Absolute Zero_Misadventures From A Broad

by Margaret Lashley

  Compared to the Italians, Friedrich’s body language was less animated. He was stiffer, and more reserved. He spoke their language and appeared confident, but his self-assurance came off more like protective armor than a true personality trait. Still, he looked triumphant when he returned holding two glasses of red wine.

  “Cheers,” he said, handing me the wine. He pointed at his left eye with his left index finger, prompting me to remember the German rule.

  “Ah yes. I must look into your eyes, or –

  “Seven years bad sex!” we said simultaneously. The joke broke the awkward tension between us. We both took a sip of wine, our eyes properly locked. I thought it was funny, but Friedrich appeared to take the whole toasting thing quite seriously. I was about to say something when he seemed to read my thoughts.

  “I have something for you.” Friedrich dug into his backpack.

  “What is it?”

  Ever since receiving his email, I’d tried not to think about what it might be that Friedrich had to give me. Still, my mind had time-and-time-again overruled me. After ridiculous thoughts like the keys to a Ferrari or a villa in Tuscany, I’d finally settled on something reasonable. I figured Friedrich was going to give me jewelry. A necklace, or perhaps a promise ring.

  “Here, this is for you,” he said. He handed me an unwrapped cell phone.

  “Oh,” I said, borrowing a syllable from Berta.

  I reached for it and bumped my glass of wine. It tilted and sloshed a red stain across the white tablecloth.

  “Ooops! I’m sorry. I was just so...surprised.”

  “It is a Technoblast 3800. An unlocked model equipped with an SIM card for Italy.”

  I didn’t understand a thing he’d just said.

  “Gee, thanks. But I already have a cell phone.”

  “With this one, we can keep in touch while you are here.”

  “Oh.”

  “Val, I want to stay in touch. Don’t you?”

  A voice inside the restaurant shouted out something and Friedrich got up and left. I stared at the phone and wondered if I should be disappointed or elated. I felt neither. Just confusion. What was I doing here with him? What did I want?

  Friedrich returned carrying a whole pizza. Hunger erased my train of thought. The gooey, melted mozzarella dotted with bright-green basil leaves was too much for my famished appetite to resist. I grabbed a slice and bit into it. It burned the skin off the roof of my mouth.

  “Ouch!”

  I jettisoned the molten-hot bite of pizza. It knocked over a bottle of olive oil and tumbled across the table, leaving behind greasy, tomato skid marks. Combined with the spilled wine, our romantic table for two looked as if it had been trampled by a hoard of pigs.

  “I’m sorry!”

  Friedrich just shrugged and said, “It happens.”

  I took another sip of wine to cool my throbbing, seared upper palate.

  “So, Val. You didn’t say. Do you want to stay in touch?”

  I nearly choked on my wine, but managed to recover. I wasn’t sure what I wanted. So, I did what I always had before. I capitulated to the other person’s wishes.

  “Yes.”

  Friedrich smiled his almost imperceptible smile and gave a quick nod. “Goot.” He took out a pack of cigarettes and started to light up.

  “But I have to be honest, Friedrich. I don’t want to be with someone who smokes. I’m not telling you what to do. But it’s a deal breaker for me.”

  Friedrich studied his cigarette for a moment, then put it back in the pack.

  “I will stop.”

  “Do what you want, Friedrich. But don’t do it for me. I don’t want to be the one who tells you what to do. I don’t want to have to take the blame, or be the bad guy. I don’t want you to end up resenting me.”

  “I want to, for you. I want you.”

  I nearly swallowed my tongue. “What? You want me?”

  “Ya. I want you.”

  “But why?”

  “Because when I hold your hand, I can no longer feel my feet on the ground.”

  I DON’T REMEMBER HOW I got back to the ship. But I must have, because I when I came back to earth, I was sitting across the dinner table from Berta and Clarice.

  “Crap, kid. You look like you’re in deep.”

  “Oh, Berta. It was so romantic!”

  “A pizza in Napoli? I had one, too, kid. Nothing special. Actually, not even as good as what I can get on any corner in Brooklyn.”

  “No. I mean...the things he said.”

  “Actions speak louder than words,” Clarice sneered.

  “That’s just an old saying.”

  “If it weren’t true, it wouldn’t have had time to grow old,” said Berta.

  I pouted. “You guys don’t want to hear about it, fine. But don’t piss on him without knowing what he said.”

  “Okay, kid,” Berta said. “I’ll bite. What did he say?”

  “Something totally original. Friedrich told me that when he holds my hand, he can’t feel his feet on the ground.”

  Clarice snickered. Berta started to roll her eyes, then caught herself.

  “Look, you two. When I was married to Jimmy, his ‘I love you’ was meaningless. It was as thoughtless as ‘Have a nice day.’ Just something said without thinking. Jimmy didn’t see me. Friedrich is different. He sees me!”

  “Love is blind, kid.”

  Clarice snickered again.

  “I’m serious, Berta! He’s pursuing me. And I like it.”

  “Wake up, kid. You’re just having an ego trip. A temporary titillation. A fling. Nothing more.”

  “You weren’t there. You don’t understand.”

  “I understand plenty. Don’t forget, I’ve been listening to people spill their guts to me for years. I know infatuation when I see it.”

  “Infatuation?”

  “You’re acting different, kid. You’re not seeing straight. Women are always twisting themselves into what they think they have to be for a man to like them.”

  “Amen to that!” Clarice agreed.

  “I’m not acting different.”

  “Kid, the only thing recognizable on you is that hairdo.”

  “I already told him I’d spend the weekend with him in Rome.”

  “Aww, kid. Don’t you know by now? You should never stay in touch with people you meet on vacation.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The cruise was over. I hugged Clarice goodbye as she boarded a shuttlebus to the airport. I’d be back in Florida with her in a few days. Berta was staying on board for another tour as Vinny Cannoli. According to her, business was good.

  “Where else can an old woman like me get paid to tour the world, laugh my butt off, and be the envy of every other woman onboard?”

  “You have a point, there. But this time, let’s stay in touch, okay?”

  The two of us exchanged emails and phone numbers.

  “I’ll miss you, Berta. You’ve helped me more than you know.

  I thought I saw a tear in the tough old lady’s eye.

  “I’ll miss you, to, kid. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  FRIEDRICH GREETED ME at the port in Civitavecchia with a short kiss and a long-stemmed, red rose. I took the flower in my hand, and suddenly felt completely alone. A strange déjà vu feeling swept over me. I watched, disembodied, as Friedrich placed my suitcase and carry-on carefully in the back of his tiny Peugeot.

  “What’s wrong?” Friedrich asked.

  Frightened, I broke out in tears. “I...I don’t think....” If you don’t stand up for yourself now, Val, you never will. “This red rose. I...I prefer yellow ones.”

  “Oh. Is that all?” Friedrich took the rose from my hand and threw it onto the street. He smiled. “Okay. From now on, yellow roses. I can do this.”

  I looked at the rose laying in the gutter. I took a deep breath and dried my tears. Then I smiled hesitantly and climbed into his car. I let my worried thoughts blow away in the wind as F
riedrich whisked me along in his silver convertible.

  “Which direction are we going?”

  “South. Along the coast. Toward Sorrento.”

  My stomach gurgled at the thought of Sorrento. I don’t know why I didn’t tell Berta and Clarice about it. Maybe it was just too embarrassing. Every time I thought of Frank’s blood-red face as he pointed at my panties, I cringed and smiled.

  The day was bright and clear and glorious. My white, floppy hat danced in the breeze as we sped along. We both said little, content to take in the sights and the fresh, salt air. Friedrich managed the narrow, winding road like a pro, shifting gears instinctually, his eyes intent on what lay ahead.

  By the time we arrived at the beach town of Santa Marinella, my shoulders shone pink against the straps of my white sundress. I wanted to search my purse for some sunscreen, but I couldn’t drag my eyes off the incredible scenery.

  Ornate, pastel-hued shops lined one side of the road. A dusky-sand beach beckoned from the other. The narrow strip of beach was decked out with two long, neat rows of white sunning beds. Just a few yards from the sparkling ocean, beachgoers lounged lazily upon them, protected by the shade of huge green and blue umbrellas.

  Along the shoreline, sun worshipers strutted, displaying their tans and designer bathing suits. In the surf, heads adorned with bright-colored hats bobbed in rhythm with the waves. Clusters of beachcombers gathered at one end of the beach near a square, castle-like fortress that stood guard like a boxy Sphinx.

  “Oh! Let’s stop for a moment! I want to take a picture!”

  Friedrich found a spot and pulled over. I snapped a few shots, then we went for a walk on a blunt, uninspired concrete promenade. It jutted out into the clear blue water like a narrow, dead-end road, supported by buff-colored boulders on either side. We walked to the end of it and peered into the water. A gust of wind blew Friedrich’s sandy bangs into his eyes. I reached up to brush them back and he flinched.

  “Why don’t we have a coffee,” he said absently, as if wanting to change the subject on a discussion he’d been having with himself.

  “Okay.”

  He took my hand and led me to a tiny, outdoor café overlooking a harbor. The inlet itself was made of flesh-colored sand, giving the effect of a pair of sandy arms wrapping around perhaps fifty small boats that had found refuge within them. As I took a snapshot with the camera on my phone, Friedrich’s arms wrapped around me. Would he prove to be my sanctuary, or just a port in the storm?

  “Beautiful, ya?”

  “Ya.”

  Friedrich laughed. “Speaking German already.”

  “Yes. I’ve mastered Italian. I figured it was time to move on.”

  Friedrich’s right eyebrow shot up, forming a triangle with no bottom.

  “To something even better. Ya?”

  I smiled. “Ya.”

  We sipped our cappuccinos, then took off again, following the ocean road. A half an hour later, our trip along the coast ended in Fiumicino, a less glamourous, more business-like city on the outskirts of Rome. Fiumincino’s lone, narrow beach held no umbrellas, but its quaint harbor rivalled San Marinella’s for beauty. As we turned away from the shore and onto the highway toward the eternal city of Rome, I watched a four-passenger plane come in for a landing at a small airport.

  All roads had always led to Rome. Now, even the skies did, as well.

  MY HOTEL IN ROME WAS actually an air B&B just outside the walls surrounding Vatican City. Despite the traffic chaos and jumble of confusing street signs, Friedrich had no trouble finding the place.

  “I’ve been to Rome a few times,” he explained. “Let me be your tour guide. What do you want to see first?”

  "The Vatican? I mean, it's right there." I pointed to the nondescript concrete wall. In a city full of beauty, the thick, blank barrier was ugly and foreboding. It appeared to have been built to hold in prisoners rather than to protect a pope.

  “You don’t really want to see that, do you? Look. See the lines of people wrapping around the wall? They are all waiting. It would take hours to get in.”

  “Oh. Okay. Well, I guess not.”

  “Buy the picture book. It’s on every street corner. You know that you can’t take photographs in there, don’t you?”

  “No. Why not?”

  “There’s no money in it for the church.”

  “Oh. Well, then. Where would you suggest?”

  “You’ve seen the Colosseum, ya?”

  “No.”

  Friedrich’s lip curled smugly. He took me by the hand and said, “Let’s go.”

  I had to admit, it felt good to relax and let someone else be in charge. Friedrich led me expertly along the streets of Rome, pointing out statues and fountains and ornate carvings on buildings. He seemed to know so much about the world it left me feeling a bit naïve and inadequate. I bought the picture book of the Vatican, as he suggested, and two pairs of stained-glass earrings as mementos for me and Clarice. The thought of her made me suddenly miss her badly. Rome had seemed a lot more fun with her last fall.

  By the time we arrived at the Colosseum, my feet were killing me. I ducked into a tacky souvenir shop and bought a pair of cheap flip flops. The only ones in my size were dayglow orange. I thought of Berta and smiled. I carefully peeled the straps of my sandals off the backs of my hamburger ankles and inched into the flip flops. They looked atrocious with my white dress and hat, but hey, these were desperate times.

  I followed Friedrich around the corner. In my white dress and orange shoes, I felt like a pigeon-toed goose.

  “We are here,” he said.

  I looked up and sucked in my breath. Peeking out from above the treetops was a roundish wall of open arches, soaring thirty feet above the foliage. On top of the arches, climbing even higher, was another story that looked like a crown, with square openings offset from the arches below them. The effect was like windows looking into the heavens above.

  “Wow! That’s amazing! Should we take a tour?” I asked.

  “No. You don’t need it. I can show you everything.”

  We bought basic entry tickets and joined the crowd milling about the ancient structure. With the view no longer obstructed, I realized that the Colosseum actually had three full stories of arches stacked one upon the other, the last row topped with the square-windowed crown. The ancient structure was enormous – as big around as a football field and as tall as a ten or twelve story building. It wasn’t built to a normal human scale. I felt as small and insignificant as a chipmunk scurrying about in its presence.

  Over half of the third row of arches and top crowning stories were missing. Still, the oval Colosseum hadn’t lost any of its power to impress. Made of the same buff-colored stone as most of Italy’s architectural treasures, from the outside, the Colosseum could have been mistaken for the discarded, broken bracelet of a giant, immortal goddess.

  Compared to the outside, inside the structure was somewhat of a letdown. It made me think of a rundown, overcrowded graveyard. The unearthed rows of seats and headstone-like structures poking up from the ground reminded me of the sun-bleached, skeletal remains of a deer I once saw in the woods as a child. Sections of the ruins were still half buried under dirt and debris, their excavation stalled for some future date.

  “I don’t get it, Friedrich. How did something so incredibly magnificent end up ruined and half buried in muck?”

  Friedrich shrugged. “Neglect.”

  His reply caught me off guard. A drop of water hit my face. I looked up at the sky. It had turned grey.

  “You have seen enough, ya?”

  The ominous rain clouds amplified the uncomfortable feeling that had crept over me. I suddenly felt as if I were walking around in a tomb, gawking at the dead dreams of strangers. A shiver went up my spine.

  “Yes. I’ve seen enough.”

  We wound our way through narrow streets and alleys on our way back toward the B&B. Rain showers sprinkled us intermittently as we walked along the tree-line
d Fiume Tevere. The river-like waterway that ran through Rome was walled both sides. Local artists had been unable to resist the long, blank canvas. From the cover of maple trees, we sheltered from the rain and studied the beautiful works of graffiti adorning the dusky stone walls.

  The heaviest rain held off until we were a few blocks from the Vatican. Then it came down in buckets. Friedrich grabbed my hand and we ran like naughty children, ducking under awnings and trees where we could. Two blocks from the B&B, my right flip-flop blew out. By the time I hobbled into the building where my room was, we were both soaked to the skin.

  We tromped up the stairs and I fumbled the key into the lock. The rain had turned my hair into dripping ringlets. My innocent white dress had turned transparent in the rain, revealing opaque hints of the sexy, peach-colored bra and panty set I’d bought in Brindisi. I could feel Friedrich’s warm, electric presence behind me as I struggled with the key. My back arched and the hair on the nape of my neck stood on end.

  The door finally opened and I stepped into the room, leaving a puddle of rainwater where I’d stood. Friedrich followed me in, closed the door and turned the deadbolt. The click echoed in my mind like the sealing of a vault. My pulse began thumping in my ears.

  Friedrich took me in his arms and kissed me hard on the mouth. The steamy heat of his wet body against mine triggered an unstoppable, primal urge within me. I wanted to feel his bare skin on mine. I wanted to rake my nails across his back. I needed to feel the hard, thrusting heat of him inside me.

  I was wild with desire. If Friedrich was, too, he hid it well. He turned me around and unzipped my dress. I stepped out of it. He disappeared into the bathroom with it. He returned a minute later completely naked. He stood behind me again and unhooked my bra, then pulled down my panties. Again, he stepped into the bathroom and returned a few seconds later.

  “You want?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  Friedrich took me by the hand and led me to the bed.