In spite of her earlier resolution to relax and enjoy herself, Mina already regretted being there. Her feet ached. Her dress was uncomfortable, but the oddest part was she didn’t feel like she belonged in this town at all.
Loud music came from somewhere in the building… you tell my heart, my achy breaky heart… Billy Ray Cyrus? Seriously? This place was better than the Baskin Robbins 31 Flavors ice cream store. You had your California connection with country music for the Nashville aficionados. What other cultural flavors were available inside?
Five or six young American soldiers stood chatting by the entrance. With their buzz cuts, and starchy shirts over white crewneck undershirts, it was hard to miss them. No purse-carrying Italian man would be caught dead wearing that. The two young women talking to the men looked Italian. High heels, skimpy clothes and theatrical eye makeup. Yes, locals to the core. They hung around, laughing, loud-mouthed and flashy. Two marble steps separated the sidewalk from the bar. The door sported a Corona Extra logo and looked as inviting as the mouth of the whale that swallowed Geppetto and Pinocchio. Lola walked through the center of the group and up the steps. Mina trailed behind as usual.
“Look at that fucking sweet ass…”
She heard the crude remark, shouted in English. Mina turned around, insulted and angry. “Are you talking to me?” Oops, in her perfect English. Damn.
The young American closest to her stepped back, his face flushed, his eyes avoiding hers. “Sorry ma’am, I didn’t—didn’t know you spoke English.”
“So what? It’s okay to insult women if they don’t understand you? Is that the kind of behavior your mother taught you?”
“No ma’am. I’m very sorry. I apologize.” His head was down as he inspected his shoes. The whole group was silent.
That’s when Lola called from inside, “Oh, Mina… vieni?”
“I’m coming,” she answered—in English. Shit. Flustered and angry with herself, Lola and the young G.I., Mina spun around and the shoe from hell tore loose again. She slipped. The young soldier caught her and helped her regain balance. Awkward.
It was her turn to blush and mumble, “Thanks.”
“What’s going on?” Lola stood at the threshold of the open door, staring down at them. No need to speak Italian to understand how angry she was. Her nostrils flared. There might have been steam coming from her ears.
“It’s my shoe.” Mina bent to put the shoe back on, but the fringe from the borrowed shawl tangled in the soldier’s belt buckle.
Both worked to get it loose. Clumsy, embarrassed and silent.
“I’m sorry,” the soldier repeated.
“Not your fault. It happens,” Mina said.
“Mina.” Music from inside the bar nearly drowned Lola’s voice.
She stepped down, walked up to Mina and the young man, took hold of the tangled shawl and yanked it lose. Threads hung from the man’s buckle. Mina looked at him and they both chuckled.
“Ridi? You find this funny?” She nearly shrieked.
“Oh, come on, Lola. Loosen up. Let’s have a drink.”
“You ruined everything.”
They walked into the shadowy room. It wasn’t as large as Mina expected. The music outside was piped in. A small space had been kept clear for dancing, but only one couple moved around, groping more than dancing. An opulent bar with multi-colored fiber optic lights covered most of the back wall. A row of occupied stools and bottle after bottle of liquor completed the serving area.
Whoa!
Low couches and over-stuffed chairs filled the rest of the space occupied by a mix of men and women in different degrees of entanglement. The men seemed younger than the women but it was hard to tell for sure in such a twilight scenario. The bar was hazy with cigarette smoke, and its odor hung in the air.
So, where’s this Nick? The anticipation was killing Mina. Lola walked straight to two empty stools at the bar. Reserved seats? Mina’s feet didn’t reach the floor when she perched on that stool.
Ah, that must be Nick.
A man in his mid-forties showed up at the end of the bar. Thinning dark hair was pulled back and knotted in an elaborate ponytail. His face was clean-shaven with bulging eyes. While he wasn’t fat, he was working on a slight paunch. Not at all what Mina expected.
He moseyed over, favoring one leg. He nodded at Lola, his eyes on Mina. “Signorine…” His voice trailed. He winked in a playful way.
“Ciao, Gino. Where is Nick?” Lola kept her voice soft and breezy while her blood red fingernails tapped on the marble counter with the precision of a metronome.
“Il nostro caro Nick… our dear Nick, a primadonna, I tell you. One minute he is joking with a girl at the bar, the next minute he grabs his jacket and he’s out of here. Moody bastard.” He smiled through the last comment and the affectionate tone made it sound like a term of endearment rather than a harsh remark.
“He’s gone? I just spoke to him a minute ago.” The drumming fingers stopped.
“Ah, so you were the one he was bantering with. What did you say to make him run out the door?”
Was Gino kidding? He had to be, but he certainly knew how to push Lola’s buttons. Despite the anger that was probably brewing behind Lola’s façade, nothing in her behavior reflected such emotion.
“No comment.” Lola’s smile didn’t change, but she slammed her palm on the counter inches from Mina’s hand.
“Did you get it?” His eyes were smug and knowing, but his question sounded innocent.
“What?” Lola looked at him like he was crazy.
“The fly, of course.” He winked again. “What can I bring you ladies?”
Mina was tempted to suggest strychnine for the blonde, but Lola was the one with the car keys and knew the way home, so she smiled and asked for a glass of Prosecco.
Chapter 6
Mina couldn’t stop laughing. Yes, it was silly and juvenile, but when they left the bar and headed to the parking lot and the BMW, Lola’s outrageous behavior went beyond staged comedy. No more pretenses of grace and composure, she kicked the car door and hurled insults at the disabled man collecting the parking fees.
Miss Lola turned into a shrew. And over a man she hardly knew.
There was no denying it–the woman had a temper. Not a temper like Mina’s, a little yelling, some pouting, a huff and a puff, and it’s over. No, the anger consuming Lola equaled the rumbling of a volcano ready to boil up into a deadly eruption.
That night Mina had been more concerned than entertained. The crazy blonde could have crashed the BMW. At least all that rage translated to high speed and a fast ride home. What a relief it was to escape that red bullet on wheels and cozy up in her comfy bed, safe and alone at last.
The next morning, looking back on it, there was nothing to do but laugh.
Professor Cervi’s place was at its most charming in the bedroom, which was furnished to invite lingering in bed or sitting at the reading desk. In the morning the room was golden, bathed in sunlight. The man must have loved solitude, spending his days alone because the condo had only one inside door, to the bathroom. Mina hopped out of bed.
Time to get dressed and go grocery shopping with Emilia. Should she make a list? All she had in the house was water from the faucet and whatever spices the Professor left in the kitchen. She rolled up the shutters and walked out on the terrace. The church’s steeple could be seen to the north. Not a cloud in the sky.
Meow. Fufa paraded along the edge of the low wall bordering the terrace.
“Fufa, how did you get there?” Mina craned her neck to look up. Did Fufa jump from Emilia’s terrace? “Well, kitty, you can’t come in. I told you. Race you to your mama’s house?” The cat ignored her.
Mina went back inside and rolled down the shutters, leaving only a few inches open. Air could circulate, but the cat couldn’t sneak in. She grabbed her purse and headed upstairs.
It was all coming back to her now, straw bags large enough and sturdy enough to hold a small child. That’s what Italians
used to carry groceries. Emilia loaned one to Mina and said, “If you don’t bring your own, you can purchase plastic bags, but they don’t come cheap.”
Their first stop was the panificio, the bakery. The wonderful smell of bread announced the business long before they entered the store. Mina had gone there with her grandfather when she was small. During the winter they went to the back where different types of bread were baked hourly in the gigantic wood oven. The bakery still belonged to the same family, but the younger generation didn’t allow back room visitors. All the wares were in glass cases, no touching or tasting. The only thing that hadn’t changed was the quality of the bread. Buonissimo.
After hugs and greetings, a deal was made where two extra rolls would be delivered with Emilia’s daily order. More hugs, then they left for the next stop with some warm, crunchy bread. Negozio di alimentari. It struck Mina that the Italian translation for grocery store was store of nourishment. She never thought about that before. How appropriate.
“Mina, stop sneaking morsels from the rolls. I can see you munching.”
“I can’t help myself. I don’t get this kind of bread fresh from the oven back home.”
“Then maybe you should open an Italian bakery.”
“Yeah, but what passes for Italian over there is not the same Italian as here. That sounds stupid. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?” A red car came up the street toward them. “Damn. I hope that’s not Lola.”
“You think she’s still mad at you for last night?” Emilia seemed amused at the thought. Mina had told her about the disappearing bartender from the California Bar and Grill and the subsequent miserable ride home. To her credit, Emilia hadn’t gone into I-told-you-so mode.
“Mina, how about we get groceries then stop for an aperitif before going home? We can buy something already cooked to take back for lunch.”
“You mean frozen food?”
“No, not frozen food. There is a section just for freshly made meals.”
“Oh, we have that in the States. I’m not too crazy about it.”
“Wait until you try it before you pass judgment. The ingredients are local.”
“Hey, you’re the expert. Let’s not go to the piazza for our aperitif. I don’t want to run into Lola.”
“Are you afraid of that puttana?”
“I’m not afraid. I’m uncomfortable around her, also around her friend the undertaker.”
Emilia came to a sudden stop, grabbed Mina’s arm and looked her square in the eyes. “What do you mean her friend the undertaker? I’m pretty sure they don’t know each other.”
“They know each other all right. The way he held her wrist and spoke right into her face, there is a lot going on between those two. I doubt it has to do with visiting hours at the cemetery.”
“You don’t say?” Emilia’s eyes took on a new intensity. She had the air of a hunting dog. “Forget the aperitif, let’s finish shopping and go home. I want to hear all about it.”
It was after one o’clock by the time they made it back to the condo, and Mina was looking forward to getting off her feet.
“Mina, are you going to live on Nutella and Pavesini for a month?”
“What’s wrong with chocolate spread and wafers? That’s all I wanted for breakfast when I was little.” Mina sighed.
“Well, you are still little, but old enough to know better.”
Both straw bags were stuffed with a variety of food, from necessary to junk. Mina had had an I-want-this-and-this attack. The store clerk locked the doors behind them and looked relieved to do so. Don’t mess with Italians and their lunch break.
“Put away your groceries then come upstairs to eat. Okay?” Emilia left the grocery bag in front of Mina’s door, grabbed the cooked food containers and headed upstairs.
Mina hummed “Hotel California” while storing her various boxes and packages of food. The phone rang. “Hello?” Stupid, she should say pronto.
“Hi, what time should I pick you up?”
Lola? “Pick me up? For what?”
“We are going back to the California, of course.”
“I’m not. Once was enough. Thanks.”
“Don’t be silly. Nick wasn’t there. He will be tonight. Let’s make it seven o’clock?”
“Lola, I’m not going. I have a commitment, and frankly, I don’t intend to ever go back there if I can help it.”
“We’ll see about that.” Click.
Unbelievable. She had some nerve. We’ll see about that? Yes, we will. What a bitch. Mina was locking her door when the phone rang inside. Maledizione. Must be Lola again. Instead of rushing back to answer it, she headed upstairs.
“So you see why I, like everyone else, assumed Piero the undertaker and Loredana Lanza didn’t know each other at all. He was the one who found Vittorio unconscious on the ground that December morning. No one questioned him, a newcomer who just landed a job at the cemetery. He would seem to have no connection to the victim. Oh my God, that conniving puttana, she played us all. I wonder what strings she pulled to get Piero the job. That’s a good place to start. Thanks, Mina, finally some new information.”
They sat outside sipping coffee, enjoying the view of the mountains and a light breeze. Mina wanted milk in hers. She couldn’t handle the espresso yet. In spite of Emilia’s reasoning, she wasn’t sold on the conspiracy theory.
She sank into a bit of a funk. All that good food made her sluggish and nostalgic, missing people and places, missing someone to belong to. Missing Diego.
“Do you know that Fufa can jump down to my balcony?”
“She doesn’t jump, she slides on the rain gutter. She can get into all the condos, but she is picky about that. She never visited yours when the Professor was around. You two must have a special bond.” Emilia smiled.
“Maybe I was a cat in my past life.” On cue, Fufa purred and nuzzled Mina’s ankle.
“Emilia, do you have any pictures of my mother when she was a little girl?”
“Paola? Of course I do—.”
The silence thickened. They avoided each other’s eyes. Mina was glad for the silence, not wanting to talk, afraid she might cry.
Emilia spoke first. “I grew up with your nonna. We were the same age, went to the same schools. She married. I became a lawyer. I was your mother’s godmother.” She reached over and patted Mina’s hand. “No need to pretend, I was there when you were born. Took care of the paperwork for the adoption. Paola, your mother, fought hard to convince us she could take care of you. She was still a child herself.” She wiped her cheeks, stood and went inside.
Mina felt an incredible sense of relief now that the truth about her birth mother was out in the open. No more need to hide things or to watch every word.
Emilia returned carrying a large hatbox. She stopped in the doorway. “Maybe we should do this inside, looks like we are getting another summer storm.”
Mina followed her inside.
The hatbox, covered in faded flowery cloth, was full of pictures, some so old they resembled antique post cards with unsmiling people stiff as mannequins.
The photos of her mother weren’t that old, and they were in color. Paola looked very tall and slim with long, luscious hair. Mature for her age, she was easy to spot even in classroom pictures, always the tallest one. With a mother so tall, why was Mina so short? Maybe the father she never knew was a short man. By the time they reached the bottom of the box the sky had turned dark, and the wind hissed through the chimney.
“Mina, before you go back to America, I’ll get copies made of some of these, and you can take them with you. Okay? Hope you don’t mind taking copies. I’m old and every day grow more attached to things from the past.” She laid her hand on Mina’s and squeezed. “I’m so glad you decided to come home. Now you should head downstairs and make sure everything is closed tight. Let me give you some candles. Don’t be alarmed if we lose power. It happens but only for a short time. Do you need anything?” Emilia hugged her like family, li
ke a prodigal daughter. Mina didn’t feel lonely anymore.
“Wait, I want you to have something.” Emilia carried the hatbox from the room and came back with a small tin box. She opened it and spilled the contents on the table. Various pieces of jewelry sparkled under the dining room chandelier. Each piece had a tag. The gypsies’ bounty. Emilia rummaged through the collection and picked a gold chain with a small, simple cross. There wasn’t a tag on it.
“This is one thing I’m sure is real, just as I’m sure the gypsy was innocent. A rare combination. It was around the time of Vittorio’s death. Everything was so chaotic. I meant to return the necklace to the young girl, but she left town before I had a chance. Andria was her name. You remind me of her. I would like you to have it.” She put the gold chain around Mina’s neck, locked the clasp then hugged her.
Mina touched the small, elegant cross. “Are you sure? What if she comes back?”
“Gypsies don’t come back here, especially after they were arrested. This Andria seemed so different, educated, polished. Who knows? Maybe she was Gypsy royalty.” Emilia seemed thoughtful, far away. “All right. So get going. The storm will hit any minute. See you in the morning.”
Fufa followed Mina to the first landing, but at a clap of thunder, she ran back upstairs.
“Coward,” Mina said to the cat’s tail.
Raindrops danced on the old tile roof, the tip tapping of a thousand imaginary angels. She loved the sound and smell of rain.
This evening reminded her of another storm, another night. “You smell of rain.” Diego had said, his lips on her forehead. Sadness tromped any pleasure she took in the rainstorm.
Mina tucked the bag with the candles under her arm and took her key from her jeans pocket.
The hall light went off. Well, damn. She waited for a minute then tried to find the slot for the key in the dark. Another flash lit the stairwell, and she could see the keyhole. A clicking, metallic noise came from somewhere downstairs. For no reason, fear streaked along her spine. How silly. It was probably the couple coming back from their trip. What was their name? Rossi.
Italian Summer (Mina's Adventures Book 3) Page 4
