Roman Holiday

by Phyllis A. Humphrey

  I told him about the church in Milan and how inspired I felt, how the hatred I’d harbored toward the man who killed my brother was beginning to melt away. I wrote that I felt certain Todd, too, could find peace and forgiveness there. Then I addressed it to him at the Grand Imperiale and hoped he would still be there when it arrived, or, if not, that the hotel would forward it to him. Wherever he’d gone. Here I was, in love with a man, and I hadn’t even managed to get his address.

  But I felt a comforting assurance in knowing that—even if we never met again—his own hatred would be healed, and he could embrace life again.

  I boarded my flight and tried to immerse myself in the in-flight movie. I even slept a bit, no doubt catching up on what I’d missed the previous two nights, and was grateful that I had no seatmate to remind me of Todd.

  Roman Holiday

  Chapter 23

  So there I was, in my office back home in Los Angeles on Monday morning, trying to return to my previous life as a reporter before I fell in love and had my heart broken. I also suffered from jet lag but was intent upon trying to impress Mr. Hardcastle with my dedication. With no other future in sight, I really needed to keep this job. To say nothing of repaying student loans which would only die when I did.

  Office is really too fancy a word for the cubicle I occupied on the twenty-third floor of a steel-and-glass downtown building. True, I had my own desk and chair, plus a computer and printer; but there was no door, only an opening, and the walls didn’t come anywhere near the high ceiling with its battery of fluorescent lights. They were nothing but moveable partitions, and I could stand up and almost see over them. Yet, considering how tough jobs in publishing were to come by, I felt lucky.

  And then, at barely nine o’clock, Mr. Hardcastle himself came in, all two hundred plus pounds of him. I had only the one chair, and although I popped up so he could use it, he didn’t sit but spoke quickly, as if anxious to get to something way more important than seeing me.

  You’re back, he mumbled.

  Yes, sir. I didn’t add that it was fairly obvious. People stated the obvious all the time.

  He frowned and smoothed his gray comb-over. When will you have the article ready?

  Tomorrow? I made it a question because I didn’t know if I could really do justice to the subject by then.

  Take your time, he said. Wednesday morning will be fine.

  The man was all heart.

  About Italy, he said next. I’m told you took an unauthorized side trip to Lake Como.

  Hardcastle was a hands-on type of boss, and, furthermore, there was apparently a tattletale in our midst.

  Um, yes. I didn’t speak for a moment, having no idea how to explain my going there. To talk to a man I fell in love with, lacked the proper respect for my assignment, and I wasn’t about to tell him the whole ugly story.

  Well? he prompted.

  Have you considered the possibility— While my throat choked up and tears gathered behind my lids, I scrambled to think of something plausible. I mean, it’s true the tour I was on didn’t include Lake Como, but I heard that it’s a worldwide tourist destination, and I couldn’t resist seeing for myself. I’d like to do an additional article on it. I almost managed an encouraging smile. Two stories for the price of one.

  This was not totally impossible. True, I had never taken any pictures of my own, but, while buying a stamp to mail my letter to Todd, I ran across a large picture book of Lake Como and bought it. That, plus what I had seen of it myself and Todd’s comments, should be enough for a short article.

  Hardcastle made a hmmm sound and rubbed his chin. Have you turned in your expenses?

  I’ll have that ready this afternoon, I promised.

  I’ll look it over, and we’ll talk. He paused. But don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched. He left, and I sat down.

  I stared at the black face of my computer for several minutes. How could I write an article about a place and time where I’d met the man I wanted to spend my life with but couldn’t have? The memories crammed into those eleven days seemed overwhelming.

  But life indeed goes on. I’d survived the death of my brother, and somehow I’d survive this too. I took a deep breath then pulled out my notes, arranged the photographs from the tour company across my desk, and started to write. By the time I got to Venice, tears were running down my face and threatening to drown the keyboard. I gave up and took a long lunch hour. Or two.

  Panic is an underrated component of writing to deadlines, and by afternoon I made a concerted effort to let professionalism rule. I put Todd out of my thoughts and turned in my expense account. Then I wrote about the sights on the tour, not the people I shared them with. Grateful to have a first draft of the article completed, I left the office at five, went home, and planned to collapse in bed. With luck, I’d be able to finish the job the next day and turn it in on Wednesday. That ought to please Hardcastle, and maybe he’d approve my expenses, including the trip to Lake Como. If I had to return that portion, my bank account would plunge to the low two figures, a territory that meant Tuna Helper for dinner several nights in a row.

  At least I had something pleasant to look forward to at home, home being the apartment I shared with Nora. Since I’d returned—with an assist from Super Shuttle—very late on Sunday and had beelined it to the office that morning, we hadn’t seen each other for more than two weeks.

  She was in the kitchen, stirring something delicious-smelling on the stove, and when she heard me come in, she dropped her spoon and hugged me. Are you glad to be back? We broke apart, and she went back to tending the pot.

  Of course. You know what they say, ‘Travel is wonderful, but home is where your clean clothes are.’

  She laughed. Remember, I did warn you about taking only one suitcase. Ten days with the same people requires a whole lot more wardrobe than you packed.

  I really managed pretty well, I said. I couldn’t have dragged another bag with me, not with the laptop, my purse, and a tote for emergency supplies.

  She pushed me gently toward a kitchen chair. Sit here and tell me all about it. I’ve made a pot of minestrone—she stopped and giggled—just in case you didn’t get enough Italian food, and the garlic bread will be hot in a minute, and I made a lemon meringue pie.

  You’re not supposed to feed me, I reminded her. When we moved in together, we decided to cook separately. I remember you saying that roommates often split up over food expenses, and you didn’t want that to happen to us.

  This is a special occasion, she said. After all, you made a big fuss over my birthday. Besides, it’s only soup. I didn’t make a Beef Wellington or crepes suzette. But she could.

  What I served for your birthday party was all from Costco. You know I can’t cook. Cook? I called my efforts Cordon Noir because I burned so many dishes.

  Nora was not only a great cook but a fantastic roommate in every other way. And a pleasure to be with. We actually met through the classified ad I placed, but she had always seemed like the perfect girlfriend, someone I might have known since kindergarten or shared a dorm room with in college. And beautiful besides, with her perfect figure, long blonde hair, and Elizabeth Taylor eyes. She could have married any number of guys who hung around her, but she claimed she was in no hurry. A schoolteacher who loved her job, she wanted children, and too many guys she dated seemed cold to the idea of a family with a minimum of three boys and three girls. Really.

  After putting two steaming bowls of soup on the already-set table, she sat down opposite me and repeated her invitation. Tell me all about Rome.

  It’s beautiful, I said. And so is Florence. And Venice is indescribable. You have to see it to believe it.

  Nevertheless, I did my best, for the next hour, to describe everything I saw and everything I did and yet keep Todd out of it. You really ought to go to Italy. Everybody should. It is absolutely wonderful, the food is divine, and the people are friendly. What more could you want?

  Nora removed our bowls
and brought out the pie. You sound as if you’d like to live there.

  No, but I’d like to go back again. As a matter of fact, I might be able to do that, if I can get Mr. Hardcastle to agree with me on an article about Lake Como.

  Lake Como? I didn’t think that was on your itinerary.

  It wasn’t, but I went there, and it’s so lovely—

  I stopped. So far, I hadn’t mentioned any of the people on the tour, although I had pointed out how Enza saw to our every need or wish, rather like a zealous den mother.

  So, why did you go to Lake Como? Nora prompted.

  I hesitated. Telling her why necessitated mentioning Todd, to say nothing of Karen and Kimberly, a very long story, and an unpleasant one at that.

  But Nora wouldn’t take no for an answer. We’ll have the pie and coffee in the living room, and you’ll tell me everything. She looked meaningfully into my eyes. And I mean everything. I smell a romance here.

  So, we settled into the sofa, and I spilled it all out.

  Oh, Darcy, she said when I finished the long story, that’s so sad. That Karen woman sounds like a real villain. But what about the daughter? Did she tell her mother that Todd had molested her?

  No, Kimberly is a very sweet child and actually treated Todd more like the father who wasn’t there. Karen made up the story about Todd’s molesting Kim. I paused. I hate to sound immodest, but it became obvious that Todd preferred my company to hers, and she was jealous.

  How awful. So, she tried to ruin Todd’s life.

  I hope it’s not as bad as all that. He knows that she recanted her story. As I said, I went to Lake Como to tell him so.

  And you’re in love with him, aren’t you?

  I got up so hurriedly I almost spilled my coffee. Of course not. We only just met. I walked across the room, shielding my face from her gaze, afraid I’d begin to cry at the thought I’d never see Todd again.

  Nora came over to me and turned me around to face her. I’m glad you met someone, she said. And he sounds like a wonderful person, just right for you.

  But it’s over, I wailed. He’s so upset about what happened, to say nothing of the problem with his parents—

  His parents? What happened with his parents?

  So, I had to tell Nora that story as well. I’m afraid that he’ll just climb deeper into his shell and won’t ever contact me.

  You said you wrote him a letter from Milan.

  But I don’t know if he got it. And even if he did, he’ll probably just think of me as someone he met on vacation and will never see again.

  But maybe he wants to see you again. Men do fall in love, you know, and when they do, they don’t let a little thing like living in different cities stop them.

  Oh, Nora, I appreciate your confidence, but I can’t let myself think about anything coming of our brief relationship.

  Can’t or won’t?

  What difference does it make? I’ve done all I could. I followed Todd to Lake Como and sent him that letter. There’s nothing more I can do.

  She squeezed my hand. Oh, knowing you, you’ll think of something.

  She picked up our empty plates and cups from the coffee table and took them into the kitchen. I followed and helped her put them in the dishwasher and tidy the room.

  Now, she said finally, I expect you need some sleep. Why don’t you go along to bed? I have some students’ papers to look over before I crash.

  I started from the room and then remembered something. I’m sorry. We’ve spent the whole evening talking about me, and I never asked you what you’ve been doing while I’ve been gone.

  Frankly, I didn’t expect to hear anything unusual. She taught school every day, and on weekends she dated the latest guy in her life, Mike something-or-other, who, I suspected, was good company but not marriage material.

  Oh, she said. Nothing special. Unless you count my getting married next month.

  It took me a moment to absorb this bombshell, but finally I screamed, Nora! and grabbed her and hugged her until she begged for mercy.

  It’s very sudden, I know, she said, and I hate to leave you in the lurch. Do you think you can find another roommate by the middle of June?

  I sat down on a kitchen chair to think. You’ve been a great roommate. I’ll never find anyone as compatible as you’ve been. So, I think I’ll look for a smaller apartment and be on my own.

  Nora sat down next to me. I’ll miss you.

  I laughed. No, you won’t. You’ll have a husband and those six kids.

  Well, not all at once. The kids I mean. But Mike is the first man who acted like the whole idea didn’t scare him to death.

  I like him, I said, not that it mattered, and I think you two will make a great couple.

  She grabbed my hand. I have you to thank for this.

  Me? I didn’t introduce you to him.

  No, but you influenced me.

  How? I’m not married myself—and prospects don’t exactly look promising for the near future—so how could I influence you?

  Your ideals influenced me. I liked the fact that you hold yourself up to a high standard. I could have chosen to just live with Mike—he asked me lots of times—but I’d think of you and say, ‘No, I need a real commitment. I don’t want to just play house.’

  So? I asked.

  So he proposed. She grinned. And I want you to be my maid of honor.

  I’d be honored, I said, and we hugged again.

  But, as I went into my room and undressed for bed, the tears flowed again. Nora would marry her Mr. Right, and I would never get to marry mine. For her sake, I’d have to do a better job in the future of hiding my feelings. My breaking heart would be like a television set on mute.

  Roman Holiday

  Chapter 24

  Early the next morning, I said to Nora, I can’t be your maid of honor.

  Why not?

  Because I’d ruin your beautiful day, that’s why.

  How could you ruin it?

  Because, as you very well know, I’m a klutz and sometimes, well, sometimes things happen that aren’t really my fault, but—

  Nora laughed and patted my hand. Nothing will happen.

  But four years ago, I ruined my sister’s wedding, so it’s possible.

  And just how did you do that?

  I kept the story fairly short, telling her I was maid of honor that time too, but skipping over the details, like the beautiful chapel, the flowers, the music, and my proud parents sitting together in the first row. I was going to omit the gorgeous dresses on bride and bridesmaids, but that was an important part of what happened.

  I was wearing this beautiful long dress—

  Nora interrupted me. I would have known your sister would choose beautiful dresses. Sometimes the bride chooses really dorky ones for the bridesmaids.

  These were lovely, with a plain bodice, short puffed sleeves, wide satin sashes, and bouffant skirts that stood out like little tents.

  What color were they? Nora asked, as if already getting ideas for her own attendants.

  Pink, a lovely shade of pink.

  Go on. What happened?

  I briefly recounted how, near the end of the ceremony, I handed my bouquet to the bridesmaid next to me and took the bride’s bouquet. When the minister asked for the tokens of the union, the best man produced the ring for the bride, and her husband-to-be slipped it on her finger. Then the minister asked for the bride’s token and, as I was holding that ring, I then committed my first gaffe of the day.

  What did you do that was so terrible? Nora asked.

  I dropped it. Actually, I didn’t drop it right away. I had been afraid I would, so I put it on my own finger. Well, being a man’s ring, it was too loose for my finger so I put it on my thumb, and then, when it was time to go on the groom’s finger, it wouldn’t come off.

  So how could you drop it?

  Well, they saw me struggling to pull it off. My fingers must have swollen during the ceremony. So the groom leaned over to help, and it fi
nally came off in a rush, and it fell on the floor.

  You said you dropped it.

  I don’t know who dropped it, but suddenly we were all stooping over to pick it up, and, my dress being so long and full, I accidentally stepped on the front of the skirt. After the groom retrieved the ring and gave it to my sister, I tried to straighten up, but my foot was caught in the dress, and I tripped and fell forward.

  Nora’s voice rose in shock. You fell down?

  Not totally. I fell on top of the minister, and he kept me from landing on the floor.

  But he fell down?

  Partly, but he recovered very quickly, because the groom and all the attendants rushed over to help us.

  Nora was laughing now. So, there you all were huddled over at the altar like a well-groomed football team!

  I giggled. Well, sort of, if you imagine half the team looking like penguins and the other half like lawn flamingos. I remembered something else. Some bouquets got crushed in the process, and there were flower petals everywhere.

  After we caught our breaths, I shrugged. So, you see what I mean. You don’t want me to ruin your wedding. I’ll be a bridesmaid but don’t give me anything important to do.

  Nora wiped her eyes. But it’s so funny. Didn’t anyone laugh?

  Oh, yes, everyone laughed, even the minister. When we were all standing up again, he said, ‘Will the photographer please erase the last fifteen seconds from the tape?’

  We giggled some more. And then?

  And then, after the guests stopped laughing, he went on with the ceremony as if nothing had happened. I smiled, remembering. Except for an occasional grimace he made trying to repeat his lines and the bridesmaid on my left giggling into the flowers in what was left of her bouquet.

  I wouldn’t call that ruining the wedding, Nora said. And I’ll bet your sister doesn’t think you did, either.

  She’s my sister. Of course she had to forgive me.

  Well, don’t think that story lets you off the hook. You’re my maid of honor, like it or not.

  ****