CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
They headed home in the dark. Ruth fell asleep in the back seat. Paolo and Sally were quiet, partly so they wouldn't wake Ruth, but suddenly it was not necessary for them to talk in order to communicate. Sally studied Paolo's face in the lights from the oncoming cars as if she had never seen it before.
It struck her that it was the face of a total person, and not just of the handsome Italian who had stuck with her even when she was coolly distant from him. That he was someone who, in spite of his flamboyant reputation, in real life seemed to have a lot of emotional common sense. If there were such a thing.
Every once in awhile his eyes would leave the road and catch her looking at him. At first his eyes smiled and so did he. But as Sally's eyes slipped slowly over his wry mouth, his look became more intense. He took her hand. It was the first time they had held hands, and strangely Sally felt it become one hand as she lost the distinction between his warm flesh and hers. It felt so good! When Paolo had to take his hand away to turn the wheel of the car on the winding road, Sally felt cold, alone.
For warmth, she laid her abandoned hand on his thigh. Paolo's whole body gave a small shudder. His mouth got tight, and his eyes quickly pierced hers before he put them back on the road. Sally's legs felt weak even though she was sitting down. Without willing it, her hand now glided to the inside of his thigh. His leg involuntarily let up on the gas pedal and the car wavered. Sally took her hand away. Paolo put it back.
Sally left it there, frozen. What she really wanted to do was to run her lips up and down the side of his strong neck, down into the never seen chest under the crisp light blue summer shirt, down, down....
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Sally said gently to Ruth as they pulled up in front of the entrance to Sally's apartment house. “We're home.”
They gathered themselves together and headed for the small elevator to the 7th floor. Sally prayed that it was working. Elevators seemed to be too complicated a technology for the people who discovered that the earth revolved around the sun. Or maybe they just didn't care. They had been walking up steps for thousands of years and it probably seemed silly to change now. Whatever the reason, elevators in Rome were stuck between floors more often than they went up and down.
Ruth was still groggy and leaned back against the elevator wall, a little bewildered. Paolo was very grave. His brow was furrowed and all his motions were slow and deliberate as he took their bags. Sally was also very subdued. She unlocked the apartment door and turned on the lights.
But they all quickly came to life as they negotiated who would get the bathroom first after the long car ride. Ruth was first, Paolo was last.
“Anyone want coffee?” Sally asked when they had gathered in the living room, “Or tea? Or wine?”
“I'll have coffee,” Paolo said.
“Nothing for me, thanks,” Ruth said. “Look, do you guys mind if I go to bed? I can't keep my eyes open and I have to catch an early plane tomorrow. Paolo, thank you so much for everything you've done. I probably won't see you again, at least not on this trip. But it was lovely meeting you.”
“And it was a pleasure to be with you, too,” Paolo said, kissing her goodbye on both cheeks as was the Italian style. “Have a good trip back. Say 'hello' to the Statue of Liberty.” Ruth did a thumbs up as she shuffled down the long hall to the bedroom at the far end and closed the door.
Sally was about to go into the kitchen to make coffee for Paolo when he led her back to the couch. Then he re-crossed the room and snapped shut the frosty glass door between the living room and the long hall. He came to the couch and sat next to Sally, looking gravely at her and not moving. Sally was not sure what to do next. Up until now she had made sure that Paolo had not even kissed her, except for the customary “so-long” peck.
Paolo took her hand, the way he had in the car. But this time his eyes never left her face. She was sure he was going to kiss her. Sally felt the surge run from the palm of her hand straight up her arm and into her chest. She too wanted to put her lips on his and instinctively she leaned over, brushed his mouth and pulled slowly away. Paolo still didn't move. He looked at her as though she were humpty dumpty before the fall. One false move and this might never be put back together again. He would wait, if necessary.
After this first brush, Sally's lips felt as if they would jump off her face if they didn't meet his. So they did, and they took her with them. They had barely pressed against his beautifully formed, slightly open mouth, when his arms encircled her as if under water. Slowly, pulling her in towards him. Sally took her lips from Paolo's mouth and heard him sigh. She buried her face in his elegant neck and ran her mouth to the top button on his shirt.
Paolo lifted her chin so that they were face to face again. His round brown eyes had narrowed and were glowing under the thick, dark eyebrows. He put his mouth fully over hers and slipped his hands under her blouse so that she could feel his warm palms on her bare back. He pulled her closer, and closer, and closer until their bodies flowed into the shape of each other's. And when they couldn't get any closer, they slid from the couch to the floor. Sally had passed the point of no return. She couldn't have enough of him fast enough.
As his long body slid down harder onto hers and his wide hands rolled over the silk of her shoulders, Sally thought: I must be crazy. This man is going to break my heart!
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Let's be faithful,” Paolo told Sally.
They were on her large terrace enjoying the sweet, clear Roman night. The lush fragrance of honeysuckle vines left behind by the previous tenant wafted all around them. Stars were everywhere. Sally was surprised at Paolo's sudden statement. At this point, she just assumed they were.
“I'm already 'faithful',” she told Paolo,” I just took it for granted that you were too.”
Paolo moved to lean defensively against the white stucco wall. Sally never leaned against that wall anymore. In New York there weren't too many large lizards to be seen--other than the human kind--so a few weeks ago when one started crawling down the wall behind her as she lie in the sun on a bright, lazy Saturday morning, she almost leapt out of her skin. As she jumped up, the lizard stopped still except for its round pivoting eyes warily following her.
Sally had only seen these lizards in the movies skittering about on the hot rocks of the Arizona badlands. Now there was one on her wall. She certainly wasn't going to pick it up and throw it away, or flick it with a towel, not knowing where it would fall.
If this lizard was on the wall, Sally reasoned, then the wall was his.
She quickly closed the terrace door so it wouldn't go in the house. Then she moved the wicker lounge away, facing the wall so she could keep an eye on the lizard. Its appearance w
as just one more reminder of how tropical Rome really was. Lizards, palm trees, and the occasional pink house. Eventually Sally got used to the lizard and the lizard got used to Sally. It got so that whenever it would show up, Sally would actually talk to it. This made its eyes turn in a circle, and Sally would laugh. She accepted the lizard; she just didn't lean against the wall.
“I have something to tell you,” Paolo said. “I recently saw an old girlfriend.”
Ah, Sally thought, here it comes. I knew all this was too good to be true. Well, it's your own fault, she continued to herself. She knew she shouldn't assume anything in a place like this where infidelity is a social sacrament.
“Oh?” All of Sally's muscles were clenched.
Paolo pulled up a chair beside her and took her hand. “Before I met you there was a woman I was involved with...who had a chance to go to England for awhile and wanted to be free. Now she has returned and wants to get back together again.”
Sally's heart stopped.
“So I saw her just to see how I would feel.”
“You 'saw' her?” Sally asked caustically.
Paolo continued,” When I saw her again I realized how much in love with you I am. Sal
ly, I want us to be faithful. I want us to be together for the rest of our lives. I want us to be married.”
These sudden one, two, three emotional punches made Sally gasp. First she thought she had lost Paolo entirely, and then in a matter of seconds she realized she could be with him forever. Such extremes all at once!
“But we can't get married,” Sally said. “You're not allowed to get a divorce.”
“Someday I will. In this new political climate there is growing support to change the law and it will just be a matter of a few years before....”
“A few years?!”
“Sally,” Paolo said, “I'm asking you to be with me---only me, and me with you---only you, permanently. How we do that is up to us.”
Sally's head swirled. By now, Paolo was her best friend. Her wise teacher. Her smart and funny companion. Her exciting, exhilarating, sweet lover. By now she adored him and couldn't go a day without him. But he was not exactly the boy next door. He was 3,000 miles and 2,000 years away from the metropolis she called home. She had never considered staying in Rome for the rest of her life. Would he consider moving to New York?
“I...that's a big order all at once,” Sally stammered. One of the things she was growing to love was the open honesty between them. She felt safe telling him how she really felt. And he wanted to be open with her. This conversation about an old girlfriend was an example. If he had never mentioned it, she would never have known. But, he wanted her to know him.
“You're right. It is a big order,” he laughed,” and we can't do it all at once, either.”
Sally smiled at her own exaggeration. She hesitated and then said, “You know, you have me very confused.”
“I do?”
“Yes. I was sure you were going to tell me you were still seeing this woman.”
“Why were you sure of that?!”
“Well, as you probably already know....you do have a reputation as a 'ladies man'; everyone in the office told me what a terrible flirt you are!”
Paolo laughed. “They don't know what they're talking about. Silly people!” he said.
“So, it's not true?”
“I get along with women, if that's what they mean.”
“I don't think that's what they mean.”
“Well, whatever they may mean,” Paolo said, “it's very important to me that we be faithful to each other, and that we know it, and everyone else knows it too...”
Sally felt better. “You mean you want to go steady,” Sally teased.
“'Go steady'....what does this...?”
“It means we love only each other, and then we see where it takes us,” Sally explained.
“'Go steady',” he said, shaking his head in amusement. “You Americans have an answer for everything.”
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Life with Paolo was like a deeply complicated piece of music with a simple, beautiful melody. But Sally's life was not just with Paolo. It was also with an every day Rome where the ordinary was surrounded by the totally extraordinary.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Paolo picked up Sally from work in the late afternoon everyday. In all her life no one ever picked her up from anywhere everyday. She was surprised at the way it added a special rhythm to the hum of her life.
She loved it when, for some reason, he'd be slightly late and she'd have a few minutes to wait for him, anticipate him. It was always the hour of the day when the church bells rang loudly, scaring the resting birds into sudden flight against the sky. Their high, screeching cries were a counterpoint to the deep resonance of the bells. One-BOOM; two-BOOM; three-BOOM; Caw-Caw; four-BOOM; five-BOOM; Caw-Caw. Silence.
In that hushed second, a wave of contentment would fill Sally as she leaned against the warm stone building with the sun in her face. She would let out a secret sigh of relief at finally being found after all the years of feeling so lost.
Then she would see the nose of Paolo's car coming down the street toward her, his sad, handsome face smiling at her under the silky waves of salt and pepper hair. Sometimes she felt guilty that he devoted this time to her everyday.
“Paolo,” Sally said once, “You don't have to pick me up everyday”
Paolo's face registered a shadow of disappointment.
“Oh? Don't you want me to?” he said.
“Of course,” Sally answered, “It's just not necessary---I mean--if you have something else...to do.”
“But I look forward to this all day,” Paolo told her,” I don't want anything else to do.”
“OK,” Sally smiled. She was thrilled that they were on the same wave length.
After Sally got in the car, they headed off to Nando's cafe for a drink before meeting Paolo's friends for dinner at Laziani's. It wasn’t as if they had a real dinner date. No one ever had a real dinner date. Yet almost every night they met friends for dinner. That's the way it was in Rome: you were automatically part of a “a crowd”, a group of colleagues, political allies, artists. Life was outdoors, on the streets, in the cafes and restaurants. Members of your unofficial group usually showed up at the same place at the same time as you did. You could count on seeing almost everyone, somewhere, nearly everyday. Yet you never had to make a plan. In fact making a plan in Rome posed some risks. As Sally had learned, early on.
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It was a cool sunny afternoon, and Marco, Elena, and Sally were having coffee at a small table near one of the city's many dancing fountains.
“I love fountains,” Sally told them.
“Then let's all go to Villa d'Este,” Marco said, “There are hundreds of fountains and acres of gardens. It's the old summer house of Kings in Tivoli outside of Rome.”
“Yes! It's wonderful, Sally,” Elena said, “It's on a cliff and there is even a waterfall......”
“I'd love to go...,” Sally told them.
“Great,” Marco said . “Ah… Saturday?...maybe we could take a picnic...maybe we could make a day of it...”
Sally was ready early that Saturday. She had packed fresh hard-crusted rolls, a bunch of grapes, a couple of plump orange-red tomatoes, a thick slice of sweet, semi-soft cheese, and a small, but sinful creme pastry that she couldn't resist on her local shopping tour.
She checked at least three times to see if she could convince herself that a t-shirt and jeans were appropriate attire for an Italian picnic at the sumptuous and grandiose Villa d'Este, or if it would mark her as a tourist. It wasn't, and it would.
So she changed into a flowery blue cotton skirt and a white knit top. She decided to take a sweater too. Then she waited.
She looked out the window.
She waited.
It was mid-morning. By the time Marco and Elena get here, she thought, they would no longer have the whole day. She nibbled a few grapes, and studied the pastry. She waited.
Finally she was worried. She called Marco.
“Ah, Sally,” Marco said, obviously glad to hear from her. “How are you?”
“How am I?” Sally responded, puzzled. “I'm waiting for you.”
“For me? Why?”, he asked.
“Marco, aren't we all going to Villa d'Este today?
“We are? Are we?” Marco said, confused.
“I thought we were,” Sally said.
“Why did you think so?”
Sally thought she must be losing her mind. “Didn't you and Elena say we were going for a picnic there on Saturday?” Sally, asked, her voice rising higher than before.
“Ah, sweetheart,” Marco said with a sudden flash of enlightenment, “We said Saturday, not this particular Saturday. We just meant 'some' Saturday.”
“Oh,” she said disappointedly, “I guess I didn't understand.”
Sally had her first lesson in Italian Time.
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
When Paolo and Sally entered Nando's Bar, Paolo did what he had done since the first evening they went there together. He headed to the jukebox and played the song he said was for her--the one that said over, and over, and
over again, “My love, how painful the world would be without you.”
Sally did what she always did. She didn't take her eyes off Paolo for a second, and when he came back to her at the bar, they melted into Paolo's round brown ones, as the music came on.
And behind the bar Enrico did what he always did. He came up to them and hummed the tune exaggeratedly with his hand over his heart.
“Curmudgeon,” Paolo told him, “Leave us alone; we're in love!”
“Does that mean you do or don't want something to drink?” Enrico asked.
Sally had introduced Paolo to a Bloody Mary without vodka, or a Virgin Mary, as it was called in New York. He liked it, especially if he were going to have wine later on with dinner. But something got lost in the translation.
“I'll have a Tired Virgin,” Paolo said.
Sally almost fell over with laughter. She told a confused...but interested...Enrico the correct ingredients for the drink, and then ordered a Compari and soda for herself. Paolo was laughing too, but he wasn't sure why. Their silly mood followed them to Trattoria Laziani, where the usual assortment of regulars would soon join them.
No respectable tourist would be found dead in Laziani's, which is why Sally loved it. You had to be a dyed-in-the-wool, preferably life-long Roman to go to Laziani's. Only then would you know that the dreary room with the fluorescent bulbs, which gave off the same annoying light that you would probably find in prison cells, the stained and broken tiled floors, the old peeling walls, and the uncomfortable, mismatched wooden tables and chairs, would render up cool carafes of perfect local wine, just baked hot crusty bread, and ample portions of homemade pasta with endless varieties of sauce, some of which Sally was actually afraid to eat. As well as garden picked vegetables, and succulent once forgotten fruits whose juices ran down the front of your clothes, if you weren't careful.
Apparently everything ran down the front of Laziani's clothes. His apron had more colors of food on it than Sally had ever seen, as he scurried in and out of the kitchen to be sure that everything was wonderful. When anyone wanted to tease him they would tell him there was too much salt, or too little salt, and then they would pretend to fight over how much there should be. Laziani would win. His confronters would have big gobs of the accused food on their forks ready to go into their mouths as proof of his victory.