The Apartment in Rome

by Penny Feeny

  It was difficult for Mitchell, hemmed in by container-grown shrubbery, to push back his chair, but he managed to get to a standing position, to touch her upper arm with a tentative gesture. ‘Hello, Gina.’

  ‘This is my dad,’ said Sasha.

  Gina was looking straight at him with what he thought of as her cat’s face: wide green eyes, narrow pointed chin. You couldn’t say to a woman like Gina that she hadn’t changed a bit because she reinvented herself all the time. She was still lithe, still carried herself with assurance, but would he have known her if they’d passed in the street? Her skin wore the soft honeyed sheen of a life lived in the sun; her hair was short and streaked; her brows were finer than he remembered, arching expressively above deep shadowy sockets. But the eyes – the eyes don’t change and once you gaze into them all the minor amendments of time become irrelevant.

  ‘I know,’ said Gina. ‘Ciao, Mitch.’

  ‘How are you?’ he asked, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  ‘Do you, like, actually know her already?’ said Sasha, chewing her lip furiously.

  ‘It was a long time ago,’ he began.

  ‘Since you ask,’ said Gina, ‘I’m bloody fuming. Someone’s been messing with the lock to my front door.’

  ‘Well, I don’t see why you think it was us.’

  ‘You were the last people there, darling, that’s why.’

  ‘Sit down,’ said Mitchell, out of his depth. ‘Please join us. Let me buy you a drink.’

  ‘Join you? Do you really think I can afford the time to… Oh, what the hell.’ She semaphored at one of the waiters. ‘Renzo! Mi porta una birra? Grazie.’

  Then with the effortless elegance of her training, she slid into the seat. Compared to her, the girls opposite, so appealing on his arrival, looked clumsy and raw, like unfinished sketches.

  Mitchell was sitting beside Gina because there was no other option. Their bodies were a few inches apart. It might have been a pleasant enough scenario: the two of them reminiscing about some of their more outrageous adventures – his intervention with the knife wielding thief in Sydney was the one he was least likely to forget; a small white scar still hovered between his ribs. Digging into the past, stirring up old emotions could be dangerous territory, but there was no doubt she’d remained a very striking woman. And in other circumstances…

  Sasha had given up her lunch, pushed her plate aside. ‘I don’t believe this.’ She was staring at Gina in bewilderment. ‘That all along you knew my dad.’

  ‘Like he told you, it was years ago, before you were born.’

  ‘Well, obviously. Did you work together or what?’

  ‘I guess you could say we were both frequent flyers.’

  Mitchell didn’t feel he could add to this.

  ‘Why didn’t you say something last summer?’

  ‘How could I have known you were related? It’s not exactly the rarest surname in the book.’

  ‘I told you he was a captain.’

  ‘Did you? Four stripes? Oh well done, Mitch.’ But her tone was perfunctory, underlaid with sarcasm. ‘And, of course, I’m pleased to see you again. Only I’m struggling with this happy reunion concept because I have a more pressing problem.’

  She put her hand on his sleeve in a softly familiar way that sometimes used to irritate the hell out of him and at others made him want to devour her on the spot. The moment of confusion it aroused passed when the waiter set down her foaming glass of beer; he ordered another for himself. ‘What problem?’

  Gina drew a line in the condensation on the glass. ‘Your daughter came to see me this morning with her friend. This was, I assumed, a social visit.’

  Sasha squirmed and nodded, but didn’t speak.

  ‘Unfortunately I couldn’t show them much hospitality. I was due to discuss a publishing contract. Maybe she told you I’ve become a photographer?’

  ‘Er, yes. A logical career choice, I thought.’

  ‘An artist-photographer,’ she stressed. ‘Spare me those macho guys who are for ever insisting their lens is bigger than yours. So anyway, I had to go out and these two offered to wait in for the plumber who was, naturalmente, overdue.’

  ‘He came,’ said Ruby. ‘Sorted.’

  ‘You can see how desperate I must have been for hot water or I wouldn’t have been so ready to trust them. And clearly this was stupid, because they decided it would be fun to play a trick on me and put glue in my lock. I can’t imagine why?’

  She was focusing on Sasha, whose complexion alternately reddened and blanched. He sensed threats and counter-threats, but neither his daughter nor his ex-girlfriend gave anything away and the accusations remained unspoken.

  Ruby said with some belligerence, ‘That is so unfair. We didn’t play any trick. We did what you said. We shut the door behind us after the plumber had gone, posted your keys, and then we left the building.’

  ‘When? What time?’

  ‘I dunno. We moseyed around a bit. About an hour ago.’

  ‘Did you shut the portone too?’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘The main door into the street.’

  ‘Did we, Sash?’

  Sasha considered. Mitchell was disturbed by the unhappiness in her eyes, but he didn’t believe for a moment that she’d have any motive for a stupid pointless prank. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘I think maybe one of your neighbours was coming in as we went out.’

  ‘Have you met any of my neighbours?’

  ‘Um… no.’

  ‘What did this person look like?’

  ‘I think it was a man coming home for lunch or something.’

  ‘Old or young? What was he wearing?’

  ‘I… I don’t remember.’

  He reckoned it was time to interrupt the inquisition. ‘What exactly is the problem, Gina? What are you accusing these girls of? As far as I can see, they did you a favour, waiting in so you didn’t have to miss your meeting. What grounds have you got for blaming them?’

  ‘Then who the hell else – ?’ she began. And stopped.

  Renzo reappeared with the second beer and took away Mitchell’s empty glass. A cloud scudded across the sun, a Lambretta passed perilously close to their table and a small dog leapt up into the safety of its owner’s arms. Sasha’s eyes were downcast, examining a blob of tomato paste that had spattered onto the paper place mat.

  Mitchell said, ‘You’re suggesting someone tampered with your lock by squirting glue inside it? It’s a Yale, is it?’

  ‘No, a mortise. I asked the girls to double-lock it, because you can’t be too careful. They should have shut the portone though.’

  ‘If it’s not some joker, could it be a person with a grudge? Have you talked to your neighbours?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘You could try to dissolve it with acetone. That might work. Nail polish remover.’

  ‘I know what acetone is.’

  ‘Well, have you got any?’

  ‘Not on me, no! Plenty in the apartment which I can’t bloody access.’

  ‘Do you want me to help you?’ he said.

  Now she swivelled and looked at him full-on: those eyes he’d never expected to see again, unleashing so many memories. ‘You help me, Mitch?’

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  ‘You with your PhD in letting a girl down? What use could you be?’

  ‘Gina,’ he said carefully, aware that Sasha was alert and quite possibly about to interrupt. ‘I don’t know what you’re getting at. I was simply suggesting we went to the chemist, bought some nail polish remover and tried it in your keyhole. Or else you could call a locksmith.’

  ‘It’s a brand-new lock. I had to change it last year.’

  ‘Well, do you want me to have a go or don’t you?’

  ‘Have-a-go Mitch is back in town,’ she said, but he could see, beneath the bravado, she was close to tears.

  Sasha opened her mouth to speak but closed it again when he frowned at her. He
gobbled the rest of his meal and downed his second beer. Gina recovered herself, broke off a section of Sasha’s abandoned pizza and nibbled at it without disturbing her lipstick.

  At the pharmacy, Gina knew the girl behind the counter and soon the other assistants were drawn into debating solvents and remedies. Mitchell’s Italian was rusty but he concentrated on trying to follow the discourse – otherwise God knew which direction his thoughts would take.

  They came away with both the acetone and an empty nasal inhaler which they could pump full and use as a spray. Ruby and Sasha were hanging back, conferring in whispers – although Ruby’s voice had a strident tendency and he distinctly heard: ‘No, Sash, stick it out. Everything will be fine.’

  The streets were quieter now that many shops had closed for the afternoon lull and Gina led the way through them unhesitatingly. It reminded Mitchell of being twenty-nine again, helping Gina move down from Milan. That first apartment had been in a different district, but the ochre buildings, the washing clipped to wires strung between windows, the fragrance of roasting garlic and rosemary – these were the same.

  They arrived in the narrow street; the buildings were tall and cast deep shadows. Gina let herself in through the main door ahead of him because he’d waited for Ruby and Sasha who were dawdling. He caught up with her talking to a retired couple who lived on the ground floor.

  ‘They’ve had no problem,’ she said, as they began to mount the stairs. ‘Which shows it can’t have been kids fooling about, doesn’t it? In their position they’d have been the first target.’

  ‘And it wasn’t us,’ protested Ruby. ‘Where were we going to get the glue from? It’s not like we carry it around in our pockets.’

  ‘You could have found it in my flat. For all I know you turned the place upside down.’

  ‘We did not!’

  ‘Look.’ Mitchell wasn’t as used to the stairs as she was; he had to catch his breath. ‘You don’t really think Sasha would do something so stupid, do you? I mean, for Chrissakes, why?’

  ‘There’s no knowing what teenagers will do when they get together and egg each other on,’ said Gina darkly.

  They reached the top landing and she demonstrated her predicament. ‘There! See!’

  Sasha leant against the wall, staring at her shoes. Ruby joined her, fastening her arm through Sasha’s in a protective way. Mitchell knelt and squirted acetone into the aperture. The fumes made his eyes water. ‘It’ll probably need a few attempts,’ he said. ‘We’ll have to wait a bit in between each one.’

  A little over an hour ago he’d been looking forward to a leisurely lunch, followed by an inspection of the rented flat, a change of shirt and a sally forth into the vibrancy of the city. Instead he’d been brought face to face with his past – and not in the way he would have chosen. ‘You think the person who did this was being vindictive?’ he asked.

  Gina was watching him with her arms folded. ‘Oh, I’m sure they are.’

  ‘You’ve got an idea who it might be?’ he persisted, as he sprayed the lock a second time. ‘Excluding present company.’

  ‘I have thought of someone else, yes. It could be the landlord who wants to evict me.’

  Sasha jerked to attention. ‘Signor Boletti?’

  ‘The family you stayed with?’ said Mitchell, beginning to make the connection. ‘God, that was a disaster. We were taken in by all that luxury. They were completely unfit for the job.’

  ‘I’m not making this up,’ said Gina. ‘You might remember, Sasha, he was giving me grief last summer? I got bored with trying to keep him sweet so he’s trying other methods of harassment. Legal and not so legal. Would you believe he tried to denounce me for keeping a bordello?’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A brothel, darling. Because, you know, it was sometimes less trouble to take portraits at home than in the studio, so there was a certain amount of… traffic. I had to stop having anyone come here and I took to the streets. He’s one devious bastard. This is nothing for him. This is a little taster. He was furious with me for changing the lock last year. He’s probably got some cat burglar to trash everything inside and the glue’s a delaying tactic.’

  ‘Aren’t you being a touch paranoid?’ said Mitchell.

  ‘No, I’m not. He’s trying to force me out so he can do up the place and sell it. It’s falling to pieces at the minute but what does he care? A bit of refitting and refurbishment and wham-bam he’s on for a handsome profit. Have you any idea how much property costs in Trastevere nowadays? I should have bought ages ago when I had the money. Holy Year: that was when it started – the stampede of people falling over themselves to exploit their assets. Cheap borrowing sent the market wild and bringing in the bloody euro hiked the prices even more. People are having to move further and further out of town, which is what Bertie wants me to do. Then he muscles in for a makeover.’

  ‘You’ve been living here since the nineties?’

  ‘I’ve moved a few times since we last met, believe me. I’ve been in this place for seven years. First I was Felix’s lodger and then we married to get me onto the lease.’

  ‘Felix?’ The name stirred distant inconclusive memories.

  ‘The Raven Queen? I don’t think you ever met.’

  ‘When did you marry him?’

  ‘Three months before he died,’ said Gina.

  Mitchell didn’t know what to say to that. Her morality was in a different league from his; how could they ever have been compatible? He whistled as he sprayed the keyhole a third and fourth time, trying to relieve the tension of their curiously assorted unit, marooned on this stuffy landing. Eventually his efforts were rewarded and the key slotted into the lock. It didn’t operate smoothly though, and he warned her there might be damage.

  She brushed this off, more concerned about the damage inside – and was taken aback to find no obvious signs of disturbance. She opened doors and turned on taps, checked the TV, CD player and computer. Her eyes flickered to two trunks standing either side of French windows, covered in embroidered throws.

  It was a strange sensation to find himself in her apartment, observing the trappings of her single life and experiencing a combination of envy and panic. Envy of all these indicators of freedom and spontaneity; panic that he would never escape the dreary straitjacket of middle age.

  He coughed; it was as if she’d forgotten about the three of them. ‘Everything all right?’

  ‘Yes, I don’t think anyone broke in after all. I guess it was a pathetic attempt at a warning.’

  ‘So he is threatening you, this guy?’

  ‘Ouf, I don’t take fright easily.’

  ‘Well, if there’s nothing more we can do…’ She wasn’t giving any indication that she might ask them to stay. ‘We’d better get moving, girls. Leave Gina in peace.’

  Sasha, he noticed, was telegraphing anguished messages to Ruby.

  ‘Though perhaps…’ he began tentatively. He knew his manner was stiff but he didn’t see how it could be otherwise; there was no handbook for this multilayered situation. ‘We could meet up for a drink or a meal at some point? We’re only here for a week.’ It was so long since they’d been in the same city and so unlikely to happen again. ‘Would you want that, Gina?’

  ‘Would I want that?’ she repeated.

  ‘You must know the best places to go.’

  ‘I suppose it would be rude of me to turn down the offer.’

  ‘Look, it’s quite possible you’d rather not…’

  ‘Quite possible,’ she agreed.

  Was she brushing him off? ‘Think about it. And if you get any more hassle from your landlord, you should call me. Or I’ll contact you. Sash has your number?’

  ‘Indeed she does.’

  An oddly meaningful look passed between Gina and Sasha.

  Ruby had been hopping from foot to foot, unable to keep still. ‘Before we go, Sash has something to ask you.’ When Sasha remained mute, she added in a rush: ‘She wants to know what happen
ed to Joe.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Gina. ‘I can’t answer that. He’s gone, Sasha, do you understand? And nobody will be able to tell you where.’

  ‘Nobody? Do you mean that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Not even Sami?’

  Gina shrugged.

  ‘Did he change his phone number?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Who’s Joe?’ said Mitchell.

  ‘A friend of mine,’ said Gina, in a manner that suggested it was none of his business. ‘And though I’m grateful to you for helping me get back in, I actually have another appointment to go to shortly.’

  He had the impression she wanted to be rid of them. Sasha was plainly discontented with this lack of information, but they’d been stuck in a stalemate for long enough. He hustled the girls ahead of him through the door and wondered for a second what it might feel like to kiss Gina goodbye. Then the opportunity passed and they were out on the street, searching for a taxi.

  The girls had some difficulty recalling the address of the rented studio. You couldn’t describe it as anything else, thought Mitchell, when they finally found it. Their double bed was on a raised platform above the eating area and his cell was probably a converted pantry.

  ‘You don’t like it, Dad, do you?’

  ‘It’s poky as hell,’ he said, feeling the need to slow down and take stock. ‘But it will do for now. I’ll get onto the agency tomorrow and make them move us somewhere bigger.’

  The girls sat out on the balcony while he showered and changed. The cacophony from the street masked Sasha’s words, guarded and low, but then Ruby’s strong emphatic voice rose to dominance.

  ‘Three months before he died,’ he heard, as he zipped up his chinos. ‘Just about made me flip when she said that. I went, like, shivery all over.’

  Some mumbling from Sasha.

  ‘Why couldn’t it be his baby?’ demanded Ruby loudly in the gap between the sustained bleating of a horn and the revving of a scooter. ‘But then, you’re right, she’d’ve married him earlier, wouldn’t she, and kept it.’

  In the act of buttoning his clean shirt, Mitchell’s fingers seized up. He eased open the door that separated his cubbyhole from the living space and listened more closely. They were talking about Gina, of that there was no doubt, talking with some incredulity about the fact she’d had a baby she’d never mentioned.