Summer Days and Summer Nights: Twelve Love Stories

  Franklyn examined the paper. “It does appear to be her handwriting, which I have noted in the past to possess a distinctive perkiness.”

  Arlo peered over his shoulder. “It looks like hers. But could it be a forgery?”

  “I suppose,” admitted Franklyn. “But to what end? Furthermore, the tone of the letter is very much in keeping with her speech.”

  Arlo thought he heard a bit too much Lena coming through, but was grateful Franklyn was not particularly objective in his analysis. “True. So the evidence confirms that this letter is from Isabella.”

  Franklyn shook his head in wonder. “How can a man be so lucky?”

  “Lucky?” asked Arlo. “More like doomed.”

  “Doomed? What do you mean?”

  “It seems clear she means to have you for her own,” said Arlo sadly.

  “Yes,” said Franklyn, a dreamy smile spreading across his face.

  “With passion that deep,” continued Arlo, his voice mournful as he adopted the more poetical speech of his companion, “she will be satisfied with nothing less than the union of your two souls.”

  “Do you really think so?” Franklyn stared at the note, glassy-eyed and beatific.

  “I’m afraid you can kiss freedom good-bye. From now on, your lips belong to Miss Ficollo.”

  “Oh, God.” Tears sprang from Franklyn’s eyes.

  “There, there.” Arlo patted his back. Then his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Wait. Maybe if we leave this garden maze right now, you can still escape love in the arms of Miss Ficollo.”

  Franklyn looked at him in horror. “You must be joking!”

  “You would prefer love and Miss Ficollo to freedom?” demanded Arlo.

  “I would prefer love and Miss Ficollo to all the riches in the world! To all the knowledge one could gain! You say I should avoid her embrace, but I have longed for it since the moment I first saw her. Her eyes transport me. Her voice soothes me. Her words move me. There is no one in this world I find more beautiful, more noble, or more true.”

  “That’s how you really feel about Miss Ficollo?” asked Arlo.

  “That times a thousand and more!” declared Franklyn.

  “Why have you never told her?” asked Arlo.

  “It is my own damned shyness that betrays me,” admitted Franklyn. “When I look into her radiant face, words abandon me.”

  “Well,” said Arlo, “you do a fine job telling her how you feel when you’re not looking into her radiant face.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Franklyn looked confused.

  Arlo took Franklyn by the shoulders and spun him around. Standing a short way down the south corridor were Isabella and Lena.

  “Dearest Franklyn.” Isabella’s eyes were wet with tears. “Is that truly how you feel?”

  Franklyn seemed frozen, unable to move. But then he broke free from the ice of his own dread. “Fortune does favor the bold. And so I say yes, Isabella! I have loved you for so long, I cannot remember a time when I didn’t! You are my one true love, now and forever!”

  “This is the part where you kiss her,” murmured Arlo, and gave him a push.

  Franklyn first stumbled, then ran into Isabella’s waiting arms. They kissed, long and deep.

  Lena strolled over to stand beside Arlo. “So far, the plan is going well.”

  “I’d say so,” agreed Arlo. “Lovely verse, by the way.”

  “It was easier than I expected,” said Lena.

  “Careful,” said Arlo. “Some people say love is contagious. You might start writing verses of your own next.”

  “I believe my constitution can handle it,” said Lena. “But what about yours?”

  “Fortunately, I have been vaccinated against love by a mixture of intelligence and good common sense,” said Arlo.

  “That is a relief,” said Lena.

  They watched the lovers kiss in silence.

  It is this author’s considered opinion that people talk entirely too much. Words, which should be used to communicate, are often used for the exact opposite purpose. As our two heroes stood next to each other, unprotected by their word shields, witnessing the union they orchestrated together, each could not help but be intensely aware of the other’s presence. Of the other’s warmth, of their distinctive scent, of the rise and fall of their chest. Of any perceptible movement toward them. Perhaps Arlo leaned ever so slightly in Lena’s direction. We might even suppose it was unintentional. But, as all the world knows, there are naturally attractive forces between particles, and the closer the particles, the stronger the attraction. So that slight movement exerted itself upon Lena, who in turn leaned slightly toward Arlo. This continued for several minutes, the space between them gradually shrinking as the longing for each other grew. But before contact could be made, an opposing force appeared.

  “What on earth is going on here?” Dr. Elore appeared with crossed arms, her formidable brow folded over the top of her thick glasses. Brice stood beside her, looking apologetic. “Franklyn, what do you and Miss Ficollo think you’re doing?”

  Franklyn and Isabella broke apart, embarrassed.

  Brice hurried over to Arlo and Lena, who had regained some of the space between them. “Sorry! Zeke brought us back. I guess too soon.”

  “Not at all,” said Lena. “I texted him a few minutes ago to bring you.” She turned to Franklyn’s mother. “Dr. Elore, you know perfectly well what they’re doing, and it should come as no surprise to you since your son has been in love with Miss Ficollo for years.”

  “It is a surprise,” said Dr. Elore. “Because I expressly forbid him from seeing her.”

  “And why is that?” asked Lena.

  “It’s none of your business, but if you must know, she is simply not smart enough for him.”

  “Mother!” Franklyn placed an arm protectively around Isabella. “Must you be so insensitive?”

  “How do you know she’s not smart enough?” pressed Lena.

  “Her grade point average, of course,” said the doctor, “which she freely admits to being a mere three point five last quarter.”

  “But do you know why it was a three point five?” asked Lena.

  “Oh, Lena.” Isabella blushed even harder than before. “I don’t know if we need to go into all that…”

  Lena inclined her head to Isabella. “I hope you will forgive my boldness, Miss Ficollo.” She turned back to Dr. Elore. “The reason she received a three point five is because she walked out on her Women’s History elective. The teacher was a man, and his view of women’s history was so narrow that he did not even acknowledge Rosalind Franklin as being instrumental in the discovery of DNA. Miss Ficollo found his perspective troubling and met with him privately to ask that he broaden his views. The teacher refused. Of course, Miss Ficollo could have accepted the class for what it was, or she could have changed her elective. But she couldn’t bear the thought of such narrow-mindedness in the vaunted halls of education. So she staged a walkout, and three-fourths of the class, both girls and boys, followed her. The teacher failed them all in retaliation, but because of Miss Ficollo’s bold actions, he and his course are now being reevaluated by the school administration.”

  Dr. Elore turned to Isabella. “Is this true, Miss Ficollo? Is the integrity of education so important to you that you would sacrifice your own grade?”

  “It is, Dr. Elore.”

  The doctor looked at her son. “Franklyn, it appears I owe you an apology. Your taste in women is impeccable.”

  “Does this mean…?” he asked.

  “You and Miss Ficollo have my blessing.”

  “Oh, Franklyn!” said Isabella.

  “Oh, Isabella!” said Franklyn.

  And the kissing began again. Dr. Elore decided this would be an excellent time to forge ahead and locate the picnic on her own.

  “You promised I wouldn’t have to watch this,” Brice said to Arlo.

  “Don’t worry,” said Arlo. “Soon you’ll be far too busy to notice.”

&nbsp
; “What does that mean?” asked Brice.

  But before Arlo could answer, a raspy female voice said, “What the hell is this?”

  Everyone turned to the north corridor, where Ms. Nalone and Vito stared at Franklyn and Isabella. Ms. Nalone looked horrified, while Vito looked overjoyed. Behind them, Zeke stood with a quiet smirk on his face.

  “I just … don’t understand!” continued Ms. Nalone. “Miss Ficollo, you prefer nerdy Franklyn over my Vito?”

  “Well…” Isabella glanced awkwardly at Vito for a moment, then to his mother. “I love Franklyn. And it isn’t as if Vito has shown any interest.”

  “See?” Ms. Nalone turned on Vito. “You missed your window!”

  “Oh well,” he said dryly.

  “Why have you been so impossible? It’s like you’ve purposefully set out to deny my wishes! Do you hate me that much, that you’re willing to throw away this gem of a girl just to spite me?”

  “Forgodsake, Mother, it’s not about you at all!” Vito said. “It’s because I’m in love with Brice!”

  Ms. Nalone’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. It seemed likely that a riot of emotions would have contorted her face, if not for the aforementioned Botox injections. “Vito, that’s absurd!”

  “Why, Mother? Are you homophobic?”

  “Of course not, dear. Homophobia is terribly out of fashion,” said Ms. Nalone. “What I object to is you falling in love with a resort manager. What kind of living is that?”

  Brice, by this time, had turned a shade of red typically reserved for tomatoes. “Ms. Nalone. If I may speak for a moment not as the staff manager of Hotel del Arte but as a man, plain and simple, I can assure you that if Mr. Nalone and I were to enter into a relationship, I could provide him with the lifestyle he is accustomed to.”

  “But what about me?” said Ms. Nalone.

  “Mother…” Vito looked stricken.

  “Excuse me?” asked Brice.

  “Who will support me?” demanded Ms. Nalone.

  There was a moment of total silence.

  “If you need money, Ms. Nalone,” said Isabella tentatively, “I’m sure my father would be happy to find some employment for you.”

  Ms. Nalone could only stare at her in horror.

  “If I may,” said Lena. “There is a more pressing question than Ms. Nalone’s employment viability.”

  “What question is that?” asked Franklyn.

  “We have established that Vito is in love with Brice. We have established that Brice is able to support Vito in a lifestyle to which he is accustomed. What we have not established is whether Brice wishes to do so.”

  “Thank you,” said Brice. “It’s—”

  “So presumptuous!” said Arlo. “Do you all think the staff of the Hotel del Arte are here to cater to your every whim?”

  Franklyn, Isabella, and Vito looked at each other in confusion.

  “Of course not,” said Isabella. “I cherish my friendship with Lena immensely.”

  “I don’t know how I would have gotten through all these summers without Zeke’s silent but unflagging support,” said Franklyn.

  “And I would never assume Brice cares for me as I do for him,” said Vito.

  “Good!” said Arlo. “Because he doesn’t!”

  “Wait a minute—” said Brice.

  “First of all,” continued Arlo, “Hotel del Arte staff are expressly forbidden from getting romantically involved with guests.”

  “Are they?” asked Isabella.

  “I don’t recall seeing that in the employee handbook,” said Lena.

  “Not expressly, no…” admitted Brice. “It’s more of a … uh, guideline?”

  “So it’s not a rule!” said Arlo. “So what? Because our own sweet Mr. Ghello isn’t even interested in dating you, Mr. Nalone.”

  “I didn’t say that…” said Brice.

  “Because he’s straight!” said Arlo.

  “Are you?” Vito asked Brice.

  “No, I’m pretty gay,” said Brice.

  “But who cares!” said Arlo. “You can’t assume he likes all those big, tanned muscles just because he’s gay. In fact, he hates big, tanned muscles!”

  “Actually, I like the muscles,” said Brice.

  “Fine!” said Arlo. “So he likes muscles. But you can’t expect him to be attracted to a man so submissive to his mother!”

  “It’s really quite sweet,” Brice told Vito. “Honestly, it’s one of the reasons I didn’t want to push anything. I didn’t want to put a strain on your relationship with your mother.”

  “So he finds Vito’s relationship with his mother sweet!” said Arlo. “But you can’t expect a wild, vibrant, hedonist to settle down in the prime of his life. Mr. Ghello has seeds to sow! Conquests to make! Hearts to break!”

  “I’m really more of a domestic,” said Brice.

  “Yes! But all of that aside, he still doesn’t want to involve himself romantically with Mr. Nalone because…” Arlo looked expectantly at Brice. “Come on, I can’t come up with all the reasons. What else?”

  “I can’t think of anything,” said Brice.

  “Oh.” Arlo looked deflated. “You’re sure?”

  “What I’m sure of,” said Brice as he took Vito’s hand, “is that I would love to take you to dinner off the resort and get to know you better. If that interests you?”

  Vito smiled. “Very much.”

  Lena nudged Arlo. He tried to ignore the warmth her touch kindled within his chest.

  “You almost overplayed that,” she whispered in his ear. It was more or less impossible to ignore the shiver that ran through him as her breath touched his ear, so he thought the fair thing to do was retaliate in kind.

  “Nah, it was perfect,” Arlo whispered back, noting with satisfaction that Lena shivered slightly.

  “I suppose everything worked out, regardless,” said Lena.

  Arlo grinned. “You have to admit, it was a lot of fun.”

  A smile slowly worked its way onto Lena’s face. “Yes. As a matter of fact, it was.”

  “All right, Miss Cole.” Isabella gave her a steely, decidedly unperky look. “And you, too, Mr. Kean. I suppose you’re both quite pleased with your little matchmaking schemes.”

  Arlo shrugged. “I suppose we are.”

  “It was with your best interests at heart,” said Lena.

  “I don’t doubt it,” said Isabella. “But there’s an aspect of this you both missed. Wouldn’t you say, Franklyn?” Isabella gave him a wink.

  Franklyn frowned. “Is there?”

  Isabella sighed and whispered something in his ear. His eyes widened, and he gave Lena and Arlo a wicked smile. “There is indeed, my dearest Isabella.”

  “You don’t think…” said Brice.

  “I think she does,” said Vito.

  “What are we missing?” demanded Arlo.

  “It’s perfectly obvious that they mean us,” said Lena.

  “You and me? In love?” Arlo asked incredulously.

  “It would seem that is their intent.”

  “Love? Me?” he asked. “Ridiculous!”

  “People who fall in love lose all ability to think logically,” said Lena.

  “Common sense leaps right out the window,” said Arlo, nodding his agreement as he leaned in toward her again.

  “Any wit they might have had leaves them,” said Lena, leaning in as well.

  “I don’t think I could ever fall in love,” said Arlo, leaning in just a little more. “Not even with a woman as brilliant and attractive as you.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” said Lena, matching him in closeness. “It doesn’t matter that you might be nearly my intellectual equal and look fantastic in tight khaki shorts. I would never allow myself to succumb to something as banal as love.”

  By this time, the two had leaned in to each other so closely that they were staring directly into each other’s eyes. Still they had not touched, and the tiny space between them crackled. If longing cou
ld be converted into electricity, they would have powered the resort for a year.

  “I would go so far as to say,” said Arlo, his breath coming fast, obviously from talking so much and not from the effort of maintaining that tiny space between them, “that the only person I could ever truly spend my life with is someone who loathes love as much as I do.”

  “Agreed,” said Lena, her breath as fast as his, no doubt because she wished to show that she could respire just as strongly as him. “And now that we have firmly established this fact, that neither of us would ever consider love as an option, I suppose”—she took his hands in hers, feeling the spark run through her body—“there would be no risk in forming some sort of intimate relationship.”

  Arlo entwined their hands further until he could feel her strident pulse pound. “Since we’re the only two sane people on earth, common sense dictates we are perfectly suited for each other.”

  “There’s only one final test before we know that for certain.” Lena leaned in so close their noses almost touched.

  “What is that?” asked Arlo, his eyes a little glassy.

  “I loathe bad kissers. So I’m afraid I’ll need to verify your skill in that area.”

  “Verify away,” said Arlo.

  So she did. And it was a very long verification process. It could never be said that Lena Cole was not thorough. By the time Arlo had demonstrated his alacrity with kissing to her satisfaction, nearly everyone had retired to the picnic.

  “That was sufficient, Mr. Kean,” she said breathlessly against his cheek.

  “I am beyond relieved that you approve, Miss Cole,” he sighed against her cheek.

  A slow, polite clap began nearby. They both turned to see Zeke laughing silently at them.

  “It appears Mr. Zanni anticipated this outcome,” said Arlo. “Perhaps from the beginning.”

  “It would explain why he wanted us to cooperate so badly in the first place,” said Lena. “I suppose you think you’re very clever, Mr. Zanni.”

  Zeke nodded.

  “Don’t worry, Miss Cole,” said Arlo. “The summer has just begun. I’m sure you and I can find a suitable match for young Mr. Zanni.”

  Zeke vehemently shook his head.

  “I will bend all my thoughts toward it, Mr. Kean,” said Lena.

  * * *