The next morning, Todd sat next to me in the van on the way to Venice, apparently deciding to make no effort to pretend we were not a couple. I both enjoyed and worried about it. I could almost feel Karen Vale throw icy darts at my back.
In Venice, our van parked, and we transferred to a water taxi to go to our hotel. Although the hotel itself fronted on a wide canal, the taxi driver steered his boat into a narrow waterway on the side, where a small dock bobbed on the water, and men in uniforms helped us up a few steps to the lobby. Our luggage was marked in chalk with our room numbers and delivered to us later.
My room was luxurious and held a king-sized bed, with two overstuffed chairs and a table at its foot, plus a good-sized chest of drawers for clothes. My large window faced a side garden which, although a floor below me, was so lovely I took a picture of it. Once again, I noticed there were no screens on the windows, and I made a mental note to ask if Italy was ever troubled by flies or mosquitoes. Inside the closet, a small safe had been provided where I could store money and traveler’s checks if I preferred not to carry them with me. I made use of those safes in every hotel we visited, taking only a small amount of cash in a tiny purse when I went out.
The bathroom was especially large, with separate areas for everything. One side contained a huge glass-enclosed shower stall which looked inviting as well as glamorous. But when I stepped inside and turned the knob, the showerhead threw water everywhere, drenching everything in sight, including my hair and the towel I had expected to use to dry myself.
A little later, still feeling slightly damp, I met the rest of the group in the seating area of the lobby. Enza introduced us to Maria, who took us on a tour of, guess what, churches. Maria boasted that hers was about hidden Venice, not the usual tour of the city, but we saw the famous Piazza San Marco, and both the Rialto Bridge and the Bridge of Sighs while walking along the Grand Canal and its little cousins. We went inside St. Mark’s cathedral, a couple of other churches, and of course, saw the Doge’s Palace.
Kimberly chased pigeons and scrambled up and down bridges, and I marveled at how one moment she acted the child whereas the previous day she’d been discussing sex and babies.
That night, Todd and I had dinner in the hotel’s outdoor restaurant, which was almost under my room window, secluded on two sides by white stucco walls covered in vines and on the others by large leafy trees, shrubs, and flowers. A small group of musicians played appropriate dinner music, and the food, served buffet style, was excellent.
Afterward, we walked along the plaza and over a bridge or two but didn’t go very far.
I’ve been to Venice before, Todd said, but it’s easy to get lost here.
You, with a GPS in your head?
I try to stay close to the Grand Canal and the big hotels. The narrow streets can be confusing.
It’s so strange, I said, not to see cars, only sidewalks, plazas, and water.
That’s what makes Venice unique from all the cities in the world. Unfortunately, it floods at times. I just hope we don’t lose it entirely.
I’d seen a documentary on television about one of the plans to save the city through the use of gates that would rise up out of the bay, and I mentioned it to Todd.
They hit upon that idea at least ten years ago, he said, but it never happens. No politician actually wants to take the responsibility of starting such an expensive project. He shook his head. It’s really amazing. As brilliant as the Italians are, they can’t seem to get their act together. I mean, good grief, the Dutch saved Amsterdam from the sea.
Get a Dutchman to run for mayor. I meant it as a joke, of course, but the thought of Venice sinking forever into the sea depressed me, and I was glad when Todd abruptly changed the subject.
Did you enjoy the dinner?
Very much. But tell me something. If all the water in Italy is safe to drink as you said, how come when we want water with meals, they don’t just pour it, but bring a bottle and put the price on the bill? And if we don’t specify ‘no gas,’ they bring fizzy water?
Hmmm. Good questions. Remind me to ask Enza tomorrow.
We walked for several minutes in a comfortable silence until Todd said, I want you to know how much I’ve loved being on this tour with you. I wish it didn’t have to end.
I felt that frog croak in my middle again. Todd was talking as if our relationship was doomed to end, as if he didn’t intend to ever see me again. And all the while I’d been thinking something entirely different.
But I didn’t want to voice what I felt. We have two more days here in Venice.
But then you’ll go back to California.
And you’ll go on to Lake Como.
Come with me. It’s beautiful, you’ll love it.
Well, at least he had asked me to come with him. That was something, even though we both knew I couldn’t. I can’t. My boss expects me back, and I have to write up my article for the next issue of the magazine.
But I want to show you the lake, and the dozens of little villages around it, and the supermarket—
You want to show me a supermarket? The tension I’d been feeling broke at that, and I laughed. We have those in California. And, unless I’m very much mistaken, we probably invented the concept.
Oh, Americans think they invented everything. Being in Italy should have cured you of that by now. He hurried on. Anyway, you’ve never seen one like this before. It’s called Bennet’s.
A grand old Italian name, I joked, but I remembered seeing signs that read Bennet’s as we traveled from city to city in the van.
No, really. This is not like any supermarket you ever saw before.
Bigger than Costco?
Multiply that by ten.
You’re joking.
They have food from all over the world: entire aisles with nothing but varieties of apples, aisles of different pears, aisles of cheese, aisles of pasta—
Enough already. I get the picture.
So, you’ll come with me, and I’ll take you there?
So, I will not come with you. Maybe I’ll see it some other time.
He sighed. Party pooper.
I grinned. If we were at the Trevi Fountain now, I could throw in a coin and wish to go to Lake Como some day.
Todd reached in his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. Quick, make a wish, he said, and then he threw the coins into the canal.
It’s a deal, I said.
He drew me into his arms, and we kissed.
We kissed again just outside the hotel lobby and again in the elevator and at my doorway. Then we lingered together in the semi-dark hallway, holding each other close. I knew then what it felt like to want the moment to go on and on and never end.
But, practical me, I said good night and went into my room alone, where I planned to pick up the thread of our romantic moment in my dreams. Besides, as I’d said, we did have two more days. Perhaps, sometime during those days, Todd would say something about a future we could share together.
Roman Holiday
Chapter 19
When we met in the lobby the next morning, Enza told the rest of us that Karen wasn’t feeling well. She asked us to wait half an hour, while she went with Kimberly to their assigned room.
She returned with the girl. I’m afraid Mrs. Vale will not be joining us this morning.
Still sick? John Perkins asked. I remember she complained about not feeling well yesterday. Should she see a doctor?
She does not seem to have a fever, only nausea, and she thinks the boat trip to the other islands might make her feel worse. She shrugged. But I will look in on her when we return, and I will call a doctor if necessary.
Kimberly, released from her mother’s attention, grabbed Todd’s hand. You’ll be my guide, won’t you?
He smiled down at her and assured her he would.
I immediately felt guilty. I admitted to myself that I didn’t like Karen but knew I must change my attitude. I thought of the saying, What would Jesus do? and knew that Jesus lo
ved everyone. As a Christian, I must do the same. I said a mental prayer that Karen would soon be well. I also vowed that the next time I saw her, I’d make it a point to be loving and kind.
We boarded the same water taxi that had brought us to the hotel the day before. The small craft waited at the dock, and Enza told us she had engaged it for the day. We sped off immediately toward several other islands. Although Venice, Enza had told us on the van ride, consisted of over a hundred islands—all joined by bridges—larger islands, farther east in the bay, contained interesting sights as well. Our first stop was at Murano with its world-renowned glass-making factories.
They were once in Venice, Enza said, but they moved away because of danger from the fires.
I thrilled at the sight of a glass blower’s skill. Kimberly, standing next to me, squealed with delight when he took a blob of white-hot glass and quickly turned it into a blue horse. Another blob became a sparkling clear vase. Afterward, we toured the factory’s showrooms. I saw thousands of glasses, dishes, vases, even birds and flowers, as well as a huge world globe, made from colored glass.
Suddenly aware Kimberly was no longer at my side, I looked around but didn’t see the girl anywhere.
She’s probably in one of the other display rooms, Todd said. There are so many, I’m almost feeling lost myself.
Fifteen minutes later, I spotted her talking to a girl her own age at the sales counter. When she saw Todd and me, she rushed over. This is Amy and her brother Paul. They’re staying in the hotel right next to ours.
Amy, who looked about thirteen, and Paul, perhaps fifteen, were attractive young Americans. Their parents were completing the purchase of a green glass tree branch which sported five exotic, colored glass birds.
After introducing Todd and me to the Cartwrights, her new friends’ family, Kimberly bought a souvenir—a small blue and white fish—with her own money. It’s a bargain, she said, only fourteen American dollars.
That accomplished, we walked back down to the dock, and the water taxi took us to Burano, another island built on canals. Much to Kim’s delight, the Cartwright family showed up there as well. She skipped through the town with Amy and Paul, darting in and out of shops, and generally behaved like a teenager on a lark.
Burano was known for its lacemaking, so I asked Todd to keep an eye on the young people while I looked over what the shops had to offer. Besides blouses, dresses, and scarves, they sold exquisite table linens, and I imagined the day when I’d have a house of my own, with a real dining room set on which I’d place a genuine Italian lace tablecloth. I dream expensive.
Half an hour later, I strolled the street, admiring the tall, narrow houses, each of which—although without the fancy ornamentation on most Venetian houses—was painted a different vibrant color. A red house butted up against a green one. Attached to that was a yellow one, then purple. I soon found Todd, his camera up to his eyes, taking pictures.
Do you think you’ll paint any of this? I asked.
Wouldn’t you? He paused. I’m indebted to you again. If it hadn’t been for coming on your tour, I might never have come to this island.
I suspect it would only be a matter of time, I said.
Kimberly came running up. Isn’t it beautiful? There aren’t any cars, only boats, just like Venice. And did you notice that some of the houses have long curtains instead of doors? Amy says they really have doors, but they open them to catch the breeze, so the curtains give them privacy. She took a breath and hurried on. And there’s even a small leaning tower. She grinned, then turned and ran off again to catch up with Amy and Paul.
The Cartwrights joined us for lunch on the outdoor patio at Romano’s, a restaurant whose menu recounted the many political figures, movie stars, and other celebrities who had dined there. Then Todd, Kim, and I walked back to our water taxi.
The next island was Torcello, and, as our little craft sped off in that direction, Enza told us its history. At one time even a rival of Venice, with twenty thousand inhabitants and many churches, it was now almost a ghost town, with only two remaining churches in the midst of grass and weeds. The few inhabitants also sold lace, and little shops offered souvenirs.
Naturally, our tour group went inside the finest of the churches, a Byzantine cathedral named Santa Maria Assunta. Kimberly read aloud from her guidebook and made sure we knew it was founded in 639 and restored in 1008. Bored with that, even though, like me, she admired the colorful mosaics, she disappeared outdoors.
We found her sitting on a large stone that somewhat resembled a giant chair. Look, she called, it’s the Chair of Attila.
Attila the Hun? Todd asked.
The guidebook didn’t tell, she said, but I think it was an ancient throne for somebody. She jumped up and handed her camera to Todd. Quick, take my picture sitting in it.
She ran back and struck a pose probably intended to be queen-like, and Todd snapped her picture with both her camera and his own.
There’s room for more than one, Kim said. Come sit with me. Both of you.
So, Todd called to Lance to take a picture of the three of us crowded into the stone seat. He obligingly took several, and then Todd reciprocated by taking some of Lance and Robin, hugging of course, and even one with Robin perched on Lance’s lap. We all giggled at the results.
When it was time to return to Venice, Kim and I sat outside the water taxi’s cabin, letting the breeze ruffle our hair and talking to the driver. I had never seen the girl so animated. What a difference from her demeanor when her mother was around.
Our craft slowed down when entering the Grand Canal and then slowed even further to negotiate the turn into the narrow canal which led to our hotel. I was watching the scenery when suddenly I heard shouts, turned around, and saw Kimberly standing up.
The captain—or whatever they call water taxi drivers—along with Todd and Lance Waxman, was yelling at her to sit down, that it was dangerous to stand up while we were still moving. Then I saw Kim lean forward, and I just reacted. I mean, I was closest to her, and I knew I had to keep her from falling overboard.
At the last second, I heard her shout, My fish! She was apparently not in danger of going overboard herself but had dropped her new souvenir. But it was too late.
This all happened in an instant, and, thanks to three men’s arms grabbing for me, I was hauled back into the boat almost immediately. Wet, to be sure, embarrassed as I’d never been before, and wishing I could hide under the wooden seat and die like a hooked tarpon.
But the good news was that, thanks to my going overboard, the glass fish got caught in my sweater where I had tied the sleeves in a knot at my waist, and we were both pulled to safety.
The driver steered us to the dock, and an ever-present doorman tied up the craft. As he helped me out, he gave me an open-mouthed stare, and I squished up the steps and into the lobby with his voice saying, Americani! echoing in my head.
But Kim was grateful I had saved her fish from a watery grave—after all, he wasn’t the kind with real fins—and kept apologizing for my accident. I assured her no harm was done and hurried to my room where I stripped out of my wet clothes, took a shower—this time with the towel outside the enclosure—and dressed again.
I debated taking a nap but wanted to see more of Venice, so I returned to the plaza in front of the hotel. I spent almost an hour wandering among the many booths where vendors sold hats, scarves, postcards, and a great many original oil paintings.
Finally, Todd appeared at my side. I think I need to kidnap you again. I want to ride in a gondola, and I can’t very well do it alone.
I smiled at him. What about the others? Don’t they want to go too?
If so, they’ll just have to do it without us. I want to be like James Bond in that old film, From Russia with Love . Remember that?
I pretended to be annoyed. The movies have a lot to answer for. But all right, I’m game. Then I had a sudden thought. What about Kimberly? Is her mother okay? Are we supposed to be looking out for her
?
She’s doing her own sightseeing with the Cartwrights.
Is that all right with Karen?
We didn’t ask, but the Cartwrights seem to be a nice family. And besides, we checked it out with Enza. She should be the one playing ‘mother hen,’ not you.
I shrugged. Well, I suppose it’s normal for Kim to want to be with another girl her age.
Frankly, I think it’s Paul who interests her most. Todd pulled me along toward the row of waiting gondolas.
I remembered my conversation with Kimberly the day before and hoped Paul’s parents were playing chaperone for the young people. Still, as Todd had reminded me, this was not my problem. Someday, I hoped to have children of my own, and then I could let myself get paranoid over their whereabouts.
We’d reached the dock, and Todd helped me into the rocking vessel, seating me in the well-padded stern, then dropped down next to me. The boatman, wearing the traditional striped shirt and straw hat with a ribbon, skillfully maneuvered the gondola into the canal.
Todd pulled out his camera and focused it on the many picturesque houses that lined the canals as well as the ornate bridges over the water. Every turn brought new vistas that screamed to be reproduced on canvas.
Finally, Todd stopped taking pictures, sat back, and put his arm around me. I can’t let this romantic moment get away, he said, and he leaned over and kissed me.
I felt, indeed, like an actress in a Hollywood film. Even if I never saw Todd again, I would always cherish the memory of sailing with a handsome man in a gondola in Venice.
When Todd broke the kiss, I said, Can’t you get the gondolier to sing a romantic Italian song?
That would make the moment complete, wouldn’t it? He put his other arm around me and pulled me close. But we’ll just have to settle for this. Once more, his lips captured mine.
A minute later, he said, Would you be upset if I told you I think I’m falling in love with you?
I felt my heart swell and spoke softly. Well, only a little. I like you very much. But—
I know, we’ve known each other— He stopped to do a mental count. —eleven days, but I’m sure this isn’t the end for us.
Roman Holiday Page 12
