Her mother called her that night and invited her down for the weekend, since Jane and Liz were coming, and Coco explained that she was going to Venice to see Leslie.
“Are you sure that's a good idea?” her mother asked her, sounding suspicious. “You don't want to run after him, dear. It might make him feel like you're stalking him.”
“I'm not stalking him, Mom,” Coco said, rolling her eyes as she listened. “He wants me to come. He said so.”
“All right. If you're sure. But he must be very busy if he's making a movie. Men don't like it when women hang all over them. It makes them feel smothered.” Coco wanted to ask her if Gabriel felt “smothered” by her, but she didn't. She didn't want to get upset fighting with her mother. Besides her mother and Jane always won.
“Thank you for the advice,” Coco said tersely, wondering what she had ever done to deserve them. Her sister thought she was just a notch on his belt, and not a very attractive one, soon to be replaced by someone more glamorous and better-looking. And her mother thought she was stalking a movie star, who didn't really want to see her. Why was it that neither of them could imagine that she was worthy of him, and he truly loved her? “How's Gabriel?” she asked, to change the subject.
“Wonderful!” she said, sounding radiant over the phone. Her romance interested her a great deal more than Coco's, and she had no trouble imagining that he adored her. It was much harder for her to imagine that Leslie was equally in love with Coco. “We're having dinner with Jane and Liz this weekend.” She was a little apprehensive about it, knowing how tough her older daughter could be, and how critical, but she was excited to have Gabriel spend time with them, and share their happiness with them. Coco thought she was being naive, and Jane would use every opportunity to find fault with him and turn it against their mother later.
“Have fun,” she said to her mother as they hung up. And she was annoyed with herself later when she realized that her mother had scored a hit again. She was suddenly worrying that maybe she was forcing herself on Leslie and he didn't want her there as desperately as he said.
“I will not listen to them,” she said to herself, as she zipped her suitcase closed at midnight. “Mom and Jane are full of shit. They hate me, they have always hated me, and I don't care what they say. He loves me, and I love him, and that's all I need to know. He wants to see me, and we are going to have a wonderful time in Venice.” She said the whole speech out loud, and was proud of herself. And as Coco walked out on the deck and looked up at the stars, she prayed that everything would be all right when she got there. After that, she walked back inside and went to bed, and reminded herself that twenty-four hours later she would be in Venice, with the love of her life. It didn't get better than that, movie star or not. She wasn't going to question it, or dwell on what her mother had said. She was going to fly to Italy and have the time of her life.
Chapter 15
Coco made the same trip that Leslie had made almost two weeks earlier. The only difference was that he had made it in first class, and she flew in coach. Leslie had offered to buy her a first-class ticket too. But Coco liked to pay her own bills, and had refused. It was a long, eleven-hour cramped flight from San Francisco to Paris. She had slept fitfully on the flight, and she arrived feeling rumpled and dirty. She was too excited to fall into a deep sleep, and had watched four movies. She had a three-hour layover in Paris, where she managed to take a shower in the public bathroom, and have something to eat at an airport café. And she was starting to get seriously sleepy when she boarded the plane to Venice. She dozed off right after takeoff, fell into a heavy sleep, and the flight attendant had to wake her when they landed. It was the middle of the night for her, and she felt as though she had been traveling for days.
She had gone through customs in Paris, so all she had to do in Venice was walk off the plane, and get her passport stamped by immigration on the way out. She brushed her teeth, washed her face, and combed her hair before getting off. She had worn an old sweatshirt on the flight to Paris, but had changed into a new black sweater and black leather flats before disembarking in Venice. And as she left the plane, carrying a large tote bag, she saw Leslie waiting for her on the other side of immigration. It was lunchtime in Venice and the late October sun was very bright. But brightest of all was the look of joy in his eyes. He was thrilled to see her and swept her into his arms immediately, took the heavy bag from her, and walked her out of the terminal to a waiting limousine. He handed the driver her baggage stubs, and he went to claim her luggage while Leslie kissed her passionately in the car and told her how glad he was to see her. They both acted as though they hadn't seen each other in months, although it had been two days shy of two weeks.
“I was so afraid something would happen and you wouldn't come,” he admitted to her. “I can't believe you're here!” He looked ecstatic.
“Me neither. How's the movie going?”
“We have two days off. And I think they're giving us next weekend off too.” It was perfect. “I booked us into a hotel in Florence next week,” he said, beaming. He could hardly keep his hands off her as the driver appeared with her bags, put them in the trunk, and got back in the car. They were riding in a stretch Mercedes, which the producer had brought in from Germany, specially for him. He said the film was going well, although he and Madison had had some problems, but he didn't go into detail. All he wanted was to concentrate on Coco now that she was here.
It was a relatively short drive from the airport to the enormous parking lot, where they had to leave the limousine, and from there he had rented an enormous motoscafo, a speedboat, to take them to the Gritti Palace, where he was staying. The rest of the crew and some of the stars were staying at other smaller hotels, but he and Madison had been given suites at the Gritti, which was considered the most luxurious hotel in Venice. Madison had wanted to stay at the Cipriani, but the producer had insisted that it was farther and too complicated for transportation every day. And the director had taken refuge at the Bauer Grunwald, which he insisted he preferred. Leslie was delighted where he was.
The motoscafo took them rapidly down the Grand Canal, as Coco looked around her with awe. As they left the parking area, the city began to reveal itself before them. Churches, domes, basilicas, ancient palazzi, and eventually St. Mark's Cathedral and the square were dazzling in the October sun. It was easily the most beautiful place she had ever seen. And Leslie smiled at the look of wonder on her face.
“Beautiful, isn't it?” he said, and then pulled her into his arms and kissed her. He couldn't think of a better place to share with her than this. He had already rented a gondola for that night to take them under the Ponte dei Sospiri, the Bridge of Sighs, on their way to dinner, if she was still awake by then. There were a thousand things he wanted to do with her and show her. This was only the beginning. And he was grateful to have time off to be with her that weekend. They had been working hard.
When they arrived at the Gritti Palace, they were instantly whisked inside, and Leslie took her to their rooms. She had expected him to have a suite, but instead they had given him several suites, joined together, to form a palatial apartment just for him. It was in his contract, but more elegant and luxurious than anything Coco had ever seen. And the view from his windows was spectacular, looking across the canal at other palaces, many of them private and still owned by noble Venetians. It was a remarkable and unique city.
Several of the hotel's formidable staff were bowing and scraping to Leslie, as two maids disappeared to unpack her bags, and a liveried waiter arrived carrying an enormous silver tray with food for her, and a perfectly chilled bottle of Louis Roederer Cristal champagne.
“One gets a little spoiled on location,” Leslie whispered to her with a sheepish grin.
“I'll say,” she said, trying to remind herself that she was here for only a week or two. And when she left, the royal coach she was traveling in with him would turn into a pumpkin again. She had to remind herself of it constantly. Being with Le
slie was a totally Cinderella experience, and without a doubt, he was the handsome prince. It was hard to believe that the glass slipper would really fit her in the end. That only happened in fairy tales, but clearly this was one.
They settled onto an enormous yellow satin couch as the waiter poured her tea for her, and served her a plate of exquisite little sandwiches, and then discreetly left the room.
“I'm not sure if I'm Cinderella or Orphan Annie,” she said, looking at Leslie in disbelief. “Last time I looked, I was in Bolinas. How did I ever wind up here?” She hadn't expected anything like this. All she had thought about was being with him again, it never occurred to her what his life would look like on location, or the lengths to which producers went to, to make things comfortable for him. This was way beyond comfortable. It was opulent in the extreme.
“It's not a bad life, is it?” He smiled mischievously. “But it was miserable until you got here. It was no fun without you,” he said, and showed her through the rooms. There was a gigantic, palatial bedroom, all done in exquisite antiques, with a frescoed ceiling, two sitting rooms, and a private dining room big enough to entertain two dozen friends. He had a small office, a library, and there were so many vast marble bathrooms in the suite that she lost count when he showed them to her. There were fresh flowers in every room, and he had picked out a pink marble bathroom for her, with a spectacular view of Venice.
“I think I'm dreaming,” she said as she followed him, and then without further ceremony, he pulled her onto their enormous canopied bed. It was fit for a king, but there she found the Leslie she knew and loved again. Despite the elegance of their surroundings, he was as loving and playful as he had been in Jane's house and Bolinas with her. One of the beauties about Leslie was that he enjoyed his life and everything that went with it, but he wasn't full of himself. And all he wanted now was to be with her.
They made love and slept through the afternoon, and then they took a bath in the enormous pink marble bathroom. He told her to put on jeans. He wanted to take her for a walk, and show her some of the wonders of Venice. They scampered quickly through the hotel lobby, and his private motoscafo deposited them in St. Mark's Square. From there, they wandered through some of the narrow back streets, walked into churches, bought gelato from a street vendor, and strolled over tiny bridges that covered the smaller canals. She totally lost her sense of direction as she walked with him, but neither of them cared. He was learning a little bit of the city, but being lost in Venice was never ominous. Wherever you went it was beautiful, and somehow you wound up back in the right place in the end. They saw other lovers like them walking everywhere, and most of them were Venetians at that time of the year. The weather was cool and sunny, and as the sun disappeared finally, they went back to the motoscafo, which deposited them back at the hotel.
Back in his palatial rooms again, she stood looking out at the city, and then turned to Leslie with all the love she felt for him in her eyes. “Thank you for inviting me here,” she said softly. It was almost like a honeymoon, being there with him, and the most romantic place she'd ever been.
“I didn't invite you,” he reminded her, with a look that mirrored hers. “I begged you to come. I wanted to share this with you, Coco. It was just a job until you came.” She couldn't help smiling at the term. It was an awfully nice place to work.
They talked about the movie then, and how it was going. He poured her a glass of champagne, and eventually they went to dress for dinner. He was concerned that she might be too tired to go out, but she had slept just enough that afternoon to revive her. She didn't want to miss a minute of the time with him, especially while he didn't have to work.
This time, when they went downstairs, there was no sign of his motoscafo, and a huge gondola was waiting for them. The gondolier was wearing a striped shirt, a short navy blue jacket in the evening chill, and the traditional flat hat worn by all the gondoliers. The boat itself was a wonder of shining black trimmed in gold, and looked just as all the gondolas had for hundreds of years. As promised, they slid under the Bridge of Sighs on the way to dinner, as the gondolier sang to them. It was right out of a dream.
“Hold your breath and close your eyes,” Leslie whispered to her, and with eyes wide at first, she did, as he kissed her gently on the mouth, holding his breath too, and as they came out from under the bridge, he told her she could breathe again. She opened her eyes and smiled at him. “Okay, now the deal is sealed,” he said, looking delighted. “According to legend, we will be together forever. Hope you don't have any objection.” She laughed as he settled into the seat next to her again. What was there to object to? The most romantic, loving man on the planet? Or the most beautiful city she'd ever seen? It would have been hard to imagine anything to object to in any of it, and she didn't.
“I want to come here on our honeymoon if we ever have one,” she whispered, as they slipped under another bridge and she was swept up in the mood. It would have been impossible not to be, especially with him. “If we ever get married, I mean.”
“Now you're talking,” he said, looking elated, as they stopped at some small stone steps, with a cheerfully lit restaurant at the top of them. The gondolier handed them out, and Leslie walked into the restaurant with his arm around her. “The concierge at the hotel said this would be quiet and discreet. A lot of the locals come here. It's not fancy, but he said it's very good.”
The restaurant was small and only half full. The headwaiter led them to a small cozy table at the back of the restaurant. No one paid any attention to them, and they dined like everyone else, without intrusion or interruption. Leslie said the press had been fairly good here so far, and hadn't bothered them. Madison had caused something of a stir when her press agent called the fan magazines with some absurd stories, but they had only been bothered on the set, and nothing had come of it since, much to everyone's relief. It hadn't gotten the European press going. Leslie didn't tell her what the stories were, only that they were insignificant and annoying and typical of her. He said she liked to be the queen bee on the set of every movie she made, which didn't bother him, as long as she learned her lines, showed up on time, and didn't slow things down in any way. He was enjoying Venice, but he was hoping to come home as soon as possible to her. And he said the movie was on schedule so far. They were going to be shooting in St. Mark's Square that week, and inside the basilica, which had taken endless permits, but their Italian production assistant had been a genius at getting them everything they needed.
They chatted all through dinner, and now and then Coco felt a wave of drowsiness come over her. Her time zones were completely out of whack, but she enjoyed the evening thoroughly, and a walk in St. Mark's Square afterward. And then they went back to the hotel in their gondola. She was yawning when they returned to their rooms. She could hardly keep her eyes open by then. It was midnight in Italy, and she'd been up for many hours. Somewhere along the way, she had lost a whole night's sleep, but it was for a good cause, to say the least.
Coco was sound asleep before Leslie could even make love to her, and he lay there watching her as she slept, with a smile on his face, and then cuddled up next to her. Having her there was like a dream come true for him. And together, they slept until almost noon the next day. They awoke to the sun streaming into their rooms, and got up to start their day after they made love.
He took her to Harry's Bar for lunch, which was an old favorite of his. She had Risotto Milanese as only they could make it, with lots of saffron, and he had lobster salad as they discussed what to do that afternoon. He had hired a gondola for her again, as it was more romantic than the faster, more practical motoscafo that took him to work every day. They were in no hurry, and spent the afternoon visiting the Doge's Palace, and admired the Campanile, the bell tower of the basilica. They strolled through the Royal Gardens, and then wandered in and out of several beautiful old churches before going back to the hotel. It had been another perfect day. They decided to order room service, since he had a six a.m.
call on the set to get his hair and makeup done. She had promised to come with him, at least for the first day. After that she was going to explore Venice a little on her own. For a tiny city, there was so much to see, and she didn't want to bother him while he was working on the film.
Leslie traveled very simply, and never took an entourage with him. He said he didn't need an assistant as long as the concierge was good, and the Gritti Palace was known for their remarkable staff. He used the hair and makeup people on the set and never brought his own. For a major star, he was surprisingly undemanding and without pretension. He said he preferred less fuss and attention. Unlike Madison, who had brought her own hairdresser, two makeup artists, her sister, two assistants, and her best friend with her. She was known for giving producers long lists of her personal needs and demands before signing a contract for a film. She traveled with a personal bodyguard and a trainer too, and she had demanded that all of them be put up in the same hotel with her. It didn't win her friends on any set where she worked, but she was the biggest female box-office draw in the world at the moment, so no one argued with her. They just gave her what she wanted to keep her from making a scene, which she never hesitated to do.
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