The Sweet Life

by Sharon Struth

  “He might want me to come back to the show. I’m not ready.”

  “Okay. So you tell him the truth. Phone stops ringing. Ja?”

  “You don’t understand how stubborn Gary is.” Julian remembered Gary’s persistence the day Carlos died. “His demands helped push Carlos to his—”

  He stopped, unable to say the words aloud. Growing disgust for himself threatened to drown him, only this time, he considered Josef’s words. Each call from Gary revived the sights and sounds of a day he wanted to come to terms with. For the rest of his life, that day would stay with him. Julian’s unresolved issues with Gary made the accident memories ten times worse; however, Josef’s idea had some merit. If these calls from Gary stopped, Julian’s healing could begin.

  “You know what, Josef? You’re right. Excuse me for a minute.”

  Julian left the restaurant’s outdoor seating area and headed down a quiet narrow street. He dialed, the noise from the campo fading the further he walked.

  The phone rang four times, his heart pounding wildly as he waited for an answer.

  “Well, it’s about time.” Gary’s usual cheery tone sounded annoyed.

  “I’ve been busy. What’s so important you keep calling?”

  “I’m about ready to tell you forget it.”

  “No you’re not. What do you want?”

  “We want you back. We’ll double your old salary.”

  “And if I say no?”

  “Then you’re a bigger fool than many people around here already think you are.”

  Julian tensed, every muscle in his body one step from exploding.

  * * * *

  “I’m telling you, Bernie,” Joel stopped walking with his arm around Tina’s shoulder, but glanced to his side to talk to Bernie, who waited while his wife window-shopped for a moment. “We can blame the Republicans.”

  Mamie walked behind the two couples on the way back to the hotel, devouring her hazelnut gelato, far more interesting than a discussion about the U.S. budget deficit. Both parties owned responsibility for what was wrong, as far as she was concerned.

  “Enough about politics, Joel.” Tina tossed him an annoyed glance.

  Mamie appreciated how the two couples included her on their dinner outing, but on this beautiful night in Tuscany, Julian remained in the forefront of her thoughts. Being the fifth wheel only highlighted the loneliness of being single.

  They neared an intersection where a side street led to the campo and Mamie stopped. “I’m not ready to head to the hotel. I think I’ll walk around and burn a few more calories.”

  Joel and Tina said good night and kept walking, but Sandra hesitated with a slightly concerned frown.

  Bernie took his wife’s hand and winked at Mamie. “We’ll see you tomorrow then.” And he dragged his wife off to catch up with the other couple.

  Mamie leaned against a brick wall to finish her gelato. Loud drumbeats neared the area and people stood back to clear a path. Seconds later, a parade of men in colorful medieval costumes emerged.

  On their bus ride home from Florence, Julian talked about the Palio and the events surrounding the historic race. “The Palio is more than a horse race,” he’d said. “It’s about the politics of each contrada, the history of Siena.”

  This must be a parade from one of the contrade, what he’d defined as neighborhood. Excitement pumped through Mamie’s blood as she took in everything. From the other tourists’ awed expressions as they snapped photos to the band of stoic men marching by, playing their parts with the seriousness such a role deserved. As exciting as Julian promised.

  The parade passed and she kept on walking. Whenever Julian spoke about the history of Italy, passion burned bright in his expression and emotion filled his voice. Every historical story carried a personal feel, like it mattered to him. Or the way he talked about Michelangelo’s David, with passion making her appreciate details she’d have otherwise missed. Their time in the museum ended too fast. Mainly because the phone call he’d ignored seemed to dampen his enthusiasm.

  On their way to dinner earlier, she’d spotted him with a group of men at a restaurant in the campo. If he were still there, maybe she’d try to get him alone and ask about the call.

  Mamie scraped up the last of her gelato. She’d have sworn the waistband of her new skirt tightened with the last bite. The deep red skirt, laced on the bottom with a Venetian pattern of pencil-like sketched gondolas, had fit perfectly in the shop. But that was after a light breakfast. Did it really matter? These wardrobe updates of gorgeous Italian styles lifted her morale to a new place, where feeling plain didn’t exist and she walked tall, almost forgetting about the ache in her hip. The only touches of old Mamie were the ballet flats, not the serious heels the store clerk suggested. Heck, she was nothing if not sensible.

  After wiping her mouth with a napkin, she went to the nearest side street leading to the piazza.

  As she turned down the tight alleyway between two brick buildings, a loud voice made her pause.

  “Screw you, Gary.”

  Julian stood straight ahead in the alley, his back to her.

  “You want to know what I think of your offer? I think you can shove it up your ass.”

  She froze. On the tour, he’d always been so pleasant sounding and confident. Never upset or angry. Before she could turn around and walk away, his voice rose.

  “Why? Because of you, I’m responsible for a man’s death. Now don’t call me again.”

  A man’s death? Julian hung up the phone and stormed from the alley, forcing Mamie to stop so he wouldn’t see her. She didn’t move a muscle. When he vanished around the corner, she breathed a sigh of relief and went the opposite way, heading for the hotel.

  As she pushed through the crowd, Julian’s words rang in her ears.

  I’m responsible for a man’s death.

  Had she heard that correctly? What could he have done? Murdered a man? An accidental death he somehow caused?

  Her mind raced as she hurried away, but deep in her heart she didn’t believe he’d purposely done something to harm another human being. She reached the quiet, dark street leading to the hotel. As she came within sight of the entrance, a sad thought walloped her...loss of life haunted both her and Julian.

  But what was his story? The other morning at breakfast, one passenger suggested Julian looked like someone on TV. The personality’s name escaped her, but she remembered the tension on Julian’s face over the comparison. In fact, she’d meant to do a search on the Internet the other day, but got sidetracked by Paolo’s call.

  After what she’d heard tonight, the time had come to finish the search. Doing so seemed kind of nosey. Even a violation of his trust. But she sensed Julian barricaded himself behind a brick wall, something she understood all too well. As his friend—yes, she was a friend—it simply seemed like the right thing to do. Like he’d been helping her enjoy the sights of Tuscany.

  Chapter 11

  Mamie wrapped her wet hair in a towel and tossed on the thick, terrycloth robe. The little extra sleep she stole as part of today’s free time had been well needed and it was still only seven o’clock. A whole day stretched ahead of her.

  She grabbed her laptop and plunked onto the bed. On her way through the lobby last night, she’d run into Bob Leon. After striking up a conversation about the upcoming Palio race, she casually asked if he remembered the talk show host a couple of passengers thought Julian looked like. He gave her a name and she’d rushed upstairs, but a Skype call from Allison delayed her hunt until this morning.

  She typed in the name Eddie Morrison, hoped Bob was right, and hit search. A Wikipedia page for Exploring the World with Eddie popped up.

  Glancing through the text, she learned Eddie Morrison hosted an adventure show cancelled a year ago. The producers didn’t say why. Another website speculated it had to do with an epi
sode where someone was killed during a wing suit jump. Mamie had never heard of wing suits and there were no added details about the sport.

  A photo halfway down the page showed the host. Right away, she understood why Frank had seen a resemblance. She compared Julian with Eddie, each with the same rugged jawline and boyishly handsome face, but Eddie’s short hair and cleanly shaven face did make him look like another person. Dressed in khaki-colored safari clothes, he beamed at the camera, his face tan and confident.

  Yes, this man might be Julian. Except for one big difference: Eddie’s green eyes carried a vibrant and excited shine, his demeanor that of a man who reached out, grabbed life by the collar, and never looked back.

  She couldn’t say the same about Julian. There were moments he’d share his knowledge of Italy with the group and she’d see a spark of life. He engaged with others politely, often joking around. But Eddie popped off the computer screen while Julian seemed to blend in.

  So if Julian was Eddie, then why guide a bunch of seniors—and one desperate thirty-nine-year-old woman—on the tamer sights of Tuscany?

  Her Internet search continued, going to other websites that talked about the show. Nowhere did Julian’s name appear. Yet based on Julian’s white-faced reaction when Frank Bruno shouted out his revelation, she had to be missing something.

  On page five of her search, she hit an article in The New York Times Magazine, “Does the quest for ratings go too far?”

  She rose from the bed, made a cup of coffee from the Nespresso machine and returned to the computer. The discussion centered on zany reality shows, doing the absurd to get viewers. The topic shifted to adventure programs, like those where survivalist techniques come into play or extreme sports are performed. Several paragraphs talked about Exploring the World with Eddie, including the sport of winged suit flying.

  Mamie learned participants glide through the air with the help of wings that are part of a suit they wear—almost like flying squirrels. The wings add surface area to the human body to enable a significant increase in lift.

  Sometimes flyers exit an aircraft to fly. Other times, they base jump from a site, such as a cliff, or from a helicopter. The second was deemed far more dangerous because the initial airspeed upon exit would be absent.

  In Eddie’s case, his show had been filming an episode with a well-known base jumper. Though vague on specifics, the article stated how the conditions that day were questionable. Yet the activity launched as planned, with a camera crew waiting to film. A chill crept through Mamie’s body as she read how the jumper slammed into a bridge, severed a leg, and died. Eddie had participated, too, but made a safe landing.

  A picture showed Eddie Morrison photographed at the accident’s scene. Deep anguish, the kind of unimaginable pain Mamie understood, resided fresh on his face. Her heart writhed in agony for those involved in the accident.

  A paragraph beneath the photo read, “Show host Eddie Morrison is no stranger to tragedy. His parents, Allie and Alfred Morrison—who hosted The Wild Adventures of Allie and Alfred—died in a hot air balloon accident when Eddie was only fourteen.”

  Fourteen. Sadness of another kind ambushed Mamie. She imagined losing her parents at such a young age, at a time when children still needed them for so much even though they were getting older. How did this play into the man she knew as Julian?

  This entry on the Internet alone didn’t tie Julian to Eddie, but her gut told her to keep going. She finished her coffee, continuing her search while the sun outside her window rose. A solid hour passed while her stomach growled and she tried to ignore it.

  The silence in her room broke when she yelled, “Eureka!”

  A nugget of gold appeared in the archives of Michigan library. A very old article about a couple named Peter and Gabriella Gregory. As a student at Michigan State, Peter attended a college semester in Florence. There he met Gabriella, a native of Tuscany and the woman who later became his wife. After college, they began to organize small adventure tours around the world. They married and their family grew. One day, they got an offer to do a show about their travels. The program billed them under the new names of Allie and Alfred Morrison. Their children joined the show and worked under stage names, too.

  She flipped back to the New York Times article, this time zooming in on the sadness on Eddie’s face. Then she saw it. The same expression Julian wore while they were at the statue of David yesterday.

  While the resemblance proved nothing, with the non-stage name of Gregory combined with his appearance she believed they were the same man. And if Julian and Eddie were the same man, it meant he and Mamie had something in common...they’d both witnessed death.

  A hard lump settled in her throat. Had he handled it well or did he bear scars like her? Did it still haunt him all these years later?

  Voices from other guests in the hallway echoed loudly and startled her. She got up and stretched, her thoughts drifting to last night’s call she’d overheard. Who had he spoken to on the phone? And what kind of offer had he passionately refused?

  From the look on his face in the New York Times article, Julian might blame himself for the death, but any man who partook in diving in a wing suit pretty much knew the risk involved. But if he felt responsible, Julian might have run from the show for tamer pursuits...like a tour of Tuscany. This tour job might be a place for him to hide, the way she’d closeted inside her house.

  Julian’s reaction to her bucket list suddenly took on a new light. His choice of tamer sights might be because it was all he could do right now.

  Her own bravery in taking this trip suddenly became more real. Nobody would’ve ever called her bold, yet on this trip, she’d become exactly that. Better than she’d felt in some time. It also left her sad for him.

  She wanted to help Julian. Everything he’d been doing with her made her transition back into the real world easier. So what could she do for him?

  Directness might work, simply toss out how she’d figured out his identity. She threw away the idea as quickly as it arrived. If he’d wanted people to know he played the role of Eddie, he’d have admitted it that morning when Frank Bruno drew the parallel.

  The activities they were doing were a perfect way to become better friends. If they continued down the same path, maybe she could do for him what he’d been doing for her: point out alternative ways of looking at the world. Over time, they might test the waters of some real risk-taking adventures, even face their fears together.

  She stepped inside the shower, her mind whirling with ideas about how to help him face why he hid. Become the man he once was.

  Sometimes all people needed was a friend willing to listen and let them be themselves. Julian, without knowing it, had done that for her and he deserved the same.

  * * * *

  Julian opened his eyes. The phone’s second sharp ring zapped his already throbbing temples like a bolt of lightning. Who the hell...?

  After a few slaps on the nightstand, he grabbed the hotel phone. “Hello.”

  “Julian? It’s Rick.”

  Julian processed the name, his head spinning lightly and his mouth dry.

  “I’m downstairs.” After a pause, Rick added, “You okay?”

  Julian glanced at the clock. Eight-forty. Right, Rick. The local guide, an American ex-pat and spectacular photographer, had been hired to take some of his passengers on a photo expedition today.

  Julian coughed and wished for water. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Rough night with the guys.”

  “Sounds it. Figured I’d let you know I’m here to meet your group. We should be back around five. Does that work?”

  “Perfect. They should be in the lobby soon.” He thought about Mamie, who hadn’t signed up, so he wondered what she was doing. “There are fifteen in total. I’m laying low in town today. Call if you need me.”

  He hung up, ambled out of bed, and hung the Do
Not Disturb sign on the outside of his door. After a trip to the bathroom and drinking a full glass of water, he flopped back into bed and closed his eyes.

  The pounding inside his skull got worse. What was he thinking, drinking that much? Yesterday started out with his mood riding high, and then abruptly turned sour. Taking Mamie to see David worked out exactly as planned. The awe in her eyes as she feasted on the remarkable statue carried an intensity shooting right to the core of his chest. Maybe because the statue affected him so deeply, too. All the joy he’d had in showing off Michelangelo’s masterpiece slowly diminished with her question about fear. He could’ve lied to her, but the question cast a spotlight on his cowardly behavior these days.

  He’d recovered enough to hide his raw emotions until returning to the hotel. Meeting his buddies last night helped drown the shitty feeling with alcohol. Then Gary’s call. Josef’s encouragement coupled with Mamie’s remarks about fear almost shamed him into finding the bravado to call the producer. Sure, he’d told Gary off. But it didn’t make him feel one bit better. Instead, the call to Gary drove him straight back to the table, where more booze almost helped Julian forget.

  Money. It was—and had always been—the only thing his damn producer cared about. Finances drove the show’s every decision, always putting them on an aggressive schedule. The bottom line came up in every conversation. The holy grail of their business model.

  Julian would argue how expeditions like his couldn’t be managed from only a financial perspective. Outside circumstances could change their day, a fact to which Gary always turned a deaf ear.

  Including that day.

  Gary had argued with him from the cliff’s edge, minutes from jumping, that they couldn’t wait. If there was ever a moment for Julian to push back, it was that one. But he hadn’t. Instead, he’d convinced a man to jump to his death.