Preaching to the Choir

by Kitty Parker

  His dark brown eyes twinkled. "Excellent choice, bella. I know I promised I would not use that word, but I cannot help it. It is all I can think of when I see your face."

  I couldn't help but smile widely as he gave me a wink and went back inside to place our orders.

  "That waiter is freaking gorgeous," I whispered conspiratorially to Eden, in part because it was the truth, but also because I hoped to veer the conversation away from a certain boy named Kurt Matthews.

  "Nice try," Eden chuckled, calling me out on my avoidance tactic. "I'm not letting you change the subject that easily."

  I snapped my fingers. "Rats."

  "Alright, so let me get this straight," she began. "You were drunk, and you made out with Kurt in your bathroom."

  "Something like that," I admitted, wincing.

  There was a pause.

  "Well, that certainly complicates things," she stated matter-of-factly.

  I was surprised, to say the least, that she hadn't reacted with complete shock. "Aren't you going to gasp or shout 'no way' or something?" I inquired.

  She shrugged. "Nah. To be honest, I saw it coming. I had a feeling that something along those lines had happened."

  "Oh," I deadpanned. "So, you're not mad at me for getting drunk and doing something really stupid?"

  "Do not judge, and you will not be judged; do not condemn, and you will not be condemned," she quoted, smiling warmly at me. "Besides, it's not like I'm perfect either. We all screw up sometimes. What sort of best friend would I be if I got mad at you for it?"

  I felt my heart swell with affection for the redhead sitting across the table. "I love you, Ede."

  "Love you, too, babe," she replied.

  "Here are your waters," Andreas announced as he swept gracefully over to our table. "Your gelato will be ready in a minute."

  We thanked him as he set our drinks down before us.

  "So," he continued smoothly. "If you do not mind me asking, where are you belle giavonni donne - that means 'beautiful young ladies' - from?"

  I blushed and began to get tongue-tied. "We're, uh, from, er, Germ - wait, no, um..."

  "We're from the United States," Eden finished for me, trying (and failing) to contain her amusement at my awkwardness.

  Andreas grinned. "Ah, the home of the brave…and beautiful," he added, giving me a wink. "What brings you to our beautiful città di Roma?"

  Flustered, I inhaled deeply in an attempt to calm myself before speaking. "We sing in a choir, and we're…er, we're here on tour."

  "I would love to hear you sing, mia cara," he replied, voice as smooth and sensual as rich dark chocolate. "Will you sing for me?"

  "What, here? Now?" I asked incredulously.

  He grinned. "Why not?"

  "We're in public," I chuckled. "I'd be too embarrassed."

  His eyes twinkled with mirth. "If you will not sing for me here, mia passione, will you sing for me on a date?"

  I was spared having to answer his proposal by one of his coworkers, who shouted to him from inside the shop.

  "Andreas, il gelato è pronto!"

  "Sì, venego!" he responded before returning his attention to us. "Scusi, ladies. I will be back in one moment." With that, he disappeared through the doorway.

  "So are you going to go out with him?" asked Eden eagerly.

  I hesitated. "I don't know, should I?"

  "Well, he is hot," answered Eden thoughtfully. "But I don't think that Kurt would be too happy about it."

  I furrowed my brow, confused. "Why's that?"

  "You did hook up with him," she reminded me.

  "True," I conceded. "But we're trying to act like things are normal again."

  "But they're not."

  I didn't know what to say to that.

  Eden tapped her finger against her chin. "Well, it's not like you can start a relationship with this guy, anyway."

  "What's the harm in one date, then?" I reasoned. "I just won't tell Kurt about it."

  "Don't lie to him, Lotte," she warned.

  "I won't," I insisted. "Not telling him something isn't lying, right?"

  She shrugged. "I guess so. Besides, Andreas is ridiculously good-looking."

  We shared a mischievous grin before the aforementioned sexy waiter returned with our gelato.

  "Hazelnut," he stated, placing Eden's dish in front of her. "And tartufo for you, mia cara. You never told me your name, you know."

  Laughing softly, I gave him a genuine smile and offered my hand for him to shake. "I'm Lotte."

  "Enchanted, Lotte" He took my outstretched hand and pressed it gently to his lips.

  A rosy blush erupted on my cheeks and I had to fight down the urge to giggle. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Eden, who was grinning as though she were high on morphine, furiously pressing buttons on her cell phone. It appeared as though someone - mostly likely Jane - would soon be in the know with regards to my little rendezvous with a hot Italian waiter.

  "So, mia bella," Andreas began. "Will you go on a date with me?"

  I couldn't help but grin. "Alright."

  He beamed at me. "Fantastico. How can I reach you?"

  I took out my purse and fished around in it, searching for the little card that Mr. Faulkner had given each of us with the name and address of each hotel we'd be staying at. Once I'd located it, along with a piece of scrap paper, I asked Andreas for a pen.

  "Of course, Lotte," he replied, taking one from his pocket and handing it to me.

  "This is my hotel address," I explained, scribbling the name and street number on the paper. "I'm in room 516. I'll be there in the evenings, I think, but if I'm not, just leave a note at the front desk with your number so we can make plans."

  "That sounds wonderful, dolcezza," he crooned as I handed him the paper. "We will be in touch, then."

  I smiled widely as he gave me a wink and headed back into the shop. I knew very well by the grin on Eden's face that my roommates were going to tease me about picking up random guys in piazzas to no end, but I felt that a date with Andreas was worth the hassle. A sexy Italian waiter had just asked me out; who was I to complain?

  Chapter 17: On an Evening in Roma

  "I can't believe you just gave your room number to some random dude you met at a gelato shop!" Jane whispered furiously in my ear.

  My eyes darted to the side, taking in the Vatican guard standing next to the entry of the Sistine Chapel, who did not appear particularly pleased. "Jane, that guard's giving you the evil eye…"

  Choosing to ignore my comment, Jane continued to chastise me, her voice a bit louder than it had previously been. "How could you be that stupid, Lotte?"

  "Er…he seemed nice?" I weakly supplied, attempting to keep the volume level down.

  "He could be a fucking rapist for all you know!" she shouted.

  The guard cleared his throat loudly.

  "Jane, you just cursed in the Vatican!" I hissed.

  "Who cares? I'm not Catholic."

  I had to resist the urge to let out a growl of frustration. "Act reverent or they won't let us into the Sistine Chapel!"

  "Fine," she grumbled. "But I'm not letting you be in the hotel room alone. When you're in there, one of us will be with you, and I don't want any arguments about it!"

  Having had her say, Jane quieted. I honestly hadn't expected her to react so violently to my story about the hot Italian waiter. Then again, in retrospect, it had been fairly stupid of me to tell a guy I'd just met where I was staying. Jane was simply looking out for my welfare.

  As we passed through the doorway into the Sistine Chapel, the guard shot us the nastiest, most intimidating look I'd ever received. I attempted to smile apologetically, but it might have come out as more of a desperate please-don't-tear-my-head-off smile.

  However large the increase in my heart rate was, it was well worth the sight I was met with upon entering the chapel.

  The long hall with high, vaulted ceilings was the most exquisite space my eyes had ever had the
pleasure to behold. The paintings were vibrantly colored, depicting prophets, sibyls, saints, ancestors of Jesus, and scenes from the books of Genesis, Exodus, Samuel, Esther, and Matthew. The chapel was ringed by large, high windows, allowing light to stream in and shine upon the frescoes. Occupying the entire wall behind the altar at the far end was an enormous depiction of the Last Judgment, Christ at the center, ringed by angels and humans alike.

  Struck dumb with awe, I stood frozen in the entryway until a girl from the violin section politely tapped me on the shoulder, subtly informing me that I was blocking the door. Regaining my senses, I quickly scampered into the chapel.

  Once I was out of the way, I began wandering around the room, head tilted back as far as my neck could stand, mouth slightly open, staring in wonder at Michelangelo's ceiling. I obviously wasn't looking where I was going, but I was nonetheless surprised when I crashed into the weird screen thing, the transenna, in the middle of the floor. Blushing, I flashed an embarrassed smile at those who had turned around to look for the source of the loud clang that had resulted from my collision. Resuming my examination of the paintings, I walked on until I had reached a spot directly below what was certainly the most famous of them, not to mention the one I was most excited to see: The Creation of Adam.

  God, seated on a cloud and surrounded by the cherubim, extended his right hand to touch the outstretched arm of Adam, lying on the grass below. Their fingers were a mere inch apart. It was impossible to describe the absolute beauty of this image of Man and God reaching for one another, yearning for that connection between Heaven and Earth, Creator and Creation, Father and child. We were all Adam, searching for meaning in a world of chaos, longing to touch something greater than ourselves, striving for the extraordinary and divine. Eden was Adam. Bryce was Adam. Kurt was Adam. I was Adam.

  "Those figures are sort of bulbous, don't you think?"

  Jumping about a foot in the air, I let out a squeak of surprise at the voice suddenly whispering in my ear.

  "I mean," Kurt continued. "I'm pretty sure that humans don't have that many muscles."

  "Kurt, we're not supposed to talk in here!" I hissed.

  Grinning, he pretended to zip his lips. He then proceeded to pantomime what he wanted to say, pointing to the figure of St. Peter in The Last Judgment, then flexing his muscles.

  I rolled my eyes.

  Continuing with his absurd charade-like behavior, Kurt indicated a female figure, standing off to the side of Jesus, whose body might have been that of a man had Michelangelo not decided to add a pair of extremely pointy breasts. He then gestured to me, making a sweeping motion up and down the length of my figure.

  I had no idea whether to interpret this as a criticism of the painting or a rude and/or lecherous comment about my body, so I simply glared at him.

  Kurt put his hands up in front of him defensively. Then, attempting to clarify what he meant, he pointed again at the woman in the painting and shook his head as if to say, "No good."

  I nodded, understanding what he was trying to say.

  Perhaps Kurt somehow misinterpreted my nod, a seemingly obvious gesture, or perhaps he was simply in the mood to be sketchy. In either case, he kept going with his nonverbal explanation, indicating my body with a motion of his hand, then giving me a thumbs-up.

  Giving him an incredibly weirded-out look, I moved away to check out the painting of the prophet Isaiah, trying to come up with interpretations of Kurt's latest pantomime other than "you have a nice body."

  Then again, I already knew that he thought I was attractive. Boners tended to give that sort of thing away.

  I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning around, I found myself face to face with Kurt - again. Giving me an innocent puppy look, he held up a piece of notebook paper that he must have fished out of his pocket.

  I meant no offense by that, he had written.

  Grabbing the paper and the pen that he offered me, I used my thigh for backing and replied.

  It was creepy.

  Kurt retrieved his writing materials and hastily scribbled a response.

  Sorry. I was just saying that Michelangelo's women look nothing like the real thing. The poor dude must have had no sex life whatsoever.

  Biting my lip to prevent myself from bursting into laughter, I once again took then pen and paper from Kurt.

  Maybe he was gay.

  We continued passing the paper back and forth, speculating about the sexcapades of one of the greatest artists of the Renaissance.

  He couldn't have been.

  Why not?

  Have you ever seen his statue of David?

  Yeah, so?

  Didn't you notice that it's sort of lacking in one particular area?

  It took me a moment to discern what he meant. When I had figured it out, I gave him a smack on the arm.

  You're gross.

  It's true.

  What, that you're gross?

  No, that David's "friend" is tiny.

  Well, it's true that you're gross, too.

  How so?

  You're writing me notes about penises in the middle of the Sistine Chapel.

  You're answering those notes. And you just used the word "penises." Does that make you gross as well?

  Touché.

  A Vatican guard, standing near the spot where Kurt and I were writing, cleared his throat and peered at us suspiciously. Smiling innocently, Kurt wrapped his arm around my shoulders and steered me away toward a corner where Eden was leaning against the wall, arms wrapped around her torso protectively. Flipping over the piece of paper that Kurt and I had been using to converse, I greeted her.

  Hey Ede. You look freaked.

  She glanced nervously around the chapel before taking the pen and replying.

  I'm worried that the Pope's going to come in.

  He won't. He's probably hiding out in the basilica somewhere.

  Reading our conversation over my shoulder, Kurt decided to butt in.

  What, are you afraid of the Pope?

  Shooting him a don't-mock-the-afflicted look, I elbowed him in the side.

  He backed off.

  "Eh…scusa me, miss," began one of the guards, tapping me politely on the shoulder. "But everyone must leave now. His Holiness is showing the capella to his newly appointed Cardinals."

  I nodded, then turned my gaze to Eden. She had turned the approximate color of Albert Einstein's hair.

  "Come on, Ede," I murmured, taking her by the arm and leading her to the door. "Let's get you out of here before Ratzinger shows up."

  As we left the chapel, Kurt caught up with us. "You know, you two should start a club for people with weird phobias," he teased. "You with the Pope thing, and you with the animatronic people."

  I spun around to face him. "How did you know about that?" I demanded.

  He shrugged, grinning. "Hans."

  "That douche," I exclaimed. "I told him not to tell anyone about that! That does it. I'm officially withholding his birthday gift!"

  "But you already bought it."

  "Shut up."

  * * *

  "So then Bryce realizes that he left his bag inside and goes bolting past the guards to get it, trips over the threshold, curses really loudly, and falls flat on his face."

  Eden, Brigid, and I burst into laughter as Jane, seated on her bed, recounted our friend's little "incident" at the Sistine Chapel.

  "What did the Pope do?" asked Brigid.

  Jane giggled. "He just sort of turned around with this really confused look on his face, saw Bryce, then got really scared and shouted something in German."

  I perked up. "What did he say?"

  "It sounded sort of like 'toy-fell-kent'," she answered.

  I snorted.

  "What? What?" Eden eagerly inquired, nudging me. "What's so funny?"

  "I think he called Bryce a Teufelskind," I chuckled. "A demon-child."

  All three of my companions erupted in fits of giggles.

  "Oh man," Brigid snorted. "Th
e Pope thinks that Bryce is Satan! That's hilarious!"

  Jane fell back on her bed, grinning. "No wonder he practically shit himself!"

  "That must've been a sight," I commented. "Hey Ede, you don't have to be afraid of the Pope anymore! Bryce the Demon-Child will scare him away for you!"

  Eden rolled her eyes but was unable to suppress a grin.

  There was a knock.

  Our laughter ceasing, all four of us turned our gazes toward the source of the sound, which repeated itself.

  "I'll get it," offered Brigid, making her way over to the door and pulling it open.

  There, framed in the doorway in all his sexy-Italian-waiter glory, stood Andreas.

  Brigid seemed confused by the appearance of the gorgeous male specimen. "Er…hi, can I help you?"

  "Ciao, bambolina," he greeted her, smiling warmly. "I am looking for a bella signora named Lotte."

  I could practically see the realization click in Brigid's mind. "Oh…" she trailed off. "Right, come on in."

  As Andreas entered the room, I immediately stood. "Hey," I greeted him, trying to appear nonchalant.

  He beamed at me. "We meet again, mia cara." So saying, he gently took my hand and brought it to his lips.

  A smile automatically made its way across my face, though it was accompanied by a distinct crimson tint.

  Jane cleared her throat loudly.

  Remembering my manners, I turned around to introduce my friends. "Andreas, these are my roommates, Jane…"

  Jane gave him a flirtatious wave.

  "Brigid…"

  Brigid grinned.

  "…and Eden. You met her the other day."

  Eden smiled sweetly. "It's nice to see you again."

  "Likewise, signora," he replied smoothly, inclining his head toward her.

  "So, Andreas," Jane began. "You wouldn't happen to have a history of…oh, you know…rape…or assault, would you?"

  My jaw dropped. "Jane!" I hissed.

  Andreas laughed easily. "No, no, nothing like that."

  Jane stared at him for a long time with a rather calculating expression etched on her features before deciding that he was decent. "Alright, then."

  I rolled my eyes. "Don't mind her, Andreas. Why don't we head out to the terrace round the front of the hotel? You know, to talk…in private." I shot my roommates a nasty glare before steering the Italian hunk toward the door.