by Marlene Hill
“I don’t intend to reveal your thoughts and feelings,” Marlowe said, “ but I won’t be a go-between either.” She stood up. “Need to go, but thanks for the coffee and the talk.”
He stood too. And Marlowe whispered, “I do want to work with you regarding Ollie the Ogre.” He leaned down to hear her words amidst the rustle and chatter in the coffee bar. He nodded and she hurried out.
Chuck sat back down and finished his coffee with a silly grin on his face. Giulia does want to stay!
CHAPTER THREE
On the train to her grandparents’ home, Giulia felt a shiver of excitement to see again the lush foothills of the Dolomite Mountains. They reminded her of the fir and pine forests leading to Mount Hood east of Portland. Leaving Vicenza hadn’t tugged at her the way leaving the magic of Venice always did, but Vicenza did evoke elegance with its pale stucco glow of Palladian-style buildings. At Treviso, she changed trains and bought an espresso. Her grandmother would brew a fresh pot as soon Giulia walked in the door, but bars at train stations in Italy served excellent espresso, too. A flutter in her stomach reminded her she was beginning a new life—one she’d dreamt about since childhood.
This trip marked a huge change for her. Finally she had a way to support herself in Venice. She’d never be able to own a place, but in all other ways, she already owned the city. Within a year, she hoped to move into a nice rental. With a modest stipend to make this trip to Italy, she hadn’t needed to shepherd a group of tourists to foot the bill. Before settling in Vicenza, she’d allowed herself four precious days to wander in Venice. Soon the city would be her home! Knowing this, cast a whole different perspective on how she saw its beauty and its flaws.
Going to Nonna and Nonno Tony’s felt more like coming home than when she visited her parents in Portland. These precious two were the only grandparents she’d ever known—her dad’s parents had died in an auto accident before she was born. Soon she’d be in their sturdy wooden house surrounded by trees where only good memories lived. It was mid-afternoon when Giulia caught the city bus that carried her within two blocks of their home.
And there stood Nonna with open arms at the top of the front steps. With her, Giulia felt completely accepted and unconditionally loved. And in Nonno Tony’s eyes, she’d known the world was her oyster before she knew what an oyster was. The coffee pot was ready, and in no time, she was in the kitchen with homemade almond biscotti on the table.
“Nonna, it’s wonderful to be in your arms again. And,” Giulia said, “no one makes biscotti like you!”
“Allora, so, my little Giulietta, is it me or my biscotti?” They laughed and hugged again. She felt at ease with Nonna, her beautiful grandmother. Only a few silver strands wound through Nonna’s luxurious dark-brown hair cut in a short, soft bob. Unusual for an Italian woman in her seventies—both the color and the style. Many turned grey in their fifties, and then as if an internal clock had struck, they became old. Most pulled their hair—grey or dyed—into a knot at the back of their head, lowered their hemlines and wore dowdy shoes. It seemed to Giulia they gave up on any life outside their immediate family.
But Nonna had a lively interest in happenings everywhere. Her soft brown eyes didn’t miss a thing. She knew about world affairs as well as the Italian politicians’ scandals, and of course, the local gossip. Nonna had been a beauty in her day. According to Giulia’s mother, she could have had any man in Vittorio Veneto or in all of the Treviso Province, but she chose bad boy, Antonio Tuon. Giulia knew all about bad boys. Her own attraction to hottie-bad-boy Ricky Torres, ended up with an abortion at twenty-four. Was it time to tell Nonna? Anyone? Lord, she’d never told Ricky. Sometimes she felt a twinge of guilt about that, but it would never have worked—definitely not for the child. Already Ricky had been unfaithful while she worked and studied. At least Nonna’s bad boy had stayed the course with her.
“Tell me, Nonna, what’s new? It’s been a long two years. My professors held my nose to the grindstone, and I’ve missed you. Any new weaving projects?”
“I’ll show you,” Nonna said with a lilt in her voice and led Giulia into the large room near the kitchen. Ostensibly a guest bedroom with a double bed and dresser, but, in truth, a weaving room. Her loom and colorful supplies were scattered on every surface. Nonna displayed several wool shawls to Giulia and let her run her hands over fifteen wool scarves. Her new designs were intricate, abstract patterns made with vivid-colored yarns.
“These scarves are special, Nonna. I want to buy this one. The patterns of blue and old gold are smashing!”
“It’s yours.” Nonna draped it around Giulia’s neck. “At least it matches one of your eyes—and one of your nonno’s, too,” she said smiling.
Giulia wondered if Nonna knew what Nonno Tony did for a living. Surely she did. She worried Nonna had been in denial about a lot of things. Over the last few years, Giulia had become attuned to men who manipulated women and feared Nonno Tony might be one of those. Giulia’s two disastrous love affairs had taught her all she ever wanted to know about men who used women. Had Nonna been putting up with an unfaithful husband throughout her married life? Yet, when Giulia was around the two of them, they seemed to adore each other.
He did have that charismatic charm of men who believe in themselves. She feared Nonna wasn’t the only woman drawn to his magnetism. Choices, she thought. We all make them.
“Come back to the kitchen, I need to add a few more herbs to your favorite rabbit stew.”
“Oooh, Nonna. I thought I smelled that heavenly combination. I want your recipe. Please? Onions and leeks, garlic, of course, and lots of rosemary, but what else? Yum. Their essence floats all around us. Thank you for remembering.”
Giulia hoped Nonno Tony would be late coming home from wherever and whatever he was up to these days. Could he be a petty crook of some kind? As far as she could determine, his income had always been sporadic. She knew he was involved with her twin brothers’ import business in Portland. The last time she’d been in their warehouse, some of the items from Nonno seemed different from the usual costume pieces he shipped. She had a hinky feeling about that. Did the boys suspect anything? Were they involved? They seemed feckless to her, but maybe that was merely an older sister judging younger brothers.
As Nonna and Giulia sat down to eat, Nonno Tony blew in carrying a huge bouquet of white lilies, Nonna’s favorite. Before she could find a vase, he crushed her and the flowers into his arms for a big kiss. Next he turned to make an equal fuss over Giulia. What a handsome man, she thought, as he filled the entry way of the side door with his broad shoulders and bursting energy. At seventy-seven, with thick white hair, bronzed skin and one brilliant blue eye and one dark brown one—he still radiated sex appeal. He mentioned having completed a good business deal and entertained both women all evening with one witty tale after another.
He asked Giulia to carry a small packet to a jeweler in Vicenza for him. Only a few rough gems, he explained, along with a few thin rolls of white gold.
“More and more jewelers are using white gold to simulate platinum. They can’t get enough of the stuff for making their inexpensive items,” he said.
“Do they charge more hoping to fool their customers?” Giulia asked.
“Some do, some don’t. Not our problem la mia bambolina, my little doll.”
“Why me, Nonno?” She felt wary about agreeing to his scheme. To her, the request had “scheme” or “scam” all over it. Would she be carrying stolen goods?
“Why not?” he said. “You are family, little one,” and his brow creased into a small frown. He leaned toward her lifting his hands in supplication “And family helps each other, right?” His voice took on a pleading sound. Surely she’d want to help out her old nonno. Sure, he could ship them, but that would involve forms and extra insurance expenses. He winked, reminding her of all their good times when he took her to country fairs.
“Now Tony. If she doesn’t want to—”
He plowed on. “Who helped you win prizes a
t those stalls full of toys and candies?”
Not phased by his histrionics, Giulia said, “I’ll think about it. We’ll talk in the morning.” That seemed to satisfy him. But later, Giulia worried about his request as she lay in her bed in the small attic room where she always slept. She adored being up there in “her” room nestled close to the wood shingles and metal gutters where she could hear even the lightest rain falling. And before long, she drifted off to its soft tap, tap.
Shortly before dawn, Giulia came awake with a start. The rain had stopped. Maybe it was only birds clearing their throats, but there was something else. She held her breath, then heard a creak from one of the steps leading to her room. She turned on the bedside light and grabbed her sweater to cover her thin over-sized Tee-shirt moments before the door eased open.
“You’re up early, Nonno Tony,” she said.
“You, too, la mia coccolina, my little cuddly one. Been waiting for me?”
“What are you up to?”
“Oh, coccolina, how can you talk to your old nonno like that?”
She said nothing but sat there with her arms folded over her breasts.
“Allora,” he said sitting down beside her on the bed.
Giulia fought not to flinch because she was determined to show no weakness with this man who roused conflicting emotions within her. She loved him at a deep level but almost distrusted him.
“I must go on a little business trip and can’t see you off Sunday, but I brought this small packet that you agreed to carry back with you.”
“Agreed? When did I agree? I told you I’d think about it.”
“And have you?” He asked, showing her his most devastating smile that had no doubt suckered in both men and women since he was a babe in arms.
“I love you, Nonno Tony. But I do not want to carry your contraband.”
“Contraband!” He laughed aloud, but quickly softened the sound, probably not wanting to wake Nonna. “No, no. No contraband. Must I beg you to deliver a few raw stones? They won’t burden you.” And he reached out to her.
She started to jerk away but batted playfully at his hands instead.
He sat back amazed that a woman—any woman—would spurn his touch.
She took his hands in hers. “Nonno. I’ll do this for you. But I have a few conditions. First—”
“Ah piccolina, little one, the two of us are alike. Not only do we have the same strange, captivating eyes, we both like to be in control. Senta, listen. If you do decide to stay on in Venice—”
“That’s decided. I will live in Venice,” she interrupted.
“Good. When you do, we could become terrific business partners.”
She ignored that, “I’ll do this for you, this one time, but,” and she held up one finger when she saw him ready to interrupt. “Do not tell the contact I’m your granddaughter. And do not describe my curly hair or that my eyes are like yours because I’ll be wearing a straight-hair wig and a brown contact lens.”
He sat back with a wide grin on his face and said, “Si, si, we are alike. We think ahead!” And with that he placed a small packet on her dresser. As he reached the door, he turned and said, “I’m not sending white gold after all, but one of those gems is yours, for your trouble. You choose which one.”
“Aspetta!”
He stopped.
“You must count out the diamonds and put in a note telling how many.”
He brought the packet to her bedside. Pulling on a pair of soft, white gloves, he counted nineteen gems, each grouping was wrapped in a small square of jeweler’s tissue paper. She didn’t know how to eyeball their actual size, but three large ones were in red paper. Ten medium-sized were in green, and in the blue paper, lay six tiny gems. Each group went into its own small plastic bag made of tougher plastic than sandwich baggies. All the bags went into a soft-sided envelope that he laid back on her dresser. He turned and said, “Va bene, okay?”
“Not yet. Add a note verifying sizes and types with your signature.”
“That’s my girl.” He made more notes.
“And I will not take a gem. I’m doing this for you. This one time,” and she held up her finger again.
He blew her a kiss and was gone.
* * *
Saturday, Nonna packed a lunch and she and Giulia went hiking in the lush foothills near town. She admired her grandmother, who was so fit that Giulia struggled at times to keep up. As they sat on flat rocks overlooking a lake of brilliant green, she thought of camping with Jason Stamos beside Crescent Lake in the Olympic National Park. It, too, had gleamed like an emerald. In spite of the sharp stab she still felt about his dishonesty, he had left her with a few jewel-like memories.
Nonna turned to see a look of distress on Giulia’s face. “My angel, what’s bothering you? Can you tell me?”
Giulia nodded. She did need to tell someone, and who best but Nonna? First, she told her about Ricky and the abortion.
Nonna said nothing but put her arms around Giulia, holding her in a long, comforting embrace. “That’s a long time ago, mia cara, my dear.”
“It is. But I was also thinking of another situation,” she sighed, “with another man.”
Nonna, opened the basket and handed Giulia a bottle of water. “Take your time, we have all day.”
Giulia began. “Jason had strong, masculine features from his Greek heritage. He was gorgeous, Nonna,” and Giulia turned to her. “Taller than other Greek Americans I’d known. We met during my first year of grad school. I thought he was the one until he told me he was married.”
Nonna gasped but made no comment.
“In name only, he’d said. They were legally separated. His estranged wife was living in Chicago with another man.”
“And?”
“I was crushed that he hadn’t told me. I left.”
“Of course you were,” she said putting her hand on Giulia’s shoulder.
“He persisted. Assured me his divorce would happen.” Giulia inhaled deeply. Shaking her head slowly, she said, “I went back.” She stared at the emerald lake below.
“Then?”
“His ‘wife in name only’ appeared in Eugene begging him to support her and their coming child. At first he doubted it was his. Later, though, he confessed they had slept together when he visited Chicago. And the man she was living with was not a lover, but a gay friend!”
Giulia felt uncomfortable. She’d never discussed these things with Nonna. Abortion. Living with a married man. Gay friends. Shew! But Nonna merely nodded and waited for the rest of the story. “The gay friend had urged her to go back to Jason and make it work. Jason always wanted children and, well, he chose to try again.”
Nonna took her into her arms and rocked back and forth. Giulia had never cried about this. A few tears broke through. Then it was as if a dam had broken. After a time, Giulia stopped sobbing and looked at Nonna, “The worst part,” she said gulping air, “I’m more angry with myself than him.”
“Of course,” Nonna said.
“Once again I’d chosen the wrong man and once again he’d let me down.”
“But it’s long over. And Giulia, not all men will let you down.” She stood up. “Let’s walk.” She took Giulia’s hand and they moved across the meadow. After a while, Nonna said, “Remember, you’re starting a new life now.”
Later as they ate, Giulia discovered more about Nonna’s full life with her weaving enterprise. Her brown eyes glowed as she told how her weaving group had attracted interest beyond their own small area. As they walked back, Giulia said, “Nonna, I’ve never told anyone about—”
“Non preoccuparti, don’t worry. No one—not even Tony—will hear of it.”
“Thank you, Nonna, but I’m glad you know.” And she felt lighter than she’d felt in a long, long time.
Giulia didn’t see Nonno Tony again on that visit. As to what went on in their marriage, she could only speculate. After the joy on Nonna’s face when he’d swept in with those flowers, and his
obvious adoration for his wife across their table, Giulia had to admit she knew nothing about relationships.
CHAPTER FOUR
Monday. Giulia set out at five p.m. for Hotel De La Ville to deliver Nonno Tony’s gems. She allowed plenty of time to make her appointment at six even though she knew exactly where to go. Her first week in Vicenza before classes began, she’d felt lonely and restless and took a long walk into town. Bar La Ville had looked warm and elegant on that chilly February evening. Wanting to feel as inconspicuous as possible, she’d worn her dark-brown contact lens. She could almost feel normal. She’d also worn a tawny page-boy wig. She enjoyed pretending to have smooth hair instead of curls that fought any attempt at style. Some clothes hadn’t yet arrived, and she’d worn a plain pink sweater, casual black wool slacks and jacket to match.
Tonight, though, she wore the most elegant outfit she owned, a rich dark chocolate-colored velveteen pant suit with a short jacket. Her pale rose silk blouse seemed to make her skin glow. Small pearl-drop earrings and a ring with a matching pearl mounted in a gold setting were her only jewelry. The earrings had been given to her by her grandparents for graduation to match the ring that Nonna had given her earlier. It had been Nonna’s favorite until her arthritic knuckles made it impossible to wear. Instead of re-sizing for herself, she wanted Giulia to enjoy it.
Giulia felt good about herself and confidently walked to the hotel desk to announce she had an appointment with a Signor Botteri. Immediately, a large, burly male dressed in a black suit with a crisp, white shirt and black tie appeared. His hair, as black as his suit, was slicked into an old-fashioned pompadour. And tight lips were marked by a grim mustache. He bowed silently, led her to the elevator and punched the number seven. The hotel was known as the tallest in the city, where, as in most cities except Milan, skyscrapers weren’t allowed. She figured they were rising to the top floor. When it stopped, the elevator opened directly into a foyer. The big man knocked on massive, double doors and another attendant led her to Signor Botteri.
