by Liz Newman
“My new show, From Tragedy to Triumph, will air on June first. Please tune in and if you like it, I’d appreciate it if you’d tell your friends. Primarily, it’s a news show. It documents the lives of the people featured, giving the viewer an opportunity to see how victims overcome the unique hardship that landed them on the news in the first place.”
“It sounds wonderful,” the woman said. Henry nodded in approval, his eyes crinkling around his liver spots.
“Thank you. I share your sentiments about the news being a bit of a low, especially as of late. News television needs to see the dawn of a new era. I hope you enjoy it.” She shook the couple’s hands in turn.
Members of the group strayed away and hovered around Skye, awaiting their turn to pose with her and take a picture. Agnes Richards thanked Skye profusely as she held the autographed pamphlet in her hand like the sacred Dead Sea Scrolls. The mute Henry smiled, and they waddled away, arm-in-arm.
“That…is my target audience,” Skye said as she sank onto the crumbling stone seat wall next to Sal.
“You’re smiling. With joy. I believe this is the first time I have seen you smile that way,” Sal said.
“I love my work, despite the lows.” Skye batted her lashes and gave him a seductive smile. “How about this smile?”
“I’ve seen that smile quite a lot,” he said.
Her peal of laughter rang out through the massive oval space. “You’ve got me. Since it isn’t working, I give up.”
“On what?” he asked.
“On seducing you.”
“Always straight and to the point you are, Skye Evans.”
“That’s why they love me.” She gestured to Henry and his wife as they hung on every utterance from their post-pubescent college tour guide.
She wrapped her arm around his. “Let’s pretend that you and I are lovers. Tomorrow we will wake up beside each other, as well as the day after that, and the day after that.” She leaned her head down onto his shoulder and he cradled her upper body with his. “You promised me stories,” she said, as she looked up at him with doe eyes. He kissed the middle of her forehead. They remained silent as the late afternoon sky darkened.
“In the sixth century,” he said, “after the fall of the Roman Empire, a man rose out of the Eastern lands to reclaim control of Italy. His rule was short, for though he was an aggressive ruler, he sought to bring back the practices that made Rome vulnerable to attack, her people soft and lazy. Instead of emphasizing education, morality, and justice, he favored the games as tribunals. He was the Emperor Justinian.
“Justinian favored one of his slaves, for he demonstrated exceptional brute strength and strategy. This slave’s name was Savorno. Savorno’s family were owned by the ruler Justinian, including his wife and his infant daughters. One day, Savorno was caught stealing food from Justinian’s kitchen, and as punishment , Savorno met an undefeated giant in a fight to the death in the Colosseum. Savorno defeated him and lifted the giant’s severed head in glory as a tribute to his wife and children. Drunk with power and victory, he begged Justinian to let him return to the ring. Always victorious, he triumphed before his family. The crowd became wild, frantic in their excitement at the sight of the blood.
“Savorno made himself quite rich, always parlaying his bets on himself, and bought freedom for his family. After one fight, the people believed him to be mortally wounded, but he returned to the ring hours later. Women cried as if a miracle had occurred, and men shook their heads in disbelief. He was unbreakable.
“Justinian became bored of seeing Savorno win. He loved Savorno, despite his low birth, and granted him freedom. He also bestowed on him lands and title. Savorno gathered a procession to retrieve his wife and sons and take them to their new home in the country. The people hailed him as he rode by, throwing bouquets of roses at his horse. Bursting through the door of his wife’s home, he expected his family to be filled with joy at the sight of him.
“His daughters quivered in fright when he moved to embrace them, and his wife flinched at his touch. Deluso, he left the house, never to return. He asked Justinian to place him back in the arena. Justinian refused. He pressured him again. Justinian again said no. Finally, when Savorno asked him one more time, some say with the request to die honorably as a gladiator. He threatened to take his own life and leave the Emperor Justinian with the legacy of a ruler who championed a fool. Finally, Justinian relented.
“The Emperor Justinian watched Savorno enter the arena on a day where it was said the sun was as red and fiery as the planet Jupiter. Savorno was without weapons and matched against an undefeated human monstrosity. The opponent bore several names to keep the crowds coming. He was so monstrous he dwelt in the dungeons below the Colloseum. Some of his names were Collera. Gelosa. Vendetta. Translated, his names meant Anger, Jealousy, and Revenge.”
“Vices and traits fit to be conquered,” Skye said. “Plagues of the soul, really. And the subconscious motivations of all evil. Don’t I know.”
Sal stroked Skye’s hair with his hand before continuing. “Savorno let his competitor slash at him, tearing open wounds in his chest, legs, and arms. The crowd pounded their fists on the seats. They shouted, begging Savorno to fight. The sky opened, and rain poured down, as his competitor drew closer for the kill. Savorno roared to life at the feel of the rain on his skin. Perhaps he felt the gods cried for his sake, and he would rather fight than be pitied. Savorno prevailed and lived the rest of his life amongst servants. He was the master of the lands you reside in now. Most of the land was pieced apart. Sold off. But the land on which the Villa Pastiere sits, and some of the structures that still exist, once belonged to Savorno.
“It is prova that you are residing at the villa. For I see Savorno’s spirit in you. A spirit I wish I could see in myself.”
“A weak person couldn’t speak with such intelligence and insight.” She brushed the hair from his eyes. “You underestimate yourself.”
“Only the time spent in the garden has replaced the emptiness in my heart,” Sal said. The crowds of tourists dispersed, heading toward the exits. The Colosseum was closing for the day.
“I love the city of New York the same way you are infatuated with your garden. Though the sun scorches your back and the insects bite your skin, you toil because the results give you meaning. Some people have said that I’m superficial, ambitious, but truly, what else in life can you hold in your hands besides your accomplishments? Everything else in life can be destroyed.”
Sal rubbed his face. “The attacks taught us anything can be destroyed. Anything can be taken. What changed me that day was not seeing the towers shattered into dust and the death around me. What changed me was realizing that seventeen men found a reason to die, and I had not one reason to live.”
“Where does that leave us? You and me.”
“Come back to the villa with me, Skye. We’ll talk more there.”
***
The Aston Martin pulled into the circular driveway just as the sun made its final descent behind the rolling hills. A shadow of a man sat on the front steps, with his arms folded. Sal exited the car, opened Skye’s door, and peered at the figure.
Skye walked toward the man. “Charlie?”
The man rose and walked toward Skye. He held his arms out, elbows flush against his ribcage. “Hi, Skye. It’s me.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I missed you.” He looked at Sal, who glared at him. “Who the hell are you?”
“He works here,” Skye answered for him.
Charlie shrugged and pointed to his bags. “Hey man, bring those inside.”
“Certamente,” Sal muttered. His eyebrows creased in displeasure as he hoisted the bags up with his fist.
“Wait a minute. He’s not staying,” Skye said to Sal. She turned to Charlie, her eyes on fire. “You’re not staying.”
“Just listen to what I have to say. I have some great news.” He slung an arm over her shoulders and led her into the villa.
She struggled to meet eyes with Sal. He headed down the hall with Charlie’s bags.
Charlie led Skye to a parlor chair in the grand salon. He seated himself across from her, arranging the collared shirt and slacks that he wore. He pulled his sleeves up to show Skye his diamond Rolex watch. Her eyes darted to the watch out of habit.
“Skye,” Charlie said, “I missed you so much. When I left you in the hospital, I realized I let go of the best thing that ever happened to me. I let you slip right through my fingers. I love you, Skye. I want to marry you.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the black box that held the diamond solitaire. Handing the box to her, he asked her to open it.
“I can’t,” she said.
“Please, just look at it.”
“I’m not in love with you, Charlie.”
“I was there for you, when you needed someone the most. You’d have killed yourself if it weren’t for me. You said so yourself.” Skye looked around frantically for Sal. Charlie followed her eyes. “What? Are you messing around with the help here? Are you going to take him back to New York? Keep him as a little pet to water the plants on your kitchen shelf. My father is dying, Skye. He’s got three weeks to live. You and I will inherit a fortune. I know you, baby. I remember all those nights you complained to me about going over 9/11, over and over, how depressing it was, how toxic. You’ll be in for that year after year. You can leave it all behind you, whenever you want, if you marry me. We’ll be on easy street for the rest of our lives.” He pushed the case into her slack hands. “Look at it, Skye. Just look.”
She opened the box. The five-carat solitaire gleamed at her.
“It’s exquisite,” she breathed.
Charlie removed the ring and placed it on her finger. “It fits perfectly. Say yes, Skye. Please say yes.”
Charlie went down on his knees and kissed her hands. The unfamiliar feelings of surrender and addiction overtook her for a moment. She closed her eyes, trying in vain to return to that place of confusion and easy resignation. She waited for it to wash over her. Sky saw something move. She looked for Sal in the hall, but it was empty. The tranquil power of Charlie’s touch was no longer effective. The ring felt heavy on her finger, his lips on her hands troublesome and foreign.
“No,” she whispered.
“Why not?” Charlie sneered.
“You were a mistake I never would have made if I weren’t already crushed. I am no longer broken.” She removed the ring from her finger and handed it back.
“I’m not taking that for an answer. Leave this on your finger tonight. Sleep on it. When you come back to New York tomorrow, you’ll want me back. When you walk into your empty house, you will wish I was there. Hey!” he called down the hall. “Where’s the servant? I’m going back to the airport. I’m not going to stay here and let you take me for granted. I’ll hear the right answer back in New York, when your mind is clear.”
“Sal,” Skye called.
He appeared by the foyer, his eyes dark. “Take me back to the airport,” ordered Charlie. “Now. I want to get out of here this minute. I expect to hear from you by Sunday morning,” he barked at Skye.
“Sure,” Skye said, staring off into the distance. The hanging oil painting of the Signora Luciana blurred as she stared at it, unblinking.
***
Skye sat in the parlor chair until the Aston Martin pulled into the driveway. She placed the diamond ring on an engraved end table and met Sal out in the front of the villa. He smiled at her softly.
“I understand if you want to accept. What difference does it make what I think? He is right. Tomorrow you will be back to a life to which I will never belong.”
“That’s not true,” Skye said. “That’s not true at all.”
Sal walked out to the rear gardens as she followed him.
“I can never look at my bed the same again, for starters. Where you held me. I’ll have to turn it into a crib for a blubbering baby,” she laughed half-heartedly. Sal remained silent, reaching into a chest of garden tools and extracting a small, handheld clipper.
“Gardening! It’s nine o’clock at night, and you’re gardening?” Skye said.
He clipped back leaves so gardenias peeked through. “On the way to the airport, Charlie said to me ‘She’s mine. She always will be. I win by default.’ He started cheering about the home team advantage, or something ridicolo. I dropped him off at the Trevi Fountain, flipped him a coin, and told him to wish for a ride to the airport.”
“You didn’t!” Skye laughed.
Sal poked his head out from under the leaves. “You are laughing? This is your future husband we are talking about.”
Skye fell backward into the grass, chuckling. “Not me. Not ever me.” She gazed up at the brilliant stars blanketing the night sky. Rolling onto her side, she propped herself up on one elbow. “Have you ever been in love, Sal?”
“Once before. A long time ago.”
“Before what?”
“Before I fell in love again.”
“My mother says people have only two loves. The one who breaks your heart and the one you spend the rest of your life with.”
“She sounds like a wise woman.”
“She’s sneaky and divorced. I suspect she’s sleeping with her butler.” Plucking an open rose from a bush, Skye twirled it around. “I’m on a flight out tomorrow night, Sal.”
“I will miss you,” he said. He clipped gardenia buds from their branches. The hill of white flowers next to him grew taller.
“In New York, life moves so fast.” Skye lay on her back, speaking freely as if she lay on a Dr. Carter’s couch. “Work, work, work. Love is as contrived as a business meeting. Who knows what will happen if you wait? One person might meet someone better the next day. Or there are secrets. Always secrets. And never good ones.”
“Some men have good secrets.”
She rolled onto her flat stomach. “Tell me a secret.”
“If you tell me one.” He stood up and placed the shears back into the box.
“My secret is that I care for you. I feel as if everything is pulling me to you. That the moon and all of the stars have lined up to bring us to this very moment.”
“Il mio dio. I thought Italian men were full of pick-up lines.” He smiled with discomfort and sat down next to her.
“Don’t you dare poke fun at me now. I’ve spent years giving people information, staring into a camera talking about things that have ceased to be real for me…things that are…words on a page. The chances that anything tragic will happen to either you or me are a million to one. I pity those few unlucky people that it does happen to, those few unlucky people are the ones who sell fast food, soda, and laundry detergent. Those few unlucky people inspire the need for news channels that make the public feel like they’re missing something if they aren’t safe and sound in front of their television. And through all the planning for success in my career, all the pain and loneliness I’ve suffered…I’ve found that the only moment worth living for…is now.”
She lifted herself up to her knees and pulled his lips to hers. They kissed ardently. Something rustled behind the bushes. Sal pulled away, the pace of his breathing slowly returning to normal.
“Look there,” he said.
Skye sighed softly as Sal crouched forward and whistled softly. The green brush erupted with four white peacocks, their plumes leaping from their backs considering the full moon.
“Beautiful,” Skye breathed. “Although you’d better not pull away from me for birds ever again.”
“Here’s my secret,” he said as he turned toward her. “The beauty of this estate cannot compare with what I saw when I first laid eyes on you. Leaving you in New York tortured me until I saw you again, sailing over a motorbike with your shoes flying into the bushes.” They laughed together at the memory. “I see a life for myself, whether or not I am graced to have you as a part of it.”
He bent her head back as he kissed her neck, his lips working their w
ay back up to meet hers.
She pulled him down to the ground and covered his body with hers, kissing him. He tasted as sweet and rich as chocolate. They lay on the grass, trading kiss for kiss and caress from caress, each touch becoming more insistent. She lavished his chest with kisses as his hands stroked her thighs and hips. The dirt on his hands streaked her body..
She felt wild, longing for the taste of himips, and for this tryst to go further, faster. Dirt clung to the sides of her face, on his clothing, and on their hands. She became baptized in it, and all her sins washed away until a new woman emerged. One free to give pleasure as much as receive it, without shame; without dominance or submission, but only for the sake of pleasure itself.
“Make love to me, Sal. I need you so much,” she cried.
“There is much left to talk about.”
“I’m done talking,” she said as she pulled him toward her again.
A tall, thin shadow cast over their entwined bodies. “Ciò che è questo! What is this?” The woman threw a plush Prada bag down onto the ground. The air itself shrieked in accordance with heady, expensive perfume. The Signora Cecilia Luciana had arrived home.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Signora Cecilia Luciana bent her elbows and curled her hands into claws. A litany of Italian curses poured from her plumped lips. Skye felt like a trollop caught on a roll in the hay with the farmer. She jumped up and buttoned her dress. Sal looked lost as he listened to Cecilia’s ranting. He tried to get in a word.
“Lei mi ha promesso. Lei ha fatto un impegno a me.” The Signora threw herself at Sal’s feet, weeping. “Come lei potrebbe fare questo, il mio amore?”
Skye translated quickly in her mind. Sal went from a deity to a creature viewed in a most unfavorable light. You promised me, the Signora had said. You made a commitment to me.
“I’m sorry,” Skye stammered. “I was unaware…”
“Silencio! Entrare a la casa! Pronto!” The Signora’s hands flailed toward the house. “And you,” she whirled to face Skye. “My guest, the vermin who has taken over my household. I will have words with you later.” The Signora bit her own hand and sobbed, following Sal inside the house.
