Topless Agenda

by Lyle Christie

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Family Ties

  THE DRIVE TO Taormina only took about forty-five minutes, but it was the best forty-five minutes I’d spent in quite a while. I had lovely companions, beautiful scenery on all sides, and a particularly knowledgeable tour guide in Letizia. It turned out that Babs had a scholar for a sister. She had a PhD in Archeology, taught at Oxford, and came here to do research on the ancient amphitheater ruin on the hill above the city. Apparently, there hadn’t been any conclusive determination on whether it was Greek or Roman, and she was amongst the many scientists trying to find evidence to determine whether it was one or the other. I wouldn’t have cared if it had been built by elves, because, as a lover of history, I enjoyed listening to Letizia lecture. She explained that the city and surrounding area had originally been inhabited by the Siculi before the Greeks arrived around 732 BC. From there, it would change hands many times over the years, and everyone from the Romans to the Arabs and even the French would hold it until the next conquerer arrived. During the modern era, its pleasant climate and beautiful beaches attracted the likes of Oscar Wilde, D.H. Lawrence, Nietzsche, Wagner, and even Truman Capote. Now, several decades later, Letizia was following their lead by spending a good part of her winter here, studying the ruins and getting out of the miserable cold weather of England.

  Interestingly, as I took a minute to reflect on our conversation, I realized that Letizia’s chosen profession was a peculiar coincidence, as my most recent love interest Estelle Connor was also an archeologist, though she was still in the process of finishing up her PhD. I wasn’t sure if this was a bad or good omen, but decided to err on the side of optimism and went with the latter.

  “Are you guys hungry?” Letizia asked.

  “I don’t know about the rest of these fuckers, but I’m starving and feeling a little antsy in my pantsy after having downed way too many espressos on the ferry.”

  “I wonder how that happened?” Lux asked.

  “I don’t know, maybe because I’m friendly and enjoy interacting with the locals.”

  “Yeah, you’re friendly all right.”

  “You can never be too friendly,” Letizia said.

  “Thank you, Letizia. At least you understand the importance of people skills.”

  “If you guys are interested, there is a great paninoteca place as we get off the road in Taormina, and it sits right on the water.”

  “What’s a paninoteca?” I asked.

  “Oh sorry. It’s a sandwich shop. They specialize in paninis.”

  I’d, of course, heard of paninis, but back in the States we obviously called the places we bought them delicatessens rather than paninotecas.

  “Buono!” I said, excitedly.

  We left the main highway and exited onto Via Nazionale, which turned slightly east towards the sea. Up on the left was the paninoteca and Letizia pulled in and parked in one of the few empty spaces. From the outside, it seemed fairly quiet, but, as we passed through the rustic wooden door, the place turned out to be bustling with activity. There was music playing, but you could hardly hear it over the sound of the boisterous patrons eating and drinking with joyous Italian frivolity. Sound wasn’t the only one of my senses being bombarded at the moment, for the most prominent was smell. Mouth watering plates of sandwiches were leaving the kitchen, trailing behind them the savory scent of grilled meat, vegetables, and toasted bread. I was, therefore, already on full olfactory overload when a young waiter saw Letizia then waved and immediately walked over to greet us. He had shoulder length dark brown hair and was wearing a black Cure T-shirt and jeans—his clothes and overall look making me laugh to myself, as I realized that twenty-somethings were pretty much the same everywhere in the world.

  “Ciao-ciao, Letizia!” he said, before kissing her on the cheek.

  “Ciao, Nico! Come va?”

  “Buono!”

  “This is my brother Adrien, and these are his friends from America.”

  “Oh, so nice to meet you,” he said, kissing both Bridgette and Lux on the cheek while relegating our introduction to a handshake.

  “So, Letizia, I have a lovely table available right on the water if you want to sit outside,” Nico said.

  “Sì, sì. That would be perfect,” Letizia said.

  He led us outside to a crowded little patio, and true to Rico’s word, it had one remaining empty table that was conveniently located right at the water’s edge. He handed us menus, then Letizia ordered a bottle of sparkling water for the table and told him that we’d need a couple minutes. Nico left, and we all gazed at our menus, but the sandwiches all sounded so good that I couldn’t decide on any single one and left the decision with our beautiful hostess. She said that we should just order one of each, split them up, and share amongst the table. Nico returned, and Letizia ordered salami, prosciutto, ham, and mortadella paninis, with Lux speaking up at the last minute to pull the typical chick maneuver of adding in a large family sized salad with Italian dressing. Nico looked a tad bit confused by the dressing choice, probably because Italian dressing in Italy was just house dressing, but he added in her salad and left to the kitchen to put in our order.

  Ten minutes later, we were staring at a lovely salad and a mountain of sandwiches, all conveniently cut into quarters. I waited for the ladies to each grab one, then snapped up a ham panini. It was delicious, but what set it apart from its American counterparts was the quality of its respective ingredients. The meat, cheese, and bread were all exceptionally tasty, and I imagined everything probably came from local sources. Ahhh—buono! I took a look around the table and realized that everyone was equally hungry and, soon, the little mountain of sandwiches was nothing more than an empty plate of crumbs. Even Lux’s salad had been decimated by the time Nico swung back by to see if we wanted anything else. Letizia once again took the initiative and ordered a round of cappuccinos and little Italian pastries called cannoli Siciliani. Sweet glorious gluttony! I wasn’t used to ordering such grand amounts of food, and I was starting to desperately fear for the sanctity of my waistline. Oh well, when in Sicily.

  Coffee and dessert arrived, and the latter was even more exciting than any of us could have imagined. On the plate were six crispy cannolis, and each and every one of those little fuckers was filled with Italian custard and topped with a sprinkling of powdered sugar. I took a bite and discovered that the crispy outside and creamy inside worked together to form a flavor and textural vortex. I was already full, but it was so damn delicious that I powered through it with the feeding gusto of a great white shark and came to a grim realization—we were going to need a bigger toilet.

  We finished dessert, and Nico came back with the bill, but, before I could even reach for my wallet, Babs slapped a wad of Euros on the table and stood up with a groan. If he were feeling half as full as I felt, then he had little chance of making it to the car and might as well crawl under the table and join me and the others for a nap. I fought the urge to pass out and stood and stretched before joining in the slow procession to the car. We piled into the M5 and barely got our seat belts on before Letizia was merging onto the winding road that would take us to her villa. After a short drive along the rocky coast, we arrived at her home to see that it resided on a picturesque bluff that overlooked the clear blue waters of a small bay. Apparently, the Babineux’s all liked to live close to the water, and I wasn’t too surprised to find that Letizia had a similarly opulent taste when it came to her residence. Her place was nearly as large as Babs’s Soft Taco mansion, but had old world charm—its classic facade a blend of white stucco and fine stonework that was interspersed with massive floor to ceiling windows. Driving in via the cobblestone driveway all the way to the enormous wooden front door made me feel as though I were stepping back in time, and it wouldn’t be too hard to imagine a seventeenth century Italian count coming here in a horse-drawn carriage for a romantic weekend with one of his favorite mistresses.

  Letizia pulled up and stopped at the main entrance, and e
veryone got out, grabbed their things, and headed through the massive front door and into the villa’s main foyer. As expected, it was regal with polished hardwood floors, high ceilings, and the walls adorned with Renaissance era art. The tour continued into the living room, which felt more like a gymnasium due to its impressive size and cathedral ceilings. Of course, you’d never even think of bouncing a ball on this floor and, least of all, around the Persian rugs, stately furniture, and abundance of vases and sculptures that occupied the room. The most incredible feature, however, was the wall of French doors that opened onto a massive deck—all of it overlooking the Straight of Messina and the mainland of Italy several miles off to the northeast. To the left of the living room was the dining area and kitchen while off to the right was a den, bathroom, and office.

  “All right, let’s figure out the sleeping arrangements,” she said, leading us down a grand staircase.

  We arrived on the next floor to find a hallway that stretched from one end of the house to the other, and leading off it were ten doorways—four on the land side and six facing the ocean. Assuming the six were all bedrooms, we would have one hell of a view for the next twenty-four or so hours.

  “My bedroom is at this end, and Adrien has the next one over, so you and Lux are free to choose whichever you please,” she said.

  I continued down the hall, made a sharp left, and found myself in a large bedroom with eggshell colored walls, wood floors, and a stately king-sized bed. I put my things down and strolled over to a second door, and I was happy to see that I had my very own bathroom. Buono! It might have been an old house, but its bathroom amenities were all modern—everything from the new fangled toilet to the Grohe fixtures on the sink and in the shower. Gazing at my temporary porcelain kingdom, I sighed happily to myself as I pondered the glorious moment when I would put it to an adequate test with a fine dump and a hot shower.

  I left the bathroom, walked over, and opened the French doors and stepped outside onto the deck to take a moment to enjoy the stellar view. Moments like this were few and far between in life, so I was damned well going to take some mental pictures. I gazed out across the Strait of Messina towards mainland Italy then turned to the south where the Mediterranean stretched out into the distance for about a hundred miles before reaching the top of Africa—the nearest country being Tunisia. There certainly was a lot of history here, and it was fascinating to think of all the different cultures that had lived around the Mediterranean basin. My reverie was suddenly interrupted, however, when I heard a knock then Letizia’s voice calling out from the hallway outside my room. Someone finally respected my privacy enough to knock! I already liked our hostess, but, now, I was officially smitten. I told her to come in, and she strolled through the room and joined me on the deck to ask if I was comfortable and whether or not I needed anything.

  “Other than the company of a lovely half French, half Italian archeology professor, I’d say I’m good.”

  “Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but I have errands to run.”

  “Oh well, I’ll just have to suffer here alone.”

  “Don’t be too sad, as we’ll be doing wine and dinner in a couple hours.”

  She turned and left, and I decided to head back into my room to spend some time testing the mattress. I had a memory foam one at home and now found traditional mattresses just weren’t as comfortable. I dropped onto the bed and wasn’t disappointed, as it was memory foam—the perfect balance of hard and soft, and, to be perfectly honest, just might have been the most comfortable bed I had experienced since leaving home. Instead of getting back up, I stayed there, clearing my mind and enjoying the serenity of the moment. I was starting to feel a little culture shock from all the excitement, beautiful women, and scenic locales, and I needed a little downtime to reboot and refresh my mind. My stomach was full and my eyelids were feeling particularly heavy as I lay there replaying the last few days—everything from the quaint Italian restaurant brawl and boat chase on Lake Como to the skirmish with the acid washed assclowns on the train. It was certainly nice to be here, far away from all that excitement, and, soon, my thoughts started to swirl and blend together as I truly relaxed, the only thing filling my awareness being the sound of the waves gently lapping against the shore of the nearby beach. Hardly a minute passed before I drifted off into a gloriously restful afternoon nap.

  I awoke an hour or so later and walked out to the edge of the balcony for a little more sightseeing, but, this time, focused on the private cove below. It was protected by a jetty which curved around in a half circle and kept it free from wave action, leaving its clear, still waters to preside over a sandy bottom that rose gradually up to a lovely little beach. On the side nearest the house was an old stone pier, which I imagined was where the Sozo’s tender would be picking us up when it eventually arrived. I leaned out a little farther and could see access to the cove was provided by a picturesque stone path that wound down the hillside and ended at the water’s edge. My reverie was cut short, however, when I was startled by the sound of a twig snapping and turned around to see Letizia picking sprigs of fresh rosemary from one of the plants on the edge of the upper deck. She was still in the same lovely black dress, but now the light was coming at just the right angle to allow the thin fabric to show off her lovely nipples. Buono!

  “The view is amazing,” I said.

  She turned her gaze down to me, looking a bit curious.

  “But you’re not even looking at it!” she protested.

  “Well—I’m looking at the one that counts.”

  She raised an eyebrow and smiled as she scrutinized me.

  “Nice try, but Adrien already warned me about you.”

  “Adrien is a dick.”

  Letizia laughed.

  “He certainly can be at times.”

  “I hope you didn’t take anything he said too seriously.”

  “Definitely not. I like to form my own opinions about people.”

  “Because you’re obviously the most intelligent of the Babineux children.”

  “Hopefully,” she said, turning her attention towards the tomato plant.

  “I’d say definitely,” I said, as I watched her pick through the vines.

  After a moment of searching, she spied her prey, but her plant had overgrown its planter box, and now the cluster of tomatoes she wanted hung well over the railing and just within reach of the lower deck.

  “Would you mind grabbing a couple of those big ones?”

  “I’d be honored to grab your big ones,” I responded, unable to hold back my stupid smile.

  She also smiled, so it was clear she had gotten my silly double entendre. I slid a nearby lounge chair closer and climbed onto it and reached up and snapped off a couple then held them up towards her while she leaned down over the railing—the move inadvertently allowing her tantalizingly tan breasts to make a glorious break for freedom. Unfortunately, her prominent nipples caught on the neckline, so only her areolas and the tops of her breasts were visible as she took hold of the tomatoes. She quickly realized her predicament and looked rather embarrassed as she straightened back up and adjusted her shirt.

  “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to dangle my breasts in your face,” she said.

  “Don’t worry, I’m one of those rare breed of men who doesn’t have a problem with breasts being dangled in his face.”

  She smiled.

  “Good to know there’s at least one of you left in the world.”

  “Yeah, so I’d be more than happy to stay right here and pick tomatoes all day long.”

  “Unfortunately, there’s only enough on that vine to keep you busy for about ten minutes.”

  “Yeah, but they’d be ten minutes well-spent.”

  “Clearly you’re overestimating the view.”

  “No, it’s definitely that good.”

  She laughed and fidgeted with her hair before taking hold of the railing with both hands and leaning forward. It was an innocent posture but one which sandwiched her
breasts between her elbows, the effect pushing them out while pulling the thin fabric taught and bringing her chest and, more specifically, her nipples into full prominence. It was a very similar pose to the one my sexy barista Ambra had done back on the ferry, and it had the unintended consequences of making me want to be Romeo to Letizia’s Juliet, though our story would have a happy ending—most likely in my pants.

  “Are you handy in the kitchen?” she asked.

  “Yeah, though I’m also handy in the living room, dining room, and especially the bedroom.”

  She laughed.

  “Good, because it’s been a while since I’ve hosted a dinner party, and I could use some help—in the kitchen, obviously.”

  “No problem. I’ll be up to join you in two shakes of a hobbit’s dick.”

  “How long is that in actual time?”

  “Taking into account sea level wind resistance and an average hobbit unaroused dick length of one inch, it’s about two seconds.”

  “You know a lot about hobbit genitalia.”

  “I suppose I do, but I know even more about human female genitalia, but we should probably save that conversation for another time.”

  “After dinner perhaps?” she asked in a suggestive tone.

  We exchanged a little laugh, then I went inside and peed and brushed my teeth—the latter activity being the most important, as fresh breath was the cornerstone of any new relationship. I clearly needed to do all I could to make a good impression as long as Babs was doing his best to defile my character. With my mouth minty fresh, I went upstairs and headed into the kitchen to find Letizia placing chicken breasts in a stainless steel frying pan.

  “I see you’re still trying to tempt me with your breasts,” I said.