“I’m afraid I packed all my electronic stuff in my carry-on, and I don’t have a change of clothes.” Owen blew out a breath of air. “But Air Italia said they would deliver our bags first thing tomorrow,” he quickly added.
Enrico shot a nervous glance at Fabrizio. “I better call them in the morning just to make sure they have the address.”
“Oh, the other thing is, we need SIM cards,” Owen said. “Our phones don’t work here.”
“Don’t worry, we can get them in the village tomorrow.” Enrico gestured again. “Go in and make yourselves comfortable. You are welcome.”
“I’ll take your bags, Miss Maggie.” Fabrizio flashed a smile at Maggie.
As Maggie and Owen walked along the pathway and up the steps, Maggie whispered to Owen. “So, do you think they’re gay or straight?”
“I’m definitely getting a reading, but I forgot to set my gaydar for Italian guys.”
“I’m getting a reading too,” Maggie said.
“You can’t get a reading.” Owen sneered. “There’s no such a thing as straightdar!”
“Well, I’m certainly seeing double. And I’m liking the view!” Maggie bobbed her eyebrows.
“It’s like my favorite porn video.” Owen held the door open. “Of course, you’re not in it.”
“I’m thankful for that,” Maggie said, and they went inside.
FABRIZIO AND Enrico waited in the driveway until the taxi drove off. “See, I told you they were husband and wife,” Fabrizio said to his brother in Italian.
Enrico inhaled deeply. “You were right. Only a married woman would be brave enough to wear sweatpants and sports shoes outside the gym.”
“I’m always right,” Fabrizio said. “I’ve got a sixth sense for these things. Especially about married women.”
“When have you ever been with a married woman?” Enrico cocked his head sideways.
“Signora Bianchi.” Fabrizio shrugged. “What about her?”
“You haven’t been with Signora Bianchi. You only fantasize about her when you wank.” Enrico scowled.
“Well, that’s almost the same.” Fabrizio shot him a grin.
“C’mon, cretino. Let’s get them settled. By the way, why did you kiss her hand?” Enrico said as they strolled up the path with the carry-on bags.
“She stuck it in my face, and I didn’t know what else to do with it.”
“And since when did you become a cowboy? Cut out the Texas accent. They’re from New York.”
“Just making them feel at home.” Fabrizio held up his thumb and winked like he’d seen Fonzie do on the reruns of Happy Days.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“OWEN, COME quick!” Maggie appeared in Owen’s doorway. She was making jittery little bounces as she disappeared back into her room and into her bathroom. “Hurry, I’m about to pee my pants.”
“What’s wrong?” Owen followed her and stood in the doorway.
Maggie stood pointing at the porcelain bowl next to the toilet. “What’s that thing?”
Owen broke into a smile. “It’s a bidet.”
“I don’t care what it’s called. I just want to know if I’m supposed to pee in it or wash my feet in it.”
“No! You’re supposed to wash your girlie bits in it after you’ve done your business.” Owen snorted a laugh. “Just don’t ask me to demonstrate.”
“No! Get out of here and let me pee in peace.”
“You’re the one who called me in here.” Owen swatted the air and turned to leave.
“No! Don’t go!”
“What now?”
“How do I flush?”
“With the big silver handle. You have to twist it on and off. It’s manual.”
“Okay, get out of here.”
Owen walked out of Maggie’s room. “Just be careful. C stands for caldo—hot!” he called back to her.
Owen had just returned to his room when there was a knock on his door. He opened it to find Enrico standing there holding a toothbrush in one hand and a small pile of clothes in the other.
“Is everything all right?” Enrico’s voice had a slight nervous twinge.
“No, fine. Everything is fine.” Owen looked directly into Enrico’s eyes. “More than fine,” he said and quickly broke his stare.
Enrico stood there for a moment, not saying anything. Then he glanced down at the pile of clothes in his hand. “I thought that maybe you would like to change into something fresh after your flight, so I brought you some clean socks, underwear, and a T-shirt you can borrow until your bags arrive.” Enrico looked up and down at Owen. “You’re a bit bigger than me, but these should fit. Oh, the toothbrush is new.”
“Thanks.” Owen took the pile from Enrico. “Especially for the toothbrush. I’m sure I have airline breath.” He chuckled.
Enrico smiled nervously and turned to go but stopped. “Have you eaten?”
“We ate on the plane,” Owen said. “Right now, I think I need a shower.”
“If you’d like to come down in an hour, Tata has prepared something light for you before bed.” Enrico turned and went down the stairs.
Two minutes later, Maggie appeared at the door.
“Did you figure out the plumbing?” Owen said.
“Fresh as a daisy. You know I could learn to love this bidet thing. It’s like a little swimming pool for my vagina.” She leaned against the doorsill. “So what did Enrico want?”
“He loaned me some clothes until my bags come.”
“Oh, how sweet.” Maggie chirped.
“Yeah, but I don’t know if I’m comfortable wearing some guy’s underwear.” Owen frowned.
“Are you kidding me?” Maggie cocked one eyebrow. “You’d go into a dark room and stick some stranger’s dick in your mouth who you can’t even see, but you’re squeamish about borrowing a pair of underwear?” Maggie shook her head. “There are things about gay men I’ll never understand.” She turned and went back into her room. “For the record if some hot guy like that were to loan me his underwear,” she called back, “I wouldn’t know whether to wear them or eat them!” She slammed her door shut, leaving Owen standing there with the pile of clothes in his hand.
Owen posed in front of the mirror and admired himself in Enrico’s underwear. He was a boxer shorts guy and hadn’t worn jockeys since he was in grade school. They weren’t some fancy Italian designer that he recognized, like Armani or D&G, but he had to admit they were nice. He turned sideways and examined himself. He liked the way they hugged his butt and held his package. They seemed to complement his form better than his usual five-to-a-pack boxers. Then he imagined the underwear hugging Enrico’s lean Mediterranean form, the little line of hair leading down from his navel under the wide band, and of course his cock, resting in the pouch like a snake asleep in a hammock, not that Owen had ever seen a snake sleeping in a hammock, but he began to get hard all the same.
Just as he was about to slide his hand down the front of his underwear, the door banged open and Maggie walked in. Owen jumped and turned sideways in an attempt to hide his chubby. “Hey! Don’t you ever knock?”
“Why? After living with you and Jessy for a year, these poor eyes of mine have witnessed more than any sane woman ever should. Here’s my toothpaste. Don’t squeeze it from the top of the tube.” She tossed it on the end of the bed. “Oh, nice underwear. Really shows off your package.” And she walked out again.
Chapter Twenty-Three
WHETHER IT was withdrawal, the medication, or just jet lag, Owen was up and wide-awake at sunrise. He had figured out how to use the Moka coffeepot and was standing on the terrace with a tiny cup of coffee as dark as old motor oil in his hand, watching the morning light tickle the tops of the mountains on the other side of the lake, when one of the boys came out of the kitchen.
“Enrico, right?”
“Yes.” Enrico beamed.
“Hey, I’m getting good at this.” Owen smiled back “Thanks again for the change of clothes. Listen, I need to g
et an Italian SIM card. Do you know where I could do that?”
“Right here in Castelveccana at the newsstand. It’s about a fifteen-minute walk, but I’ll give you a lift on the bike.” Enrico pointed to Angelina sitting in the drive below them.
He hadn’t intended it as an excuse to get to know Enrico, but it seemed like the perfect opportunity, except it would mean riding on the back of a scooter, not something Owen was quite comfortable doing. “No, I don’t want to trouble you.” He waved his hand.
“No trouble.” Enrico placed his tiny coffee cup on the cement banister. “I’m going to pick up something for Tata. Come on.”
Owen followed him as he trotted down the steps and over to Angelina. Enrico slipped on his helmet, straddled the bike, and pumped the foot pedal until the engine sprang to life. He braced his legs wide on either side of the bike, twisted around toward Owen, and handed him the other helmet. “Hop on.”
“I’ve never ridden on a motorbike before. What do I do?” Owen had that same clumsy and awkward feeling he had felt so often growing up, like when he was afraid to skateboard or when he stood frozen on the end of the diving board at the pool unable to jump off.
“First come here and let me fix your helmet.” Enrico reached up and took hold of the strap dangling under Owen’s chin. Owen stood there like a child whose mother was tying on his hat before he went out to play. “There you are.” Enrico pulled the strap tight. “Now, brace yourself on my shoulders and climb on behind me.”
Owen threw his leg over the seat. “Like this?”
Enrico bent over and took hold of Owen’s ankle. “Put your feet here on the foot pegs.” Then Enrico took Owen’s hands and wrapped them around his waist just inches above his crotch. “Hang on.” He revved the throttle and the bike jolted forward and Owen jerked backward. The scooter growled down the gravel drive and out onto the pavement. Enrico torqued the accelerator and they climbed up the hill and past the church.
As they came down the other side and flew around the corner, Owen clung harder onto Enrico’s waist and squeezed his thighs against his hips. Pressed up against Enrico’s warm backside, with the vibration of the engine and the exhilaration of the speeding bike, Owen began to get hard. He thought about sliding back in the seat a little so that Enrico wouldn’t feel his boner, but he was too nervous to relax his grip.
Even if this wasn’t really sex, not since he and Jessy had first fooled around when they were still in junior high had Owen surrendered his body to the moment like this. For some strange reason, the lines to an old song by Marianne Faithfull that Jessy’s mom always used to sing off-key popped into his head. It was about a woman who had turned thirty-seven only to realize she’d never ridden through Paris in a sports car with the warm wind in her hair. Owen was a long way from thirty, this wasn’t Paris, and they weren’t in a sports car, but all the same, with his arms wrapped around Enrico and the warm wind in his face as they swerved and swayed down the roadway, he felt like he understood what the woman in the song had longed for.
“Everything okay?” Enrico turned his head and called back to Owen over the sound of the roaring engine.
“No problem,” Owen yelled back.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“GOOD MORNING, tesoro,” Tata said as Maggie came in through the kitchen door.
“Oh, good morning.” Maggie blinked and inhaled the rich coffee aroma. “What time is it?”
“It’s eight o’clock, dear. I heard you coming, so I put the coffee on. It will just be a moment. Sit down here at the table.”
“I must have jet lag.” Maggie fought back a yawn as she sat down. “Have you seen Owen?”
“Yes, he got up earlier. Enrico took him to Castelveccana to get something for his phone.” The Moka pot steamed and gurgled. Tata took it off the fire and poured the brown liquid into a tiny cup. “Sugar?”
“Yes, one please.”
Tata added a spoonful of sugar and placed the cup of coffee in front of Maggie.
Maggie picked up the tiny cup daintily in her fingers and took a sip. “Oh my, that’s good! It’s like super-coffee.”
“We Italians love our coffee.” Tata laughed.
“But Tata, where did you learn to speak English so well?”
“My father worked at the Gerbini American aeronautic base after the war, and he insisted that all his children learn English. I was sixteen when he died, and since I was the oldest, I came north to work and help support my mother and eight younger brothers and sisters back in Sicily.”
“Wow, that must have been really heavy,” Maggie said.
Tata shrugged. “It was. But I’m strong.” She spooned three tablespoons of sugar into a large glass bowl. With a sharp strike on the edge of the bowl, she cracked an egg in half, skillfully separating the yolk from the white by pouring it back and forth between the two halves of the shell. Then she put the egg yolk in the large bowl and the egg white in a smaller bowl and did it again.
“What are you making?”
“Tiramisu.”
“Ahh, I love tiramisu! It’s my favorite dessert,” Maggie said. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m bothering you, aren’t I?” Maggie caught herself.
“No, not at all. I live in a house full of men. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had another woman in my kitchen to talk to?”
Maggie laughed. “I know exactly what you mean. I live with two men. They’re great roommates, but sometimes I crave the company of another woman.”
“What about your mother, dear?”
Maggie breathed in deeply. “Don’t get me wrong, I love my mother, but we’ve never really connected in that way.” She paused. “It was like we had left too many things unsaid and no longer knew how to restart the conversation.”
Tata nodded in that wise and understanding way of older women have who have known the joy and sorrow of raising children.
Maggie continued to watch Tata as she picked up the bowl of egg yolks, cradled it in her arm, and beat the mixture until it was light and creamy. Then she placed the bowl back on the table and added a large white fluffy blob.
“Is that whipped cream?”
“No, it’s mascarpone cheese,” Tata said as she picked up a wine bottle and poured a couple of sloshes over the mascarpone. “And this is marsala.” She handed the bottle to Maggie. “It’s a sweet Sicilian wine.” Tata picked up the bowl again and stirred. “My mother passed away years ago, so I like to get up in the morning and prepare something special the way she always used to. It makes me feel like she is still with me.” Tata put down the large bowl, picked up the small bowl with the egg whites, and beat them until they were stiff. Then she added them to the large bowl and gently folded them into the mascarpone cream.
Maggie smiled. “My mom always used to make us waffles on Sunday morning.”
“Now comes the fun part.” Tata took the Moka pot off the stovetop and poured the remains of the coffee into a shallow glass pan. She reached out and Maggie handed her the bottle of marsala. She poured a few sloshes in the pan with the coffee and stirred. One at a time, she dipped some biscuits that were sitting next to the pan, into the coffee and marsala, putting half of the soggy biscuits aside in the small bowl and using the other half to line the bottom of the glass pan. She spread half the mascarpone cream over the biscuits and sprinkled them with a heavy dusting of cocoa. On top of this she added a second layer of biscuits, covering them with the remaining mascarpone and dusting them with cocoa.
Maggie watched, mesmerized by the process. “It’s like magic! I had no idea that’s how tiramisu is made. Is this your mother’s recipe?”
Tata chuckled. “Yes, with a few modifications. Everybody’s recipe is slightly different. Now I’ll leave it in the fridge until tomorrow evening, because it’s better the next day.” Tata smiled. “Would you like another cup of coffee?”
“No thanks. If I drink too much coffee I’ll start to sweat, and I don’t have a change of clothes.”
“Ahh, Fabrizio told me the ai
rlines lost your luggage.”
“Yeah, but they said they would deliver it today.”
“Mmm, I don’t want to cast disparaging remarks, but I wouldn’t put too much faith in Air Italia,” Tata said, making Maggie worry.
“As soon as I’m finished here, I’m going to the Luino market.” Tata brushed a strand of gray hair back behind her ear. “I know you’ve just arrived, but perhaps you would like to come along with me and pick up a few girl things just in case.”
“Oh, but what about Owen?”
“Don’t worry about your husband, dear. He’s in good hands with Enrico.”
“Oh no, he’s not my husband.” Maggie waved her hands back and forth. “We’re just friends.” Maggie paused, considering her words. He was not her husband and he would never be. She needed to stop mothering him and let him look after himself. “Actually, yes. I’d love to come along.”
“Well then, let’s go, tesoro,” Tata said as she opened the fridge door and slid the pan of tiramisu onto the top shelf. “The Luino market is one of the oldest markets in Italy. People come all the way from Germany and Switzerland. So we want to get there early and avoid the crowd.” Tata took off her apron and folded it. “While you go up and get your things, I’ll change and meet you out front.”
As they walked down the lane to the gate, Tata said, “Don’t worry. We’ll be back before lunch.”
Up ahead, waiting at the side of the road was a strange three-wheeled vehicle that looked like it was the offspring of a motor scooter that had mated with a pickup truck.
“It’s a little tight, but we’re small and I’m sure we can squeeze in.” Tata held the door for Maggie.
Inside the tiny cab, with his right hand gripping a steering bar and his left shoulder and arm hanging out the window and down along the door, was a thin weathered man about Tata’s age who smelled of tobacco.
“This is Giovanni,” Tata said as she gave Maggie a gentle push from behind. Maggie wedged herself in next to Giovanni, and Tata climbed in next to her and slammed the door shut. Giovanni revved the engine, popped the clutch, and the strange contraption lurched forward. They roared down the highway at what Maggie estimated to be twenty-five miles an hour. In the rearview mirror she could see cars collecting behind them in a cloud of blue smoke. They rounded the curve and as soon as they were on a straight section of the road along the lakeshore, the cars zipped out from behind and raced past.
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