Armando sat behind the fountain, rendered invisible by the thick misting rainbow pouring out of the Nile god’s mouth. As he watched Sarah, he pondered the question that had been weighing heavily on him: whether or not he wanted to marry her. He’d never thought seriously about marriage before. Yet he thought it was time to pass on his lineage, and that she might be the perfect one for him. But how can I be sure? One thing is for certain: I won’t find one more beautiful. He watched her cross her legs and hesitated again. What if she’s an ice queen? Seems strange that such a beautiful woman may be a virgin at age twenty-five. I suppose it’s because of her exceedingly unpleasant father. Armando had always thought that someday he’d pick an eighteen-to twenty-year-old virgin to be the mother of his children, but his conversations with Sarah had made him realize how bored he was by such women. He could talk to Sarah, really talk to her. So perhaps this is to be the woman, the mother of my children. Perhaps it is my time. As he thought about it, he was stirred by the desire to father Pierleoni sons. He had been watching long enough; it was time to act.
“How marvelous to find you here today!” Armando said, strolling casually around the side of the gleaming rococo Bernini fountain to approach her table. “May I join you? May I order us a glass of wine to enhance the sunshine and rainbow waters?” Warmth flooded her body as she smiled up at him. He sat down very close to her and waved at a waiter. A wise woman with silver hair sitting at the table behind them looked Armando over, wondering if the beautiful girl was a fool.
“Have you had lunch? Would you like a salad?” Armando asked. Sarah felt like she was in the middle of a movie.
The outrageous Bernini fountain was alive with dancing ecstatic children splashing their hands, faces, and arms in aquamarine water. Sarah loved their joy, and she loved the sensuality of Bernini’s sculpture. Armando laughed when the periodic sprinkles made her bare legs sparkle. She shivered when his insistent hand grasped her left arm firmly while his other hand softly brushed over her breast as he reached over to stroke her exposed neck. Staring intently into her green-flecked eyes, he said in a low voice, “Sarah, have you ever wanted to feel the ripples of an orgasm moving through you and blinding your mind? Have you ever thought of me with longing? You are as exquisite as this wild fountain with sun filtering through the mist. You have captured me with your beauty; I want to know what you feel.”
This early summer day was truly ecstatic, his knowing touch thrilling, so she lost herself in his dark seeking eyes as her cheeks blushed from his closeness. What did he just say? She felt like she was going to faint when his words registered, and Bernini’s orgasmic sculpture of St. Teresa in the Church of Santa Maria flashed in her mind. Dense pulsing in her sacrum dulled her mind, and a knot tied in her brain as if his hand had reached into her skull and made a fist. As his voice penetrated her consciousness, it felt as though the rushing scene of color and sound was inside her head instead of out in the world.
The woman behind them thought the girl looked like she was about to fall out of her chair. Armando broke in, “Are you all right? Did I scare you? Are you okay?” She’d turned ghostly pale, as if she were about to pass out, just like St. Teresa fainting in ecstasy.
Sarah was staring at Armando. This is so bizarre I can’t register it. In a quick flash the skin on his brown and toned arm had transformed into iridescent green scales. For a millisecond his tongue was slithering, and his eyes had turned amber and were glinting under a strange protrusion on his forehead. She struggled to regain her composure, thinking her vision was an overreaction to his provocative words. How Italian of him, really. I’m old enough. We know each other well enough for him to say that. Once she had absorbed what he’d just said, a great welling stream of hot fire moving through her body made her feel thick. Spontaneously she rose out of her seat and kissed him on his quivering mouth.
He closed his eyes, savoring the touch of her delicate and searching lips while he lightly touched her ribcage, moving his hand under her breast. The elegant lady behind them stood up and marched inside to pay her bill. Typical Romans, such damned exhibitionists! Sarah sat back down and tried to slow down her breathing while Armando paid the bill. They decided to take a short bus trip to the Spanish Steps, where eventually they made their way to the lower terrace traditionally favored by lovers.
Positioning her so her back rested against an alabaster railing that had weathered into encrusted oyster shell, he pressed his groin firmly into her body and ran his fingers through her hair. This time he kissed her, and she melted into hot rushing waves. She gasped, “Armando, I think we’d better slow this down. I don’t know what this means to either of us. I need time; I need to go home and pull myself together.”
“So do I,” he said breathing heavily. He was delighted by his progress. “There is no hurry.” Somewhat reluctantly they went their separate ways.
An old man standing a few steps up on the rising stairs above the terrace wished they’d stay all day just for his own entertainment. Ah, Rome! The city of romance!
Sarah had planned to go to the library to do some research, but she could not think straight. Now what am I going to do? I’m doing things I thought I didn’t want to do, but I’ve never felt like this before. After all, I don’t even know what his intentions are. I have no idea! I wonder if this could be love? If it is, it feels like the flu coming on! Tortured by these thoughts, she uncharacteristically gave up on studying and called her mother. Her mother, Mary, listened carefully while Sarah expressed her feelings, and then responded in her truthful way, “Of course, I’m sure he is a very lovely person, but is he interested in your work? Do you share your thoughts with him? Does he really know you very well? What is he interested in?”
Mary’s questions jostled Sarah’s besotted mind. She had to admit that Armando had no idea what she thought about, no idea about her quest. Worse, she didn’t know what Armando thought about, not at all. Maybe understanding his love for painting is enough? Regardless, I’m just so physically attracted to him that I don’t care about telling him about my research. Maybe I don’t care because I have Simon to talk to?
She replied, “Mom, I’m very confused because I’m so attracted to him! I’ve never had feelings like this. Now I see how women get attracted to the wrong person. He is handsome and sophisticated, alluring and charming, and he pursues me relentlessly. It isn’t what I ever thought I’d want, but he is sweeping me away! It’s early summer and everything is so sensual in Rome. People fall in love every day in the Piazza Navona. Maybe it is time for me to just surrender and be a woman?”
Mary switched on her inner eagle eye. Armando is fifteen years older and very rich and sophisticated. He could easily have his way with her because she’s fascinated by his lineage and his status as an aristocrat. Sarah has always sought perfection. I worry this is her blind spot. Mary replied, “I think you should come home for the month of June, maybe even July too. It will be hot in Rome, you can read at home, and I miss you!”
Sarah hadn’t even considered going home, but with Simon gone and Armando pursuing her relentlessly the trip might be just what she needed to balance herself. “Yeah, Mom, I think you’re right. I will come home as soon as possible. It is getting hot here in Rome.”
After a going-away dinner at the Doria Pamphili, Armando took Sarah home and pulled her close to his body, pressing her against the garden wall. Roiling desire enveloped her and his cologne fogged her mind. Water rushed audibly in her brain when he lightly stroked her bare back. She felt like screaming when hot energy shot up her spine, into her neck, and up into her head. As he softly kissed her neck, he felt hard nipples pressing through her blouse and said breathlessly in her ear, “I haven’t felt this way before, Sarah, not with anybody. This is not a game; it is much more serious than that. I will be here when you return; I will be waiting for you in Rome.”
After taking her to the door, Armando strolled away into the warm evening air. She went inside and hugged her body in the hallway, feeling delici
ous pleasure and joy. This is real desire! It feels like a spiritual breakthrough. Armando dialed up the doorman and walked back to his club. A seventeen-year-old darling from Milan would be waiting for him in the parlor by the casino.
Sarah was all packed when the phone rang at midnight. When she told Simon of her upcoming trip, he responded excitedly, “No kidding! I’m leaving Jerusalem and going to New York to do some work at the Times, maybe for the whole summer. This is great, Sarah, great! I can come see you in Boston to meet your mother and see William again. Maybe you can come to New York or to my parent’s summerhouse on Shelter Island? Will you?”
Sarah said she would love to see him over the summer. After falling into bed, she fell into the twilight zone. Will I feel such strong sexual desire with Simon? Maybe this is all happening just because I am ready to have sex? Am I going to start reacting this way to any man? I’m not sure I like these feelings. What if I’d rather remain as I am?
Sarah’s mother had been right. It was so good to be in her old room, take familiar walks, and read on the porch in the oak swing.
William was relieved she’d come home after hearing from Mary how Armando was overwhelming Sarah, seducing her. He was taken aback by how much he hated the thought of it. Maybe I’d feel different if Armando wanted marriage and not just sex? But I don’t even like the idea of Armando marrying her. Of course, I’d accept it if it was what she wanted, since Armando is Catholic and Pietro’s oldest son. Meanwhile a Jew was coming for dinner! Before he had any idea what was up, Mary and Sarah had it all set up. Mary couldn’t wait to meet the courageous reporter who’d written great articles about priestly sexual abuse and the school and church closings in Boston that angered her so much. This was a young man she was sure she’d like.
Simon strode up the front walk of the Adamsons’ large nineteenth-century house, admiring the wide porch filled with comfortable chairs and swings across the front. Just exactly the house I imagined she’d grow up in, so comfortable and warm. He bounded up the stone steps wearing tennis shoes, broken-in jeans, and a lime green seersucker short-sleeved shirt. Sarah opened the door and gave him a big, friendly hug. She looked fresh and rested, healthy and relaxed, a girl he’d take a second look at any day.
William came up behind her to take Simon’s extended hand, expressing his pleasure at seeing him again. Mary came down the stairs wearing a light blue shift and sandals. Simon thought she looked just the way Sarah would look in thirty-some years except her hair was redder, her eyes more blue than green.
“Hello, Simon,” Mary said. “It is so nice of you to come all the way from New York. William has told me so many nice things about meeting you in Rome.” She smiled at him with Irish eyes crinkling with fine wrinkles. She liked his shy and respectful manner and his healthy, relaxed body. She warmed to his deliberate clear brown eyes set in a kind face. Spritz, the Adamsons’ floppy golden retriever, sniffed Simon’s thigh and then turned and walked away, wagging his flowing tail.
After a drink and crackers and cheese on the porch, they moved to a large dining room with golden oak beams, milk glass sconces, and gleaming butterscotch wainscotting. Mary brought out coq au vin with potatoes, salad, and asparagus, and they all felt very comfortable while they enjoyed dinner. Simon felt right at home when the conversation moved deep into the difficulties and scandals in the Church, the pernicious confusion and pain in American parishes. William had gotten over his initial anger at Simon and admitted he wondered if the Vatican was ever going to do anything about the abuse. If they didn’t, why would the clergy change? How could Catholics trust the Church anymore? It looked like the pope wanted the faithful to just shrink back into hard-core believers who would obey the rules. But who would pay for that?
“It was amazing to be in Jerusalem,” Simon volunteered.
Yeah, sure, William was thinking, especially since you’re a Jew.
Simon guessed what William was thinking and said, “You know what? It’s as much of a shrine for Christians and Muslims as it is for Jews. The ancient city is filled with the sacred sites of all three major religions. The most amazing one I visited is Mary’s Tomb, a site you’d never hear about unless you went to Jerusalem. There’s a Greek Orthodox Church above the tomb now. Over hundreds of years a series of churches were built on the site to guard this significant tomb. Muslims and Eastern Christians believe it is the tomb of the mother of God. The Muslims revere Jesus as one of the fourteen prophets before Muhammed.”
“I’d never heard about that, had you, Mary?” William said, amazed.
Simon continued. “The Persians destroyed the early church next to Mary’s tomb in 614 CE, other churches were built there and destroyed, and even the Crusaders built a church there in 1130 that Saladin destroyed. But no one has ever disturbed the tomb of the mother of God, which has been intact for two thousand years! I went down into it and it has a very special feeling.”
“Imagine that,” said Mary. “Imagine being able to pray in a place where the mother of Jesus may be buried.”
After her parents went to bed, Simon and Sarah sat out on the porch listening to peepers, crickets, and frogs in a pond nearby. He said, “Your home is exactly as I imagined it, and your mother is so lovely. You take after her. Are you happy to be home for a while? Do you miss Rome?”
Sarah’s mind went to Rome and Armando, and what came out of her mouth surprised her. “I don’t know why, but I feel I have to say something even though we are just friends. I saw a lot of Armando Pierleoni while you were in Jerusalem. I’ve come home to assess my feelings. He’s interested in me, and I don’t know how I feel. I thought you should know.”
At first Simon felt alarmed and shaken, and then he got angry. He was in for a battle, a battle that he intended to win. The only question was how to do it. He tapped into his intuitive, persuasive element and volunteered in a slightly sarcastic voice, “Well, how fascinating,” as he snuck a covert glance at her long bare legs resting on the porch rail.
“Fascinating?” she replied.
“Well, yes. You are in Rome studying sources that suggest true Christianity got derailed right there. So, now you are dating a guy who is a classic Catholic Roman aristocrat, a guy from a family that produced a few popes.” While saying that, he realized he had to get her to Shelter Island to meet his mother. He didn’t know why; he just knew. “Sarah, you and I are very close in our own way. You mean a lot to me, probably more than you think. I’d have to meet this guy to see what he’s like before I’d have anything to say about him. But while we’re here, I wonder if you’d do something special just for me? I want you to meet my parents. Can you come to New York, and then I will drive you out to our summerhouse on Shelter Island? They’d love to meet you, and it would be like a small vacation for me. Will you come?”
They made plans on the spot. After he left, she had some time to think about it. I really do want to know what his parents are like. I feel like I am caught in a great riptide. Simon just makes me feel good; he always has. I love his quiet strength. He seems to know himself so well. Sarah was happy he cared about what she was doing while he was away.
12
Shelter Island
The cab exited off the Brooklyn Bridge to Brooklyn Heights and dropped Sarah off in front of an ivy-covered brownstone—35 Pierrepont Street. She caught her breath when she realized she was breaking her promise to her father by visiting Simon alone. She’d been so focused on what to wear for meeting his parents, and as she rushed to hop the morning train from Boston and then to check into her hotel in New York, she had forgotten her father’s admonitions. Well, better than visiting Armando alone. I suppose Simon will just take me out to dinner after I see the house.
The heavy iron knocker on the shiny dark green wooden door echoed within. Simon opened the large door. “Welcome to the house where I grew up!” He hugged her affectionately, pulling her close. Noticing reticence mixed with anticipation in her face, he gently released her and said, “I do hope you won’t mind, but I co
uldn’t resist cooking for you. This is a wonderful house, better than any restaurant in the city. If you love old houses this one is a gem. Welcome!”
Sarah scanned the elegant hall with appraising eyes. It was about twenty-four feet long and ten feet wide with twelve-foot ceilings. A tall, narrow staircase on the left rose way up to a landing and then turned to hook onto an open second-story balcony. Staircase and balcony were both edged by an ornate iron and brass railing. Spotting closed gleaming wooden doors upstairs, she was hit with a sudden urge to go up and explore. This is like walking into a temple. A brass, gas-electric fixture on a long stem subtly illuminated the ceiling in the lower hallway, which was decorated with ornate plaster-raised geometrical designs. Craning her neck, she could see a partially visible oval mural of an azure blue sky with fluffy white clouds around an oval skylight of thick feather glass in the coved second floor ceiling. The building was from around 1860 and beautifully restored. To Sarah, it was like walking into Mrs. Manson Mingott’s mansion in The Age of Innocence, her favorite Edith Wharton novel.
Her father’s rules went out the window the moment she entered his house, and Simon knew it. Gently, he guided her into the parlor, occasionally brushing her back with warm and subtle touches. He loved seeing Sarah, dressed casually in a beige silk blouse over loose black pants, in his home. He snapped a picture of her in his mind’s eye as a dreamlike daguerreotype image, and then placed it on the mantle.
Revelations of the Ruby Crystal Page 12