Storming Venice

by Anna E Bendewald

  CHAPTER

  11

  Early the next morning, Raphielli left the palazzo for her appointment at the Lombardi Salon. She’d canceled her breakfast with Alphonso because the salon was providing pastries and fruit. It wasn’t far, and it wasn’t raining, so she decided to enjoy a rare walk in the sunshine. She’d just crossed the bridge when she felt gripped by an urgent feeling. I’m being followed!

  Flooded with fear, her brain told her to run, but she forced herself to turn around. She locked eyes with a man standing in front of the palazzo. In an instant, he turned, hurried behind a stone pillar, and then raced down the steps to the lower calle, disappearing into the shadows. In her head, she heard Alphonso and Cardinal Negrali’s reassurances that these men were just tourists. They’re wrong. Tourists don’t sprint or act suspicious, they stroll.

  As she speed-walked to the salon, she mulled over what was unusual about these men she’d been spotting in the weeks since the attack. Tourists have cameras, and maps, and carry souvenirs, even if they don’t have the backpacks of the hearty bohemian trekkers. The man she’d just seen was wearing polished dress shoes that glinted in the sun. They had the mirror shine she’d seen on military shoes for parades. She looked back frequently but didn’t see him again.

  A few hours later Raphielli was making her way to the address where she was meeting Giselle and her friends. The designer had rented an apartment in the same fashionable siestre as the salon. She had to make a real effort to tear her eyes away from the young lady who replaced her reflection in every shop window. The hairdresser had done a treatment that added gloss and bounce to her curls, so now they shimmered and coiled smoothly as they swung free against her shoulders. A makeup artist had applied a hint of cosmetics and transformed her face as if by magic. Her cheekbones glowed, and her eyes were shadowed with smoky shimmers that made them luminous. Her lips had been glossed for the first time in her life. They felt enormous…and tasted like cantaloupe.

  She found the address and liked the look of the apartment. Above the door was a homey piece of folk art made from mismatched windows nailed together. Raphielli tentatively poked the buzzer, and the door was opened by a pretty blonde woman with a sky-high beehive hairdo. She was wearing a frothy yellow ballerina skirt and mismatched shoes, and her hand was casually draped across her bare breasts. She called over her shoulder in a heavy French accent, “Raphielli’s here! You’re right, Gigi. She’s got big Italian boobs and hips like Gina Lollobrigida. The striped dress won’t look right on her.”

  Raphielli would have died of shame at someone judging her body, but this young blonde appeared to be the most natural woman in the world, without a trace of criticism. She tried not to stare as the blonde said, “Bonjour, Elli. I’m Carolette.”

  Carolette dropped her hand, not caring if anyone passing by saw her breasts, and Raphielli got a complete education of what medium-sized French boobs look like. Carolette wrapped her arms around Raphielli warmly. “You don’t mind if I call you Elli, do you?” Without waiting for an answer, she pulled Raphielli into the apartment and led the way down a hall. Raphielli admired how the sway of her new friend’s hips made the frothy material swish about, and noticed that movement was accentuated because one of her shoes was shorter than the other.

  “Um, you’re wearing different shoes.”

  “Oui. Ava can’t decide which dress she wants me to wear, so we don’t know about the shoes yet. They’re both beautiful, so I don’t care.”

  Inside the living room, Carolette pointed at an ultra-chic woman with a head of thick dark hair in a retro style. “That’s Ava. All the clothes on these racks are her designs. She’s dressing us for her show and the party afterward. Couldn’t you just die?”

  “I didn’t know there was a party.” Raphielli eyed a topless model emerging from a room fanning her armpits.

  “Oh, but of course there’s a party. We’ll all be dressed up and we’ve got to celebrate the show’s success.”

  Raphielli smiled at Ava, who looked up from riffling through some dresses and gave her a warm smile. “Ciao, Raphielli. I have some nice things for you to try on.” She spoke with a French accent but looked more like an Italian.

  Some assistants whisked a garment rail full of dresses away, and Raphielli spotted Giselle, who’d been behind it. She was completely naked except for a colorful headpiece of flowers, butterflies, and cherries that looked like a cross between a small hat and a big crown. She extended her arms above her as a pretty brunette lowered a sunshine-yellow striped party dress over her head.

  Raphielli knew it was a sin, but she instantly coveted Giselle’s figure. That smooth body was like a miraculous blend of athlete and woman. She knew Giselle was a few years older than her, but everything was higher and tighter and leaner, and beautiful in a way that made her want to stare. Her eyes traveled down, and she was scandalized when she saw there was no hair on her Mound of Venus. Dragging her eyes away from her friend’s privates as the dress fell into place, she instead focused on her happy face.

  Giselle waved at her. “Raphielli, you look beautiful!” She gestured over her shoulder, indicating the dark-haired young woman who was dressing her. “This is Fauve. Fauve, meet Raphielli.”

  Ava beckoned her over and indicated a group of dresses on hangers. “Raphielli, please try on each of these.”

  Looking at the women around her in varying states of nudity, Raphielli fought down her shame and moved into a corner where she began to undress. Fauve came over to help, but after a quick head-to-toe assessment said, “Come with me. Let’s get you waxed.”

  Embarrassed, she shut her eyes while the technician maneuvered her arms and legs, expertly repositioning them as she waxed Raphielli’s armpits and legs and then took every hair from her private areas. She’d endured Salvio’s punishment without uttering a sound, so having hot wax applied to and yanked off her body was no real discomfort.

  As the technician diligently massaged lotion over her most delicate and private skin, an unbidden fantasy came that they were Alphonso’s hands. His dark eyes were filled with hunger and he kissed her full on the mouth, moaning as he stroked and explored her. As she left the waxing room, she let her hair fall across her too-red cheeks.

  Fauve helped her into a very pretty bra, hoisting her breasts up into a prominent position without saying a word, and then zipped her into the most beautiful dresses she’d ever seen. They made the dress she’d bought recently look like a bathrobe. Ava chose which dress she would wear, and Raphielli was thrilled. Then after a quick hair and cosmetic touch up, she tried on the blue suede shoes with little orange bows that Ava had set out for her. They were apparently called kitten heels, and they were surprisingly comfortable. She practiced walking around the apartment with no problem.

  By one o’clock, she, Giselle, Ava, Carolette, and Fauve were on their way to Harry’s Bar, and Raphielli felt like she fit in with them in her beautiful blue party dress with tangerine accents. Ava and the other ladies were wearing cunning little headpieces that celebrated spring, even though it was now turning winter in Venice. And Ava had thoughtfully created a neckpiece for her that stylishly covered the damage her scarf usually concealed.

  Walking down the calle with Giselle and these fashionable women was a new experience. The way they moved was so different from her. Giselle and her friends had an affinity for their femininity that she didn’t have. They moved like rare, glamorous animals that men could never tame. Passersby smiled and stared after them.

  They were welcomed at Harry’s Bar and shown to a reserved table. She was confused by how she felt about the sensation of sitting without underpants. An assistant had taken hers and made them disappear along with her other clothes and her shoes. The woman’s handling of them gave the impression they’d be thrown into the garbage, but she didn’t object because she now saw them through new eyes.

  As these French girls chatted, Raphielli felt energized. She wondered if this was what Kate and Juliette had intended. Maybe th
ey were right. She’d been lonely. She couldn’t deny that she felt better now than she had in…well…ever.

  Seated next to her, Giselle asked, “How do the shoes feel?”

  “Good. I’ve never worn heels before.”

  Carolette leaned over. “Elli those aren’t heels.”

  “They have a heel. Really, they do.”

  “Okay, training heels. I’ll give you that.” Carolette’s tone was teasing.

  “I wouldn’t be able to walk if they were higher.”

  Fauve winked at her. “You’ll have to work on weight distribution with that booty and your fabulous boobs.”

  Raphielli could tell it was a compliment, but for the life of her couldn’t think of a response, so she just smiled. Just then, she spotted Alphonso, Zelph, and a dignified older man following the host to a nearby table. She raised a hand to get their attention, and the cousins came over.

  Alphonso looked like he was in shock. “Raphielli? Is that you?” But when he looked over and saw Giselle, his mouth dropped open and he appeared thunderstruck.

  “I went to the salon. Remember, I told you? What are you doing here?”

  “I thought you were going to a fashion show.” He stared at her and then said, “Uh, we’re here with my uncle. That’s Zelph’s father.” He indicated the man they came in with, who raised a hand and smiled from across the room.

  Raphielli waved back and then smiled up at Alphonso. She was enjoying the look on his face and hoped she looked as pretty as his friend Gina. “Alphonso, Zelph, these are my friends.” She introduced everyone.

  Carolette gushed, “Elli! You have very handsome friends!”

  Alphonso looked amused. “Did she just call you Elli?”

  Fauve exclaimed, “Quelle surprise! Alphonso! Wonderful to see you in Venice!”

  “Ah b’jour, Fauve! Small world!” He smiled with genuine pleasure and then went to her end of the table. “How’s Henri?” He leaned over to exchange fond cheek kisses with Fauve, which caused an unexpected pang of jealousy to stab at Raphielli’s heart.

  “Oh, you know, taking care of business,” she replied before turning to Raphielli. “Alphonso has stayed at my hotel a couple of times.”

  Raphielli realized it must be the hotel where he stayed when he spied on Giselle for Salvio. Of course, none of these ladies would know that.

  Carolette batted her eyes and licked her lips provocatively. “I can’t believe Fauve kept you all to herself when you came to France.” She thrust out her breasts and arched her back. “No men have welcomed us to Venice. Say you’ll meet us for drinks after the show. We’ll be at The Gritti Palace hotel bar.” The cousins agreed, and when Carolette offered to give Zelph her number, he leaned closer to her than he needed to as he tapped it into his phone.

  After lunch as Raphielli and her friends left the restaurant, the cousins watched them go as if they were celebrities. Her group waved, and Carolette blew kisses.

  When they arrived at the show, Ava headed backstage, but the magazine and society photographers kept their cameras trained on the rest of them. Raphielli got over her feeling of intimidation when Elene Buonocore, the mayor’s wife, greeted her warmly as they were ushered to the front row.

  Carolette leaned over Fauve and asked, “So Elli, who’s your lover now that you have no husband?”

  Shocked, Raphielli shook her head. What a bizarre question asked so matter-of-factly. But even Giselle looked at her expectantly. Am I supposed to take a lover? How would that work?

  “I don’t have one.”

  Carolette pooched out her lower lip. “You must have a good vibrator.”

  “A what? Nuh…no.”

  “Then how do you take care of your orgasms?”

  Raphielli looked from one woman to the other.

  Giselle broke the awkward pause. “I don’t think she knows what that is, or what you’re getting at.”

  “I love my vibrator. I’m too lazy to work myself up manually,” Fauve said.

  Raphielli didn’t think she liked where this conversation was going.

  “Oh, mon Dieu.” Fauve looked concerned. “Cherie, did your husband ever give you an orgasm?”

  “From the looks on your faces…I think…no.”

  Carolette came alive. “Well then, I’ll take you to get the best vibrator. Once you know how to give yourself one, you can help your next partner give you an O.”

  Fauve nodded. “And judging from the way Alphonso looked at you, I’d say you’re one cognac away from taking him as a lover.”

  “He’s very nice.” Raphielli felt herself blushing. “But, no.”

  “Ah, those big, strong, long-haired, darkly handsome cousins…are you kidding? If you don’t want Alphonso, can I have him to make a sandwich with Zelph?” Carolette asked.

  Raphielli had no idea what she was talking about, but it sounded forbidden. “What would I do with a lover?”

  Fauve raised an eyebrow. “Hopefully have a lot of fun and a few orgasms.”

  “And why do I need an orgasm?”

  “Oh, you must orgasm. Frequently.” Carolette became serious. “They’re necessary for your nerves, mental health, and circulation.”

  “Mais oui, you can become unbalanced without frequent release…at least become really grouchy to be around.” Fauve tilted her head and nodded enthusiastically. “They’re great for the complexion.”

  Raphielli turned her attention to Giselle’s glowing skin. “Oh, Maria madre misericordiosa. Vincenzo must give you the best orgasms.”

  Giselle blushed prettily.

  “Oui.” Fauve leaned close, inspecting Giselle’s face. “It’s a wonder this lucky girl can walk.”

  Then the lights went down and the stage lit up. Music started, and a video of butterflies burst into life on the curtain. Two models stepped out from behind it and came down the runway, one following the other. Raphielli studied the way they walked in their spiked heels, prancing almost like ponies. She’d never seen women walk with a stride that lifted their legs the way these girls did, but it made their legs look sensational. They were wearing short pants, and lace tanks with cropped jackets. When they reached the end of the platform, they struck poses, whipped their jackets off as they spun around, switched positions, and then the one who’d been in the back started up the runway first.

  Raphielli noticed there were hundreds of phones held in the air, everyone filming and taking pictures. Some people in the front row were writing on notepads balanced on their knees with one hand and holding their phones up with the other. Everyone looked impressed with the first two outfits. When two beauties wearing dresses similar to Raphielli’s strutted out, the audience burst into oohs and ahs.

  Alphonso ordered a seltzer and lime from the bartender and Zelph ordered a whiskey and soda before turning to check out the room. “I gotta tell you, Al, you clean up good. I haven’t seen you wear a suit since cousin Ophelia’s wedding.”

  “In my line of work, I want to blend. Tonight, I want to look like I belong at The Gritti.”

  “Boy, you were right about Giselle. I can’t think of a word for her kind of beauty! Shame you didn’t get any photos when you found her riding that blonde guy out in Gernelle when they thought no one was looking.”

  “Eh, no matter how many drinks you have tonight, you’re not going to breathe a word of what we know about the Veronas.”

  “Right, not even what Vincenzo and Leonardo are up to.” Zelph looked at his phone. “Carolette just texted. They’re here. I bet you can’t wait to get another look at Raphielli’s makeover.”

  Alphonso felt an adolescent thrill as she walked across the room into his arms for a chaste embrace. People stared. The manager approached them. “This way to the Verona’s reserved table.”

  Alphonso held a chair out for Raphielli. “What would you like to drink?”

  “Water, please.”

  “Here, taste this.” He let her have a sip of his.

  “Mmm, that’s nice. What is it?”


  “Club soda with lime.”

  “I’ll have one of those.”

  He gave the order to a hovering waiter and sat down next to her. “So, how was the show?”

  “I had fun! I even shopped. I was with experts, and when I pointed to something the girls didn’t agree with, they told me.”

  “Helpful,” he said.

  “I bought some skirts and blouses for work. Here, look at the pictures on my phone.”

  He glanced through the photos. Her new purchases were nicely cut skirts in pretty colors. One even came slightly above the knee. The outfits were conservative and modern. “You’ll look great in these.”

  She accepted her drink from a waiter. “Ava promised she’d take me shopping and help me get everything I need for a proper wardrobe. We’re going before she returns to France.”

  “That’s very nice of her.”

  “Sì, Giselle’s friends are all nice. Imagine me having a wardrobe!” She sounded giddy.

  “You deserve it.”

  “A new me!” She grinned. “Did you see my shoes?” She lifted her glossy leg to show him the dainty shoes. “They have a heel. See?”

  He reached down, felt a tiny little heel, and hid a grin. “Look at you in heels.”

  A crowd flocked to the bar’s entrance and he looked up to see Juliette, Vincenzo, Leonardo, and Giselle’s buzzed blonde Russian artist consort come through the door as a group. People’s phones turned their way to snap photos. The bar and restaurant staff flew into action bringing bottles of champagne. They joined the group and congratulated Ava on her show, which was already being hailed as a “Smash of Fresh, Forward, and Feminine” or #AvaSFFF on social media.

  Juliette gave seating orders, arranging for Markus and Carolette to be ensconced in a cozy corner of the huge table. “You two have been apart for too long.” She gave a knowing smile to Markus. “Having to leave such a treasure behind in France has been hard for you.”

  Zelph refused to be put off and squeezed next to Carolette on the other side. She appeared pleased. Zelph was a natural ladies’ man and rightly deduced that as Giselle’s secret lover, there was only a remote chance of Markus noticing Carolette. Zelph extended his hand across Carolette’s cleavage and introduced himself to the reserved artist. “I’m Zelph.”