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A short, roly-poly man came toward them, smiling. He yelled out Vittorio’s name with his arms outstretched and a look of delight on his deeply tanned face.
They hugged and kissed each other’s cheeks and spoke in Italian. “Vittorio, my nephew, it’s been a long time,” the man said as he stepped back from him.
“Ah, Antonio, it’s good to see you,” Vittorio answered.
“And who is this beautiful woman?” Antonio asked.
Vittorio spoke in English. “This is Lucia. My friend.”
Antonio leaned in and hugged Lucy. Her tiny body pressed up against his soft chest. For an instant, she felt safe, warm, welcomed, but the moment passed and she pulled away. She was getting far too sentimental.
“Come, sit down and taste my wine,” he said.
She followed his directions and sat at a small, round table with Vittorio. There were a few other people in the cantina, drinking espresso mostly, laughing and talking with such enthusiasm that it seemed as if the place were crowded, but it wasn’t. Most of the tables were empty.
Soon there were several glasses in front of them filled with different shades of white wine, an assortment of cold meats, cheese and olives.
“First, you try the golden wine.” Vittorio slid a glass toward her. “It cleans the tongue.”
Lucy was a little hesitant thinking about the tranquilizer she had taken. Vittorio insisted. She took a sip—a musky-tasting wine, dry, with an almond aftertaste.
She liked it and took another drink, a big one.
“Perfecto, no?” Vittorio beamed. He handed her a slice of prosciutto wrapped around a piece of melon. She took a bite. Totally terrific.
“Perfecto! Yes,” she declared, beaming.
Somewhere, music played, mixed with laughter. Lucy liked the way the place made her feel. Festive, she thought as she wrapped her red Chanel scarf around her shoulders.
Next, she tried the more yellow wine, crisp, clean, the kind of wine that warmed the palate. She tore off a chunk of bread and ate a few green olives.
“Have some cheese. It’s good for you. Makes your bones strong,” Vittorio said, cutting off a chunk big enough for a family of four. But it was wickedly creamy and melted in her mouth.
More wine. She needed more wine.
“I really shouldn’t,” she said after she downed another glass. When they’d finished off the two white wines, she decided to try the blush. It was sweet, a little floral tasting and went down easily along with the cappocolo, one of her favorite Italian sliced meats. She carefully folded each tender slice inside a crust of bread, spread open a couple olives and removed the pits, then placed the olives on top of the meat, then a drizzle of olive oil, a thick slice of cheese, another gulp of wine and Lucy had reached cuisine bliss.
“It’s good to watch you eat. I like it,” Vittorio said sitting back in his chair, swirling his wine in his glass. “As if you cannot get enough.”
Lucy felt red heat spread across her face. She tried to calm herself as she wiped her mouth with a cloth napkin.
She had forgotten how incredible Italian food could taste. Most of the time she ate out of the vending machines at work. Chef Boyardee was one of her closest friends.
She had also forgotten how fantastic a torn piece of bread could be when its crust was sweet and warm from the oven, and the meat, sharp with spices, the melon, perfectly ripe and luscious, the olives, pungent with garlic.
Lucy had eaten everything and drunk all the wine until she felt so full she had to unbutton the top button of her pants.
She sat back. “I must have been hungry.”
“You are starving,” he said, and stared at her.
Lucy suddenly felt uncomfortable, as though he could hear her inner thoughts. She didn’t like it. Didn’t like it at all.
Antonio walked over. “The wine is ready, Vittorio.”
“Scusi,” Vittorio said to Lucy and got up from the table, picked up a box of wine and walked it out the back door. When he returned, it was time for farewell kisses and hugs.
“That was fantastic,” Lucy told Vittorio when they were back in his car driving down the narrow motor-way, her feet resting on the box of wine. “Thanks.”
“You are welcome,” he said with a little bow.
Lucy sat back in her seat and immediately fell asleep.
It didn’t take long before Vittorio made another stop.
This time he made his way through a tiny village to a farm where two ostriches stared at them from behind a tall wire fence and water buffalos poked their heads through wooden rails painted pure white, and a proud rooster spread its colorful head feathers in welcome.
“What now?” Lucy asked, all dreamy-eyed as Vittorio pulled the car up in front of a stone farmhouse. She was at once angry over another stop and fascinated by the farm surroundings.
“Garlic and mozzarella. The best! Wait ’til you taste the mozzarella. Fresh from early this morning. Sweet like mother’s milk,” he said and kissed his fingers again. This time Lucy smiled over at him as he made his way around the car to get her door. She waited, feeling a little woozy. She wanted to get mad because of the second delay, but all she could think of was the fresh mozzarella. The very thought of the creamy soft cheese made her mouth water in anticipation.
Inside the farmhouse, which turned out to be a busy restaurant, Lucy and Vittorio were greeted by a crusty middle-aged man with rough hands and a mustache that curled up at the ends. “Vittorio! Ciao! Come va?” the man asked as they hugged and kissed.
“Lucia, this is my cousin, Philippi.” Philippi turned and hugged and kissed Lucy as if they were old friends. His mustache tickled and she saw a sly sparkle in his bright blue eyes. She thought this was getting too weird, like some episode of The Sopranos. All she needed now was for James Gandolfini to walk out of the back room pointing a gun at Vittorio and she’d know this was one of her sleepwalking episodes.
But he didn’t.
Instead, she and Vittorio were escorted to a table next to a window with a view of the surrounding lush green hills. Black goats and white sheep grazed on the slopes, along with a few speckled cows.
Lucy wondered what it would be like to wake up every morning to see goats and cows out your back window instead of miles of beige stucco.
“Scusi, Lucia. I will return in a moment.”
“More wine?”
“Fresh garlic. Mozzarella.”
“You have a big family or something?”
“The biggest!”
Vittorio left her alone at the table. She refused to eat. Absolutely refused, except for maybe a small piece of fresh mozzarella, and a mushroom or two.
And maybe a vegetable and a chunk of bread.
But that was it.
“Just a taste,” she told the waitress.
Lucy tried to refuse the large plate of food the waitress brought over, until she saw what was on it—sliced tomatoes and fresh milky-white mozzarella drizzled with olive oil and herbs, grilled zucchini, mushrooms and eggplant. She couldn’t resist. A loaf of bread appeared, and a carafe of red wine.
She thought she would simply taste the mozzarella and leave the rest, but once the sweet, rich cheese hit her tastebuds the battle was over. She took another bite and another until once again, she couldn’t stop. She ate everything.
Meanwhile, she watched as Vittorio carried cartons of cheese out to the car.
When he joined her, Philippi appeared with two bowls of ravioli filled with goat’s milk ricotta and artichoke hearts, smothered in a thick red sauce.
Lucy cringed.
“I can’t eat anymore. I’m going to burst,” she told Vittorio.
“You have to taste the ricotta. It is like nowhere else in the world,” Vittorio said as he sliced open one of the round pillows of pasta revealing the soft cheese tucked inside. He poked one half of the pillow with his fork and held it up, cupping his other hand under the fork while the sauce dripped to his fingers.
“Come on,” he urged, with a tilt of his head. Lucy leaned in and wrapped her lips around the ravioli, slowly pulling back to let the warm pasta with the luscious sauce fall into her mouth. Sauce dripped from her lips and onto Vittorio’s fingers. He pulled his hand back and licked off the drops of sauce.
Lucy flushed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“What you think? Buono?” Vittorio sat back and watched as she ate, obviously enjoying the look of satisfaction on her face.
“Too good,” she whispered under her breath.
5
“I THINK I’m going to be sick,” Lucy said as Vittorio pulled her suitcase through the plush lobby of the Santa Maria hotel, a lavishly decked-out retreat with huge vases filled with fresh flowers, French gold-leafed tables and chairs. Red rugs with intricate colorful patterns running through thick fibers covered the brown-tiled floor, and marble pillars touched an ornate ceiling. A gigantic crystal chandelier hung right in the middle, shooting its rainbow of colors throughout the entire room.
The lobby was positively spectacular, and Lucy was positively mortified.
“What do you mean, sick?” he asked.
“I mean sick, like, I’m going to vomit. I have to get out of here,” she whispered.
“No. Wait. We find a toilet,” he said, but Lucy was on her way out the front door where she stopped to throw up…in front of the doorman…in front of a woman wearing a pink silk suit, and pink Christian Dior heels.
“Dio mio!” the woman yelled and took a step back. But it was too late. Lucy had let go with such a force that it splattered on the woman’s dress and on her shoes.
“I’m sorry,” Lucy murmured when it was all over, but the woman was so utterly disgusted she wouldn’t even look up. The doorman ordered Lucy to leave as he ushered the screaming woman inside the lobby, away from Lucy who was now on a wobbly retreat. Fortunately the Alfa Romeo was parked right in front of the hotel. Completely humiliated, she got into the car, grateful that Vittorio had left it open.
“Ah yes, that kind of sick,” Vittorio said. He returned her suitcase to the trunk and got in beside her. “You want I should get you some Briosci?”
“God! Can we just get out of here?” Lucy said as she slid down in her seat.
“But your room—”
Lucy looked at him, pleading. “I can’t go in there now. Not after I just puked my guts out on some lady’s shoes. And they were such pretty shoes.”
Vittorio started the car and pulled away from the hotel.
Lucy’s whole world spun around in a wild, mind-numbing tumble. She felt so thoroughly out of control she couldn’t center on what she should do next, let alone where she should go. She desperately wanted to get away from Vittorio, but she couldn’t quite focus on the how.
Fatigue engulfed her. If she could just close her eyes for a minute, maybe the world would stop spinning.
LUCY AWOKE like a kitten waking from a nap in the sun. She yawned and stretched as sunlight played in colored shapes on the windows and dashboard. She had a slight headache, but mostly felt completely at ease and at peace with herself as she looked around for what caused the sunlight to dance, but she couldn’t find it. Perhaps the rental had come with a crystal, she thought. How fabulous.
She hadn’t slept as well or as soundly in a very long time and she relished the moment. Only, something was wrong. She was sitting in the passenger side of the car and not the driver’s side. How odd. And, she could smell coffee. How could that be? And onions. She could actually smell onions frying.
“What time is it?” she said, and moved out of her almost fetal position to look at her watch.
As she moved, her eyes shut with a deep yawn, her arms encircled the man sleeping next to her, warm and responsive. Maybe she wasn’t awake, after all, she mused. She felt him pull her in closer. She liked the way he made her feel when her body touched his. Liked the smell of him, the warmth. She especially liked the way his arms felt around her. “Lucia,” he said in a low voice as his lips lingered next to hers for a moment before sending a sensual shiver through her entire body. His breath warm on her throat…
“It’s you,” she yelled, eyes now wide open.
With all the strength in her legs and arms, she pushed Vittorio right out of the open car door and onto the street. He landed next to a fruit stand and tomatoes cascaded onto his head. Lucy jumped out of the car.
Total panic swept over her, causing her head to throb and her stomach to ache as she stood next to the car and realized she had no idea where she was.
“You are the lowest of the low. Pond scum, that’s what you are. Pond scum,” Lucy said as she struggled to get her things out of the car. The street was crowded with people, so Lucy tried to keep her voice down.
“Lucia, what is wrong? I did nothing,” Vittorio said as he gingerly stood, avoiding the tomatoes.
They stared at each other from either side of the sports car. The hood glistened in the sunshine, giving everything a sort of red glow. Lucy said, “You were about to kiss me.”
“Yes.”
“What else happened while I was sleeping? Wait…I don’t want to know. Yes. I do. No. I don’t.” Total panic sent her spinning out of control.
“Lucia, nothing happened. You have my word.”
“Your word! Is that supposed to mean something? Do we have some sort of history I can pin that statement on to?”
“Lucia, of course you know me. We just slept together,” he said, grinning.
“We did not sleep together. That was a rest, a nap, nothing more.”
“But Lucia, you are so beautiful when you are in my arms.”
“You are the most despicable, contemptible…there are no words to describe you. You’re beyond words. You’re a thing. A slimy, green thing.”
“Please. Be calm. What could I do? Your jacket was wet, and stained.”
Her jacket? What jacket? Lucy suddenly realized she wasn’t wearing her white jacket. Things were digressing rapidly. Somehow in her fog, she remembered vomiting on some woman’s shoes. Embarrassment washed over her like a mud bath, thick and warm, but she was determined not to let the pond scum know. Not now. Not in the middle of an argument.
“Okay, so what! You took advantage of me and I can’t even remember all that we did, or if we did. Did we?”
He made a gesture indicating that she was being ridiculous. “Lucia, please,” then he reached into the car, pulled out her jacket and scarf and handed them to her across the roof.
She ripped them out of his hands. The jacket stunk, and was covered in red wine stains. “You’re so typical.”
“Lucia, do not be like this. Everything is fine.”
