“We’re not looking to restructure it, just fix it up enough to host guests,” Fabrizio said.
“We estimate about twenty thousand should get us started,” Enrico added.
Francesca took a sip of her prosecco. “Have you considered Pietro’s proposal?” Francesca’s husband, Pietro, like many architects, specialized in converting those lofty old Italian villas into modern apartments. “He knows some interested investors. He said he could easily design four independent units and you could use your share of the sales to purchase something much more manageable.” Francesca looked at the boys.
“We can’t sell the house,” Fabrizio said with a tone of panic.
“We have Papà and Tata to think about,” Enrico said. “And where would we all go?”
“I understand, my treasures.” Francesca struggled to show some expression of empathy on her immobilized face. “Of course, it’s out of discussion.” She took a sharp little breath as if something very clever and practical had just occurred to her, “But certainly, there is another possibility.”
“What’s that?” Both boys looked at her earnestly.
Francesca almost breathed the words. “I could loan you some money from my personal account—just enough to get you started—and you could use the house as collateral.”
The train back to Laveno was almost empty in the early afternoon, and the boys sat on the second level of the carriage where they could get a better view.
“Hey, did you notice Francesca’s forehead and lips?” Fabrizio said.
“Yeah, I think she must have a fever or something. They looked all swollen.”
“That’s probably why she’s going to the thermal spa for a couple of weeks. She needs to rest,” Fabrizio said as the train rolled past the now abandoned 2016 Expo site, the gardens all gone, the shells of pavilions standing like empty warehouses, and the emblematic Tree of Life sculpture still sticking up in the air like a giant toilet brush. “So, what do you think about my idea for the B&B now?” Fabrizio said.
“I guess the only thing we can do is try.” Enrico nudged his brother’s shoulder. “You know, sometimes you’re quite clever.” Enrico smiled. “Even if you are a cretino.”
FOR MORE than an hour after the boys had left, Francesca remained lounging on the sofa with a wineglass in her hand and smoking a cigarette.
“What did you tell them?” Pietro said as he walked in from his tennis lesson.
“The truth.” Francesca took a long drag. “There’s hardly any money left in the bank account.” She blew out the smoke in her husband’s face.
“Phew.” Pietro fanned the air. “You didn’t tell them about the Swiss account, did you?”
“Give me some credit! Of course I didn’t.” Francesca almost spit the words.
“So, you didn’t give them the money for their stupid B&B?”
Francesca softened her tone. “I told them it was a wonderful idea, and at great personal sacrifice I offered them a loan.”
“A loan?”
“Yes, a loan, with a two-year term and the house as collateral.” Francesca held two fingers up. “And when their B&B flops and they default on the loan….”
Pietro broke into a grin. “The house becomes yours.” Her husband bowed his head. “Then we convert the place into condos!”
“Exactly.” Francesca ran her finger down her husband’s nose. Then her tone became hard. “And they’ll have to move to someplace they can afford and stuff their father in a home somewhere, if he’s still alive.”
Pietro picked up a glass and poured himself some wine. “That should give us enough time to quietly bleed off the rest of the money from the old lady’s account and hide it beyond their reach in Switzerland.”
“That’s my money, not theirs! Those little bastards and their frocio father killed my mother,” she growled.
Chapter Six
FOLLOWING MONTHS of darkness and bitter cold, just when it felt like spring would never come, the days grew longer, spikes of tulips and crocus poked up from the ground that had been frozen rock-solid only weeks before, and the tiniest branches of the oak became swollen with reddish buds.
“Hey, guys,” Jessy said as he walked into the kitchen and threw down his books. “You know my new FB, Peter?” He opened the fridge and took out a piece of cheese.
“That’s not Facebook.” Owen shot a look at Maggie, who nodded.
“Well, he’s more of a suck pig than a fuck buddy, but anyway, he’s the supervisor for the LGBT hotline.” Jessy chewed the cheese.
“And they want us to give advice over the telephone?” A moping expression hung on Owen’s face.
“Let me finish.” Jessy sounded slightly irritated. “Their annual fundraiser is coming up fast and so far, they have no one to organize it. Of course, I told Peter all about you and your business,” Jessy said.
“What business? We put together a few parties for some friends,” Owen said in a flat sarcastic tone.
Jessy ignored him and continued. “And he agreed to having you two organize the fundraiser.”
Owen scratched his head. “I don’t think we’re ready for something like that.”
“Are you serious?” Maggie said.
“I’m dead serious,” Jessy said. “Did you go to their fundraiser last year at the community center?”
“No. Why?”
“Because neither did anyone else!” Jessy waved his hands. “Not even half the volunteers showed up, and they ran out of soft drinks and sandwiches by nine.” Jessy clasped Owen’s face. “No matter what you put together, it couldn’t be worse than that.”
Owen cast his eyes up at Jessy. “So what’s the catch?”
“No catch. I told him because it was such a special cause, you’d do it pro bono. Besides they have almost no budget anyway.”
“Pro bono?” Maggie said.
“For nothing.” Owen scowled.
“C’mon, it’ll be great publicity. Oh, look at the time. Someone here with a life has swim practice, an evening class, and a hookup later on at Trexx. Ciao for now.” He kissed the tip of his fingers and threw his hand toward them just before he darted out the room. “Don’t wait up for me. I’ll talk to you at breakfast and you can tell me about all the fabulous ideas you’ve come up with,” he called as he went out the front door.
“For nothing?” Maggie mouthed the words and frowned. She sat back in her chair and brushed her hair back from her face with her fingers. “You know, this could be our big break,” she said with a guarded tone of optimism.
Owen frowned back at her.
“There’s just one thing I don’t understand. How does Jessy carry on a conversation with these guys, if he has his dick in their mouths?”
Owen held up his hand. “I warn you. Don’t ask or he will explain.”
Chapter Seven
FABRIZIO SNUGGLED into one of the booths at the Old Milano Pub and chatted up Grazia and her best friend, Maria, while Enrico stayed out on the patio with Angelo and some friends and flirted with Luigi, Maria’s boyfriend, as he served drinks.
A few years ago, Timmy Chan and his wife, Lilly, had taken over the management of the dingy old pub on the northern edge of Laveno. They remodeled the interior in pastels and glitter, hung a big TV on the far wall, and played music videos in between soccer games. It was too small to have a dance floor, but now that it was spring and the warmer evenings had returned, every weekend after nine on the cement patio in front, a DJ pumped out house beats. Timmy hired local boys and girls as bartenders and waiters, who were, not by accident, all good-looking, and all their friends from all the surrounding villages came, along with all those not wanting to go as far as Luino near the Swiss border. In no time the Old Milano had become the hottest nightspot on this side of Lago Maggiore.
By two in the morning the DJ shut down and pockets of boys and girls raised their hands in the air, blew kisses, and called out a last ciao as they wandered off toward their cars parked haphazardly along the street. Fabrizio came ou
t with his arm wrapped around Grazia’s waist. Her sequined sweater barely contained her jiggling breasts. Perched on her stilettos she was as tall as him. Fabrizio looked over at Enrico, smiled, and winked as Luigi walked past them with a tray of empty glasses and glared at Grazia. She scowled back at him. He scoffed and continued on into the bar. Unaware, Fabrizio steered Grazia across the street and along the dark shoreline promenade. A few minutes later, Maria came out, propped her butt against one of the high chairs, and folded her arms as if she were bored or angry. Luigi came out, rushed past her with a tray, and went back inside.
Enrico sat at the far end of the patio on a cement planter playing with his cell phone. He scrolled down the profiles of guys, some with face shots and as many without. Some had changed their photos. Some had changed their names. But he pretty much knew who most of them were. There were the usuals: the local hotties on the circuit, the escorts, the old guys who kept sending him photos of their dicks, and the ones too frightened to show their faces. There was also a variety of younger guys wanting to get off on dirty talk but who lacked the courage to actually follow through and meet up. Enrico clicked on a photo of new guy with nice eyes and a great chest. He scrolled down his profile: twenty-eight, 172 cm., 62kg, athletic, single, straight, looking for hook-ups with guys, Verbania.
He was right across the lake, only twenty minutes away by ferry, but the ferry had stopped running hours ago.
Maria remained propped against the windowsill fiddling with her cell phone. Luigi came over and put his hands on her rump and pulled her pelvis up against his. She held out her cell phone and continued to gaze sideways at the screen. Casually, she turned and looked at Luigi. He leaned forward and kissed her, then went back inside. Maria plopped her cell phone in her bag and slung it over her shoulder. As she clicked her heels across the patio toward the street, she threw a tiny wave at Enrico, who was still sitting on the cement planter engrossed in his phone.
Luigi came back out and pulled the tables across the patio and formed them into a corral. The chain made a clinking sound as he wove it through the legs and secured it with a padlock. Then he disappeared back inside the bar.
Ten minutes later Luigi reappeared, called out, “buona notte,” and walked past Enrico, who didn’t look up from his screen. At the edge of the passageway leading to the back street, Luigi paused and stared back at Enrico. When Enrico eventually looked up at him, he slipped into the shadows. Enrico swiped his screen closed, stood up, and casually followed him.
As Enrico rounded the corner, a hand shot out from the darkness, grabbed hold of him, and pulled him in, pushing him back against the wall. Luigi pressed his loins against Enrico and slid his hands under Enrico’s T-shirt, caressing his stomach and pecs. Enrico held Luigi by his hair with one hand, shoving his other hand down the back of Luigi’s underwear, grasping his left buttock and kneading it like pizza dough. After tugging the front of Enrico’s T-shirt up, Luigi sucked and teased Enrico’s nipples while he worked his hand down Enrico’s stomach and past the band of his underwear. With a rattle of belt buckles and the zip of flies, both men opened their pants, slid the front of their underwear down, and set their constrained passions free. Like a sommelier gripping a wine bottle by the neck, Luigi grabbed a hold of Enrico’s hard cock while stroking his own. Enrico pressed his hand on the top of Luigi’s head and Luigi dropped to his knees. Without hesitation he engulfed the head of Enrico’s cock as if he were sucking on a Chupa Chups lollipop. Enrico clasped the sides of Luigi’s head with both hands and slid his hard dick down Luigi’s throat like a snake slipping down its hole. Luigi flinched, his stomach heaved, and he began to gag. Enrico withdrew. Luigi gasped and gripped Enrico’s slippery saliva-covered cock, kissing and licking his balls. Enrico moaned. Then Enrico’s balls tightened and Luigi once again engulfed the head of his cock. Snatching short rapid breaths, Luigi stroked himself more vigorously while he sucked and pumped Enrico. Enrico clasped Luigi’s head, slid his cock down Luigi’s throat again and, with a low grunt, released himself. Luigi pulled back and gasped for air like a free-diver coming to the surface. He licked the remaining cum off the head of Enrico’s cock while pumping himself like a piston until he shot across the toe of Enrico’s tennis shoe and out onto the pavement.
Enrico pulled Luigi to his feet and they clung to each other, breathing in and out like two prizefighters at the end of the final round. Then they separated, bent over, and pulled up their underwear and pants, refastened their buckles, and straightened their T-shirts. Luigi shifted his weight to move away, but Enrico caught him and pulled him in for a kiss. Luigi turned his head sideways and Enrico kissed him on the neck. Without a word, Luigi darted down the passageway and out onto the empty street. Enrico smoothed his hair and went in the opposite direction, back toward the bar where Angelina was parked.
Two minutes later, Enrico rolled up to the steps at the edge of the lakeside promenade. He rotated Angelina’s handlebar back and forth until the headlight caught two figures down below in a dark spot at the water’s edge, stretched out on the cement landing near the break wall. Enrico could just make out Fabrizio, lying on top of Grazia with his face buried in her bare breasts and his ass bouncing up and down.
Enrico turned off the engine and the light and waited. With one last thrust and a groan, Fabrizio flopped down and splayed himself out on top of Grazia like a beached seal.
“Come on! Let’s go,” Enrico called out.
Fabrizio looked up and squinted at Enrico on the walkway above them. He pushed himself upright, peeled off the condom, and tucked himself into his shorts. Grazia sat up and straightened her skirt and hair.
“Ciao, Enrico.” She waved as she pulled her sequined sweater over her head and tucked her breasts back in.
“Ciao, Grazia.” Enrico waved back.
Extending his hand, Fabrizio pulled Grazia to her feet, and the two climbed up the steps to where Enrico sat astride the motorbike. Grazia leaned over and kissed Enrico on the cheek, then turned and pressed herself up against Fabrizio and made an expression like a puppy begging for a biscuit.
With both hands cradling her rump, Fabrizio kissed her. “Got to go!” He pulled on his helmet and hopped onto the back of Angelina, gripping hold of his brother’s waist. Enrico gunned the throttle and Fabrizio jerked backward. “Later,” he called, leaving Grazia behind in a cloud of exhaust.
As they raced up the hill, around the curve, and along the lakeside road toward home, Fabrizio pressed up against his brother’s back and with his mouth at the side of Enrico’s helmet, he yelled above the roar of the bike and the rushing air. “I’ve never been able to get past first base with her before, but tonight she was all over me!” Fabrizio stretched his arm out in front of Enrico’s face and dangled the used condom for him to see.
“Why the change in attitude?” Enrico called out, not taking his eyes off the road.
“Who knows? Must be a full moon. You know how horny women get during a full moon.”
Enrico laughed and yelled back, “Guys too!”
Chapter Eight
“YOU WON’T believe this!” Maggie said as she burst through the door.
“Already heard. Eminem is not really a homophobe.”
“Yeah right.” Maggie swatted the air. “No, I want to tell you something much more interesting.”
“Breathe, woman. You’re turning blue.”
Maggie took a big breath of air. “Do you remember Skate-O-Rama, the old roller rink just north of the city on Mattydale Street? It was huge during the ’70s and ’80s, but it’s been closed for years.”
“How old do you think I am anyways? Of course I don’t remember it,” Owen said.
“Well, that’s not the point.” Maggie threw out her hands. “The point is, it’s been marked for destruction. They’re going put up a condo or a shopping mall or something. Part of that urban redevelopment program.”
“Fascinating! But what has this got to do with us?” Owen crossed his arms.
“My dad�
�s the agent handling the property transfer?”
“Same question,” he sang out.
“My dad spoke to the owners, and they were thrilled at the idea of one last bang-up party before the place goes on the block and, well….”
“No!” Owen gasped.
“Yes! It’s ours for the night. Free of charge!”
Owen grabbed Maggie and bounced her up and down as they burst into squeals.
“Oh, oh, put me down or I’m going to pee my pants,” Maggie said.
“And guess what?” Owen flexed his eyebrows. “I convinced my boss the fundraiser would be great advertising for the party store, and he agreed to let us have all the miscellaneous bags of glitter and mismatched balloons in the storeroom. And there’s a shitload in there.”
“Yeah, but what kind of a theme can we do in an old roller rink, with a whole lot of different colored balloons and bags of glitter?”
“Are you kidding me!” Owen gave Maggie a mock shove and brought his hands together in a praying position. “After all these years of homo indoctrination, have you learned nothing my child?”
Maggie squinted at him.
Owen cocked one eye at her. “All we need is a DJ and a honking big mirror ball and we’ll have a night of disco inferno Syracuse will never forget!”
They started jumping and squealing again just as Jessy walked in the door.
He dropped his books on the floor, ran over, and joined in.
“Hey, what are you squealing about?” Maggie said.
“Or are you just channeling your inner thirteen-year-old girl?” Owen jested.
Jessy came to a stop and so did Owen and Maggie. “Do you remember that apprenticeship in screenplay writing I applied for?”
“Yeah,” Maggie said.
“Well, I got it! I’m going!”
“Wait a minute.” Owen stood still. “What apprenticeship in screenplay writing?”
“You know, the one in California.”
Tiramisu After Midnight Page 4
