Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play

by Sydney Jamesson

  As we approach, I see she has a small netbook open and just visible is our book launch photograph and news story. She’s checking Ayden out. My animosity towards this woman peaks; every nerve in my body is super-charged. She has brains and beauty and ambition. What a very challenging set of attributes to be faced with.

  Up close I assess her; she must be around five nine, hazelnut hair and matching eyes, framed by long dark lashes. When she stands, she has legs which are disproportionately long for her height. Her jeans must be made to measure and her coffee coloured T shirt, well, it’s indecently clingy. I take an instant dislike to her and, it’s not surprising: her middle name is Temptation.

  Ayden reaches out for her hand, “Signorina Magnani, I assume?”

  “Ah yes, Mr. Stone, what a pleasure to meet you, I’m Cara.” By the way she greets Ayden, I realise something: I’m about to meet my second adversary. With seductive eyes, she assesses him at the speed of light. I break her concentration by offering her my hand.

  “Signorina Magnani, I’m Miss Parker, Beth. I believe you will be conducting our tour today?”

  “Of course. Good morning. Are you ready?”

  Don’t I look ready, I’m wearing a hat and a jacket, surely that’s a big enough clue?

  “I think we are,” Ayden interjects, fixing me with an inquisitive stare.

  “Sure, why not?” I turn and lead the way towards the reception. Cara raises her hand and wafts an instruction to the doorman to bring the car around.

  “It is over three kilometres to the Colosseo, so we will take the car. Please ...” She holds out her perfectly manicured hand to Ayden. “Your limousine is outside Mr. Stone.”

  Yes, we all know it’s his car.

  In a gentlemanly fashion Ayden allows me to enter the car first. I wonder if it’s so he can sit between us but when she opens the other door and sits up front, I treat myself to a grateful smile. This is probably one of those rare occasions when I’m happy to sit back and let Ayden’s condescension keep the congenial Cara in her place.

  He leans across to me and takes my hand. “Ok?”

  “Sure, I’m looking forward to seeing the sights, aren’t you?”

  He gives my hand a squeeze. “I mean are you ok?”

  From the way he’s tipping down his chin, he must be referring to our post breakfast, fast and furious fuck.

  I mirror his sensuous stare and slip my thumb nail between my teeth. “Why wouldn’t I be? I-Belong-To-You.”

  He takes my thumb from my mouth but cannot hold-off on a sexy smile. “Yes you do.”

  Here I sit with a neat pile of hands on my lap, trying to suppress a giggle. This is going to be an interesting day.

  ***

  The tour gets underway with the monumental Colosseum; the four storey structure is in the heart of piazza del Colosseo, it stands before us at the end of a wide road, surrounded by popular trees. It’s bigger than I imagined and the sunlight on the brickwork creating shadows and crevices, adds to its charm. Cara escorts us over to the entrance, by-passing the queue of impatient tourists. She shows the security man her pass and we make our way beneath the arches and take a step back in time.

  “It was built in 80AD and could house over 50,000 people who came to watch the gladiators’ battles. Sometimes beast were introduced to ...”

  And on she goes with more dates, statistics and smiles when all I want to say it “arrivederci!” The best part is the photo opportunities; Ayden has his phone and I have my digital camera and we never stop clicking.

  One kilometre down Via dei Fori Imperiali, sits the massive ruins of the Roman Forum, the once corporate heart of the city. The mighty pillars stand tall and imposing but make for stunning photographs. Thankfully, Cara has less to say and leaves us to wander, climb and imagine how it must have looked in its prime.

  Twelve long minutes away is Capitoline Hill along the Piazza del Camidoglio, the headquarters of current day Italian Government. These three stunning buildings, dating back to the 16th century, were designed by Michelangelo; including the impressive Cordonata, the staircase leading from the bottom of the hill to the beautiful square. It is adorned with granite statues of Egyptian lions at the foot and two large classical statues of Castor and Pollux at the top: a perfect backdrop for more remarkable photographs.

  With weary feet and only half way through our tour, we reach the Pantheon. It’s a glorious temple to the Gods which goes back to 27BC. Sixteen pink granite columns welcome us into the vestibule, antique bronze doors try but can’t hold back time or the hundreds of tourists flooding through to inspect the tombs of ancient kings and queens. The dome opens up and what a breath-taking sight. To think, over the past 2,000 years, countless feet have walked exactly where we’re walking. The scent of the multitude clings to the ancient stones like lichen. The building is a feat of engineering and a memorable sight for us both.

  Cara takes our photograph and I sense she’s wishing our roles were reversed. Thankfully, Ayden suggests a coffee break. I suspect his phone is vibrating in his pocket and he needs to attend to it but, whatever his reason, I welcome it. Cara knows just the place.

  The Tempio Bar overlooks the Pantheon and could be considered our half way house. I order caffè con panna for Ayden and I before heading off to powder my nose. I want a couple of minutes to myself.

  It’s been a while since I’ve experienced the noise and fervour of a foreign city; our boat hole has been a wonderful sanctuary. Here there are so many distractions, not least of all Signorina Magnani. Ayden has absolutely no interest in her but, I have to confess, she does disturb the peace. It must be difficult for her too, she can’t have met many multi-millionaire, former playboys who look like him. Having said that, this tour would be so much better without her. My challenge is coming up with a justifiable reason to send her packing, without appearing like a jealous bitch. Something will come to me.

  The toilets are adequate and I wash my hands and check myself. I look ok, just ok. Time to raise my game. A dash of mascara and lipgloss is as much as I can do, without looking like I’ve made too much of an effort. I don’t want her to think I feel threatened by her ample bosom and seductive smile. This really is something I will have to get used to. Ayden is doing nothing wrong, other than looking utterly irresistible.

  I weave my way through the cafe, stopping in my tracks when I see her leaning across the table, coveting another woman’s lover. My lover. I can’t see her face but her body language speaks volumes. I shift my gaze to Ayden. He’s responding with his polite smile, deploying it with the precision of a guided missile, but she couldn’t possibly know that. She’s mistaking it for weakness or responsiveness: poor Cara, if only she knew. I stand and keep watch, he doesn’t need rescuing, he’s in his element. Women like Cara are his specialty.

  He is pretending to read a map of Rome when I return. Immediately Cara’s back straightens and she adheres it to the rear of her chair. Our coffees arrive and Ayden sticks his finger into the whipped cream and gives me the look, but I have no inclination to play. I need my wits about me. I launch a ‘don’t you dare’ stare and look away. He licks the foam off his finger slowly while I roll my eyes reprovingly and watch him stifle an intimate smile. I know what you’re doing Mr. P.

  Cara moves away to the right of us but not out of ear shot. “Please excuse me, I have to make a call. Enjoy your coffee.” While Ayden checks his texts and emails on his phone, I listen in and what an entertaining piece of banter it is.

  Even with my limited knowledge of the language, I get the gist: “un magnifico milionario... (a magnificent millionaire) molto semplice (very plain) ... Mi piace (I like)... Io gli do il mio numero.(Giving him my number)

  I’ve heard enough and have all the ammunition I need. I take out my phone and turn to Ayden, “There’s a lovely restaurant I’d like to visit, it has rave reviews and a great lunch menu. Shall we go?”

  He looks a little puzzled. “Now?”

  “No, it’s near the Spanish Steps
, where our tour ends. I have the number here, I found it on the internet before we came.” I scroll down my contacts and find the number for Nero. I touch his knee and lean over to him. “Do you want to play?” I lift my brows.

  “Does it involve the soon to be leaving Signorina Magnani?”

  “It does. Watch her face.”

  “If I must.” He grins cheekily, making me even more determined to go ahead with my devious plan.

  She seats herself. “Mi scusi. Are you ready to see the wonderful Fontana Di Trevi?”

  “Not quite, give me a moment. I have to make a call.” I remain seated and punch in the local number.” Ayden places his thumb and forefinger around his chin in quiet contemplation; he’s taking great delight in watching me execute my plan.

  An elderly gentleman answers on the fourth ring. “Ciao, Vorrei un tavolo per due per favore.(Hello, I would like a table for two please.) Per le due e mezza per favore. (For two thirty, please)

  In nome di Parker. Grazie.” (In the name of Parker. Thank you.)

  I return my phone to my bag, and focus on Cara. She cannot hide her embarrassment. She realises I understood her less than complementary conversation with her friend: game set and match, I think Signorina Magnani.

  Ayden stands unexpectedly and towers over me in my chair; he places his hands on the wrought iron arms and tips me back slightly. I can’t help but look up at him. What the hell is he doing?

  With his lips touching my left ear, he whispers. “I’m so fucking hot for you right now.”

  When he straightens up, my heart is fluttering and I’m blushing like a schoolgirl. He never makes public displays of affection, but what a perfect time to start.

  So everyone can hear, including our ex-guide, he says, “Ti adoro.” And kisses me so gently I think I may have imagined it. When I open my eyes he’s gone. I straighten out my clothes and regain my senses.

  I turn to Cara. I do believe her mouth is open. “You see Miss Magnani, you were wrong. He does like his women plain.”

  She has no answer for that and quickly looks away.

  Ayden returns, drains his caffe don panna and speaks directly to her. “Thank you for your services Miss Magnani, we won’t be needing your assistance further. I’m sure with Miss Parker’s Italian and my map reading skills we will be able to complete the tour on our own.” He turns to me and reaches out his hand. “You can contact my office via the hotel. Bill me.” Dismissively, he turns his back to her and we walk away.

  I turn and see her beauty fade, ever so slightly, and then she is lost forever in the crowd.

  He wraps his right arm around my shoulders and prepares to speak “That manoeuvre was a tour de force Miss Parker, I couldn’t have done it better myself. She made a serious error of judgement.”

  I nod and keep my triumphant thoughts to myself.

  “She under-estimated my little genie.” He kisses my cheek. “Where are we going, any idea?”

  I reach into my bag and lift out a small leather case. “I have my Sat Nav, we can use this.”

  “Great.” He stands and watches me fire it up and, after an extended session of screen pointing, lead us in what I assume is the right direction.

  Considering the Trevi Fountain is only supposed to be five minutes away, 30 minutes later we find it, having had a slight detour. In the middle of a very small square, over-crowded with tourists, stands Neptune in his chariot, being led by the Titans and sea horses. The baroque ensemble is spectacular and such a remarkable piece of sculptural engineering. I love it, even more so as we get to experience it together.

  Ayden has me posing for photographs and I turn this way and that, tip my hat, take a bow; he stretches out his arm and pulls me in close and tickles me at the same time. I must look as if I’ve lost my mind, but I don’t care. I turn the tables on him but he’s way too cool to pose. Instead he simply looks in my direction, peeps over his Ray-Bans and steals the show. Just as I predicted, the camera loves him, and so do I.

  We conclude the tour with, what on the Sat Nav appears to be a short walk to the Piazza di Spagna where the Spanish Steps are located: one of the most photographed tourist attractions in the city. The 138 steps leave me gasping for breath but Ayden doesn’t even break a sweat. I hardly have the strength to hold up my camera but he clicks away and I rest on the wall for five minutes. He wanders off to take a look at the church and I find my second wind before looking for him.

  When I reach the top of the steps and look around, he’s nowhere to be seen amidst the jostling crowds of people. I keep looking and happen to spot a swathe of black hair in the middle of a group of young Italian women.

  From what I can deduce, they’ve asked him to take their photograph, thinking and assuming with his chiselled featured, athletic build and engaging blue-green eyes that he’s Italian. Now they have him cornered, surrounded on all sides unable to escape. I lean against the wall, fold my arms and watch him do what he does best: charm them, even though he doesn’t speak a single word of Italian. He speaks the universal language and actual words are unnecessary when you have a smile like that. One of them, an outrageously good looking woman of around 22, with auburn hair and a husky voice is asking him to go with her for a coffee. She is insisting. Does he need rescuing? I think so.

  I stroll over, feeling the need to prize my ‘husband’ away from her audacious grip. “Mi scusi se mi credete avete attesa di mio marito.” She instantly lets go of his arm and apologises. As I take him by the arm and lead him away, one of his admirers calls out to me.

  “Siete molto fortunati donna.”

  She’s right. I am a very lucky woman.

  Ayden is unruffled, but a little put-out. “God damn women, they were like a pack of wolves, couldn’t get away from them and didn’t have a clue what they were saying.”

  “Oh, my poor Mr. P. I think you know exactly what they were saying.” I smile, focusing my attention on the steps as we descend.

  He says nothing and doesn’t have to, his smirk says it all.

  One hundred and thirty eight steps later, we reach ground zero and turn to look back. The Spanish Steps really are quite striking, but more fun than historically significant. I, for one, had a lot of fun.

  To the left of them is a famous Museum. “Look where we’ve ended up Ayden, exactly where we started.” The thought of it takes me back to our first meeting, making me feel suddenly very reflective: how far we’ve come.

  I point over to the pink and white stripped building. “It’s the Keats’ Museum. Do you want to go in?”

  “Have we time?”

  “No, not really. Our meal is booked for two thirty and it’s twenty past. What a pity, you being a Romantics man too.”

  “That’s me.” He pulls me to him by my collar and looks down at me for longer than is comfortable.

  “What?”

  “I just want to take a minute to look at you. ‘Beauty is truth, truth beauty, - that is all you know on earth, and all you need to know.”

  “Hello Mr. Keats.” I take his face in my hands and on tiptoe, kiss him softly. Never has a quote been so fitting to a time and place. I feel his hands grasping mine and my arms being outstretched into a flying position. Passers-by step aside, giving us space.

  He doesn’t have to say anything, but he prepares to. “You stir my soul Miss Parker.” He releases my arms and lifts me off my feet, so our faces are level. “Ti adoro.”

  “I adore you too Ayden.” Overwhelmed by his declaration of love, I fight back tears and match his passionate kiss with my own. The noise around us fades, time stands still, all we have is each other and it’s everything. He lowers me onto my feet. Feeling a torrent of emotion, I look anywhere but at him.

  I hand my camera to a very trustworthy looking English tourist. She’s plainly dressed in sensible shoes. The perfect candidate. “Just click away,” I tell her as we turn this way and that, leaving her to capture our merriment in each frame. I give thanks and realise the time.

  “We’d better
head off to Nero, we’ve only got a couple of minutes.” With tears gathering, I search his face and see nothing but undying love for me, forcing me to stifle a cough and lick my lips. I’m moved beyond words.

  “Come on, I think I know where Via Borgognona is.” He takes hold of my hand, kisses my knuckles and leads me in what I expect, for the first time since leaving the Pantheon, is the right direction.

  ***

  Nero’s is everything it professed to be; behind the terracotta coloured frontage lies a family run restaurant which has played host to the likes of Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt, but that’s not why we’re here. The ambience is calm and old-worldly; walls panelled with dark wood, mellow yellow walls and champagne coloured table cloths.

  An elderly waiter dressed in a smart, white shirt and jacket beckons us to our table in a quiet corner, sensing our need for privacy and seclusion. I ask what he recommends and we go with that, why not? Everything is supposed to be good here. Besides, I don’t think I can sit and watch Ayden dissect what is already a very simple, traditional menu. Instead, I hand him the wine list and he opts for a bottle of Barolo Acclive and, of course, water to keep me cool.

  We agree to share our spicy, garlic flavoured starters: Roman artichokes and marinated aubergines with a portion of sauted porcini. The main course is a revelation: osso bucco with mashed potato for Ayden and cannelinni beans, tagliatelle bolognese for me. The combination of old world charm and a typically Tuscan cuisine makes for a lovely meal. We have barely enough room for dessert but the castagnaccioa, chestnut cake is too good to ignore and we order one portion and request “due cucchiai.” The two spoons arrive and we devour what is probably the best cake in the world.