by Gail Mencini
“Cow poppy.” Hope looked down, her hand smoothing nonexistent wrinkles in her ankle-length black-and-tan silk skirt.
Bella heard footsteps on the stone path that led from the central fountain. She turned to look.
A too-thin solo version of the twins approached them. She had a pixie haircut and wore beige cotton capri pants and an unbleached cotton T-shirt that hung loosely over her bony frame. The woman’s left hand drifted to the hem of her shirt. Her fingers picked at the fabric edge, the same unconscious fluttering that Bella recalled from their summer together.
Bella rushed to meet her at the edge of the patio and gave her a hug. The woman’s angular bones protruded through her cotton shirt. “Hello, Meghan,” Bella said. “It’s great to see you. Is Karen here, too?”
Meghan’s eyes shifted down.
Then, stone-faced, Meghan’s eyes drifted back to meet Bella’s. “Breast cancer. She died about ten years ago.”
“I’m sorry.” Bella’s arms surrounded Meghan again, this time with a gentle embrace of sympathy. Silence draped them. Words—Bella’s trademark—escaped her. The heavy door of grief opened to the black void beyond while Bella quietly held her friend from the past.
“It should have been me.” With that bombshell dropped, Meghan stepped away from Bella and took refuge in slowly filling her glass with aqua naturale.
Bella began to speak but swallowed the questions nagging at her. She remembered swapping bras with the twins as the three of them had raided Paris lingerie shops on their mid-semester break. Karen’s breasts had betrayed her, becoming the carrier for her fatal disease.
Remembering the scanty lace bras and panties she had fallen in love with in Paris brought back other memories of those months. Bella forced those unwanted thoughts away, returning them to the deep crevice to which she had banished them.
“Meghan,” Bella said, “are you married?”
Meghan shook her head. “Karen married.”
Karen’s excitement over her long-distance proposal percolated in Bella’s memory. “Are you close to her family?”
Pain tightened Meghan’s eyes. “Her husband hasn’t spoken to me for six years.”
“What an asshole,” Rune said. He put one hairy arm over Meghan’s narrow shoulders and kissed her cheek. “Sweetheart, you’re better off without him.”
A weak smile rested on Meghan’s face. “Where were you when I needed you?”
“Let’s see, six years ago? I had just inked a major deal. I mean major. Then I promptly blew my advance on a sweet young thing whose ass wasn’t near as high and tight as yours.” Rune made a show of casting his eyes to Meghan’s bottom.
Color radiated from Meghan’s cheeks and a spark ignited in her eyes.
“Rune, you are still every bit the lecher you always were,” Hope said.
Meghan seemed to relax. “And isn’t it great that some things haven’t changed?”
“What hasn’t changed? Did I miss a revelation?” A brown-haired man with silver at his temples and striking blue eyes ambled in from the sidewalk that led to an overlook. A black cotton sweater was draped over his shoulders, Italian style; the top two buttons on his white linen shirt gaped open, exposing curling salt-and-pepper chest hair.
Bella stood silently, hidden in the shadow cast by a potted lemon tree. Phillip looked as she had expected. Styled hair, expensive clothes and shoes. She recognized his Italian designer footwear from her research for the last manuscript that she’d sent to her editor. Requisite California tan—check. Simple gold wedding band—check.
Lee helped himself to another glass of pinot grigio. “Teach you for wandering off, Phillip.”
“Just had to say hello to my old lover, Florence.” Phillip poured the pale yellow-green wine into his empty glass. “What hasn’t changed?”
“Rune, of course.” Hope edged over to the table of libations. “Lee, the pinot grigio is finished. I say, let’s pop that Prosecco. It’ll feel like a celebration then.”
Lee aimed the bottle of bubbly into the grassy garden. He let the cork fly with a grin.
Checking the anger that threatened to burst out, Bella forced her voice into something akin to the tone of a policewoman asking for a driver’s license. “Hello, Phillip.” She stepped into the light of the curved iron wall sconce beside her.
Phillip spun to see her; his sweater slipped over one arm. He reached for it and wine splattered his shirt.
“Shit.” Phillip studied the nipple-high wet spot on his otherwise immaculate shirt.
“Now that’s a greeting that could give even a completely balanced person a complex,” Bella said.
Phillip slid his three-quarters-empty glass onto the table. He turned to face her. “Hello, Bella. You look good.”
“Good, hell, she’s beyond that. She’s fab-u-lous. Do you need eye surgery?” Rune said. Behind Phillip’s back, he raised one eyebrow at Bella. “Look, man, I know a laser eye doc. He’s done all the A-list stars.”
Without a word, Phillip glided over the dust-flecked stones with the erect bearing befitting the president of a three-generation, multibillion-dollar company. He leaned forward and hugged Bella as if she were a china doll.
“That was worthless.” The words came out of Bella before she could stop them. “Have you forgotten how to hug?” Even though Phillip was pond scum to Bella, how dare he show everyone how little he thought of her?
For one agonizing moment, Phillip stared at her.
Bella wanted to slap him, but her pride wouldn’t let her. She relished the opportunity to tell Phillip exactly what she thought of him. Unleashing her anger was a private matter, though, and it wouldn’t happen in front of the others.
Phillip laughed. “Worthless? Since my memory on hug etiquette seems lacking, perhaps you can teach me.” He rubbed one of her shoulders with his palm. “May I have a mulligan on that hug?”
Bella shrugged and forced a smile to her lips.
This time, he folded her into his arms like she’d never left them.
A shudder rumbled inside her, propelling her back and out of his arms. She pretended to stifle a sneeze and waved him off with her hand.
“I love reunions.” Rune poured himself a Prosecco. “Where else does a horny guy have carte blanche to kiss and grope all the women in his reach?” He locked one arm around Meghan’s neck and the other around her waist and crushed the shocked woman into a French kiss.
Meghan pulled away, sputtering and coughing.
Phillip stepped back and looked over his shoulder at Rune. “Speak for yourself.” He scanned their faces. “I’m assuming Stillman is our host for this reunion. Has anyone heard from him?”
Heads shook a negative response, and murmurs indicated the same.
Bella moistened her lips. “My last contact with Stillman was several years ago.” The words came out quiet and tentative.
Phillip’s shoulders stiffened. He moved to the table and poured two glasses of the Italian effervescent wine. He extended one glass to Bella.
“And how was Stillman?” His precisely enunciated words sliced the air. “When you last saw him.”
Bella remembered their last night together at her apartment. Their comfortable routine of tender sex, light conversation, and dinner had culminated in a marriage proposal. Stillman had pushed her for a commitment, which Bella hadn’t been able to give him, and he had walked out. He didn’t say anything, not even goodbye. Stillman had left that night and disappeared from her life.
Bella gulped a large swallow of the wine; the refreshing coolness washed inside her. Her eyes roved across the faces of her former classmates.
“He’s the same,” she said. “‘Still Man’—calm, warm, effectively hiding the forty-two plates he spun constantly.”
Rune stepped forward.
Bella felt their eyes on her, all trying to decipher the connection. She tried to keep it light and noncommittal. “Stillman and I reconnected in New York, years after we left Florence.”
She m
oved to the table and added a negligible amount of wine to her glass to regain her composure. She knew they waited for the details. No more stalling. Bella picked up her glass and turned to face the group.
“I haven’t spoken to him for years. At one point, I heard he went to Prague for an extended visit.” Bella shot a meaningful glance at Rune. “A client of his was producing a film there.”
“Which one?” Rune’s cool façade evaporated.
Bella shrugged.
“Really, he was on location in Prague?” Rune leaned forward.
Bella watched Hope chug her wine.
Hope’s eyes drifted to meet Bella’s. The empty champagne glass twisted in Hope’s fingers. “It’s supposed to be a great city,” Hope said. “One on my list.” Her words tumbled out. “Hell, I wanted to travel all over Europe after being here.”
“Have you been back to Europe since our summer, Hope?” Meghan asked in a kind voice.
Bella hid her relief that the conversation had moved off Stillman.
Hope’s face flinched. “No. I never left the States after our summer here. I married an asshole. Remember me talking about Charlie?” She tramped to the libation table and refilled her glass. Before anyone could try to salvage the situation, she turned and raised her glass skyward. “To freedom from assholes.”
The others stared at her.
Meghan lifted her glass of water in salute. “I’ll second that. Freedom from assholes.”
“Scusi.” A man stood in the arched doorway to the hotel. His face and complexion looked more Roman than Florentine. He held a paper in his hand. In Italian, he asked if anyone could speak the language.
“Sì.” Bella nodded and stepped toward him.
His melodious voice rattled off a string of Italian that Bella immediately understood. He has a message from Stillman? Bella’s heart jolted. She had two goals for this trip: one regarded Phillip and the other was to figure out whether she and Stillman could have a future together. She reached for the paper. “Grazie.”
“Prego.” The Italian stepped back into the arched doorway and waited in silence.
Bella’s eyes shot to the page. She raced through the words. She looked up and knew her eyes broadcast her disappointment. “It’s a message from Stillman. He’s been detained on an errand but promises to arrive before long. He sends his love.”
“Love?” Rune asked. “That’s touching, isn’t it? We haven’t seen the man in thirty years, and he still loves us. Hell, I’m used to the kind of love that disappears before morning.”
“Not everyone has your emotional dysfunction, Rune,” Bella said. She felt her cheeks flush but couldn’t stop herself. “Stillman cares about people. When he arrives, maybe you can learn something from him.”
Rune saluted her with an index finger.
Phillip stared at her.
“Signora?” The Italian had stepped toward Bella.
“Prego?”
The Italian phrases tumbled from his smiling mouth, a lilting description of their dinner arrangements. Bella responded in Italian, promising that the group would adjourn soon to the rooftop garden.
“Prego.” The man tilted his head sideways and accented the all-purpose word with a flip of his hand.
Bella felt the others’ eyes on her.
Hope spoke first. “You learned Italian. After being here, I wanted to. But there was never time for taking classes.”
“Are you fluent?” Lee asked in Italian, his voice tentative.
Bella shook her head. “Am I fluent? Not really. I understand conversation better than I speak.”
Lee smiled at her. “You’re modest, Bella. Your accent sounds like a native.”
She felt their eyes locked on her and shrugged in response. She addressed her answer to Hope. “I lucked out. An Italian grandmother who refused to speak English lived next to me when I first had my own apartment in New York.” Bella turned to Lee. “How about you?”
Lee’s smile widened. “I dabbled with lessons over the last couple of years. Even toyed with the crazy idea of spending a year here.”
Bella lifted her head to the view beyond the courtyard. A smile drew up the corners of her mouth. “Not so crazy.” She turned back to the group. “A dinner has been set up for us in the rooftop garden. It’s ready for us now.”
“Thank God.” Hope moved toward the archway of the building. “The last time I ate was on another continent.”
“I did damage to the Chianti and Parmesan in my room,” Rune said. “Rustic, but a nice touch.”
“I wish I had,” Hope said. “When I got here, I had no appetite.” Her eyes bounced between them. “Travel stomach, I guess. Not that it’s such a bad thing.” She slapped her hips. “Hear that, hips? You can shrink any time now.” She linked arms with Meghan and pulled the slight woman along. “Let’s go renew our love affair with Italian cuisine. Remember the ribolitta and tortelloni we had in that little trattoria by the Duomo?”
Meghan laughed. “Remember it? It took me six months after going back home to lose all the weight I’d gained.”
Hope plowed through the group to the courtyard entrance. “Which way to the roof?” She looked at the man who waited in the doorway. The Italian smiled at her and gestured up the stairs to the left of the doorway.
Phillip and Lee motioned Bella ahead. Behind her, she heard Phillip’s voice.
“How was your flight, Lee?”
“Noisy. My luck to finally fly first class and have a screaming child behind me. How ’bout you?”
“Long. I couldn’t sleep. Luckily I brought an E.V. Tate thriller with me to pass the hours.”
Bella’s hand tightened on the wrought-iron railing that flanked the narrow, curved stairs to the roof. She forced herself to keep moving upward.
“Are you a fan?” Lee’s baritone echoed up the winding stair.
“They’re entertaining. I travel a lot and prefer Tate’s novels to the economic reports that fill my briefcase.”
Bella ran up the stairs to escape the sound of Phillip’s voice. Hearing him talk sent her spiraling back to that summer. The searing memory of standing in JFK airport with his typed message in her hand pummeled her, filling her churning stomach with acid.
31
A massive square lookout tower at the far corner of the rooftop courtyard overshadowed the rectangular dining area. Through the rooftop’s railing, Bella saw the edge of the palazzo’s garden down below. The lights of Florence peppered the distant horizon.
“Amazing.” Hope’s breath came in loud, short bursts as she tried to catch her breath from the trip up the stairs.
“It’s calming, isn’t it?” The view soothed Bella. Her shoulders relaxed.
“Look at that tower,” Rune said as he approached the women. “This is even more radical than the ones we used in Knights of the Blood Order. How thick are these walls, do you think?” He patted one dust-covered stone with his palm.
“Two meters. Same as the cornerstone.” Phillip slid by Bella without even a glance in her direction. “Knights of the Blood Order? I must have missed it.”
Rune coughed and cleared his throat. “You and the rest of the free world.” Rune’s voice dropped lower. “But we had great numbers in a handful of up-and-coming locations.”
He looked back at the group clustered by the stairs and shook his head. “Hell, you guys are my friends. It bombed. Big time. But we had one radical castle, complete with five towers. I should have kept the bloody towers. Those five—not four, like everyone else gets by with, but five—monster towers lapped up the last of my funds quicker than a high school cheerleader sucks off the quarterback following a big game.”
Hope chuckled. “I bet your towers looked grand, Rune.”
Rune grabbed his crotch. “Sweetheart, they were an instant hard-on.”
Hope linked her arm through Rune’s and guided him toward the table. “Come on, Rune. I want to sit by you so I won’t feel intimidated by our wildly successful classmates.”
&nb
sp; Bella chewed the inside of her lip. “Who says we’re all wildly successful?”
Hope’s smile inched across her wide face. “Honey, I have a sense about these things. That’s what made me a wicked fundraiser for the school. I can smell who’s got the money.” She chuckled.
Bella shook her head in denial. She realized that Meghan wasn’t at the table. Her eyes turned back to the stairway and then peered through the dusky light. She thought that Meghan must have stopped short of the dining area. Her eyes paused on Phillip. He tipped his head to the left, nodding to the wall behind her. He could still read her actions, damn it. She looked over her shoulder. Meghan stood away from the back wall, studying the subtle-hued fresco painted on it.
Bella moved beside Meghan. In her soft, querying mother’s voice, she asked, “What moves you about the fresco?”
Meghan smiled but didn’t cease her methodical study of the painting. Her voice came slowly, in an awed whisper. “That it’s here. Still. That once people valued art and chose to live surrounded by beautiful creations.” Her bony shoulders raised in a shrug. “It warms me.”
Bella placed her hand against the center of Meghan’s back and matched Meghan’s whisper. “Me, too.”
Meghan turned to look at Bella. She offered silent thanks. Bella gave a tiny nod in return and took in Meghan’s eyes. Eyes that looked like they were searching for something.
The women turned in tandem. Bella copied Hope’s gesture that the girls had adopted during their summer here—she linked arms with Meghan and led her to the table.
Sienna-colored runners straddled the wooden surface of the table, which was laden with trays of antipasto. Olive branches with silvery green leaves framed the platters. A large bowl of fresh produce—shiny purple eggplants, crimson plum tomatoes, burgundy and white radicchio, yellow squash, and indigo grapes—decorated one end of the table, occupying the space rightfully belonging to Karen.
“Do we go ahead and eat without Stillman?” Rune rubbed his hands together and looked as anxious to start dinner as Hope.
“We can all eat together,” Stillman said from the top of the stairwell. In his black Armani clothing, he looked tanned, rested, and oozing with the confidence that success brings.
