He brushed his lips lightly on her forehead while he mastered his breath by clenching his hands into fists. Then he just held her while she rested her head in the crook of his taut neck. She detected what he was trying to hide and wanted to reach for it. Without saying a word, they both sat down at the little table.
In a voice so quiet Simon had to strain to hear it, Sarah said, “You will never know how much your patience means to me. I have so much to do right now, and I have to focus. It is a joy to think of the wonderful times we’re going to have here.” For a third time, he penetrated her eyes with new intensity, then his mind snapped with an insight, as if something had reached into his brain and grabbed him. I knew her a long time ago! But when, where? Why am I so determined to protect her, to watch over her?
She looked away into the courtyard. I’m beginning to think I will marry him. In fact, I think I will. Maybe I will marry him just because he knows how to let me have my own time, my own space.
The air was sultry on Shelter Island that September. The beach smelled of rotting kelp and salty clams after three days of dead calm—hurricane weather. Close to midnight Simon’s parents relaxed in Adirondack chairs with firm canvas cushions. Rose enjoyed a tart 2004 Malbec from Chile while David smoked a small hand-rolled joint, rather unusual behavior in the Appel house in recent years. Excessive humidity and the mirror-flat sea were boring, but tonight’s conversation was not.
“I heard from Simon late this afternoon, and he seems to be very happy,” David said, expelling the sweet smoke from deep inside his lungs. “He loves his wild apartment; Sarah does too. It sounds too Baroque to me, too gushy, high Italian, but the balcony over an interior courtyard would make the place for me.”
“I still can’t believe what you told me about your conversation with Simon. Knowing my son, I’m surprised he’s so enamored with a virgin. Who did you even know who was a virgin past age twenty-one? Anybody?” Rose said.
“Certainly not you! But I wasn’t looking for that by the time I found you. I don’t think that has anything to do with why he is so taken with her. In fact, I think he wishes it weren’t an issue. But I think this is the first time he’s fallen deeply in love. They have a lot in common through work, she’s lovely, he enjoys her family, and we both like her. That’s a pretty good score these days.” He took a deep drag on the joint, feeling a warm, fuzzy tingling above his eyebrows. “I mean, hell, she could have pewter nose rings, purple hair, a dragon tattoo, and black mesh stockings with a skirt up to her ass!”
Rose chuckled, wondering whether David had told her everything about his conversation with Simon. She was happy her son and husband shared frankly with each other, but he often left her out. “Do you think she’s frigid? Or maybe she’s a lesbian and hasn’t figured it out yet? She didn’t seem cold when she was here, but, I mean, she is twenty-five years old! She should have had at least three good lovers by now, especially considering her looks! Come on, David, you’ve talked to him. What does he say? I am going to get worried if Simon is this much in love and then gets rejected over sex they haven’t even had. Is this the way Catholics act now? When I was in college, most of the Catholic girls were more sluttish than the Jewish girls, and that was saying something! The Jewish girls really liked sex once they started. The Catholic girls were easy lays, then they felt guilty until the next time.”
David was really stoned, a great way to feel on a sultry evening in late summer. Images of hot sex flowed through his mind while he listened to Rose. He replied, “Wellllll, maybe she doesn’t want the guilt; maybe that’s why. But she is human and he’s a very hot guy, a man that any smart woman would love to have. So now that he has his own apartment, I bet this won’t last long. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten how it was with us. You behaved a lot better than most of the girls I dated, didn’t give in for weeks. I was impressed by that and thought you must be somebody.” He smiled lazily. “But I know your story. You used to get laid on the first night if you liked a guy, but then you changed when you wanted to get married. You wanted respect when I met you, so you caught my attention in the middle of a string of easy girls. But you didn’t hold out once you were sure about me. And all these years later, I’m still hot for you, which shows how great good sex can be.”
David always talked a lot when he was stoned and Rose was all ears. Even after all these years, she still found out new things about him. He went on, “You made me wait until I was thinking about fucking Margaret Mary McGuire just to offload my horns. I think you sensed it because I will never forget the night you just led me upstairs when everybody was gone in the house you were staying in for the summer. I can still remember every single moment of that night, the night when I went deeper and deeper into you until I lost myself. It must have been hours!”
He was making her feel warm and fuzzy, as did the wine and the aroma of marijuana. “Yes, something just came over me. I just had to have you even if it meant you’d drop me. All my strategies ended when you kissed me in the hallway. As soon as you embraced me that night, it was over. It was a wonderful first love with you, an incredible way to find the person you want to spend your life with. I want Simon to have that. I want him to have a woman he loves.”
While Rose spoke, David was seeing a slim woman with long hair walking down a long stone hallway with a man at the end watching her approach. Simon was standing in a round temple with large columns. The woman was very young, just a girl. She walked to Simon with her eyes raised up to his face and handed him a sprig of laurel tied with a soft red wool tie. She knelt, then rose and turned around, and he watched her go back down the hallway. David knew the girl was Sarah. “I think she’s the one for him, Rose, I really do. I can feel things. She isn’t frigid. She is very spiritual, so she struggles with the ugliness and tawdriness of the world. Something in her is keeping her from giving herself. Maybe she’s afraid of losing her spiritual qualities, and Simon doesn’t want to take anything from her.
He carefully snuffed out the joint and placed it in a nearby ashtray. “What I haven’t told you because I didn’t want you to worry is that Simon is worried about another guy, a Roman aristocrat who is hot after her. He feels like the guy is dangerous because he’s older and very sophisticated. He’s afraid the guy will do anything to get her. That’s why I wanted to support him by releasing some of his inheritance, to let him start making a home to show Sarah he’s ready to settle down, be in things for the long term. I think he’s right about that guy, and I also think he is going to be in a battle over her very soon.”
“Well, if that’s what is going on, Simon will win. He always gets what he wants when he’s determined.” Rose sighed. “If she were Jewish, I’d feel better. I know he’s had trouble with the families of non-Jewish girls he dated. Her family really seems to like him though, so I think he will win out. Any girl who gets him is lucky. Some other guy is not going to outfox Simon,” she said emphatically.
“Only time will tell,” David replied. He eyed her wickedly. “Let’s go to bed.”
17
The Lady of Villa Giulia
Once again Sarah admired the Tuscan landscape as they came up the drive to Castel Vetulonia. She felt peculiar as they drove through the arched entry. I wonder if I’m making a mistake? Guido parked in the back and said she could go right to the library for refreshments before lunch. Not quite ready, she first went up the wide staircase to her room, relieved not to see anyone right away. As she quietly closed the bedroom door, the beautiful old room welcomed her again. She splashed cold water on her face, touched up her lipstick and eye makeup, smoothed her pants, and then went over to the tower window to see the view she remembered so well. A bouquet of white roses dusted by a touch of pink perched on the dresser. She went to smell them and noticed the card signed, “Joyful to be with you again, Armando.” A sense of unease spread through her. Was he in my room this morning?
When Sarah came into the library, the family was in front of the tall mantle. Noting her arrival with a catl
ike knowing smile, Armando had already registered the exact moment she’d stepped into the back hall. Standing by his father, he appraised her as she approached his mother for greetings. Pietro took in her beauty as an experienced gentleman. Her fair Celtic skin had a becoming touch of summer color.
Armando’s dark eyes caught hers as she went to Matilda to take her hand. There is a new complexity in her face. What happened this summer?
“Oh, Sarah, how kind of you to come,” gushed Matilda. “Was the drive comfortable? Guido always gets people here on time. You look lovely as always. You glow.”
“Thank you, the drive was easy and comfortable, and I’m so happy to be here in Tuscany with you.” She kissed Matilda lightly on each cheek while Matilda sniffed the aroma of summer roses. I must ask her about her perfume. Matilda and Sarah turned to Armando and Pietro by the fireplace. Sarah took Pietro’s wizened hand while he kissed her on both cheeks, dusting her face with his mustache. Then she turned to face Armando. He grasped her bare upper arms firmly, saying, “Welcome to our home again, Sarah. It is so kind of you to come visit us on such short notice.”
As he held her below her shoulders, she glanced into his intense dark eyes. I have forgotten how handsome and striking he is, so magnetic. He projected fire into her groin, outrageously violating her. She experienced vertigo as the room swirled wildly around her body. Matilda stared at them, thinking, What a well-matched attractive couple; they will steal the show in Rome.
He wore a rumpled honey-colored linen suit with his fine white linen shirt casually unbuttoned half way down to a black Florentine leather belt. She glimpsed blue-black, shiny chest hair and detected the pungent odor of patchouli and lavender as he smiled an enigmatic, partial smile.
Sarah blurted out, “I’ve come to see the painting. Can we all see it before lunch? Oh, Armando, thank you for the lovely roses.”
This uncharacteristic demand and abruptness intrigued Matilda, but of course the painting was the subject at hand.
“Ah, Sarah, my darling, not so easy yet,” Armando said, reaching for a crystal tumbler of scotch on the mantle. “First, what will you have before lunch?” He signaled to a maid as soon as she said white wine, and then he replied. “Since you are my subject, first you must view it with me alone and then we will see it with my parents. These are my rules.”
“Oh, Armando, you are giving us all such a difficult time,” his mother broke in. “I can’t imagine why we all can’t just see the painting!”
“Mother, dear, as Sarah has discovered, there is a hidden reality in my work, and she is one of the few who sees it. I don’t want anyone else to see her likeness before she discovers its hidden reality. Then anybody can see it,” declared the artist. “After lunch, Sarah, will you come to my studio with me?”
Of course there was nothing else she could do but agree, so Pietro offered a toast to the first viewing to come after lunch, and they clicked their glasses in front of the fireplace. They shared a wonderful lunch of slightly warmed fresh vegetables right out of the garden and milk-fed veal in a white sauce spiced with rosemary. After finishing with lemon sherbet and Pietro’s aged grappa, the time had come. Walking into the great hall entrance of the castle and glancing up the curving stairs, Armando said, “After such a long drive, would you first like a nap?”
She felt really peculiar. She could just say yes, go up the stairs, and lie down to collect herself. But she was so curious about the painting she replied, “No, thank you, Armando. I really want to see it now, so may we?”
They climbed the many stairs to the top of the ancient tower and pushed the heavy door open. It was hot, so he took off his linen jacket while indicating a chair for her by a small table. He got up on a ladder to open the dormer windows to the north while she looked around the studio. She noticed an easel holding a covered canvas. That must be the painting. There was a dark red velvet divan to the far right of the painting that resembled a psychiatrist couch. I wonder if he uses that thing for posing nude models? He walked past the canvas and sat down on the second chair by the little table. “I have some really good Chianti up here. Would you like to share some with me before I pull the cloth? Perhaps you will be less nervous if we have wine?”
“No,” she said. “It would be too much for me since we had grappa after lunch.” He brought a ruby red bottle with a single glass as she said, “Should I close my eyes?”
“First I want to talk,” he said, putting his glass down and leaning back in his chair. He was breathing deeply while tensing his fine arm muscles. “Sarah, this moment means more to me than you may realize. I cannot do this unless you understand that I care for you; I care for you very much.”
Sitting primly in the rickety old wooden chair, Sarah felt heat rise in her lower spine into her middle back and warm her chest. Armando was intrigued by the subtle shades of pink flushing her cheeks like the touch of pink in the white roses in her room. She turned to him, looking boldly into his eyes as if she wanted an answer from him. Putting one arm on the table with her hand turned up as if she had something for him, she asked, “Exactly what do you mean?”
After a long pause, he said, “Well, I did not paint you exactly as you were in June; I painted you as a woman. You have to understand this before I show it to you. When I say I care for you, I, ah . . . “ As he struggled to express himself, her anxiety grew. Why doesn’t he just say what he wants to say? I can’t imagine what he is getting at. Why is he so nervous?
Armando went on. “I care for you, deeply. I’m old enough to know what I want and I can offer you more than most women could ever imagine—a life of outrageous beauty if it is what you want. But for now, this painting and what you find in it is important to me, my first attempt with you. Forgive my poor English. Because this matters so much to me, will you grant me one important request, only one?”
Hmmmm. I forget that he speaks four languages, no wonder he expresses himself so awkwardly sometimes. Still, I can’t figure out what he’s after. Something odd is going on. It seems silly to be afraid of him, especially since his parents are so nearby. Funny, sometimes he seems so immature. Though she sensed she could be making a mistake, she replied in a firm voice, “Of course I can honor one important request before we view the painting.”
“All right. Will you promise me that no matter what you see, you will study the painting long enough to detect its hidden meaning? That is all I ask of you.”
“I will. After all, that is what I am looking for. But before that, you still have not answered my question. What are you trying to say about caring for me? How can I grasp the hidden meaning in the painting without understanding what you are trying to say? If you care for me in a way that I cannot return, then this adventure ends right now and I should go.” Her muscles were sending flight signals into her brain.
“Then I will tell you something important,” he said, drawing her green eyes into his.
Sarah shifted in her chair. His intensity and neediness were making her nervous.
Armando continued, holding her gaze. “If you can see below the surface of this painting and I believe you can, then you will discover your essence. Finding this pearl will mean more to you than anything in your life. I found you by painting you. I found something you will never discover without me showing it to you.” As he spoke, he pulled his male power into his root by flexing his inner thigh muscles. This power penetrated her sacrum, making her feel caught.
Poised on the tightrope suspended between her long-forgotten feminine mystery and the self-control she devoutly practiced, she was ready to fall into a dark zone of awareness that was much richer emotionally than anything she’d ever felt. I am Persephone in Hades. This pulsing, throbbing dark place resonated in her parasympathetic nerves when she detected the hook in her groin. Armando’s eyes rip me open, revealing corridors of dark broken mirrors that reflect moonlight. Danger! She replied in a shaky low voice, “I don’t know what to say; I really don’t.” I’m vacant, my mind isn’t working, and something
is being taken away from me just by sitting here. My father is right, my father is right . . . My brain is oceanic, my body thrashes.
His sensual Italian accent crept into the back of her skull, “Sarah. Do you know how beautiful you are, that every man in the room wants to see as much of you as they can? That is my enigma, my, ah, intrigue. When I paint a home, a woman, or a tree, I show its essence, but only if I have grasped its true beauty first. I have to strip away everything to find the center. You’ve discovered this in my work, which is why I want to offer my life to you. But first I had to find your center, your essence. Your surface beauty made it nearly impossible to get into that deeper part of you, but I did. I found the place you can discover only with me. To find you, there was only one way I could do it. I ask you to accept it, otherwise, you will judge me unfairly.”
The relationship between surface beauty and pure inner spirit had always intrigued her. As he spoke in a soft, mellifluous voice, she knew she was being seduced. When he pulled back and appealed to her highly developed artistic sensibilities, her mind engaged. This afternoon is so tense and difficult. He keeps pulling me down into deep emotional layers, special places I only share with those who allow me to feel safe. But I don’t want to misjudge him. This odd conversation would be over without this shrouded canvas, his bargaining chip, the third person in this conversation. The painting probably knows all about what Armando wants! Her response to his question about her beauty took him completely by surprise. “Armando, I know a lot of people think I am beautiful, but I do not think of myself that way. I am not identified with my surface. I am lucky to have beauty as God’s gift, but I care only about what is in my heart.”
He realized she believed what she said, so he replied, “Well, then, maybe that is why I knew I had to strip away your surface. Maybe your beauty won’t shock you; I hope so. Are you ready to see yourself?” She nodded in assent as he got up to go to the easel. She had expected to be brave and nonchalant about how he’d portrayed her, yet now she found she was afraid. Grandly, like a matador taunting the bull, he whisked off the cloth and stood beside his creation with his cape lowered, waiting for the charge.
Revelations of the Ruby Crystal Page 18
