The Artist's Love

by Z. L. Arkadie

  Everyone left in the room looks at each other as though we’ve been hit by a Mack truck.

  “He is very odd,” Lupo says.

  I nod slowly. “You can say that again.”

  Regardless, we pack our things and go. I landed the interview of my flailing career, and I just hope we have enough footage to make it an interesting and engaging piece.

  8

  We get back to the station, and the first thing I do is look for Aiden. I head to Elsa’s office. She’s behind her desk, typing on her laptop.

  “Where is he?” I ask.

  “He’s in good hands. I gave him to Fluvia.”

  I walk from her office directly to Fluvia’s desk. I scan her workspace for something that would indicate the presence of a child. “Where’s Aiden?”

  “He is eating lunch with Francesco.”

  I walk to Francesco’s cube. It’s empty, but I hear what sounds like his voice coming from down the hall. I follow the laughs and merry high-pitched voices into the break room, where Francesco and Olivia, another staffer, are at a table, scribbling with Aiden.

  Olivia looks at me. “He is a natural artist.”

  Aiden turns to me with bright eyes and throws his hands up. “See, Madre!”

  “Ciao, bello. Are you having fun?”

  “Si, si,” he says, shaking his hands.

  I kneel, so Olivia gets up and Francesco slides to his left to make some space. I look at Aiden’s drawing.

  “I have some crayons in my purse,” Olivia says.

  I trace my fingers across the drawing. “Is this Mommy and you?”

  Aiden points at the stick figure of the woman. “Mommy.” He taps the other image. “Aiden,” he says in his little boy’s voice.

  “He finished eating, and we had fun,” Olivia says.

  “Molto,” Francesco says, waving. “Now we must go back to work.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  They leave the break room just as Elsa walks to the door.

  “How did it go?” she asks.

  “I don’t know. I think you should be the judge of it.”

  She waves, motioning me to follow her. “Allora, let’s go to the editing room and take a look.”

  I pick up Aiden and follow her to the editing room. On our way, she turns back and gives me disapproving eyes.

  The footage starts playing on the screens in front of us. It’s as stiff and awkward as I thought.

  Elsa looks at me and takes a deep breath. Alessandro, the editor, is trying to piece this together.

  “It looks like the subject might be a little unenthusiastic,” she says.

  “I thought that might be the case,” I say. “Believe me, I tried to spruce him up while on location.”

  “I know. I’m sure you did,” she says.

  Aiden starts whimpering with his face buried in the crook of my neck. I bounce him in my arms, but I gather he’s just tired from a long day. He probably hasn’t even had a nap.

  Elsa looks at me. “You’d better go home and rethink your decision about unhiring the nanny.”

  I slump my shoulders. “Agreed.”

  After I get to my car, strap Aiden in, and get the AC blowing, I shuffle for my phone, look up Floriana’s number, and call. It goes to voice mail, and I leave her a message.

  Next I stop by the bakery for some fresh bread. I’m lucky enough to find a parking space nearby, which makes it easier on Aiden. He’s still asleep when I put him in the stroller. The aroma of fresh-baked bread simmers in the air.

  When we arrive, I’m not surprised to see a line almost out the door. The inside is packed with people like sardines in a can. I squeeze in and try to hold my spot in line. I wonder if I should’ve even made this stop. I look down at Aiden. His head is resting against the side of the stroller, eyes closed. He’s out like a light.

  Somebody bumps my shoulder, edging himself one place in front of me. I realize I’m about as tired as Aiden and decide to just head back to the car and go home.

  I start backing my stroller out, making sure to bump the people behind me out of the way with my hips. A man appears right in front of me.

  “Excuse me,” I say while trying to spin the stroller around.

  “Ciao, Liza,” he says, eyes wide.

  I stop moving the stroller for a second and look up. My smile forms almost instantly.

  He’s dressed again in a white cotton tee, his masculinity stretching the shirt’s limits. His pants are again stained by paint. His face brightens. The captivating glimmer of orange and green in his eyes warms my body. I feel as if the crowded store has emptied and it’s just him, Aiden, and me.

  “Gianfranco, ciao.” I can’t believe it’s actually him, here in the bakery.

  His posture shifts as another patron forces by.

  “I’m sorry.” I turn to look behind me again. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

  He looks at Aiden, then steps past me with masculine force.

  “Scuasami. Scusami,” he says with authority.

  I feel the people behind me part like the Red Sea. I look at him, feeling surprised… relieved… I slowly back my stroller out through the door.

  When we get outside, I say, “Thank you.”

  He bows his head gently. “You are welcome.”

  We fall awkwardly silent.

  “I thought you had people to come down here and buy your bread,” I say with a smile.

  He chuckles. “Nope, I buy my own bread.” He looks down at Aiden. “So is this your baby?”

  I follow his gaze. “Yeah, this is my son.”

  “Then you are married?”

  I throw a hand up. “No! I mean, no,” I say more calmly. “I’m divorced.”

  “Oh.” The glimmer in his eyes returns. He bends down. “What is his name?”

  “Aiden.”

  Gianfranco’s eyes peer up at me. “Little Fire?”

  I feel my eyes brighten. “Yes, Little Fire. That’s what it means.”

  He looks around. There are people bustling everywhere. “He could sleep through WWII, no?”

  I chuckle. “And World War I.”

  He looks back at Aiden. “Good for you.” He stands, and our eyes meet again.

  “Well, did you come for nothing?” he asks.

  I sigh as I peer into the store behind him. “I was going to get a baguette, but—”

  “They’re like animals in there.” He throws his thumb over his shoulder, pointing at the bakery.

  My face brightens, although I doubt as much as his. “Yes, animali.” I raise my index finger declaratively with a smile.

  He laughs, nodding confidently, then stops. He looks at me, deadpan serious. “How many do you want?”

  “I was going to buy two.”

  Again, we’re caught in one another’s stare.

  “Here.” He reaches his arm out, offering me his bag from the bakery. “Take mine.”

  My mouth falls open in astonishment. “I can’t.”

  “But you must. It is my way. The Italian way.”

  I take the bag humbly. “Grazie.”

  “Prego.” His head gives a little bow.

  My phone rings. I don’t want to stop talking to Gianfranco, but it might be Floriana. “Excuse me, I must take this.”

  He motions with both of his hands. “Sure.”

  I reach into my purse and grab my phone. Sure enough, it’s her. I tuck the phone into my ear, turning away from him. “Pronto, Floriana. How are you?”

  She sounds down.

  I waste no time in telling her I need her, if, of course, she’ll still work for me. I listen closely to see if that will brighten her spirits, but I have trouble hearing her over the sounds of the busy street. I just come right out and apologize, remembering how devastated she was when I told her I was letting her go.

  There’s a gentle tap on my shoulder while I’m listening carefully with my phone cupped over my ear. I turn. It’s Gianfranco.

  “I will see you later,” he says
with a passionate glance into my eyes and a quick wave.

  I cover my phone. “Oh, okay. Right. Thank you, thank you.”

  I watch him slowly disappear into the passing crowd, my mind fogged by his leaving.

  “Hello, hello?” I hear Floriana on my phone.

  “Yes?” I can’t remember what she just said. I decide to cut right to the chase. “Will you come back tomorrow morning?”

  She asks me to hold.

  I stand on my tiptoes, scanning the length of the street to catch another glimpse of Gianfranco.

  Floriana returns. “Yes, yes. I will come tomorrow. Same time?”

  “Oh yes, please. The same time.”

  “Arrivederci,” she says.

  9

  Aiden and I get home. The smell of the fresh baguettes in the front seat kept my mind occupied with Gianfranco during the whole drive. We go into the house, and I make us some dinner. While Aiden is eating his spaghetti, my phone rings. It’s Salvatore. I let it go to voice mail.

  I put Aiden to bed. He’s a little fussy, but it isn’t long before he’s out. I take a hot shower, and afterward, I slip into a comfortable white silk nightie and a soft robe. I grab some grana Padano cheese, red wine, and the fresh bread.

  I set my plate and glass of wine on the small table on the patio before I settle into the lounger beside it and absorb the fallen sun. The sky’s violet, purple, and orange colors are about to fade into night.

  I take a bite of my bread, smiling. I wouldn’t be having this exact moment if it weren’t for Gianfranco. Who would have thought that after calling him so many times for the coveted interview, and finally getting it, I’d see the man of mystery twice in one day? I raise my glass to the sky and toast. To something.

  I search my feelings. “To an unusual day and an intriguing new man,” I say, finishing my toast.

  The next morning, when I arrive at my desk, I find a note. “The package is ready,” it reads.

  I head to the break room, grab a cup of coffee, then go to the editing room to review the copy. Elsa and Alessandro are already there.

  “Look at this,” she says, pointing at the screen enthusiastically.

  Before long, I see that Alessandro has crafted the dull snippets of the interview into something that flows seamlessly.

  “I just want you to know you have done just a fantastic job,” Elsa says while rubbing my shoulder.

  I take a sip of my coffee. “Thank you.” I continue to watch, admiring our work for several minutes. All of the parts that I thought would be problematic have been resolved.

  “The dress you wore is just to die for,” Alessandro says.

  I’d gotten lucky there since I’d just happened to be wearing my favorite Marchesa that day.

  “I don’t know how you did it, but you made it come alive like magic,” I say to Alessandro.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Elsa taking a sip of coffee and snickering.

  “It was easy,” Alessandro says. “Once I figured out the problem.”

  “What problem?” I say.

  “You do not see?” His voice rises as if it’s obvious.

  “See what?”

  “He has a crush on you.”

  I blush. “Oh, I doubt that.”

  Although the idea does get my juices flowing. Last night I fell asleep fantasizing about his firm body pressing deeply into mine. He was warm and strong and gave me so much pleasure.

  “Well, that wouldn’t be all bad,” Elsa says, looking at me over the rim of her glasses.

  “Come on, you guys, that’s enough,” I say.

  “If the shoe fits.” Elsa winks and takes a sip of her coffee.

  “Then wear it,” Alessandro finishes her thought. “I know I would.”

  He flips through the segment and stops on a portion where the camera has caught Gianfranco staring at me. Elsa looks at me, her eyes wide. I laugh lightly, continuing to play it off like they’re just deranged, but I see what they mean. Gianfranco is looking at me like he wants me.

  The footage concludes, and Elsa says, “We are going to start running promotions today. This airs tomorrow evening. After that, get ready for the calls.”

  I jump to my feet. “Great! Then I’ll get back to my desk and plan for more interviews.” I head out of the editing bay.

  I spend the rest of the day looking over my list of contacts and calling anyone I can to remind them that the show will air tomorrow evening. I leave early for the day and go home.

  When I arrive, Floriana is surprised to see me. She hands me a white envelope.

  “This was hand-delivered today, at noon.”

  I look at it, frowning curiously. It has very elegant gold writing on it. “Who brought it by?”

  She describes what sounds like a hired delivery service. I open the envelope. It’s an invitation to Gianfranco’s house. He’s having some sort of dinner party this Saturday, and I’m formally invited.

  I think about Alessandro’s comment from earlier, and again I dismiss it.

  I point emphatically. “I have to go get a vase.”

  “Oh?” Floriana looks at me with a confused expression.

  I explain how one of my crew members broke the vase at Gianfranco Guardi’s castle, and since I’m attending a dinner party at his place, it’s only polite to bring a replacement vase with me.

  She thinks it’s a good idea, so I take Aiden into town. We go to an elegant store that’s similar to Tiffany & Co.

  After saying hello to Rosa, the storekeeper, I ask if she has any vases. She steps from behind the counter and leads me through the maze of stuff. I pick up Aiden before I follow her though. She shows me several before I see one that I think will fit nicely in Gianfranco’s home. I set Aiden down and look at it closely. It’s decadent and looks as though it’s from the Italian Renaissance. It’s priced like it is too. But I’m captivated by its rich red and gold coloring, hand-painted flowers, a family crest, and a nude infantile angel.

  My phone rings. I hand the vase to Rosa. “This one will be fine,” I say before reaching into my purse and grabbing my phone.

  “Ciao,” Salvatore says, “How are you?”

  “I’m fine,”

  “Good,” he says. “I have been trying to call you. Where have you been?”

  “I’ve been busy. What do you want?”

  “Liza, I love you. I cannot be in life without you. I must see you.”

  I look at the floor. “I don’t know, Salvatore. You have been very…”

  “Arrogant and proud. I know,” he says.

  “And I’m not sure if I feel the same way about you.”

  “Then let me take you to dinner Saturday night. Let us talk about how I can change and make you happy.”

  Suddenly, I hear something break on the other side of the store. Quickly I look around for Aiden. “Aiden?”

  Salvatore says, “Saturday, we will have dinner somewhere very nice. No?”

  “Aiden?” I call again, looking frantically up and down the aisles.

  “Hello, hello, ciao?” Salvatore says.

  I start walking fast. “Yes, Saturday will work fine. Be at my place at eight. Now I have to go.” I hang up and turn around the corner.

  I find Aiden at the register with Rosa, playing with a pile of tiny spoons.

  He lifts one. “See, Mommy!”

  I press my palm against my heart in relief. For a moment, I thought he’d broken something very expensive.

  When I arrive at the station the next morning, I set the invitation on Elsa’s desk and pat it.

  “What is this?” she says.

  I arch my eyebrows. “Read it. It’s from Gianfranco.”

  Her eyes light up like a Christmas tree. “Look how big your smile is.”

  I chuckle, but I’m still impatient. “Hurry, read it.”

  “Okay, okay.” She opens the envelope and reads it, then looks at me. “Ooh, you’re invited to one of his famous dinner parties. And it’s this Saturday.”

&n
bsp; Suddenly I remember something. “Saturday?”

  “That’s what it says.”

  Dang it. I told Salvatore I would have dinner with him on Saturday night.

  Elsa hands back the invitation and congratulates me again on being one of the few ever invited to dinner at the great castle. I decide against telling her about my double booking, partially because I don’t want her to know that I agreed to grace Salvatore with my presence. I’m not sure I made the right decision letting him back into my life. However, I get an idea.

  I race back to my desk and call Gianfranco. I tap the desk nervously as the phone rings.

  “Castillo di Guardi,” Luther says, answering the phone.

  I proceed to tell him that I would really enjoy attending the dinner party on Saturday but have a conflicting engagement. “Would it be okay to bring a…” I stop myself before saying date. I don’t want Gianfranco to get the wrong idea. “Friend?”

  “Usually the dinner is for only those who have received invitations.” He takes a long pause. “I will check.”

  I wait impatiently, but soon he’s back and tells me it’s fine. He hangs up before I can say thank you. One thing’s for sure—Gianfranco Guardi may want to try hiring a butler who’s not so rude.

  Next I call Salvatore and tell him of the change in plans.

  “It is dinner with the pompous artist?” he says.

  “Yes,” I say sternly, holding my ground. If he doesn’t want to go, then that solves it. We might reschedule for another time—might.

  He sighs forcefully. “I must see you. It has been too long. I will do whatever I must.”

  Salvatore agrees to pick me up tomorrow at six thirty for dinner at eight thirty.

  10

  Salvatore and I face the large muted red doors. I ring the doorbell, and we wait.

  “That box is silly,” Salvatore says.

  I look at the designer box I’m carrying. Inside is the replacement vase. “Then thank goodness what I have isn’t for you.”