by D. M. George
“Frightful.” Vito took Perla’s arm and escorted her to his red Alfa Romeo convertible parked outside. He opened the door, buckled the seat belt around her, and stashed the flowers behind the seat. Before starting the engine, he leaned over, gave her a lingering kiss, and gazed at her with puppy dog eyes.
“Is anything the matter?” Perla asked. “You seem different today.”
“No, nothing’s wrong. It’s just that… Well, our swim in the Blue Grotto changed me, changed how I feel about you. I was already hooked, but your synchronized swim moves reeled me in. I want our underwater kiss to be the memory you hold on to, not the sardine attack or the tourist boat. I hope this helps…”
He slid a wrapped package from under his seat and handed it to her. Inside the tissue paper was a large silk scarf featuring a cartoonish map of Capri. Each of the major attractions was noted in cursive.
“There is the Blue Grotto,” he said, pointing to the spot.
“Oh, Vito. This is beautiful and special but entirely unnecessary. Your kiss is branded on my heart forever.”
Vito blushed under his tan. “Let me help you put it on…” He folded the brightly colored fabric into a triangle and draped it midway over the top of her head. “So you won’t have a Gorgon head by the time we reach my house.” He crossed two ends of the scarf under her chin and tied them loosely behind her neck, tucking the third point under the knot.
Perla put on Teddy’s sunglasses and glanced in the rearview mirror. She imagined herself as an Italian movie star from the fifties, minus the big breasts.
“I’m impressed, Vito. How did you learn to tie a scarf?”
“I’ve got three older sisters. They liked to dress me up when I was little.”
It made sense. Vito had that natural ease with women common among men raised in female households—a man’s man with a woman’s sensitivity.
Vito hit the gas. Sorrento disappeared in the rearview mirror as they headed south on the Amalfi Coast drive. Perla caught her breath when they crested the hill and the magnificent coastline stretched before them. It wasn’t just beautiful, it was terrifying.
The road connecting Positano to Praiano, its less popular neighbor to the south, was an engineering impossibility. Except for the few tunnels and bridges, most of the narrow, two-lane highway was built over the air on cantilevered supports somehow anchored to the rock cliffs. Azure water sparkled hundreds, maybe thousands, of feet below. Perla shivered—this ride promised to be more nerve-racking than the bus trip to Circe’s farm.
“Open your eyes. You’re missing the view!” Vito shouted over the rumble and bleat of tour buses, cars, and Vespas choking the roadway. Traffic crawled past sorbet-colored buildings clinging to the almost vertical hillside. The exhaust made Perla queasy.
“I can’t. I’m afraid of heights,” Perla said. “Tell me that’s not a guardrail…” She pointed a shaky finger at the thin pipe connecting the occasional cement bollard. “It won’t stop a bicycle! Swerve for a squirrel and we’re dead!”
“We’re almost there.” Vito patted her hand. “Don’t worry, the drive back will be on the hill side of the road.”
Perla’s tension evaporated the moment Vito turned off the main road into the tiny town of Praiano. They entered an alley so narrow Perla could reach out and touch the wall. The low sun bathed the surrounding buildings in a fleshy pink glow. Vito parked in a narrow space between the garden wall of his neighbor’s house above and the roof of his house below. The jasmine blanketing the wall was so fragrant the carport smelled like the perfume counter at Macy’s. Perla gathered her handbag and flowers, and Vito led her down a flight of stairs on the side of his house.
The front door opened into an amazingly bright interior. Although the house burrowed into the hillside like a cave, every west-facing room had large glass doors and windows opening onto a balcony. The high ceilings and whitewashed stucco walls created a light and airy ambience. Tile floors and ceiling fans kept the temperature pleasantly cool.
“Your house is awesome,” Perla said, walking in a circle. “Straight out of Architectural Digest.” She ran her hand over the Carrara marble countertop that divided the kitchen alcove from the breakfast nook. Brightly cushioned chairs surrounded a glass-top table.
“I’m glad you like it. Do you mind making the salad while I finish the pasta sauce?”
The scent of garlic and onion hung in the air.
“I’d love to.”
“Guests won’t arrive till eight thirty, so we have a little time to ourselves. Come, I’ll show you around first.”
They passed through heavy wooden doors into the comfortably furnished living room and down a hallway to the master bedroom.
“You can put your things here.” Vito pointed to his king-size bed, which in Italy meant two twins simply pushed together. Perla removed her scarf, laid it alongside her handbag and cashmere wrap, fluffed her hair with her fingers, and cataloged the details of Vito’s room. Window sheers and a plush area rug softened its hard textures. Canvas-wrapped enlargements of photos of sea stacks, grottos, and harbors decorated the walls. No burned-down candles, massage oils, or empty ice buckets… Good.
“These handsome guys must be Nick and Vittorio Junior,” Perla said, bending over the photos on the dresser. One showed Nick and Vito posing in ski gear on a snowy mountain. Nick appeared to be in his midtwenties and had his father’s big grin. Another photo showed the slightly older Vittorio on a beach with his arm around a pretty brunette, and two little boys playing in the sand.
“Yes,” he said, his face lighting up. “I’d like you to meet them sometime. Nick is out of college but hasn’t found himself yet. Vittorio, the more serious one, is a successful attorney in Florence.”
Perla’s heart squeezed momentarily as she thought about Karla. She poked her head into the master bathroom. There were the standard European toilet and bidet but a more American glass-enclosed shower and huge oval spa tub.
“Mr. Bubble? Really?” Perla stepped in and picked up the pink plastic bottle. An unwelcome image came to mind of Vito and a woman in the tub, up to their necks in bubbles, clinking champagne flutes.
“For my grandkids. They’ll play in the tub all day if I let them.”
Back in the kitchen, Vito handed Perla a glass of wine. She sliced tomatoes and fresh mozzarella for the caprese salad while he stood at the stove, stirring the lobster ravioli sauce and babbling about nothing. His speech was pressured and he kept glancing at Perla.
It’s best to just put it out there, Perla thought. “You know, I’ve never shared so much naked-time with a man with whom I wasn’t already intimate.”
Vito’s shoulders loosened and he blushed. “What do you suggest we do about that?”
“Maybe a quickie on the table right now… To get it over with so we can go back to being ourselves,” Perla offered.
“And wrinkle your beautiful dress?” He set down his spoon, untied his apron, and faced Perla with ill-concealed hunger.
“A small sacrifice if it turns you back into the guy who was completely relaxed making out with me naked in the Blue Grotto. Now that we’re all dressed up and grown up, you’re acting weird. What’s wrong?”
Vito stood straight with his arms at his sides, pushed out his jaw, and made a sad Il Duce face. “I’m scared,” he said, his voice almost boyish. “It’s our third date, and I really want to make love with you.”
“And…”
“It’s just… Well, I’ve been retired from relationships a long time, and I have to tell you…” Vito swallowed hard.
“We’ll take our time,” Perla reassured him, suspecting performance anxiety.
“No… What I have to tell you… need to tell you, before we go any further, is that… I’ve fallen hopelessly in love with you,” Vito whispered.
A wave of joy rocked Perla back on her heels. Incredible. A man as perfect as Vito falling in love with her? She pinched herself. The demon on her shoulder tugged on her earlobe and shouted, “FR
AUD!” But for once she didn’t listen.
“Listen, Il Duce,” Perla said, dropping to her knees in front of Vito. “I’ve loved you since the moment we met nose-to-nose in the men’s room. I welcome you to join us tonight.”
Vito lifted her by the arms. “Come here, you wanton woman,” he said, embracing Perla tightly and kissing her on the neck.
His crisp shirt smelled of fresh laundry and man. He lifted her onto the countertop. Her heart racing, she kicked off her shoes and accidentally tipped over the bowl of grapes next to her. A few detached from the bunch and rolled onto the floor. As Vito kissed her, she wrapped her legs around his waist.
“May I give you a proper kiss?” he breathed into her ear, making the skin all the way down her spine tingle.
She pulled away and asked, “Wasn’t that a proper kiss at the Blue Grotto?”
He held her gaze and answered by sliding his hands under her dress, up her thighs.
“Oh… oh yes,” she stammered, catching on. She flushed magenta and silently thanked Teddy for the new lingerie and thanked herself for shaving her legs all the way up.
Just as Vito hooked his fingers around the edge of her lace panties, there was a knock on the door.
“Merda! They’re early,” Vito said.
Perla pushed him away and jumped down, madly straightening her dress and repinning her undone bun. They composed themselves with several deep breaths and strode to the entryway together.
“Welcome, everyone!” Vito spread his arms wide when he opened the door.
Maria and Teddy gushed over Perla as they entered, complimenting her outfit and practically elbowing each other in the ribs. After the hugs and air-kisses, Vito led his guests out to the veranda and the long dining table he’d already set with fine china. While Vito and Etienne talked about soccer and Teddy admired the view, Maria paused in the kitchen. She stared at the tipped-over fruit bowl, the runaway grapes and discarded shoes, and raised her eyebrows as if to say “Couldn’t you wait until after dinner?”
Perla smirked and shooed her outside.
Perla woke at dawn to the sensation of a finger tracing a line from her neck to her thigh. Vito lay on his side next to her, his head resting on his bent right arm. The room smelled of sex. How long had he been watching her sleep? What was he thinking? His serious expression vanished the moment she fully opened her eyes. He kissed her good morning and tickled her ribs. Perla squealed and kicked as Vito pinned her down. After a bit of rolling around, he let her go and pulled back the covers. “Oh look! Il Duce’s awake. Yaaay!”
He jumped out of bed and strutted back and forth in front of her with his hands on his hips, nose in the air, and lower lip protruding. “I am the Minotaur of love!” He stabbed the air with his forefinger in perfect imitation of Benito Mussolini in old World War II newsreels. Perla propped herself up on pillows to watch the show. “My virility is fabled, my desire unquenchable, my stamina infinite! I cannot be tamed!” Vito growled and crawled across the bed on all fours.
He nibbled on her toes and Perla laughed so hard she lost her breath.
“You’re so funny.”
“In my humble opinion, if you can’t laugh at yourself in bed, you shouldn’t be making love.”
“I agree. Come here.” She pulled him on top of her. “It would be a shame to let that perfectly good erection go to waste.”
After their romp, Vito dozed with a contented smile on his face. This time Perla watched him as he slept. He never ceased to surprise and delight her. Each day with him revealed another dimension of his personality and brought out the best in hers. She liked who she was with him—if she forgot for a moment that she really wasn’t who she appeared to be.
Last night had been spectacular. She’d forever cherish the memory of them scurrying to the bedroom the moment after Maria, Etienne, and Teddy said buonanotte. Stumbling down the hallway, bursting with desire, kissing, groping, dropping pieces of clothing along the way, their bodies fusing perfectly together the moment they fell into bed. There had been none of the usual awkwardness of making love with someone for the first time. Their joining had been completely comfortable and natural.
Vito was a skilled and thoughtful lover, as she had expected, but what had surprised Perla was her own response. She’d worried about her libido waning in recent years and wondered if it was due to menopause or boredom. Although Gordon was attractive, well equipped, and always willing, the passion just wasn’t there—for either of them, she suspected. Their bodies met, but their minds didn’t. Over time, sex became more marital duty than pleasure. And after she lost her job and they began fighting about money, they hardly touched one another. She’d found it impossible to fight one minute and make love the next.
Last night had been a revelation though. Vito had shown her she was still capable of passion. She’d felt the deep emotional connection that makes sex hot and had discovered, multiple times, that her sexual responsiveness hadn’t diminished with age. This, she was certain, had nothing to do with the cameo—it was all Vito. God, how she loved him.
Perla luxuriated in the hot water with bubbles up to her chin. She made herself a bubble-mustache and beard. Vito returned to the bathroom carrying a TV tray, two steaming cups of cappuccino, and a container of bacio-flavored gelato. Her dream waiter in the buff.
“Move over, Miss Perlita. I’m coming in.” He set down the tray, handed her a coffee, and slid into the big tub next to her. “Is gelato for breakfast okay?”
“Fabulous,” she replied.
They ate out of the same container and drank their coffee quietly.
Perla pointed to the scar running down the middle of Vito’s chest. “What happened here?” It was barely visible under his thick hair. She’d noticed it at Baia but had pushed it from her mind, not sure she really wanted to know.
“Bypass surgery two years ago after a heart attack.”
“What was the doctor’s prognosis?”
“He said I’m not immortal and told me to change my lifestyle or die. So I retired at fifty-four, much to the consternation of my partners, and moved here with my wife. This was our summer home, although I never managed to spend more than an occasional weekend here, most of it glued to my phone. Anyway, I lost ten pounds, got a tan, and became the gorgeous slab of meat you see before you now.”
“Yum,” Perla said cheerily, but her stomach tightened. “Is this where you met Teddy and Roman?”
“Yes. My wife dragged me to a party in Capri. She had inveigled an invitation through a friend of a friend to rub shoulders with the famous Rayna Wagner. Roman and I were bored, drinking beer at the bar, and got to talking about boats. I envied how he made his living taking people on private excursions around the Amalfi Coast—the complete opposite of my stodgy career. When he mentioned he needed another guide, I got so excited I volunteered to work for him for free. I didn’t need the money, just a new lifestyle.”
“What did your wife think?”
“Not much. My being Roman’s ‘boat boy’ embarrassed her, and she divorced me shortly after. My job wasn’t the only reason though. She hated it here. She got the house in Rome, and I kept this one.”
“All those big life changes at once must have been difficult.” Perla sat quietly, processing this new information.
“I told you about my scar, now you tell me about yours.” Vito pointed to the slightly splotchy skin on Perla’s right arm extending from hand to elbow.
“Scalding burn, mideighties.” The bathwater suddenly felt too hot, and Perla sat up on the edge of the tub. “Do you really want to hear about it?”
“I want to know everything about you.”
“Okay.” She’d managed not to think about the accident in years and didn’t want to now. “It was a big, dumb, tragic mistake that happened during a camping trip with my boyfriend and several old high school friends at a place called June Lake in California’s Sierra Nevada mountain range. A guy in the campsite next to ours told us about a place called Hot Creek. He said
there were thermal springs bubbling up under the water like a beer hot tub. Of course we had to see for ourselves.
“We loaded our truck with coolers, beach chairs, towels, and inner tubes and drove there to spend the day. It was way out in the desert, off a dirt road that didn’t appear on any map. Once we found the creek, the swimming hole was a short hike down a hill.
“When it happened, my boyfriend Scott and I were in the center of the stream where the warm jet came up from a fissure in the creek bed. We lay on our backs, letting the water keep us afloat while the others were sitting on the bank, eating sandwiches.”
“This doesn’t sound good.” Vito frowned, suddenly serious.
“It wasn’t. Suddenly the water changed to the color of latte. I thought nothing of it—just some mud along for the ride. Out of the blue, something commanded me to go get a soda. It was weird—I wasn’t particularly thirsty but swam over to the cooler anyway. Just as I got there, I heard a bloodcurdling scream. I turned around and couldn’t believe my eyes. A cloud of steam billowed up around Scott. He was flailing and rolling in an underwater geyser shooting up from the creek bed.”
“Dio santo, what did you do then?”
“I pulled a truck-size inner tube off the bank, laid across the top so my body wouldn’t touch the water, and paddled toward Scott from above stream. The eruption had lasted less than a minute, but his entire body was scalded bright red and he was floating facedown. I let the current push me into the hot spot and reached into the boiling water for his arm. The pain was unbearable, but I managed to roll him over so his face was out of the water. And then I held on until cold water flowing down the creek lowered the temperature enough for our friends to help us ashore.”
Perla shivered. “Oh, Vito, it was sickening. We pulled Scott out of the water onto the bank, and his skin came off in our hands like a boiled potato. His entire body was raw flesh. I’d never felt so helpless—there was nothing any of us could do. Why didn’t I suspect something bad would happen when the silt started billowing up?”