Rose texted back an hour later so as not to look too eager.
So glad you got in touch. I’d love to get together. When and where?
He replied: There’s a place called Notre Bene in Santa Croce. Have you heard of it?
Yes. I could meet you there around 7 o’clock, she texted.
Perfect. See u then.
Looking forward to it.
Me too.
***
By Saturday morning, female vanity won out, and Rose made a trip to a boutique called Bella. Rose eyed the racks of gorgeous clothes, thinking that she didn’t want to try too hard. A white sundress caught her eye.
“This is gorgeous!” she exclaimed, holding the dress up to her.
“Very simple and elegant. I’m sure it will look beautiful on you; such pretty blond hair and blue eyes,” said the salesperson, taking hold of it and putting it in the dressing room.
“I like that,” said Rose, turning her attention to a ruffled black blouse that would go with everything.
Of course, the dress fit perfectly and so did the black shoulder-baring blouse, and then she spied a fabulous pair of big earrings. You need to leave this store now, said a small voice in her head.
“I could never work here,” said Rose, handing over her credit card. “I’d have to buy everything.”
“Thank you. The white dress is perfect for summer and can go anywhere. You’ve got good taste.”
Her hair took forever to style that evening. High school was a long time ago, Rose reminded herself, yet she couldn’t contain her excitement; the night held the promise of summertime. Well, Ben was really handsome and he was taking her out to dinner. Life is good, she concluded, getting frustrated as she brushed out her elegantly arranged ponytail.
Rose’s composure nearly crumbled when saw Ben standing out front of Notre Bene in a button-down, tailored khaki pants, and loafers with no socks.
“I’m so glad this worked,” he said as she approached. “You look gorgeous.”
“Thank you,” she replied anxiously; his steely-eyed gaze knocked her off balance. She looked away and quickly adjusted the sleeve of her new dress.
“Shall we?” he said, holding the door open for her.
The restaurant was small and romantic, filled with baskets, intricate Mediterranean tiles and the scent of garlic. They were escorted to their table in the back corner of the restaurant, and Rose was glad she had chosen a classic white dress and heels. A black-clad waiter appeared soon after they sat down and took their drink order. Ben asked if she liked champagne and ordered up two sparkling glasses, which came minutes later.
“It’s great to see you again, Rose,” he said.
Rose blushed. “You too. I’m glad you’re here.”
“You know, I always thought you were absolutely adorable.”
“You mean, Jack’s bratty little sister? Say it isn’t so. You guys used to torment me. Remember the time Jack bounced a basketball on my head when I followed you to the park. He wanted nothing to do with me.”
“And who defended you?”
“Hmmm,” she replied. “I’d forgotten you walked me home.”
“Remember when your brother and I refused to include you in our lacrosse warm-ups? You had the most wicked temper tantrum and your mom practically dragged you inside.”
“I was only ten,” she laughed.
“You were a little spitfire and awfully cute in those pigtails trying to chase after us.”
“I still have a temper, so be forewarned.” She winked.
“I’m not worried. I’ve had years of experience dealing with ballistic clients after a market crash.”
Anticipation hung in the air, mingling with a feeling of familiarity.
“I’m so surprised you’re here.”
“I was researching Jefferson’s travel abroad for my book, and he loved Italy. Suddenly, it seemed like a perfect plan to visit Florence and tie it in with a trip to see you.”
Rose swallowed hard. “I’m so glad you did. It’s wonderful to see you too.”
“I feel the same way.”
Rose felt the intensity of his gaze. Moments later, a waiter came to take their order and talk about the specials of the night. Rose managed to use her conversational Italian to select her meal; she couldn’t resist the grilled salmon, and Ben chose a pasta chicken dish.
For hours, they talked nonstop throughout dinner as Ben shared his tales of mountain climbing, Wall Street and his obsession with the Seattle Seahawks. Rose hung on his every word. She shared how she missed her students, purposely avoiding mention of her mom. She regaled him with some of the ridiculous moments with helicopter parents who didn’t take no for an answer.
“There was this one dad who I’ll call him Mr. Smith who texted me regularly to check on his daughter’s test scores.”
“What did you do?”
“I told him that his daughter was not a number and to get a life, in so many words. The pressure that parents put on their kids is awful. I could always tell which students really wanted to learn and those who only cared about the grade.”
“I was told by a reliable source that you were voted best teacher by your students.”
“Oh,” said Rose. “I taught great kids.”
“Clearly, you care and you’re always willing to listen. That’s a wonderful quality.”
“Thanks,” said Rose. “That means a lot to me.”
“Okay, my turn. I’m going to address the elephant in the room,” Ben said, dabbing his mouth with a napkin and then taking a breath. “I was married to Angelique for three long years and I’ve been divorced for over a year. We met through friends at a party in New York. I guess I was young and shallow, but I fell for the whole supermodel thing. Turns out, we fought all the time but managed to produce a beautiful little girl named Emily. We’re still ironing out custody, but I keep a place in the city to see my daughter every other weekend. It’s not perfect, but this arrangement has been working just fine.”
“So, your life is complicated with an ex and a young daughter.”
“Yup, but I’m still the same fun-loving guy that you knew in high school.” He winked. “I never forgot about you.”
“Me either, but high school was a long time ago, Ben. We grew apart and led separate lives. When my dad died, it was really, really hard on all of us. Those college years are kind of a blur now, but I have no regrets about staying close to home. And it was all I could do to keep moving forward with my life. I lost my hero,” she said quietly, swallowing hard. “And it took me a long time to recover, and then I had to deal with Doris and her new boyfriends, then she got remarried, and then Jack got married, and I don’t know . . . What I wanted got lost somewhere in doing what I thought was the right thing for my family. That being said, I didn’t make as rash a decision as you may think.”
“You were always the responsible one.”
“I tried to be the perfect daughter Doris wanted me to be, and then, well, I just couldn’t do it anymore. I had to get away and start a new life here on my own terms.”
“Thanks for being so honest, Rose. I understand.”
“I appreciate that.”
She swallowed hard and their eyes locked, and then they sat quietly, absorbing the waves of truth and emotion that had washed over them.
After dinner they stepped back into the cool summer evening.
“Hey,” he said. “I’d hate for you to think this evening is predictable. You know, a little wine, a nice dinner and then back to my place.”
“Who says I’d go back to your place?”
“Well, I can only hope, but, in the meantime, I want to show you something I stumbled upon yesterday.” He shot her a mischievous grin.
“Aha!” exclaimed Rose. “Now, I’m completely intrigued.”
“That was my goal, Miss
Maning.”
They continued to chat easily as he led her down several blocks. Rose relaxed and shared how her dad had always encouraged her to live abroad; Ben recalled that it was her dad who taught him to play tennis and how much he had admired his intellect. The conversation was relaxed. Suddenly looking around, she asked, “Will you give me a hint as to where we’re going?”
“Gallerie Art Moderne.”
“I didn’t know you were interested in art.”
“Well, actually I’ve got an art dealer friend at Christie’s. He’s guided me in my collecting over the years.”
“You’ve acquired art? I’d love to hear about it.”
“Rose, you’re probably the only woman I know who’s more interested in the type of art I bought than its value.”
“Thanks,” she said as they listened to the sounds of violin music coming from a small corner band. College students were hanging out in clusters, their laughter and clapping adding to the air of excitement. “How fun! I’d read there was some festival going on down here tonight.”
“It’s only ten o’clock.” He paused to get his bearings. “There it is!” He grabbed her hand and they ran across the street.
When they walked inside, the manager welcomed them and kissed Rose soundly on both cheeks. “Bella donna,” he exclaimed. “I’m Matteo and I am delighted that you have graced us with your presence.” He looked over at Ben. “And you too, sir.”
Ben laughed. “Thanks.”
Rose liked his curly dark hair and colorful striped shirt; he ushered them to the bar area, which consisted of a long rectangular table complete with a white linen tablecloth. Clustered groups of art lovers were peering at various wall-sized oil paintings.
“Thank you,” said Rose, taking a sip of her wine as she observed several modern landscape paintings with varying shades of purple and green.
“You are free to wander around. There’s a master list by the front door that gives the artist’s name and the price. Please let me know if you have any questions. Okay?”
As she eyed the exhibit, she gravitated to a large oil painting in the far right corner with splashes of terra-cotta and gold. She said it reminded her of Tuscany.
“Well, you’re right,” said Ben, who read the description, then led her up a concrete staircase. She eagerly followed him down a short hallway to a large, well-lit room. Rose couldn’t believe her eyes. It was a nine-foot rendering of Michelangelo’s The Creation of Adam. She gasped and clapped her hands. “What in the world!” she exclaimed, moving closer to the masterpiece to see the colors. “This is absolutely fantastic! Who did it?”
“Exchange students have been copying it for weeks as a final project. The kids scanned the painting onto a board and got creative with the colors. The manager said the gallery has been crazy and two of them have slept here in sleeping bags. Coffee cups and bagels have littered these floors, and they listen to American pop and jazz.”
Rose walked forward to study their rendition. “I love how they used florescent colors. This Adam in neon green is awesome. Very creative!”
“How about God over there in purple?”
“This is really fun and clever. I’m surprised that they did a scan and didn’t try to draw any of it themselves.”
Ben studied her. “Don’t tell me you’re an artist too.”
Rose took a large swallow of her wine and coughed. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I love it.”
He leaned in closer. “Don’t change the subject. Rose?”
“Um,” she said. “It’s a long story but, yes, I can draw pretty well, and I am passionate about Michelangelo, as you know. That’s it.”
“Wait a minute. That’s why you moved here! And if I know Doris Maning, she’d never let you pursue anything to do with painting and drawing.”
“It’s a dream, and I know it’s crazy, but I needed to explore this part of myself.”
Ben leaned in and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “I get it. We don’t need to talk about it anymore until you’re good and ready.” They were nose to nose, and just as Ben was about to kiss her, a loud coughing noise interrupted.
“Okay, you two,” said the manager. “You’re supposed to be looking at this exhibit and exchanging pithy thoughts on mankind.”
“Well,” said Rose. “I think Michelangelo was one of the greatest artists of all time. The Creation of Adam on the Sistine Chapel is the most famous panel of the masterpiece and the cornerstone of Renaissance art.”
“Prego! You’ve got to be a teacher,” exclaimed Matteo.
“You’re right. I couldn’t help myself; I used to teach art history at a private school in the States.”
He raised one eyebrow and stared at Ben. “Beauty and brains. Such an irresistible combination.”
Ignoring his remark, Ben looked again at the exhibit. “So, what’s with the cape behind God?”
“Actually,” said Rose, “some scholars believe that it is a depiction of the brain. Michelangelo used to dissect corpses so he could get his figures more lifelike.”
“That’s disgusting,” said Matteo.
“You sound like one of my students.”
“I’m not sure I could sit through that discussion,” he joked.
“Me either,” said Ben.
“I forgot to ask you how your dad’s doing,” Rose said after Matteo had wandered off to interact with other visitors. “I’ve heard that your parents were thrilled you decided to spend more time in Charlottesville.”
“Thanks for asking. Dad’s hanging in there. The prognosis is good. I’m glad to help my parents out after all they did for me. Charlottesville has changed a lot in the past fifteen years.”
Downstairs, they said goodbye to Matteo and headed out the door into the warm summer night with chords of violin filling the air. Wandering along the street, they saw everything from colorful pottery to leather goods.
“I’ve loved the evening, Ben. Thank you so much. It was really fun to see you again.”
“I had a great time,” said Ben as he put his arm around her to walk her back to her place. “I hope you enjoyed seeing the college art student rendition of Michelangelo’s work.”
“It was wonderful. Everything was perfect.”
They stopped in front of her rental apartment, and Ben took her into his arms. The kiss was electric and left Rose a bit shaken.
“How long are you here for?” she asked nervously.
“I’m heading out tomorrow morning. When do you get your new place?”
“Two more weeks. I’m really excited.”
“Keep in touch,” he said, placing his hand under her chin. “I’d love an update on how you are doing. Your new apartment sounds fantastic.”
“It’s a new beginning.”
“Speaking of new beginnings, I would really like to hear from you.”
“I’ll check in from time to time,” promised Rose. “And thanks again.”
She turned away and headed upstairs, wondering if she had dreamed their whole evening.
Chapter 7
WITH A MESSENGER BAG filled with drawing paper and new charcoal pencils, Rose arrived at the Vatican around eight on a hot, July Saturday morning. She stood in line for two hours to see the Sistine Chapel, which was the main chapel of the palace. The chapel walls were frescoed by some of the greatest artists of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, including Ghirlandaio, Botticelli, Perugino and Signorelli, all of whom she had studied.
The rich reds and blues of the subjects’ robes caught her eyes as she made her way through a throng of tourists. The sounds of German, French, Japanese and Chinese all mingled together to form a steady hum in her ears. For a moment, she had a pang of homesickness at hearing so many languages other than English, but she reminded herself that this was why she had moved abroad. It renewed her determination to savor the pres
ent and deepen her own personal connection to these great artists.
Parallel episodes of the life of Moses and Christ decorated the walls, but Rose diligently went to find a seat so she could gaze up at the chapel ceiling, which was frescoed by the one and only Michelangelo from 1508 to 1512. The main panels charted the creation of the world and the fall of man. These panels were then surrounded by subjects from the New and Old Testaments. Her mind wandered as she recalled the opening paragraph of the first research paper she had written in college on Michelangelo, which detailed how he received a commission from Pope Julius II for five hundred ducats to paint the Sistine Chapel.
Rose had always been fascinated by the depth and breadth of how Michelangelo conceived and ultimately created this masterpiece. After all, the irreverent Michelangelo considered himself a sculptor and really wanted to create the pope’s immortal tomb, which was the higher-paying assignment requiring more skill. The art of fresco demanded that he conquer an expanse of twelve thousand square feet of wall space. Fresco was notoriously difficult to master as it required that the artist paint quickly on wet plaster. An artist’s design was usually transferred on this wet plaster from a cartoon, otherwise known as the artist’s template of the figure or scene that he would be painting.
Based on her research, Rose knew that Michelangelo had to execute the demolition of the existing starry heaven fresco done by Piermatteo d’Amelia, which had been damaged. Michelangelo gave the assignment to a thirty-four-year-old sculptor and artist named Piero Rosselli, a fellow Florentine whom he considered a friend. Rosselli engineered a suspended scaffolding system approximately sixty feet high so that his team could reach the ceiling without interfering with services below. The aisles also needed to be clear so that the priests could continue holding services in this sanctuary.
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