“I will pay for it,” Adele answered.
Robynne stepped on Ebony. The cat screeched loudly at the offense.
“I can’t let you do that.”
“You’ve been nagging me to go a vacation for years. We’re both depressed, jobless and bored. It’s exactly what we need,” Adele said.
“You need a lobotomy.” Robynne said.
“I’ll get one after we go to Italy. Come on. It will be fun.”
Robynne scratched her head. “I will go on two conditions.”
“And the conditions are?” Adele asked.
“I will pay you back.” Robynne said.
“Done, and what is the second condition?”
“Give me back my sweatpants. Not only are you ruining the fit, but your vertically challenged ass is dragging them on the floor.”
Adele jumped up and down. “Fine. We have so much to do. I have to get Ambrogio’s address.”
“It didn’t take you long to reveal your ulterior motive.”
“I can’t pass up the chance to catch Ambrogio off guard.”
“You mean you can’t wait to scale him like a building,” Robynne said.
“He better have a good reason for just up and leaving me in St. Lucia without a goodbye, then if the mood strikes…….”
“I’m sure it will, you whore.”
With a new vigor, Adele and Robynne planned their trip in just a few days. A week later, they boarded a flight bound for Italy: by way of Charlotte, North Carolina.
Chapter 22
Amerigo Vespucci Airport in Florence was an alternate universe where life happened upon a whim. Adele and Robynne touched down safely after a catastrophic trip which consisted of delayed flights, a courtesy booking at an airport hotel and two sets of wayward bags. Awarded a casual shrug of the shoulders by an unaffected customer service representative, Robynne, the designated alpha female, fell under the tutelage of Adele’s more level headed manner.
“Sir, we’d appreciate it if you could help us find our bags,” Adele said.
“Miss, your bags….they will get here eventually,” he said.
He had tenuous strains of hair combed indiscriminately around his balding head. The country-side resided in his brown eyes. Weighed down by the woes of traveler’s past, the bags under his eyes sagged.
“The contents of my luggage are worth more than you make in a year,” Robynne said.
She wasn’t wearing her travels well. The inner workings of a bird’s nest looked more organized than the tussled mess on her head. Wind-tunnel chic, normally put-together, Robynne was on the brink of a nervous breakdown…her trigger, a lost set of Prada luggage.
“You’re not being helpful right now. Close your mouth. People are looking at you,” Adele said, referring to the righteous indignation foaming around Robynne’s open mouth.
“Bo, take your chances and see what happens,” the clerk walked away to mount up against a more pressing luggage crisis.
And there it was, the Italian version of the phrase “I don’t know.” After an hour of becoming unintentionally familiar with the Florence airport, Adele and Robynne’s luggage materialized.
“Eccola. Your luggage has arrived,” the clerk said.
Their luggage, sitting on a creaky old cart with a gimp wheel, was the most beautiful thing Adele had ever seen.
“What happened?” Robynne asked.
“What does it matter? It’s here now. Arrivederci.” He waved his hand, brushing off Robynne’s question like it was a fly buzzing around his head.
Robynne received her bags with the fanfare reserved for a soldier returning home from war.
“Thank you, God. I don’t know what I would have done without my man hunting outfits.” Robynne caressed her bags like they were her long lost friends.
“People are looking at you,” Adele said.
The snickers of fellow travelers circulated in the air around them, chilling Adele with embarrassment.
With luggage in hand, they caught a taxi to Borgo Pinti where they would be staying during Adele’s hunt for Ambrogio. The “take your chances” motto was a way of life in Italy. Everyone they came into contact with had different ways of applying it. The taxi driver regarded traffic rules as if they were mere suggestions. He ran red lights, cut off other drivers, and drove like he was auditioning for spot in NASCAR.
“Let’s get another taxi,” Robynne said.
Their current taxi driver, after driving backwards down a one-way street, was in the middle of verbal fisticuffs with the pedestrian he had come close to running over.
“I kind of want to see how this plays out,” Adele said, enthralled at the scene taking place before her eyes.
They engaged in hand-to-hand combat, gesticulating wildly about who wronged who. Adele wasn’t sure who had been deemed the winner, but it seemed like a draw. Both parties went back to their respective corners. After a few more close-calls, Adele and Robynne arrived at their rented apartment.
“It’s an episode of “Saved by the Bell, the College Years.” Robynne said when a group of rowdy American college students walked down the street.
Jet-lag set in, Adele and Robynne crawled into their tiny rented apartment intent on sleeping the rest of the day away.
“If I hear one more “Oh, my God” at four in the morning, somebody is getting a free shower courtesy of Robynne Chu-Ramirez.” She screamed more to Adele than the faceless revelers roaming the streets early Friday morning.
Adele, equally as peeved, held a pillow in a firm choke hold against her face. The “smack,” “smack,” “smacking” from flip-flops down below bounced off the stone facades of the beautifully, tired Florentine buildings. The sound landed in Adele’s ears despite her pillow fortress.
“I give up.” Adele had been making waves in her bed for a few minutes before she gave sleeping up completely.
“I’m hungry. Where’s the Italian hospitality? Where are our cheese platters and our “Welcome to Italy” never-ending pasta bowls.” Robynne’s stomach quaked loudly in agreement.
“This isn’t Olive Garden. There might be something in the fridge.” Adele ran to the kitchen.
“Why are you running?” Robynne turned the light on.
“Because the floor is freaking cold. We have food. There’s a meat and cheese platter. The caretaker also left a welcome note with a bottle of wine.” Adele replied with her nose stuck in the open fridge.
“Come to mama.” Robynne commandeered the platter from Adele.
They ate with reckless abandon, stuffing prosciutto, Teleggio cheese and crackers into their mouths.
“Should we wash the food down with some wine?” Adele held a bottle of white wine by the neck like it was a fresh kill.
“When in Rome,” Robynne said.
“We’re in Florence.”
“Are you done with your geography lesson? Can we drink now?” Robynne said.
The combination of alcohol and giddiness, a by-product of their travels, had the duo bouncing from one wall.
“You have to grind your own coffee.” Adele fumbled with the small hand-held coffee grinder. Diagnosed with an advanced case of the butterfingers, Adele sent the contraption falling to the floor where it landed after some noisy clattering.
“Shhhh! People can hear you.” Robynne doubled over in fit of laughter.
“I have to use the bathroom.” Adele hot-footed it to the bathroom, clad in a yellow Happy Bunny pajama set.
“We have a bidet,” Adele said.
“A bi-what? Holy Pepto Bismal Pink, Batman,” Robynne staggered into the coffinesque-styled bathroom, wine bottle in hand.
“It has a certain charm to it,” Adele said.
“This bathroom reminds me of kindergarten. I have the sudden urge to take a nap,” Robynne said.
Adele cased the bidet like a bank robber. After approaching it cautiously from an angle, she straddled the thing with her front facing the sprayer.
“I think it’s the other way,” Robyn
ne said.
“How do you know? You didn’t even know how to say bidet,” Adele switched positions.
“Enough of your jive-talking, commence to bidet climbing. Speaking of climbing things, what’s the game plan?”
“Game plan,” Adele said.
“Don’t act coy. What’s the plan? How are we going to find lover boy?”
“Celeste gave me his address without any questions. I’m going to surprise him. He left St. Lucia so abruptly. I fooled myself into thinking I didn’t care, but I miss him. I want to see if we could have something,” Adele said.
“I can’t talk to you while you’re on the bidet.”
“Sorry, I’ll be out in a minute. I still need to pee,” Adele said.
“How do you function in life? You need medication. How did you forget you had to use the bathroom?”
“Don’t judge me.” Adele laughed.
“Here’s to going after what you want…finally.” Robynne took the final swig of wine.
“You know that’s bad luck, right? I didn’t have a drink. You toasted alone,” Adele said.
“Oh please, you know I don’t believe in superstitious mumbo jumbo. Everything will be fine.” Robynne shut the bathroom door.
The meat and cheese smorgasbord worked better than a dose of Ambien. It sent Adele and Robynne into dreamland once again.
Chapter 23
It was one in the afternoon when they finally climbed out of the sinewy grasp of sleep. The friends dressed in a hurry. Maps in hand, the women set off to find Ambrogio. The toothy grins on both their faces flashed like a neon sign “tourists” to anyone who just so happened to glance in their general direction. A brown-headed man in his mid-forties joined them on the stairs.
“Buon giorno,” Adele said with sunshine in her voice.
“You’re antics woke up the entire building,” he said in a caustic British accent.
“Mr. Belding?” Robynne said.
An uncomfortable silence accompanied them the rest of the way out of the building.
“He was charming,” Adele said as they stepped onto the aged cobblestones.
Robynne pulled out a pocket map. The one thing that neither the travel books, nor the websites mentioned was the abundance of excrement littering the sidewalks. Carefully, they embarked on a street that poured right into the heart of Florence—the Via Dell’Oriulo.
The statuesque, Santa Maria Del Fiore, or the Duomo, as the locals called it, stood tall, with its gigantic dome presiding over a flock of tourists grazing in the square. Adele and Robynne walked past the Bapistry with its boastful green marble and brown doors depicting the Sacrifice of Isaac, among other religious scenes.
Adele’s butt was quite selective, it only fused itself onto a church pew during Christmas and Easter. She fought to direct Robynne, who was busy snapping pictures, out of the line of smite-casting fire. Unbeknownst to Adele, she had managed to maneuver them in front of the business end of an ambulance.
“Attenzione alla vostra vita,” an EMT yelled, leaning his bald head out of the ambulance window.
“What did he say?” Robynne squared up for an argument.
“Basically, he said to pay attention to your life,” Adele said.
“Screw this. Can we take a cab? Cobblestones and heels don’t mix,” Robynne said.
“Good idea. I’m all turned around now.” The large map she was holding folded over her head.
The only patrons at the taxi cab stand, Adele and Robynne took refuge from the organized chaos that was Florence.
Adele remembered how little she knew about Ambrogio, the vague newspaper clippings notwithstanding. In the time it took for them to arrive at Ambrogio’s home, Adele had conjured up many scenarios regarding his line of work to include, assassin, ninja, mob boss, and rogue agent for an international crime syndicate. It was precisely at the moment when they pulled in the expansive driveway when Adele admitted to herself what Robynne already knew—she did watch too much television.
On either side of the driveway stood gardens which served as bookends paving the way to a far far way land where Adele was the merely the average girl looking to have a moment with the prince.
Adele and Robynne stood dwarfed by the large structure of stone piled as high and as wide as their eyes could see. Adele moved her head like a camera in landscape mode. She felt like she needed another set of eyes to take in all the glory that was La Borgata.
“The tourist entrance is around the corner,” The suit clad guard said.
“We’re not tourists. We’re here to see Mr. Argentero.” Adele wore her Italian language skills like a badge, one she hoped would gain her access into the expansive castle.
“Chi?” he asked.
“Mr. Argentero….Ambrogio,” Adele said.
“C’è l’ingresso per i touristi.” He pointed to the side of the castle.
Dismissed by the guard, Adele and Robynne walked to where he pointed. It was a little village as indicated by a detailed map situated near the tourist entrance . A winery, a cheese factory, a fully operational farm and restaurant—touted as the best in Tuscany—rounded out the palatial estate.
“So, he wouldn’t let you in to see Ambrogio?” Robynne asked.
“No, he thinks we’re tourists,” Adele said.
She turned her head just in time to see a black BMW with tinted windows pull into the driveway. The driver’s gloved hand opened the car door. A foot, then two, followed by the emergence of a lean body, dressed in a navy blue suit disguised as a second skin.
What started as a few unsure steps quickly turned into a full on run, ending with Adele launching her body into Ambrogio’s arms.
“What are you doing?” He stepped out of her embrace.
“It’s me. You’re all I could think about since I left St. Lucia,” Adele answered.
“St Lucia?” He said.
“Where you left without so much as a goodbye.” Adele wanted to hit him, instead she folded her arms across her chest. The lines in his face were the same ones that she’d drawn in her dreams at night.
“Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde anyone,” Robynne said.
“Such beauty,” he said as if he was looking at her for the first time.
“Aren’t you happy to see me?”
“I’m always happy to see a beautiful woman,” Ambrogio said.
His eyes drank her in like she was a glass of cold water on an especially hot day.
“Are you married? Did you get yourself some vacation tail?” Robynne asked.
“Cosa? What?” He treated Robynne to the same eye-sex he’d been giving to Adele.
“Hump and dump? Did you leave the wifey at home to get a little nookie in St. Lucia? Didn’t expect Adele to follow you all the way to Italy, right?” Robynne asked.
“What language are you speaking?” He asked.
“Why are you acting so strange? Is she right, are you married? You never wore a ring in St. Lucia,” Adele said.
“Things are not what they appear to be, Bella,” he said.
“Bella?” Adele said.
“I suppose that you want to come in?” He asked.
“What the hell?” Robynne said.
They followed in silent wonder both at Ambrogio’s actions and at the opulence exhibited in the castle. A man, equally dashing in his style of dress appeared out of nowhere, speaking in rapid fire Italian.
“If you two will excuse me for a minute. I have to make a business call. Cesare, my assistant, will get you anything you need.” He said, then disappeared into a long hallway full of doors.
Robynne cleared her throat and pushed out her chest. Her belted cotton dress had the first few buttons undone. Her cleavage sat high and perky under her upturned chin. All teeth, Robynne’s smile brightened the dark foyer. Cesare, however, was not smiling; in fact, he looked to be cooking on the inside. His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed into tiny slits.
“You don’t belong here.” He directed his verbal lashings at Adele while fixing
the lapel of his suit and swiping a pale hand through his rapidly graying hair.
Robynne moved in front of Adele defensively like a mother bear protecting her brood.
“Belong where? This castle? Italy? This world? You know what I hate more than an asshole, an indirect one.” Adele pushed her friend out of the way.
“What she said.” Robynne pat Adele on her back.
Magically reappearing before Adele could finish telling Cesare off, Ambrogio strolled back into the room.
“You can leave,” Ambrogio said.
“I must apologize for my behavior earlier. Join me for lunch, so I can explain myself.” He motioned for them to follow him.
Grand statues of angels, lions and water fountains dotted the path to the restaurant, La Bella Donna.
“How’s Felicità?” Adele said trying to break through the tension.
“Felicità is Felicità. She moves with the wind,” he said.
A waiter poured water in their glasses.
“What kind of answer is that? Has she gotten better or worse since St. Lucia?” Adele asked.
“Define worse?” He asked with his nose buried in a newspaper.
“Let’s table that conversation for now. What happened in St. Lucia?”
“What do you mean?” Ambrogio asked.
“The night you left. Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“You’re acting like a child. Some things had to be taken care of.” He said.
“Don’t use your business to excuse your rude behavior.” Adele said.
“This cannot be the same person you’ve been crying over.” One side of her mouth curled up in displeasure any time Robynne looked at Ambrogio.
“You’ve been crying over me.” The cockiness in his question lingered long after the words had left his lips.
“I wouldn’t call it crying.” Adele kicked Robynne under the table.
I must have made quite an impression on you. If you want, we can relive our time there. Of course, Robynne you’re welcome to join in,” he said.
“Are you on drugs?” Robynne’s bottom lip trembled. She was about to explode.
Dirty Secrets Page 11
