To Tuscany with Love

by Gail Mencini

  Bodacious girls and a weed cloud. Entering the band’s hotel suite, Rune scoped pairs and threesomes sprawled in marathon sex. The dudes outside on the balcony sucked joints, snorted coke, and diddled with needles. Beer bottles littered the floor.

  Rune slid down against a wall. He tapped out a line of coke on the table next to him. A topless blonde with cantaloupe tits crouched in front of him. She eyed his coke. Her head dove. Awesome. Mick was right.

  Rune’s head lolled back. His eyes wandered to a couple on the balcony. A guy long on hair and short on body fat straddled a bimbo lying on chair cushions. She shouted obscenities in rhythm with his thrusts. Her hands clung to his protruding hipbones.

  After sucking him off, the blonde pulled up from Rune’s crotch and crouched over the coke. Rune saw Mick sprawled on the couch. His friend cinched a band around his biceps. A redhead, likely jailbait, sat next to Mick. She injected her arm, then passed the syringe to Mick.

  “Don’t do it, man.” Rune’s eyes widened. “Dirty needles are no good, man.”

  Mick didn’t hesitate. He jabbed the needle into his arm.

  Rune watched Mick flip the strap off his arm. Mick’s eyes rolled and he slumped back against the couch.

  The cantaloupe-titted chick flopped against Rune’s side, her left boob smashed into his ribs. Rune’s eyes drifted closed. This was the life.

  18

  Chicago, Illinois

  Meghan, in her mid-twenties, lounged in the middle of ten women sitting cross-legged on the floor. Glasses of champagne sat next to them amid opened boxes and crumpled wrapping paper. The giggling and laughter drowned out Ravel’s Bolero in the background.

  The boutique had closed an hour early so that Karen could host the lingerie shower for Meghan here in their store. Meghan couldn’t keep the grin off her face. Life was perfect. The twins, along with Karen’s husband, Ed, owned this growing boutique, and now Meghan was getting married.

  “Ooh, hoo-hoo. Look at this one.” Karen held up a filmy black lace panty and swung it in the air. “This is destined to become one of Jason’s favorites.” She moved on to a matching camisole, swishing it through the air by its satin straps. “I really blew it, getting married right after college. No one had money to buy sexy lingerie for me.”

  Meghan’s eyes sparkled. “I thought you liked the kitchen gadget shower I threw for you.”

  “Are you kidding?” Karen laughed. “What could be sexier than a sand-colored toaster?”

  Meghan pursed her lips. “Guess you have to toast bread naked then, don’t you?”

  “Shh. You’ll give away my secrets.” Karen succumbed to a fit of giggles.

  Howls of laughter erupted at the banter between the twins.

  Karen leaned over and whispered to her sister. “I told you things would work out when we left Italy. That you were better off without Lee.”

  Meghan kissed her sister’s cheek. “You’re right. If I’d left Chicago to be with Lee in medical school, we wouldn’t have the shop. And without the shop, I wouldn’t have met Jason.” She had met her fiancé at the deli across the street from the shop one day when they each had run in for a quick takeout lunch.

  She tingled all over at the mere thought of him. He was sexy in a bad-boy way. Jason supported her career, too, never complaining about her night or weekend shifts at the shop. The day they met, he had followed her back to the boutique, quizzing her about her interests and the store as they ate their lunches. It had been love at first sight for him, he’d brag to anyone they met. Jason traveled most of the time, selling medical equipment to hospitals from Chicago to Los Angeles.

  Meghan remembered that she hadn’t completed the purchase orders for the upcoming season. “We have to go through the new order tomorrow. I’m not letting this wedding stuff ruin our profits because we didn’t pay attention to business.”

  “Ed’s not sure it’s wise to bring in the two new lines,” Karen said.

  Meghan covered Karen’s hand with her own. “Tomorrow, come an hour early. I’ll have the coffee on and we can go through the budgets. We need the new lines to stay on the forefront. If we want to move to Pine Street and be part of boutique row, we’ve got to be avant-garde trendsetters. We need those lines.” She sat back, the matter settled. “I’m not leaving on a honeymoon until the new order is in.”

  “Ed’s worried about the money.” Karen’s eyes dropped to her lap, where one palm rested on her belly.

  Meghan’s eyes followed her sister’s. Karen’s champagne sat untouched beside her. Meghan’s mouth gaped open at a sudden suspicion. “Are you pregnant?”

  Karen looked up. A flush ran up her cheeks. She nodded twice. Meghan’s arms flew around her sister. “I’m so excited!” She waved her arms back and forth in the air, calling for the attention of the group. “Karen is having a baby. I’m going to be an auntie.”

  The women clustered around them and hugged Karen. Karen’s eyes met Meghan’s. “I’m sorry. This was supposed to be your day.”

  Meghan flicked her hand, dismissing her sister’s comment. But inside her, the giddy feeling from the wedding shower deflated by one-third. Her mind traveled back to the day she first fell in love—the day she lost her virginity to Lee. That day, too, Karen’s news of her engagement to Ed had put a lid on her own milestone. Meghan felt Karen’s eyes on her face. She smiled and nodded at her sister. “I’m happy for you.”

  Meghan scooted around the floor, gathering up the satin and lace undergarments. The girls’ giggly banter shifted from sexual innuendos to talk of babies and motherhood. The camisole on the top of the pile, fire-engine red with white lace trim, glistened under a spotlight. Meghan remembered that the florist wanted final approval for the table centerpieces on Monday: red roses surrounded by lily-of-the-valley.

  Her smile widened. In one week, she’d be married.

  A bell tinkled when Meghan pushed open the door to the florist shop and was hit by the immediate sensory overload. Vibrant colors splashed from every corner. The fragrance of the flowers tickled her nose. Her eyes settled on the sales counter. Papers were scattered on the surface, but no one manned the desk.

  “Hello?” she said.

  Meghan peeked into the walk-in coolers. Empty. She heard a muffled voice from the back room. “Harvey?” It didn’t sound like Harvey’s nasal tone, the only thing about him she didn’t like. She opened the door to the back workroom.

  Only one light, a yellowish bulb by the alley door, lit the crammed space. Meghan heard a muffled noise on the left side of the room. It came from the passageway between the floor-to-ceiling metal storage shelves.

  Maybe Harvey had fallen and was hurt. Was it an intruder?

  She shuddered and grabbed a stoneware vase by the lip; it was the only thing she saw that was heavy enough to be a weapon. She eyed the back door and calculated an escape route, in case she needed it. Her feet padded against the linoleum floor.

  Meghan thought about calling the police, but what if Harvey was bleeding or had suffered a heart attack? Every moment might count, and she’d heard far too many horror stories of Cook County 911 operators putting callers on hold.

  She leaned to her left and peered around the storage unit. The shelves, crammed full of vases, wires, and florist foam, allowed only ribbons of amber light into the space.

  Meghan’s gaze dropped from eye level to the floor.

  She saw not an injured Harvey, but two bodies curled together. The man’s freckled ass moved in time with his grunts. A freckled body Meghan knew all too well. Underneath him, the spindly legs of a girl jutted out.

  Meghan had seen the girl before, an eighteen-year-old beauty who helped Harvey with the cash register. Not a brain trust, but the girl had a pretty face with a bust that made Meghan look flat. The girl’s wide eyes peered over the man’s shoulder and broadcast horror at being caught. Her long green and black fingernails dug into her partner’s shoulders. His thrusts sped up, apparently taking her clawing as a sign of passion.

  Me
ghan remembered giving Jason the address of Harvey’s floral shop a month earlier so that he could order her bouquet. Her wedding bouquet. The slivers of light created stripes across Jason’s skin as his backside moved up and down with each thrust.

  She let the vase slip from her fingers. It crashed against the floor and split in two. A retching cough erupted from her throat. Somehow, by sheer will, she kept her nausea in check. She’d be damned if she’d give him the satisfaction of seeing her toss her cookies.

  Meghan chose her words with care and then spit them out in a voice both clear and strong. “I should have looked at your flabby ass from this vantage point before, Jason; it would have saved a shitload of heartache.”

  19

  Lower Fork of the Salmon River, Idaho

  “Woo-hoo.” Phillip, athletic at age thirty-two, dug his paddle into the swirling water.

  Their guide, a tanned young woman with chiseled muscles, perched on the back of the raft and shouted commands. “Right side back. Dig in. Harder. Left—forward. Hard.”

  Spray hit Phillip’s face; the cold, rising water drove his arms deeper into the current. The second day into their five-day vacation, they faced the first Class III rapids of the trip. He glanced over his shoulder at Jewel, his preteen daughter.

  What he saw sank his heart. Not joy, fear, or concern. No. Not Jewel. His daughter hung onto the safety rope, inspecting her fingernails. God knows what she had done with her paddle.

  The raft bounced and bobbed. Water smacked the front riders’ faces. The chilly blast of river water brought shouts and cheers.

  Phillip turned back and dug harder. He gritted his teeth and surrendered to the physical task. His heart hammered in his chest. The paddle rubbed across the blister from yesterday, but he didn’t care.

  They emerged from the rapids. The water smoothed out in a wide stretch of river.

  “That’s it,” their guide said. “You did it. Take a break.” They pulled out their paddles and rested them across their knees. She steered them to a calm eddy at the river’s edge. “Great work, team. Last group I brought through here dumped the front two riders after the big rock.”

  “When’s the next one?” Phillip rubbed his palms together. “That was great.” He refused to let Jewel’s bad attitude spoil his fun.

  Ruth, the tall, athletic woman across from Phillip, raised her arm and slapped the hand of her son, a boy a little younger than Jewel. His red ball cap had worn through at the edge of the brim, exposing white underneath. Ruth then slapped the outstretched hands of the rafters on her side and reached across to Phillip. She stretched to extend her palm to Jewel.

  Phillip caught her eye and shook his head. Jewel hadn’t raised her eyes to acknowledge the woman. He mouthed the word, “Sorry.”

  At the end of the day, Phillip sat in the calm, shallow water on a three-legged stool. His bare feet rested in the water, his toes curling over the smooth pebbles as he nursed a beer. How different this was from his normal high-pressure corporate life. This was another world—relaxing and sitting in the water after an exhilarating day in a raft.

  Ruth sat next to him on a similar stool. The other adult rafters were nearby in the shallow water on stools or wading, each with a cool drink in hand.

  The sun lingered over the horizon, not ready to relinquish its grasp on the day. Here the canyon widened to expose a broad white sand beach. Two-person tents dotted one end of the beach. A guide led the kids in games at the far end of the sandbar.

  “Rafting must not be your daughter’s thing,” Ruth said. “It’s not for everybody, you know.” She tilted her head to take a big swallow of beer. “I’m just glad my James seems to be having fun. It’s a splurge for us to be here on a teacher’s salary, but I wanted to do it for him. It’s tough for him, without a dad.”

  Laughter from the younger group peppered the air. Why couldn’t Jewel let herself be a kid here? Phillip’s eyes drank in the jutting rocks that lined the canyon’s walls. He looked at Ruth. “Divorced?”

  “Widowed.”

  “I’m sorry. Was it recent?”

  “When James was three. Thanks for asking. I focus on my son and my kids at school. It’s enough.” Ruth stood. “Anybody want another beer?”

  Phillip stood and stretched his legs. “No, but I’ll help carry. I want to check on Jewel.”

  After Ruth got the beer count, she splashed out of the water toward the cooler. “Leave her be.” She rested her hand on Phillip’s forearm. “You know your child. But if you don’t think she’s depressed, I’d let her sulk. If she’s bored enough, maybe she’ll join the games.”

  As if to answer the unasked question, Phillip saw Jewel crawl out of her tent. She had changed into dry clothes. Jewel turned back into the tent and tugged her large, waterproof gear bag outside.

  Above them, a whirring sound cut the calm, still evening. The noise grew louder. The distinct air-chopping sound of a helicopter stopped the children’s jumping game. Everybody stood and craned their necks to see it.

  “Clear the area! Everybody, clear.” One of the guides ran to the group of youngsters and shooed them toward the tents. “It’s coming down.”

  The helicopter hovered twenty feet above the now-empty section of the sandbar. The wind created by the chopper blew the plastic cover off a table by the campfire. The guides scurried to retrieve the blowing supplies and cover the food from the swirling sand. Those wearing baseball caps or river hats held onto them to prevent them from being blown into the river. The whirling air ruffled Phillip’s hair and whipped up the long tresses of their guide.

  The helicopter shut down, and silence blanketed them.

  Phillip had a hunch the surprise landing brought bad news. He would bet the cost of a charter into these canyons exceeded the national average annual salary.

  “Dad. We’re going.” Jewel stood with one hand on her narrow hip. “The helicopter is for us.”

  Phillip’s mouth suddenly went dry. “What?”

  “Mom promised me. If I came on this stupid trip with you, she’d take me to Rodeo Drive. She said all I had to do was wait until a helicopter could land. This is the first spot where the dumb river’s wide enough. Get your stuff. C’mon.”

  Phillip gritted his teeth.

  Beside him, Ruth’s voice spoke only for his ears. “It sounds like the decision’s been made.”

  “Not for me, it hasn’t.” Phillip opened his mouth to berate his daughter but swallowed his words unspoken. “Let me talk to the pilot.”

  Once he verified that Angel, his wife, waited at the helicopter’s hanger for Jewel’s return, he turned to his daughter. “You didn’t give rafting a fair shot.”

  “Sleeping on the ground? No shower or bathroom? Get real, Dad. This is so ... primitive. I told you I didn’t want to come.” She dragged her bag behind her. After two steps, she stopped and pouted at the pilot. “Help me,” she said to him.

  “Don’t touch that bag.” Phillip’s eyes locked with the pilot’s.

  The pilot shrugged.“Sorry, man. Your wife's paying my tab.” He lifted Jewel’s bag and tossed it into the helicopter. He turned back to Phillip. “You coming?”

  “No.”

  “Want me to tell your wife anything?”

  Phillip stood erect and silent.

  The helicopter roared to life and kicked up more sand. The guides scrambled again to cover the food.

  Phillip spoke to the retreating helicopter. “Thanks for the father-daughter bonding, Jewel.”

  20

  Los Angeles, California

  At age thirty-five, Rune figured he was due for some good luck. He kept his face impassive and let his eyes case the starlet who stood in his office. Short, tight skirt and tits ready to burst out of her blouse.

  “Mr. Adams.” She offered him a file folder. “Please. Look at my resume and photos, even if you aren’t interested in my screenplay. I have acting experience.”

  Her voice carried a professional tone, but her eyes betrayed her. She eyed h
is roast beef sandwich. Kid probably hadn’t eaten.

  “If you wanted me to look at your script, why bother dangling your boobs at me?” Rune leaned back, a smirk tightening his lips. This was a piece of cake. He wanted to savor the anticipation before indulging.

  She squinted, as if to fight back tears. Her lips quivered.

  The girl’s words came out whisper-quiet, but her enunciation left no doubt of her intent. “I’ve tried making a contact every day for two years. Every day. First a business suit. Then a modest dress. Stylish pantsuit? Not a chance. I handcarried my script to every agent I could find an address for. I brought one here, too, hearing that you would look at unagented work. You mailed it back the same day, with only a “no” scribbled on the front page.”

  Her back straightened. “I tried everything. This,” her left hand grabbed her breast, “is my last resort.” Her eyes met his dead-on.

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-four.” She extended the folder toward him. Her eyes narrowed.

  Rune took the folder. She had a nice package, all right. Dynamite photos, a script presented in standard industry format, a professional resume—equally impressive in amateur acting and screenwriting credentials. He closed the folder; his head bowed over it.

  He looked up at her and nodded. “I admire your perseverance.”

  “Will you read my script?”

  Rune stood and moved to her side of the desk. “I’ll read it, but no promises.”

  She extended her hand. “Shake my hand, Mr. Adams, and we have a deal.”

  This girl had all her chips on the table. No way he’d read now. He had one hell of a hard-on.

  Afterwards, he read. She paced his bedroom while he lay in bed. The script fell to his lap. The sound of the ruffling pages stopped her movement. She rushed to the side of the bed. She looked sexy in his robe. This girl paid a huge price for her ambition. He respected that.