She was looking forward to a good cry. Her bottom lip was already drooping as she pulled down the covers under that ugly yellow light, hoping against hope that at least the sheets were clean. She snuggled down, waiting for the tears and desperately wanting to tell Ruth what a terrible time she was having.
She really missed Ruth and if Ruth were there at least this would all be a big laugh. The smart, spoiled traveling princess who became a dumb lost waif in the wink of an eye. She pictured how she and Ruth would roar at this absurd turn of events, and instead of crying Sally broke into a belly laugh so deep that indeed tears did come to her eyes. She thought that this was probably one of the strangest days she had ever spent in her life and when the laughter was over, she fell asleep.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Suddenly there was a loud knocking at the door and Sally awoke with a start. She could tell from the sunlight pushing its way under the dark shutters that it was late morning. There was no room service here so it couldn't be breakfast.
“Oh, they must want me out. Now!” Sally panicked, aware that she knew so little about how things were done here. She also knew she didn't think well before coffee and realized that this was unlikely and even if they did, she would just pay for another day and use the time to get her bearings.
“Signorina. Signorina,” the woman called loudly as she continued knocking.
“Yes. Yes. I'm coming, “Sally said.
The old woman in black at the door held the largest, most exhilarating bouquet of deep red roses that Sally had ever seen.
“For you,” the woman said as she walked away smiling.
Sally brought the smell of roses into the dingy room. She was dumbfounded. She had been so confused about everything so far, she wasn't even sure this was happening. But she was sure that when she opened the card, she would learn that they were for someone else.
“Welcome to Rome,” the card said. “Will pick you up at 11:00am. Marco.” Sally felt like a person adrift in the ocean clinging to a piece of wood who suddenly spots a ship on the horizon and knows that the rescue vessel is steaming towards her. A wave of hope spread through her as she hurriedly dressed.
She went to the front room to pay for another day and night, and found that there was a small sunny nook off the parlor where she could get strong coffee with milk, and a roll with butter and jam. It was all amazingly delicious.
Her relief at having made successful contact with Marco was slowly turning to anxiety. It had been so long since she had seen him that she couldn't really remember his face. How little she knew him! She thought that this could turn out to be a terrible day.
But when Marco arrived and greeted her like an old friend, she knew in an instant that she knew him. He was the same, yet different. Going to the car in the bright Roman sunlight, she noticed for the first time how his dark Italian hair shone, and how confidently he walked in his good gray suit. He seemed to take charge of everything.
“I am taking for myself the special privilege of being the first to show you Rome,” he said mischievously in broken English. “Be ready for a long and wonderful day!” The little car shifted gears with a bounce as they headed off and immediately got into the start, stop, and jog of traffic that competed for the little space in the narrow streets leading away from the pensione.
“Ma che roba!” Marco cried impatiently.
She knew he was cursing, but it sounded delightful.
Marco had picked up more English in New York than had been apparent to her then, and she had learned more Italian than she realized. They were conversing well enough about the Manhattan she left behind and the Rome she was about to see. At the wheel of the bouncy little car, once out of traffic, Marco was sweet, smart, and funny. She remembered him as being rather unsure and passive in New York, not really very interesting. After her own last 24 hours in a totally foreign place she understood why, and forgave him.
It quickly became apparent that Rome was the one place even Hollywood with its spectacular epics and romantic fantasies could not truly capture. To Sally on that bright day, Rome was more magical than the movies, more colorful than Technicolor.
She had never seen light like this before. The city looked bathed in honey, and it changed the color of everything. It made white marble and stone turn amber and peach.
“These colors make everything seem so....happy!” Sally told Marco.
“Even here, happiness is just an illusion,” he smiled.
In this special Roman light her make-up looked different. It was clear the cosmetics Sally used for the dreary, northeastern sky of New York were too garish and overdone for this mellow climate. She made a quick mental note to use a lighter touch from now on. But she was too busy catching her breath to worry about this for very long.
Marco was taking her on a peek-a-boo tour, and she felt as though she were opening a series of boxes, each with its own unique and precious gift. First, a winding narrow lane where houses from another time crowded together to make cool, dark shadows, and then suddenly, like a slide show, click! surprise! a brilliant plaza of sky, light and fountains. Fountains that spun water with what seemed to be the storied exuberance of the Roman personality and the sparkle of their lives.
Sally marveled at the buildings; none more than about seven stories high. So, except in the curvy, narrow lanes, there was always plenty of sky. Sally was aware that she noticed sky more than most people because as a New Yorker, she hardly ever saw it.
And coming from New York, where it seems they tear a building down every ten years and then start over again, she just could not grasp that some of the places she was looking at were over 2,000 years old. Or 1,000. Or even 700, 500. All of western history was written here, from building to building, each a setting for a different way of life. She laughed as she told Marco: “I'm beginning to think I'm on the gigantic set for 100 different costume movies.”
“Well, then you can also picture ancient Romans riding their chariots through these same streets,” Marco said. “Which is why modern Romans can't get their automobiles through them!” he yelled, as he vigorously honked the car in front of him. In spite of the high drama that apparently went with driving in Rome, Marco continued to take her down ancient, Medieval, or Renaissance streets to eventually burst upon the gurgling wall of the famous Fontana di Trevi. Or the vast Piazza del Popolo at the foot of Rome's largest park. Past chic outdoor cafes where Romans watched everything, and everyone, from behind their ever-present sunglasses. Or around the oval Piazza Navona, shaped like the race track it once was, and where now baroque statues were holding up the sky over fountains that sprayed mists of water into the wind.
After several hours, it was almost too much for Sally. She finally told Marco that since she had many more months to see Rome, she needed to stop now because she was becoming overwhelmed.
She asked Marco: “Are Romans all crazy? Don't they know people can die from beauty like this!”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Marco turned out to be a friend in Rome.
The person who one day would climb over the roof of her apartment house, down to her terrace, enter her locked flat though the patio doors and set free the huge black bird which had crashed through an open window and cawed, flapped, and screamed at her in every room of the house, no matter where she huddled in panic and despair.
Sally knew she could never fully duplicate for Ruth the experience Marco had given her of seeing Rome for the first time. But she wanted to do her best to approximate for her the sheer joy of being surprised by beauty, endlessly.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
True to her word, Rosalie now put through all of Paolo's phone calls, and Sally took them. Even though she still spelled his last name wrong in her appointment book.
“How is our friend, the Count, treating you these days?” he asked her.
“Not so well. I wasn't able to get the producer to cut that scene in the film,” she sighed. “We haven't lost the account. Yet. But Corollo is hardly talking to
me. And he is giving me absolutely no work to do.”
“You need a different job,” Paolo said, speaking with the certainty of having already taken that path himself.
“I know,” Sally agreed. “But it's almost impossible to find another job. It took me a year to get this one. And now is a bad time to even think about it. I guess I've been in Rome too long; I don't seem to be able to solve problems as quickly as I used to.” She heard her voice rising.
“I'm even having trouble trying to figure out a simple thing like the best way to get Ruth in from the airport on Sunday.”
“That's not a problem,” he said. “We'll drive out and pick her up.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Paolo's presence made meeting Ruth at the airport even more exciting. Now it seemed like an outing, a party. As it should.
She told herself it was just the pleasure of having no responsibility, and the comfort of going by car instead of paying what she couldn't afford for a taxi. Or struggling with the uncertain Italian buses.
When they got to the airline arrivals terminal, Paolo held back as Sally spotted Ruth and ran to her, calling out in joy. They hugged and kissed and laughed and told each other that they looked wonderful and were so very happy to be together again.
“I have a treat,” Sally said. “A friend brought me out to pick you up with his car. We enter the city like Caesar--in luxury! Or at least sitting down, which is more than I can say for the bus.”
“A 'friend' ?” Ruth asked slyly. “You bad girl, you didn't write to me about a 'friend'.”
“No, no,” Sally said very quickly, “he really is just a friend. He's been very nice to me. He used to work in my office, but he has a notorious reputation as a lady’s man and I'm certainly not going to get involved in that. Besides, he's older than we are, has a child, and is separated from his wife, which he will always be, since there is no divorce in Italy. And I really like the architect I wrote to you about, but he's always out of town. So don't think there is anything going on here, I can’t help just being nice to him because he's very attentive and helpful, but mostly because, like everyone else I’ve met, Americans intrigue him ….. maybe one day he'll take us to some quaint old towns outside of Rome, or......Oh, there he is over there, by the baggage counter, the tall one with the sort of speckled gray and black hair.”
Ruth's eyes found the stately Paolo among the crowd.
“Very nice!!,” she exclaimed to Sally.
CHAPTER TWENTY
For Sally, Ruth's visit meant two equally important things. She would finally get to share this strange, overseas adventure with her best friend. And Sally was eager to inhale New York from Ruth.
Even after all the years together, Sally and Ruth never ran out of things to say to each other, which was all the more amazing since they often both talked at once.
“Take it easy, Sally,” Ruth laughed. “I'll be here for a week.”
Sally still had to go to the office everyday, but since Romans were off in the afternoons, worked a few hours in the evenings, and ate very late, she managed to spend a lot of time with Ruth. And with Sally working, Ruth could enjoy her special pleasure of wandering through Rome's endless museums and churches, as many as she liked for as long as she liked. It was an entirely different experience staying with someone who lived in a city, rather than just visiting it.
Unlike New Yorkers, Romans did not buy their food in the supermarkets, but instead went everyday to a series of shops to pick up fresh food for the meals they were about to eat. They went to a bread store for bread, and a cheese store for cheese, separate shops for coffee, pasta, and meat, and an open market for fruits and vegetables. However, they could buy wine at the delicatessen, where they also got soap, olive oil, and other miscellaneous household items.
Sally did not enjoy this part of living in Rome. It was too much work if you were working. Domestic life in Rome was set up for being domestic. But this was not a problem for Romans since few women worked, and in this class-bound culture, many had servants.
However, with Ruth, Sally enjoyed this shopping immensely. They would use these trips to wander the age-old allyways, looking into courtyards, those hidden treasures of Roman housing with their gardens, fountains, and even remnants of ancient ruins. They would come upon clothing stores in unlikely places and walk away with something so Italian it wouldn't go with anything else they wore. Where ever they wandered and what ever they bought, they always came home with bouquets of colorful, fresh flowers for the apartment.
Sally had never gotten used to the big Italian meal in the middle of the day, and she and Ruth usually skipped it, taking something light as an excuse to linger at an outdoor cafe, drinking cappuccino and eating lemon ice cream. And where Sally would make Ruth tell her about the streets of New York. Apparently they had gotten busier, more crowded, and nosier than ever. Buildings were going up and coming down everywhere. Ruth also brought Sally up-to-date on their friends, all the parties, her job, and America's general state of mind.
Ruth and Sally discussed how popular the Kennedys were, the uproar over Jackie's clothes, how the Cuban Missile Crisis really scared everyone more than anything since the attack on Pearl Harbor. How the March on Washington would clearly change the country, and how there was controversy about a few soldiers being sent to a place called Viet Nam.
“But they're not there to fight, just to advise,” Ruth informed her
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
“So tell me about Paolo,” Ruth asked Sally as they packed. Sally was taking a few days off so she and Ruth could spend a long weekend on the famous Isle of Capri, off the coast of Naples.
“I must see Capri!” Ruth had told her when she arrived, “It's always been a dream of mine.”
“Yes, let's go,” Sally had answered immediately. “I saw Capri from the ship in Naples harbor and I always wanted to go back. It looked so beautiful. And while we're there, let's go to Pompeii too?”
“Wonderful!” Ruth said. They were very excited about this trip. But it had its sad side as Ruth would be leaving as soon as they got back. During Ruth's visit, Paolo had been very careful to give Sally enough time with her.
He had seen the look of slight dismay when he suggested he take them both down to Naples for the boat to Capri. “That's very sweet, but not necessary,” Sally told him, putting her hand gently on his arm. “Ruth is looking forward to the train ride. Italian trains are so different from ours, and always an adventure. It's a chance for her to be among the people and not just another tourist.”
“OK,” Paolo said. “But then let me pick you up at the boat on the way home.”
“That's so much trouble,” Sally said. “Why, you'd have to drive nearly three hours down and then three hours back. No, I couldn't let you do that.” She was genuinely concerned for the inconvenience it would cause him.
“That's up to me, don't you think?” Paolo told her, a bit peevishly. “Tell me when the boat arrives in Naples, and if I can do it, maybe I will. It would be fun for me. I could spend the day in Naples. I haven't been there in a long time, and it's always exciting compared to sleepy Rome.”
“'Sleepy' Rome!” Sally protested.
“Well, compared to Naples...after all, Rome is a government town,” Paolo reminded her, “Besides I'd have you with me for three hours on the way back.”
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
“There's not much more to tell you about Paolo than what you already know,” Sally replied to Ruth.
“I'm not so sure about that,” Ruth said. “He's handsome, charming, smart, funny, obviously kind. And very classy.”
“Yes. And, believe me, I'm suspicious of all those virtues.” Sally said.
“He seems quite taken with you,” Ruth answered. “Why are you giving him such a hard time?”
“Oh, I don't know. I think I'm worried about being just another innocent American falling into the clutches of an infamous Italian lover. You know, he's apparently such a flirt that he even has a reputation a
mong Italians! Now, that's hard to do.”
“If he really is a lady-killer, he can't be enjoying it very much. His eyes always seem so sad,” Ruth said. “Besides he doesn't seem to be treating you with anything but courtesy, as far as I can see.”
“I think that's part of his game plan. He probably sees me as a challenge: 'See here, everybody: Lady-killer tames Wild American.'“
“Suppose you're wrong? I think you're afraid.”
“Of what!”
“Afraid you'll really get involved with him.”
“Don't be ridiculous,” Sally scoffed. “It's just that I don't want to get seriously involved with anyone here. I won't be in Rome forever. Of course, I'm as willing as the next person to be enchanted by a romance. But not with him. From what I've heard about him, I just don't want to give him the satisfaction.”
“Is that your real reason…?” Ruth continued to ask.
“Well, there is still the little fact that he is legally married,” Sally added,” and strange as it may seem, in this day and age, divorce is still prohibited in Italy.”
“But you don't even want to date him. Certainly, you don't want to marry him, do you?!”
“Of course I don't want to marry him. I just don't like the idea that I would never have a choice about it. With him or anyone else.”
“Well, at least it's not like an affair with an American married man,” Ruth said, “who can get divorced and won't.”
“I know. I know,” Sally answered. “And I do believe his marriage is really over. But you know, Italians are strange about divorce. In ancient Rome you could get divorced just by breaking the stone tablets the marriage contract was written on. Years after that you weren't allowed to get divorced unless you poisoned the children, committed adultery, or had a false set of keys made.
Now, with no divorce in Italy, Italians either live new lives outside of marriage, as Paolo does, or they kill their spouses.”
“Divorce, Italian Style!!” they both yelled in unison.
“But still,” Sally said, “as far as I'm concerned there is nothing romantic between Paolo and me.”
“And as far as he's concerned?”
“You know, my dear “Sally said to Ruth, “the wonderful thing about Italian men is that they know how to be friends.”