What else used to be here?
There’s still a hospital on Tiber Island, but long before that there were theaters. Early emperors imported classical Greek drama, but later they degenerated into music hall shows with naked women and a few worse things. Condemned criminals were sometimes actually butchered on stage.
I raised my hand. Stop! I don’t want to know about that. It was bad enough learning what used to go on in the Colosseum.
Yes, it was grisly, and I think it just shows that man’s inhumanity to man has existed for a long time.
But we don’t do those awful things anymore.
Maybe we’re learning. He shrugged, and I could tell he wasn’t convinced by his own words.
I didn’t want to dwell on such things. The trees along the river were beautiful, lights shone from buildings, and the air felt warm and balmy. I put my hand in Todd’s, and we walked back to the hotel in silence. At my door, he kissed me on the forehead before leaving for his own room. I felt content.
Roman Holiday
Chapter 13
Early the next morning, I had breakfast in the dining room and packed my bag for the trip to Florence. I had hoped to sit with Todd in the van, but—although I thought he seemed eager to do so—it didn’t happen. Instead, after I took a seat, Kimberly rushed in and sat next to me, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her I preferred someone else. Besides, it was only a short trip, nothing to get upset about. Todd waited until everyone boarded and then sat alone in one of the five empty seats in the rear.
When we’d left the city behind, Kim asked if she could have the window seat, and I obliged. Enza, on the special reversed seat in front, faced the rest of her charges and explained we would travel on a modern highway that ran all the way from Naples in the south to Milan in the north. Using a map, she talked about the various areas of Italy, especially Tuscany, where Florence is located. I took notes in case I needed that information for my article, but I began to feel I was being lectured to and hoped there wouldn’t be a test later.
When we stopped for a coffee break at a combination gas station, café, and mini grocery store, Kimberly remained close to me and asked me to help her find the bathrooms. How do you know where to go? she asked.
See that sign: W.C.? That stands for ‘water closet.’ It’s what the British call a toilet.
The British?
Yes, Britons have been coming to Tuscany for hundreds of years. I suppose the Italians wanted to make them feel at home. I paused. I guess you didn’t hear Enza say that.
I was looking out the window. The countryside is beautiful, with lots of flowers.
I managed to get fruit juice for both of us, and we shared a tiny table next to a window. I thought your mother didn’t want you to spend so much time with me.
Oh, she’s very inconsistent. Kim grinned, as if proud of having used a long word correctly. Anyway, it was my idea this time. I figured she wouldn’t make a fuss on the van in front of everybody.
Well, I enjoy your company.
Kim glanced around. See, there’s my mother now, following Mr. Matthews.
I didn’t want to appear to be spying, but, after Kim’s comment, I couldn’t seem to avoid watching them. Heat crept into my face. It’s not polite to stare, I said, as much to myself as to Kim.
I know, but she doesn’t even notice us anyway.
Before I could comment, Enza called us to return to the van, and we continued our journey to Florence.
As we waited in the hotel lobby for room assignments, Kim asked what Ponte Vecchio meant. I can see it from here, and it’s some kind of big deal.
It means ‘Old Bridge,’ the bridge over the Arno River. I think Ponte is ‘bridge’ in Italian and Vecchio is ‘old.’
She frowned. But that makes it ‘Bridge Old.’ That’s backward.
French is that way, too: the adjective follows the noun instead of preceding it, as we do in English.
Kim shrugged. Well, it’s their language. I guess they can do it that way if they want to.
I laughed, and then Todd came over to us.
I heard you talking about the bridge. He turned to Kim. Do you like jewelry?
Well, yeah. Like he’d asked a foolish question.
The bridge, as you can see, is lined with shops. They used to sell fresh meat, but nowadays it’s all jewelry shops, selling tons of gold and silver jewelry.
Kim looked up at Todd without speaking, as if waiting for a punch line.
You might want to take your mother there, ask her to buy a souvenir for you.
Kim’s eyes sparkled. Cool. She hurried away.
Todd leaned close to me and whispered, Meet me at Queen Victoria in twenty minutes for lunch.
But—
Turn left when you leave the hotel, and it’s in the next block, on the right. He winked and strode away toward the elevator, which bore the word Lift overhead.
I went up in the next elevator and found my room. This one almost resembled a suite, with a separate area for a bed; a modern bathroom; plus a sitting room with a couch, a desk, and a television set. But the only English language channel was a news program, like CNN, from England. Nevertheless, I watched while I unpacked and learned more than I cared to know about what was going on in Bangladesh.
The sun was shining and the weather warm, so I pulled off my blazer and exchanged my white long-sleeved blouse for a pink short-sleeved one.
Twenty minutes later, I left the hotel and turned left at the corner. The side street contained shops selling shoes, leather goods, antiques, and jewelry. Interspersed were the ever-present pizza and gelato shops, and I saw that Queen Victoria—obviously named to attract British visitors—looked less like my idea of an English pub and more like the other Italian shops that sold sandwiches and six varieties of pizza.
Todd stood just inside the entrance and suggested we order the ham and cheese sandwich, which turned out to be in an envelope that resembled pita bread. Then he found a table for two in a back corner, left me there for a moment, and returned with two soft drinks.
As he sat, I said, I suspected you had an ulterior motive with that jewelry suggestion to Kimberly.
You guessed. But how was I ever going to get you alone otherwise?
A glowing sensation filled my heart; he wanted to see me as much as I did him. Nevertheless, I felt constrained not to reveal my feelings too much. There was still that ships that pass in the night thing to consider.
I like Kim, I said. I’ve enjoyed talking to her, answering her questions.
Her mother should be doing that, not you.
One of the pleasures of travel is meeting different people and making new friends.
Todd sipped his drink before answering. I prefer to have a choice in which friends I get to know.
I didn’t answer, not wanting to speak ill of Karen Vale, who, I was fairly sure, Todd meant.
After the tour this afternoon, we have another free night, and I’ve asked the Perkinses to have dinner with us. Is that all right with you?
Of course. I’d like that.
They seem quite a bit older than anyone else on this tour, so I thought we should make them feel included.
That’s very thoughtful.
Not really. It’s just another excuse to be paired with you. I’m hoping a certain person, whose initials are Karen Vale, takes the hint.
I think you often find it hard to speak your mind.
You’re right. I’ve never wanted to be blunt, to hurt people by what I say. He paused. Unkind words can never be taken back. They can cause deep wounds on the psyche, if not on the flesh.
Once again, I felt he referred to a troubled past. Who had said terrible things to him, the things he hinted at that had made him, in his own words, a loner? Or had he said words he now regretted? Impulsively, I touched his hand where it lay on the small round table. You’re a good person.
He squeezed my hand, and his face flushed. Not really. I fight the devil all the time. Sometimes he wins.
He laughed, breaking the mood. Tell me about you.
I withdrew my hand. I’m just ordinary.
You can’t be. Californians are never ordinary.
Not true.
I’ve spent time in San Francisco, so I know what they’re like.
I don’t know who you hung out with, but I assure you we’re no different from people in the East or Midwest. I ate the last bite of my sandwich. Well, perhaps there are a few more—er—colorful folks in San Francisco. But, in spite of what you read in the media, southern Californians are just—normal. Oh, we don’t hurry as much as New Yorkers, some wear jeans and sneakers to the opera, and we go to the beach a lot, but aside from that...
Tell me about your family.
My father owns a small business making office supplies: folders, labels, forms, things like that.
Your mother?
She stayed at home while we children were small, then she started writing advertising copy for my dad’s business and that escalated into doing the same for some of his customers. She works from home on her computer.
So your mother is a writer too. That must be where you got your talent for it.
Perhaps, if I have any.
What about your brother?
My older brother is in law school, having finally decided that he was never going to be a big-league baseball player.
He grinned. And your sister?
She was a schoolteacher until she got married. She lives in Texas now and plans to go back to teaching when her own children are older. I paused. See, all-American family. Except for my brother being killed, nothing unusual ever happened to us. None of us is bizarre.
But I can’t just take your word for it. His lips curved up in a smile, and he leaned across the table. When I come to California in the summer, I’ll look you up and see for myself.
I returned his smile. That would be fine.
He took my hand. I’m looking forward to it already.
I finished my drink and changed the subject. I think it’s almost time to meet Enza for the tour.
We still have another half hour. Why don’t we take a little walk and find some gelato to finish off our lunch?
Gee, I said, rising from the chair and remembering all the gelato shops I had passed. You think?
He laughed again and followed me outside. Turn right. I know just where to go.
Cups filled with lemon gelato in our hands, we strolled down the street, glancing into windows and occasionally going inside a shop to get a better look at a particular vase or framed picture.
Florence is known for its leather, Todd told me. Do you like leather?
Only in shoes. I’m not into wearing leather clothes.
Too hot?
I frowned. And expensive.
Ferragamo has an entire building here in Florence.
An entire building just for shoes?
They sell more than shoes. You should try to go to one of their fashion shows while we’re here.
I doubt I’ll have time for that.
If I hadn’t already told Kimberly to take her mother there, we could go to the jewelry stores on the Ponte Vecchio, and I could buy something for you.
I stopped walking and turned to him, my voice firm. No, you couldn’t. I don’t want you to buy jewelry for me. Or anything else. Realizing how it might sound, I softened my tone. I mean—I wouldn’t feel comfortable accepting gifts from you. I’m glad we’re friends but—well, lunch and gelato are my limit.
And dinner tonight.
Only if you insist. After all, I’m on an expense account. My company will pay for the meals that aren’t included in the tour package.
In that case, Todd said, I accept your offer. But not tonight. You can pay next time. Tonight I’m paying. He turned me about, and we retraced our steps to the hotel. If I don’t get a chance to talk to you again, remember I’m picking you up at your door at seven.
Feeling like a conspirator, I nodded. I wished we needn’t be so secretive, that Karen Vale hadn’t decided to make Todd her conquest du jour. Why didn’t she take the hints Todd offered? What was she thinking?
Roman Holiday
Chapter 14
Enza conducted the afternoon tour herself, and it included more walking than I normally do in a week. We crossed the Ponte Vecchio, saw the Pitti Palace, went into another ornate church, then strolled past a large outdoor market filled with vendors selling leather coats, skirts, pants, and handbags.
We passed Ferragamo’s large building, and I almost lost the group while I admired his shoes. They looked elegant with their pointy toes and stiletto heels, and I’d have liked to wear them with one of those short, flirty skirts, but I couldn’t afford those prices and decided I would have to wait for a knockoff to come to L.A.
Probably not all the other tourists were British, but there were certainly plenty of them, even more than in Rome. Traffic was heavy too, with motor scooters zooming by almost constantly.
As in Rome, the narrow streets usually held interesting buildings, and Enza explained that some of the tall, narrow stone ones had been built in the sixteenth century with security in mind. The owners climbed ladders to their rooms at the top and then pulled the ladders up after them, keeping thieves from entering.
Kim found that interesting and whipped out her notebook to write it down. And when Enza said that the intricate designs on some of the buildings were called graffiti, Kim scribbled even faster.
So that’s where the name came from, she said to me. How come what gangs spray-paint on walls these days is called graffiti? It doesn’t look a bit like this.
I’d already noticed that Italy wasn’t totally without the uglier version, but instead I told her that Americans always changed everything, sometimes for the worse.
She shrugged and looked for Todd, then left me and walked next to him, sometimes taking his hand and looking up at him as if hanging onto his every word as well. Karen, who had been not far behind her daughter, hurried up and did the same.
I supposed Karen had instructed Kim to spend more time with Todd than me, and I tried not to let it bother me. I concentrated on the sights and reminded myself that I’d be with Todd that night.
****
He made reservations at a restaurant Enza had recommended, and, together with John and Mary Perkins, we walked across the bridge over the Arno River. When we reached our destination and settled at a table, Todd said, I hope that wasn’t too much walking. We can take a taxi back.
No, Mary Perkins said. I’m fine. John’s older than I am, but he has more stamina. That’s not unusual, I guess.
Men have to be stronger, don’t they? Todd said. They hunted and killed animals, while the women stayed in the caves and cooked over an open fire.
Oh, my, Mary said. We’re not that old. We all laughed. When John came back from the service he got a job as an engineer in an office, not exactly a dangerous occupation.
You were in the service? Todd asked. Korea?
No, World War II. I’m eighty-five.
You don’t look it, I said, admiring the man’s smooth face, twinkling blue eyes, and thick white hair.
Thank you. I owe it all to growing up on a farm, but nowadays we say, ‘good genes.’
During dinner, Todd asked John about his experiences during the war, and John said that he had fought in Patton’s army and helped to liberate Italy. Todd asked lots of questions about that, and John answered as if the war had been yesterday instead of so many years ago.
I liked Patton, John said. He was sometimes harsh, but always fair. We knew he didn’t expect anything of us that he wasn’t prepared to do himself. And he was a brilliant strategist.
Thank goodness, Todd said. Thanks to Patton, and men like you, we’re still free. He paused. There are some books out now about what the world would have been like if Hitler had won. Have you read them?
I read the one about Charles Lindberg. I thought it highly improbable.
&nbs
p; In what way?
Oh, he might have been elected president, but all those other things wouldn’t have happened. He leaned closer. You see, I was there. I lived in those days, and I remember what it was like. You young people can invent scenarios, and play ‘what if’ but those of us who lived through it know better.
I thought of something. You mean like people who don’t believe the Holocaust really happened?
John nodded. Those too. I went to a concentration camp. I saw those wretched, starved people with my own eyes.
His eyes misted, as if the memory still haunted him, and the rest of us fell silent as well. I wanted to lighten the mood, but for once no quip seemed appropriate, even to me. The waiter saved the moment from becoming too gloomy. He slipped and fell, dropped a tray, and the clatter of dishes made everyone in the restaurant jump.
We laughed and changed the subject, bringing the conversation from the past to the present, especially the sights we were seeing on the tour.
I love Italy, Mary said. It’s so beautiful, and the people are friendly.
And the food is good, John added. He turned to Todd. But you’ve been here before, haven’t you?
Several times and for those same reasons.
What about you? Mary asked me.
This is my first trip, but I’m very impressed. The Italians are not only friendly, they seem to be so creative.
Always have been, John said. My guidebook says there’s one piece of artwork for every person who lives here. We could never see them all in one lifetime.
But Enza’s working on it, I said. They laughed with me.
Look at Titian, Bernini, and Michelangelo. What other country has produced so many great artists?
Don’t forget Leonardo Da Vinci, Todd said. He was an inventor, as well.
And Galileo, Mary said.
He wasn’t an inventor, Todd said, but that counts.
And then there’s music. Where would opera be without Verdi, Puccini, Rossini?
I added my two cents’ worth. They had writers too, like Dante and Boccaccio, even Umberto Eco.
Roman Holiday Page 9
