her very close. Her nipples hardened in response.
She became acutely conscious of her skimpy bikini and dripping skin, so she moved her hands and arms to his chest to gently separate their bodies as he caressed her lower back down low. Achingly stimulated by his bare arms and chest covered with black curly hair, she laughed joyfully, feeling palpable vibrations coursing through her warming body. She felt free. I’m wildly attracted to him. Her excited eyes challenged him as he struggled to keep his eyes and hands off her incredible body. She said sweetly, “You make me so happy!” Then he watched her turn to walk up the path, remembering what his father had said about her search for freedom, freedom from sexual restriction. Right now, he could tell she felt free, but how long would it last? What if she got hurt?
After dinner, William said, “You like to play games, like Monopoly or bridge, Simon? Or would you like to work on a puzzle that has me stumped?”
Simon was in a great mood after the swim and a languorous afternoon nap. He was feeling closer to William, who was the key to protecting Sarah, so he was willing to play any game. Mary broke in, “We play a lot of games out here because there isn’t much else to do in the evening.” I can think of a few other things I wouldn’t mind doing tonight, he mused as Mary went to get the Monopoly set. They all moved to the dining room table and soon were throwing dice, pulling cards, watching the bank, buying property, and laughing. William said, “People have been playing this game since the Great Depression when this quarry finally closed.” A few hours went by and then the poignant call of a loon echoing off the quarry walls and a night owl hooting in a nearby pine tree reminded them it was time to sleep. As Sarah drifted off, she could feel Simon’s nearness in the house and wished she could hear him breathing. I like having him nearby. I wonder if he’s thinking about me? I’m tempted to sneak down the hall and open his door. Just as that thought passed through her mind, William knocked softly on her door. “Good night, Sarah.”
“Good night, Daddy.”
The next morning as Simon came quietly down the narrow back stairs, he heard loud voices coming from the kitchen. I wonder if somebody is having a fight? He slipped noiselessly out to the screened porch and sat down in a rocking chair. William was ranting in a loud and exasperated voice while Sarah was cooking eggs. “Have you seen the New York Times yet? I can’t believe both things happened on the same day!”
“And right after the solstice, I might add,” Sarah muttered as she flipped eggs over easy.
Her father fumed, “This is total crap! It’s one thing to convict the perpetrators, but another thing to convict a Church official, a Monsignor no less, in one of the largest archdioceses. Philadelphia no less! Why should Monsignor Lynn get all the goddamned blame, since Cardinal Bevilacqua was the one who passed the buck around. Of course, the cardinal conveniently died before he got blamed for anything. I feel sorry for Father Lynn. This is crap!”
My god, Simon thought out on the porch. They must have found Monsignor Lynn guilty of allowing that abuser priest back into a parish. Simon knew the story. A priest had been reinstated by Monsignor Lynn after he had been suspected of abuse; he cornered a terrified ten-year-old boy and then went after more kids. His conviction would be a milestone, the first time American courts convicted a prominent Catholic prelate for allowing known sexual predators to have access to children.
“Ahhhh! What in hell was going on yesterday—solstice schmolstice?” fumed William. “Jerry Sandusky convicted on the same day, almost at the same time for multiple counts of sexual abuse of young boys at Penn State! Who would believe that? I’m sure you’re thrilled about it, Sarah, Simon too, but, this is a simultaneous breakdown in our best institutions—sports and the Church.”
“Well, Daddy,” she retorted, cutting him off. “The situation in the Philadelphia Archdiocese was horrendous for years; you know it as well as anybody. It was a seething sex pit, a virtual torture chamber. The parishioners were terrified of the clergy, and the clergy didn’t care. They still don’t care! Somet
hing had to happen, somebody had to blow the whistle. And as for the coach, I’ve been so sickened by what he did to a little boy in a shower that I can’t sleep at night. The reports have gotten to be so graphic that hideous visual images are stuck in my brain. His wife acts like a pious zombie, yet obviously she knew what he was doing. One of his adopted sons claims that Sandusky abused him for seven years! It looks like they adopted kids so he could use them! This guy was a monster, and somebody had to stop it. The torture of innocent children must cease; I don’t care what it takes! I’m happy to hear this news. They should revive Alcatraz and put them all in there together!”
Their voices drifted to a halt while Simon stayed out on the porch. The solstice part is what intrigues me, since the solstice is reputed to be the awakening of the goddess. Maybe women have finally gotten enough power to end this torture. Solstice 2012—maybe this 2012 end-of-the-world thing is about ending sexual abuse? What a wacko idea! When deep abuse is exposed, we are getting someplace! William must be very worried about how this will affect his archdiocese.
Sunday was not easy at the Adamson quarry house, but they all got through it. By evening, both Sarah and Simon had read the article that had set William off. Mary and William were having wine on the porch, so Simon and Sarah went for a long walk on the back quarry road behind the town.
Simon took her hand and said, “Justice may come! I didn’t think exposing the truth would matter. I thought the best I could do was help some people see what was going on and protect their kids. Really, this is an amazingly positive outcome, the sort of thing that renews my hopes. How about you?”
Revelations of the Ruby Crystal Page 15
