He handed me one of the tuxedos that Signor Ravello had brought into the fitting room, unbuttoning the jacket and shirt and sliding them off the hanger.
I moved to take the shirt off him, but Cal held it open for me and said, “Turn around.”
I turned my back to him, so that I was facing the mirror, and lifted my arms. Cal slid the shirt on me, one sleeve at a time. He did it delicately, like he was handling fine china or carrying a tray of teacups. It made me wonder just how much this crisp white shirt actually cost.
“You know, the last shirt I bought cost me five dollars in a J.C. Penny clearance sale.”
“Don’t think about the money,” Cal said. “Money doesn’t mean anything.”
“Money means we can shop where Marlon Brando used to shop.”
Cal turned me around so that I was now facing him with my back to the mirror. He started buttoning up my shirt. “You know what I mean. In the bigger picture. Money isn’t real, it doesn’t make a person any better or happier. Sure, you can buy things like expensive suits, but you can’t buy the things that really matter.”
He picked up the trousers that went with the suit and opened them for me to step into.
I slid one leg then the other into the trousers and he pulled them up around my waist for me. I could feel my crotch begin to bulge and he brushed it—quite intentionally—with his fingers before tucking in the shirt and zipping me up.
“What are the things that really matter?” I asked.
He straightened my shirt and reached for a bowtie hanging on a rack. “Kindness,” he said as he slipped the bowtie around my neck and began tying it. “Love. Trust.” He paused a moment, then admitted. “You know, I brought you here for a reason.”
“Yes, I know,” I smiled. “To buy me a suit.”
“No, I mean, Rome. Matt, I didn’t just find your Blockbuster card in your wallet yesterday.”
“Oh, was there a condom in there? That’ll be way out of date by now.”
“No, it wasn’t that. And please don’t think I was prying. But as I pulled your license out to discover it was your wallet… a photo fell out onto the floor. I picked it up. It was a photo of two people, a man and woman, standing on the Spanish Steps, kissing. It’s kind of the reason I wanted to bring you here. It seems important to you. The people in the photo, they look so happy. So in love. I meant what I said before, Matt. I promise I’ll take you up the Spanish Steps. It’s the whole reason I brought you here in the first place.”
For a moment, I didn’t know what to do or say. I wasn’t angry or upset. I was just… surprised. I wasn’t expecting to have this chat. Not here. Not now. Yet in a way, there was no better place or time.
I took a deep breath. And I nodded.
“They were happy. And yes, they were in love. That’s my parents. That photo was taken just before they died. I had never wanted to see the Spanish Steps before I saw that photo. To be honest I didn’t even know where they were. I thought maybe they were in Madrid or Barcelona. That makes sense, right? But I guess there are just some things in the world that don’t make any sense at all… like cancer.”
Cal slowed down with his task of tying my bowtie, his tug on the ends of the tie so gentle and delicate now.
I didn’t want to cry, so I’m not sure why that damn tear streaked down my cheek.
I kept talking to keep up the illusion that I could tell this story without getting upset, not that I was doing a very good job of it so far.
“They were just normal people. Just good, decent people. My mother was a school teacher. My father sold car insurance. They were ordinary people… who lived the most extraordinary lives. It was extraordinary because they loved each other so much. You just don’t get that a lot these days. When we found out about the cancers, I asked them, ‘Where in the world do you wanna go? Where’s the one place you both really want to see, to truly experience, more than anywhere else in the world?’ They both said Italy. I was in my twenties at the time, I didn’t have much money, but I cashed in my savings and sold just about everything I owned so that I could buy two tickets to Rome. I wanted it to be the trip of a lifetime for them. It needed to be the trip of a lifetime. And it was. They sent me two, three, four postcards a day. They saw everything they wanted to see and did everything they wanted to do. And when they came back, they gave me this picture and they told me to do just one thing with my life. Just one thing. Not write a novel, not get a good job. None of that meant anything if I didn’t do this one thing.”
“What was it?”
I looked at Cal and my vision splintered with another damn tear. “They said, ‘Fall in love. It’s all that matters.’”
I sniffed and had to rub the tears out of my eyes.
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m here for you,” Cal said, trying to reassure me. “Everything’s okay.”
“Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t,” I said, feeling the courage rise inside unexpectedly. “You see, before I can fall in love, I need to ask you something.”
“Shhh,” Cal said with a smile. “Before you ask me something, I need to show you something.”
“What?” I felt ambushed, disarmed, disoriented. This was my moment to find out about Angus, to find out whether I had a future with Cal or not, and there he was trying to distract me. “No, don’t show me anything.”
“I’m not showing you just anything,” he said, slowly turning me around to face the mirror. “I’m showing you… you.”
There in the gold-framed mirror stood a version of me I’d never seen before. I wiped my wet cheeks and sniffed back my jealousy and paranoia, and for one precious moment I allowed myself to admire… me.
I looked handsome.
I looked confident.
And as Cal slid the tuxedo jacket onto my shoulders and straightened the sleeves, I couldn’t deny one thing—
—I looked loved.
“Now, what was it you wanted to ask me?” Cal said over my shoulder, looking at me in the mirror.
Our eyes met and I said, “What time does the opera start?”
* * *
The ancient ruins of the Colosseum were bathed in golden light as bright spotlights swept the night sky above it. Limousines pulled up one after another in front of a red carpet, while gentlemen in tuxedos and women in sleek evening gowns posed for photographers. Priceless earrings and necklaces shimmered with every flash of the camera.
Cal and I walked from our hotel a few hundred yards away. We looked handsome in our tuxedos, there was no denying it, but the confidence I had felt in front of the mirror was quickly fading.
“God, this is a little nerve-wracking, isn’t it?” I said, watching the parade of self-assurance and unabashed wealth making its way along the red carpet.
“Don’t build it up. We’re here to enjoy the opera, not indulge in this bullshit. It’s all just smoke and mirrors. Most of these people are on the verge of bankruptcy. One bad decision by their accountant and they’ll be spending next summer in the slammer for insider trading or tax fraud.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. We don’t want any part of that, we’re just two dashing men out on a date,” Cal smiled. “As a matter of fact…” He suddenly pulled me off course, away from the red carpet. “…I know a back way in.”
Before the photographers or the any of the other guests could spot us, Cal steered us hurriedly around the side of the Colosseum where we found a small gate guarded by one security officer.
“Excuse me,” said Cal. “I hope you don’t mind but we were hoping we could slip in quietly this way rather than get caught up in all that red carpet nonsense.”
“I’m sorry sir,” said the guard, immediately stepping in our way. “But there is no access at this gate for any guests tonight. You’ll have to—”
That’s when he suddenly recognized Cal’s face.
“Ah, Signor Croft. My apologies sir. Of course, you can enter via this gate.” The guard quickly swung the gate open for us. “Do you know your way to
the mezzanine from here?”
“Yes, grazie.”
“My pleasure, sir.” The guard smiled.
Cal quickly ushered me through the gate and into the softly illuminated tunnels of the Colosseum.
“That seemed easy,” I said.
“I’m a member of the board of the Colosseum Arts Committee.”
“Of course, you are. You know you’ve really got a knack for having things your way.”
“Yes, I do,” Cal said, suddenly grabbing me by the waist and backing me up against an ancient column where he planted his lips on me with a long, passionate kiss.
I could feel my zillion dollar tuxedo jacket scrape against the gritty, time-worn column.
I pulled out of our kiss. “You’re going to get me all dirty.”
“That’s the plan.”
“No, I mean my jacket.”
“That’s okay. I’ll brush you down.”
He felt his way down the front of my shirt and squeezed my instantly hardening crotch with his large, strong hand.
Cal grinned as I groaned with pleasure, but I held him at bay when the name Angus popped into my head.
At that moment, an announcement filled the tunnels of the Colosseum, first in Italian, then in English. “Ladies and gentlemen, tonight’s performance of Turandot will commence in five minutes. Please take your seats.”
Cal sighed with frustration. “Tonight… after I kiss you on the Spanish Steps… I’m gonna take you back to our hotel suite and have my way with you.”
“Like I said. You’ve got a knack.”
He kissed me again.
Then took my hand and ran with me along the tunnels of the Colosseum toward the opera mezzanine.
* * *
The opera was nothing short of the most spectacular thing I had ever seen. It was spellbinding, it was epic, and as the aria Nessun Dorma filled the ancient amphitheater, I grabbed Cal’s hand and squeezed it so hard I thought I was going to hurt him.
He didn’t pull away.
He simply squeezed my hand right back.
When it was over, we exited the Colosseum along with all the other opera-goers, my heart still soaring from one of the most enchanting experiences of my life. I was so enthralled, I didn’t notice the crowds. All I could hear was the opera still echoing through the passages of my mind as we milled through the passageways of the ancient structure. All I could see were the walls of the Colosseum towering all the way up to the stars far above.
And then I heard— “Calvin! Calvin, is that you?”
I was pulled back to reality by the sight of a couple in their fifties, pushing through the exiting crowd toward us. The barrel-chested gentleman wore a tuxedo with a white bowtie and glossy white shoes to match. The equally barrel-chested woman on his arm wore a diamond around her neck so big I had a sneaking suspicion she needed her husband’s arm to prop her up.
“Oh God,” I heard Cal sigh with defeat as they made their way over.
“Who’s that?” I asked, feeling his dread.
“Walter Hornet and his wife Darlene. An American couple from Texas. They attend every event in the social calendar just to be seen. The funny thing is, they don’t actually like anyone, they just enjoy looking down on them.”
“Oh Calvin, what a wonderful surprise to see you!” exclaimed Darlene Hornet as the couple approached us with the fakest of smiles on their botoxed faces. “And you’ve brought a plus-one along. We haven’t seen this one on the social circuit before.” Darlene honed in on me like, well, a hornet, instantly offering me her hand to kiss. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name’s Darlene Hornet.”
“And I’m Walter Hornet,” Walter said, slapping my shoulder so hard he nearly knocked me to the ground. “What’s your name son?”
“Matt. Matthew Darcy,” I said, rubbing my pummeled arm.
“Well which is it, dear?” Darlene asked. “Matt or Matthew? There’s nothing worse than being called a name you’d rather not prefer.”
I shrugged. “I don’t mind either. People call me what they like. I guess my name is just, you know, my name.”
“Oh, that’s nonsense, dear. Your name means everything. Wouldn’t you agree, darling?”
“Absolutely,” nodded Walter. “People hear our name and all they think is oil. And money, of course. That’s how we made our fortune... black gold! How’d you earn your stripes, son?”
“Me? Oh, I…”
“Matt’s a romance writer,” Cal answered for me.
Darlene and Walter both laughed.
“No really, what is it you do, dear?” Darlene asked.
Cal cut in again. “I just told you. Matt writes romance novels.” I could hear a refusal to be bullied in his tone. “He’s extremely talented. He’s working on a new book as we speak.”
“Oh, you weren’t joking,” Darlene said, her fake smile fixed on her face like plaster. “Can you actually make any money out of doing that?”
“Well, to be honest, I also deliver flowers on the side. Just to help pay the bills.”
Walter and Darlene laughed even louder.
“A flower boy!” Walter exclaimed. “I can’t say I’ve ever met a flower boy at the opera in Rome before. Maybe an usher or two, but never a flower boy.” He turned to Cal at that point and said, “You’ve really shifted down a gear since that race car driver you were seeing… if you’ll excuse the pun.”
Darlene and Walter laughed again.
Cal gave them both a sharp and angry glare. “I’ll excuse the lousy pun, but I won’t excuse your outright disrespect. I’d demand an apology if I thought it was worth anything.”
Darlene and Walter’s laughter faded.
“Oh Cal, don’t get defensive,” Walter said, slapping Cal on the arm this time. “It’s just our way of having fun.”
“No, it’s your way of making fun,” Cal firmly replied. “Good, decent people know the difference. Rich, arrogant assholes don’t.”
Darlene gasped. “Well, I never. Walter, I think it’s time we left.”
“Finally, something we agree on,” smiled Cal.
As the pair turned in a huff, Cal added one last comment. “Oh, and Walter. As for the bid you just made on the North Sea oil rigs. I’ve got a client who’s about to blow your offer out of the water… if you’ll excuse the pun.”
Walter turned, trying to contain his outrage. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Cal winked back. “Oh Walter, don’t get defensive. Although rest assured, when I do sink your bid to the bottom of the North Sea, that’s just my way of having fun.”
Both Darlene and Walter let out a furious “Hmmpph!” and stormed off into the dwindling crowd.
I stood, wide-eyed and stunned as I watched them leave, then turned slowly to Cal and said, “I think you just became my hero.”
“Fuck them, they deserved it,” Cal said, brushing his tuxedo jacket sleeves like he was brushing off his anger.
“I’m serious. That was the most chivalrous, most romantic, most unbelievably sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Cal smiled, letting his anger go. “It was?”
“Ah, yes! Totally! Hello! It’s not every day you get someone standing up for you like that. And all that hot, sexy power-talk about the North Sea? Boom! Stick that in your oil pipeline and smoke it, bitch! Ha! That was awesome!”
“Come on,” Cal said, pulling at my arm. “I’ll show you awesome.”
“What’s that?”
“The Spanish Steps.”
“Oh, this night just gets better and better.”
“You wanna walk?” Cal asked. “It’s a beautiful night for a stroll through the streets of Rome. Hell, it’s always a beautiful night for a stroll through Rome.”
I smiled. “I’d love that.”
* * *
It was late, which seemed to be the time that the cobblestone streets and alleys of Rome came alive. In the amber glow of the streetlights, the ancient capital was filled with lovers laughing… or fighting… or kis
sing.
“Passion,” I said as we strolled along. “That’s the word I’d use to describe Rome.”
In front of our eyes, a fiery young woman slapped her young lover across the face and raced across the street, shouting abuse at him. He ran after her. She pulled a ring off her finger, and in a tirade of words I didn’t understand she tossed the ring at him. Swiftly he scooped it up, then wrapped the girl in his arms and kissed her. Instantly she surrendered her fight… and kissed him as though it were the last kiss they would ever share. A moment later, she pulled him into a dark alley, kissing him all the way.
“Romans certainly are passionate,” Cal said. “In every sense of the word.”
He had slipped the knot of his bowtie undone and left it hanging around his collar. In the glow of the streetlights he looked more handsome than ever. Or perhaps I just knew him better now, and that made him all the sexier.
He took my hand and we continued along the street, our fingers entwined. “A penny for your thoughts,” he said.
“People still say that?” I asked, a little amused at his old-fashioned choice of words.
He winced. “I’m not sure. Do they? It seemed less arrogant than offering a hundred bucks for your thoughts.”
I laughed. “I was just thinking how much I’m enjoying getting to know you.”
“Me too.”
“I hope you don’t mind, but I know about the Spanish race car driver.”
“Brazilian, actually.”
“That’s the one. And the French actor. And the Russian model. I hope you don’t mind but I stalked you a little on the internet and up they popped.”
“Did you see that stupid photo on the mountain?”
“Where your ex-boyfriend is half undressed in the snow just to show off his pecs?”
“Argh, God. I hate that photo. It was a publicity shoot, I didn’t wanna do it. It was freezing up there. But Alex said it would be good for his career. A week later we broke up.” Cal looked at me. “You don’t mind hearing about my past boyfriends, do you?”
I shrugged. “No, of course not. I don’t feel the need to compete with them at all. The pecs, the money, the fame. God, like, who would ever be threatened by all that?”
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