by Marlene Hill
* * *
Dusk dropped gently as Giulia left the open piazza and walked down Corso Andrea Palladio where shadows seemed to follow her every step. She had lied to Nonno Tony. No, not lied, but she had implied that she was lily clean. When in truth, she hated what she had been. A whore—almost a whore. She knew she had contracted as a decorative companion, but in the eyes of the world, she was a whore. Hunh. Also a whore in the eyes of those men who didn’t want to abide by their agreement. She walked faster at the thought of the smarmy ones who wanted more and offered her secret cash. At first, she’d been terrified but had learned to persuade them to keep their bargain by appealing to their overblown sense of honor, a trait those types often bragged about. Back then, she had justified her action. But still, the truth was she’d been a woman for sale.
As she hurried toward her apartment, she replayed her conversation with Nonno. The stricken sound he’d made and the tears she saw when she’d said “pimp,” pierced her own sense of honor. That wasn’t fair. She felt guilty for saying that. She knew he adored her, but for the first time, she sensed a mature connection with him. Her inner compass had shifted during their encounter.
Her built-in guidance system had been shifting ever since she arrived in the Veneto, but when she strode away from that woman, Laura, it was as if she had stumbled out of a forest fog into a bright clearing. Now the street lamps came on one by one as if welcoming her into more light. Yes, her compass had set itself right.
She skipped across the street and raced up the steps to her door. But the moment she stood inside her apartment and her new life, she shivered with uncertainty. Was it possible to wipe the slate clean and become authentic? Did she have the courage to be genuine with other kinds of men? Chuck, maybe?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Friday morning Marlowe caught up with Giulia and asked what she’d wear for dinner that night. Giulia hadn’t thought about it but didn’t want to dress as a come-on to Chuck. “Not sure yet,” she said. “And you?”
“I’m thinking girlie,” Marlowe said. “I want to wear a flippy skirt with the expensive spikes I bought to go with the dress Marc gave me for New Year’s. Why don’t you go girlie, too?”
“It would be a nice change from our somber duds out here,” Giulia said gazing at the grey utilitarian buildings around them and the drab barracks in the distance.
“With all the testosterone floating around, we ought to be teaching in burkas. But tonight, let’s go for it!”
Giulia’s lips tightened into a small grimace. The idea of “going for it” put her nerves on edge. An actual date after all this time? With Chuck? Or any man. “I’ll see what I can find. Gotta run, Marlowe.”
* * *
Chuck leaned against the curved banister at the bottom of the open stairway in Giulia’s pensione. He looked up and saw her walking beside the upper balustrade toward the top of the stairs. Her back was to him, but he sucked in his breath. God, every thing about her stirred him. Not only the surge in his groin, but the mysterious pain he sensed she had hidden away. It brought out an instinct to protect her. But from what?
Yeah. He could watch her swaying hips for hours. It wasn’t that exaggerated hip-swishing walk that certain women affected whenever they thought a man was watching. She moved with an easy grace. People could take lessons in good posture and coordination by studying Giulia Cavinato. Even her name sounded graceful.
All the colors of the rainbow mingled in her skirt. It was made of some kind of crinkly cloth and whirled sensuously around her slim body. The predominant color was bright turquoise, and she wore a matching silky-knit sweater with three-quarter sleeves. The skirt touched the tops of her low-rise black leather boots. Damn, he hadn’t yet seen her legs but had no trouble imagining how her skin would feel as he ran his hands slowly from the top of her boots upward. He felt a quiver race through his veins as they headed south.
She reached the top of the stairs and turned to come down. When she saw him, her face brightened. “Ciao.”
His breath caught in his throat at her smile, but he swallowed and said, “Buona sera,” pulling out of his erotic fantasy to watch her descend toward him. As she drew closer, he couldn’t take his eyes from the scoop neckline that was modest enough to visit the Queen of England but still low enough to show a hint of cleavage. That hint would drive him crazy the rest of the evening.
“You’re looking particularly beautiful tonight,” he managed to say.
“Thank you. It feels good to dress like a woman.”
“It feels good to see you that way, too. In fact, it’s a pleasure to look at you… whatever you wear.”
“Thanks again,” she said with a slight flush on her cheeks.
“I’m glad you brought a jacket or I might have to do my gentleman thing and give you mine. It’s April fourth, but—”
“I wouldn’t dare take the coat off your back,” she teased.
But I’d like to take every thread off yours. “The car’s around the corner,” he said as he touched her shoulder.
* * *
When Chuck and Giulia entered Corte Sconta, the waiter led them to the courtyard. She’d never been here but had wanted to try it. Over the years, her visits to Venice had been on the frugal side. But with her first real job, she could relax a little, knowing she’d soon free herself of the student loans.
Marlowe and Marc were already sitting with their heads together laughing about something. Their table was directly under an intersection of four strings of chinese lanterns criss-crossing the enclosure. Terra-cotta pots holding dwarf boxwoods formed the border of the outside dining area, and a pale, peachy glow shed a warmth over the courtyard.
Marc stood up making a point of checking his watch. “Glad you two could make it.” He continued standing until Giulia was seated.
Chuck stepped behind Marc in a lightning move and twisted his arm up and behind in a mock hammerlock. Marc faked agony while Chuck took his time looking at Marc’s watch. “Hmm. That tin watch of yours is off, old man.”
“Enough of the machismo games, guys. We get enough of that at work,” Marlowe said laughing.
“This is delightful,” Giulia said. “It’s almost like a festa out here.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Marlowe chimed in. “Marc and I had our first date right here, last October.”
“Is that when you met?” Giulia asked, amazed how quickly their love affair had moved.
“We’d known each other from years before back in L.A. but hadn’t dated. It’s a long story, Giulia. I’ll fill you in sometime. Chuck already knows, and I think Marc understands how it happened,” she said grinning at him.
“Sometimes I still wonder how I got so lucky,” he said.
“Flattery works every time,” Marlowe said.
They all laughed as the waiter came to take orders and the evening got off to a merry start.
* * *
They had finished their pastas and entrées and were waiting for salads when Marlowe suggested they get down to business. She still insisted on being the bait to catch Oliver. Marc arched his back at this and laid his hand on her shoulder, but said nothing.
Chuck leaned in toward the center of the table. In a low voice, he said, “I’ve got a good group of men who understand the situation. Each one has a sister or a cousin, a girlfriend, and one, has a mother who’s gone through rough times with people like Oliver. A colleague and I interviewed every one. They’re solid.”
“That’s great,” Marlowe said, “but will that be enough intimidation to send Oliver back under his slimy rock?”
“I’m inclined to think so,” Chuck said, “maybe he’ll ask for a transfer.”
“I doubt it,” Giulia said. “Not until he’s forced out. He enjoys his power trip, but I may have a quicker solution.”
The other three turned as one to stare at her.
“Since the altercation I had with him, he’s been sending me emails. They—”
“Sending you emails?” Marlowe scree
ched then covered her mouth.
Giulia nodded. “The powers-that-be want to make the American presence in Vicenza more palatable to the Vicentini. Evidently the military thinks it’s a good idea for service people to learn Italian. Ogle must have been re-reading my credentials. He’s such a creep.” She rolled her eyes. “Always trying to sound like one of the literati. In one email he mentioned a book of Cantos by Ezra Pound that he’s reading in Italian. I’m guessing it’s one with Italian on one page and English on the facing page.”
Marc let out a boisterous laugh. “A faker, huh?”
Marlowe nodded her head in agreement.
“Absolutely,” Giulia said. “Pound lived in Italy for about twenty years before being arrested for treason in the 40s. He came back and stayed in Venice until his death. A plaque hangs over the door where he lived that calls him a titan of poetry, Titano della poesia. He’s difficult in any language, and I have a dual-language book of his Italian poetry, too.”
“But Oliver implies something else,” Marc said.
“I know,” Giulia said. “There’s probably not an honest bone in his body. It might be his way of apologizing, but I don’t trust him. He’s pushing for a meeting. So, it makes sense that I enter his office again. I’ve saved all his messages in case he might claim entrapment later. “
Now it was Chuck’s turn to stiffen. But before he could say a word, Marlowe said, “We’ve got a new problem. One woman told me that he locked the door by turning the dead-bolt lever after she sat down. When she asked him why he did that, he fluffed it off as a habit and unlocked it, but she got out as soon as possible.”
“That lock problem can be remedied,” Chuck said.
“How’ll you get in without alerting him?” Marc asked with a grin.
Chuck smirked and said, “Same way you would. I’m guessing you’ve known how to pick locks since you were eleven.” Both men chuckled.
“It’ll be taken care of. From the inside, he’ll think it’s working, and it will lock as usual when he leaves. After all, personnel records are in there.”
“How shall we do it?” Giulia said. “Should I let you know as soon as I have an appointment?”
“Are you sure about this?” Chuck said, catching her eyes and holding their connection an extra beat.
“Sure. Sure. Sure,” and she jabbed her fist in the air three times. “With your team of gallant men, what could happen?”
“Probably nothing. But a colleague and I will be nearby anyway. How about making the appointment late in the day. Fewer people will be around in case we need to take him down.”
Marlowe and Giulia looked at each other and mouthed “take him down.”
Their salads were delivered, and as they ate, they tossed the pros and cons of Giulia’s idea back and forth.
“It seems to me,” Giulia said, “that you and your commandos need to witness his bad behavior.”
“Bad behavior?” Marlowe said. “You make it sound as if he’d been throwing spit balls.”
They all laughed, but both Chuck and Marc agreed she had a point. “If we could rig his door to accidentally ease open while you’re inside,” Chuck spoke as if thinking aloud.
“You might want to make sure the escort service happens at least a couple times before Giulia’s appointment,” Marc said. “To avoid his cry of entrapment.”
Giulia’s stomach flinched at the term “escort service.” She inhaled through her nose, eased out the breath and stabbed a piece of lettuce.
Marlowe piped up, “Each time a woman goes to Ogle, the man with her ought to make sure Oliver sees him. He could say, “I’ll wait here for you.”
“Yesss,” Giulia said, “but we don’t want to put Oliver on the alert. We might have a long wait, and I need to move on this to make it work.”
“Okay,” Chuck said taking charge. “Two things need to happen. One. Giulia, you’ll need to stall Ogle on the date until our system’s up and running. Two. Other women involved need to have at least two telephone numbers for requesting backup.”
“How many women are involved?” Marc asked. “Could you call them?”
“That’s tricky, Giulia said.
“Yeah,” Marlowe added. “The only way to get those names and numbers is through Oliver.
“Before I applied, I saw a list of teachers,” Giulia said. “I counted about forty female faculty. We need to prepare enough info sheets—or better yet five by three cards they can carry—and personally hand them out. I’ll take care of that as soon as I have the data.” And she glanced at Chuck, who nodded.
“I’ll help with that,” Marlowe said. “When we gather the women, we should never suggest entrapment, the aim is to prevent harassment.”
“Maybe we could invite them to the women’s gym. It’s the only place for privacy,” Giulia said.
Marlowe said, “Great idea. Let’s post an announcement offering news about a girlie event that no one else will pay attention to. Then, when we do the face-to-face inviting, we can let them know what the meeting’s really about.”
“We may miss a few, but word-of-mouth will reach them,” Giulia said.
“So, we have a plan,” Chuck said. “Until the women are informed, we’ll need to wait and watch. How about changing the subject? Who wants dessert?”
They all passed.
“What? No zabaglione?” Marc said.
Both Giulia and Marlowe shook their heads.
“Giulia,” Marlowe said. “Let’s come back for a light lunch and indulge in their zabaglione.”
“I like that idea,” Giulia said.
“Espresso?” Chuck asked. After all, he was the host here and wanted to wrest some control back from all the bright ideas floating around. All three raised their hands on espresso and Chuck signaled the waiter.
Giulia and Marlowe excused themselves for the ladies’ room. Chuck watched them leave. Marlowe wore a short, kicky skirt and high heels reminding him of how sexy she’d looked at the New Year’s Gala. That had been when it hit him how lucky Marc was. Not only did he have an adorable woman, but from her interview and resume, Chuck knew she was witty and damned intelligent.
That same night, after making love in a detached way—with the woman he’d taken to the Gala—he had lain awake a long time thinking how empty his personal life had become. He’d broken off with her shortly after and hadn’t bothered to find another woman. He’d lost interest in shallow relationships. Or—God forbid—maybe he was getting old. Then he ran into Giulia, or rather, she ran into him. Ever since all his senses had been working overtime. This old man ain’t done yet.
“Marlowe looks lush tonight, doesn’t she?” he said to Marc.
“Oh yeah,” and Marc beamed. “Said she needed to amortize those expensive heels she bought for the Gala. Then worried about walking from the vaporetto to this place! She brought comfortable shoes along. Hell, I’d have carried her because I never tire of watching the way her calf muscles flex in those stilettos.”
“Yeah, I’d carry Giulia for the same reason, but so far, I’ve never even seen her legs.”
“She looks good enough to eat anyway. Right ol’ man?” Marc said punching his shoulder.
“Right.”
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
“I hope nothing, but I get the sense that she’s been hurt—undoubtedly by a guy—and I’m guessing she might have trouble trusting me or any man.”
“Or herself?” Marc asked.
“More like I don’t trust myself. Since I broke off with Tina, it’s like I’ve forgotten all my moves to snare a woman. I haven’t been this gun-shy since I was thirteen.”
Marc said nothing.
“No! That’s not it. I don’t want to snare Giulia.”
“She’s different?”
“Oh yeah,” Chuck said in a soft, breathy voice.
“And it doesn’t help that you’ve had a dry season?”
“You could say that. The thing is, haven’t tried. Niente. Nothing since New Year’s.”
>
“Oh man, you do have a problem,” Marc said.
“One thing I know. I’ve got to take it slow.”
“Well, as Marlowe often reminds me, slow is jes’ fine,” and he smiled as if reliving a recent slow session with her.
Bastard, Chuck thought, but snorted in agreement.
Marlowe arrived back saying Giulia was working a pebble out of her boot and would be along in a minute. Chuck turned to watch for her. Through the full-length glass windows into the inner restaurant, he noticed a man seemed to be holding Giulia against her will. He rose out of his chair and took off.
* * *
When Giulia came from the ladies room, a man called out, “Julietta, what are you doing here?” She shuddered, and pretended to not understand English.
“Mi dispiace, Signore. Non capisco bene l’inglese.”
“You understand me, baby. I’d never forget those eyes.”
She tried to walk away, but he grabbed her hand.
Her one and only time to forget to wear her brown contact lens was on an assignment with this man. In her employment with the first agency she tried in Eugene, she had chosen what they called Level A. Level A’s were sent out on jobs that did not involve sex. To go with men who had to appear at business functions or maybe to attend seminars at the University. Men who thought they needed a pretty woman on their arm. The A service didn’t cost as much for the client and served as a way for “new girls” to break into the business.
The agency expected new recruits to move into Level B, which included whatever kind of sex the client wanted. Of course, the women could refuse any request that sounded dangerous or repugnant—and that was written in the contract the men signed. Giulia had been tempted to move to Level B—it paid a lot more—but each time she came close, she backed off. Level A paid far more than she could ever make waiting tables near the campus. And the cheaper level was dangerous enough. She’d almost been raped twice. But the agency kept urging her to move “up.”
She never teased men into thinking they’d get sex at the end of an event, but occasionally, someone decided to change the rules and wanted to pay her cash under the table. She’d been able to re-direct most of them, but when it had seemed impossible to dissuade someone, she could call a taxi service set up to come fast when given a special code.
