Death Under the Venice Moon

by Maria Grazia Swan

  "Wish I had one in my kitchen," I joked, "but my kitchen is on the bottom floor."

  "This is a small one. They come in all sizes." Dear God, what have I done? He is going to tell me the history of dumbwaiters. "As a matter of fact, we used a large dumbwaiter in my movie Zodiac. That's how we explained the disappearance…you've seen that movie? Haven't you?" The expression on my face must have told him I had never heard of the movie. And his expression told me he wasn't happy about it. "Well, Kyle's mamma, prepare yourself for a treat." We were back to "Kyle's mamma," not a good sign. He strode into the living room, pointed to the large couch. "You sit here while I get it ready."

  Damn, he was going to make me watch this movie of his. Mental images of me snoring on the couch while the film rolled gave me a hot flash. Another of my ob-gyn's predictions coming to life. How can I get out of watching the movie? Call Kyle? It must have been after ten. And say what? "Mommy doesn't want to watch Cruz's picture. Come save me." I sat on the couch, phony smile plastered on my face, fingers crossed it would be a short movie.

  Cruz seemed happy as could be. He opened a large, ornate armoire opposite the couch, and a screen appeared. With his back to me, he clicked buttons, slid drawers, came to sit next to me, grinning, then changed his mind, got up, crossed the room and dimmed the chandelier.

  "There. Now we are ready. Sorry, no popcorn, but we have wine." Again he got up and came back with a new bottle and two heavy, cut crystal goblets.

  I forced myself not to roll my eyes and kept the phony smile steady. This time when he sat, he held a remote and made himself comfortable before pouring wine into both glasses. When he clicked the remote, he looked giddy as a child on Christmas morning. "I should have won an award," he mumbled. "I'm a chameleon in this movie. I spent months researching and preparing for the part. You'll see."

  The scene opened in black and white. A desolate landscape, it seemed almost from a different planet. Eerie music rose. The shot bounced from a close-up of dead trees to a close-up of a sheer rocky cliff. Then the camera pointed to the sky, and the screen filled with dark infinity and stars. No moon. Credits rolled, the title, names, and trademarks. Boring. I stifled a yawn. It's going to be a long night. The screen was no longer black and white, more sepia than anything else. The camera zoomed inside to a room that looked like a sacristia, a church utility room—dark cabinetry, tall, skinny windows. In the shadowy scene, a candle. I could clearly see the candle's flame and a person—was it a man?—hunched on a chair beside the table with the candle.

  The hair on the back of my neck rose to attention as an inexplicable sense of urgency to get up and run surged from deep in my soul. The music grew louder, and so did my inner wail. When the camera zoomed on the hunched figure, he turned. The candle cast leaping shadows on the man's bony face.

  Thick lashes framed his eyes; a deep furrow crossed his forehead.

  Mio Dio.

  The gold stud in his right earlobe reflected the gleam of the candle.

  Strands of gray hair lay amid the black at his temples.

  "You. It was you!" I cried out and leapt from the sofa to put distance between us.

  He grabbed my leg as I passed him. "Lella, what's gotten into you?"

  I spun and hit him with my fist. His glass landed on the thick carpet, spilling the wine.

  "You miserable man, it was you on Ponte Vecchio. Don't try to deny it. February 2006. Does that ring a bell? The chart of a dead woman. How dare you, how?" I found myself sobbing between hurled words. "I need to tell Kyle. You messed with his life ."

  "Lella, Lella, calm down. That was you? L'Americana. Los Angeles." He held my arms so I couldn't slip away, and when I looked up the man from hell was laughing. Laughing. "How could I possibly have messed Kyle's life? You were alone. Yes, I remember now. I did an astrological chart…for you? Oh my God. I can't believe that was you. So, what? You took my nonsense seriously? How is that my fault?"

  "It wasn't my birth date I gave you…" What was I doing? Rehashing the past? For what? The simple logic of his statement began to sink in. How was it his fault I swallowed his nonsense, hook, line, and sinker, like they say? The screaming and sobbing had depleted the small amount of energy I had left. I dragged myself back to the couch and sat.

  Cruz had enough sense to turn off the damn movie.

  "Why did you do that?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer. "Why did you pretend you were an astrologer?"

  "Lella, I really am sorry. I was practicing my part, had been working with a well-known astrologer. He suggested I try out my creation somewhere I wouldn't be recognized, just to see people's reaction. Ponte Vecchio was the perfect spot. No locals are around at night, only tourists. You were the second tourist to stop by, the only one who said yes. I did my skit as rehearsed and was very pleased with your reaction. When I realized you forgot your package and were probably coming back for it, I gave a generous tip to the vendors and told them I was never there. End of the show. It was never my intention for you or anyone else to get hurt. Really. How did I hurt Kyle?"

  All I could do was shake my head. How indeed? It wasn't his phony chart that sent Kyle to jail. It was Ruby, my former friend Ruby. "Sorry, Cruz. I overreacted, but yes, I did believe you were an astrologer. I never realized it wasn't real until just now, seeing you in the movie with the hair and makeup."

  He nodded and didn't even try to hide his satisfaction at hearing how well he fooled me that evening on Ponte Vecchio. Damn you, Cruz.

  I looked down. "I need to clean up the wine I made you spill."

  "Oh, forget about it. Augusta will take care of it in the morning. It's only white wine. We're lucky. Red would have been much harder to clean." He was all smiles.

  "I think I've made enough of a fool of myself for tonight," I said. "I'm going to bed and will resume my apologies in the morning, okay?"

  He patted my hand. I assumed my reaction was almost as good as an acting award.

  I dragged myself to my bedroom knowing I couldn't possibly call Kyle so late, plus I felt like a drained idiot. One good thing came of the evening. All that sobbing and screaming washed away the pent-up anger I had been carrying inside since Larry's phone call three days ago. I got into bed and fell into a deep sleep.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The jingle from "California Girls" woke me up.

  "Hello."

  "Buongiorno, Mamma, are you awake?"

  "Sort of. Wow, you sound happy." Then I remembered. "Oh my God! You'll never guess—wait—did you talk to Cruz?"

  "No, why? What happened?"

  "Kyle, it's him, the charlatan on Ponte Vecchio. Do you remember when I came back from Italy and had the hand-drawn astrological chart for Ruby? The chart of a dead woman."

  "Come on, Mom, you're not going to start that nonsense again, are you? I thought we decided to forget about it and move on."

  "I am. We are. You don't understand. Cruz was the astrologer, the fake astrologer. It was all an act. He was rehearsing for some movie, Zodiac. Yes, that's the title, Zodiac."

  I waited for Kyle to say something. Express outrage, anything. Silence.

  "Aha!" He laughed wholeheartedly with no restraint. I couldn't believe he had really heard what I said.

  "Fake astrologer." More laughter. "That's just so typical of Cruz. Too funny. Wait until I tell the crew. 'He scared my mom to death with his made-up predictions.'" He laughed so hard he snorted into the phone.

  "How can you find this amusing? He caused all those problems."

  "Mom, get over it. He didn't cause anything. He invented a series of predictions, and you made it your bible. Cruz had nothing to do with Ruby or what she did to that poor woman from Parker. And Cruz didn't make me trade cars with Ruby either."

  "That's what he said." So much for all my outrage. My son probably thought I was an old fool and a pain in the neck. "He showed me his boat." I changed the subject, attempting to redeem myself in Kyle's eyes. "Maybe we can take a boat ride when you get up here."

>   "I'm halfway there already, still waiting for Cruz. We have a television interview in about forty-five minutes. He better be on his way. When we are done, I'll drive up to Chioggia, and we can go to dinner. What do you say?"

  "That would be wonderful. Can I see you on television?" All the spontaneity had left my body. I glanced at the clock on the bedside table, 9:10 a.m. I'd slept a long time. Good.

  "The interview is recorded, not sure when it will run. Mom?" Uh-oh. His doomsday tone of voice. "Larry called."

  Larry called. "Larry?"

  "Yes, Mom. Larry." He waited.

  "Oh."

  "Oh? What's that supposed to mean? Like 'oh, good' or 'oh, damn'? Mom, what's going on?"

  Thousands of answers assembled in my mind and stayed there. I tried to swallow the knot sitting at the back of my throat. It wouldn't budge, and I couldn't speak without sounding ready to fall apart, so I said nothing.

  "Okay," Kyle said. "Don't want to talk to me? Fine. I gave him the number of the phone you're using. Just so you know."

  "You didn't."

  "Why shouldn't I give him your phone number? He is very concerned about you. He had no idea you were here. Offered to take care of Flash. I was going to ask if you two had a fight, but obviously that wasn't the case."

  "How do you know? You weren't there."

  "True, but Larry would have said something instead of being totally dumbfounded when I explained you flew here unexpectedly. He assumed something happened that required your immediate presence. He's concerned about your wellbeing." That staccato way of pronouncing each word. Was he lecturing me?

  The knot in my throat expanded and moved up to choke any good intentions I had to open up to my son. Some things are best not told.

  "They're ready for me. I need to say goodbye for now. Mom, whatever is going on between you and Larry, you owe the man an explanation. He may not be your husband, but you have two years together. That must count for something. He'll call you. Answer." And just like that, Kyle was gone.

  Clear your mind.

  Cruz was on his way to meet Kyle. That was what my son said. That would explain the total silence in the place, but I hadn't heard him leave. Then again, I hadn't heard him when he arrived yesterday either. He must be the quiet type. Where were they meeting? I hadn't even asked.

  The mention of Larry messed up my mind and my heart again. Maledizione. What if he called? Did my mobile phone have caller ID? What was I going to do? Answer? Ignore? I should have stayed and faced him. Running didn't solve a thing. I couldn't hide forever. Hide? Hiding a phone call away. Who was I kidding?

  Okay then, I would answer and be done with it. The be done with it hit me so hard it took my breath away. Be done with it meant never being with him again. Waking to my empty bed, in my empty house, with an empty life.

  God, what had I done? Now all the little things that made our relationship so special tugged at my heart—the private sleeping niche he built for Flash so I could take her with me when I stayed at his house, all the times he dropped what he was doing just to have lunch with me. The place wasn't the trigger; my presence was what counted. Damn it. I'd grown used to the feel of his hand holding mine, to the scent of his skin on my pillow, the touch of his lips on mine. Above all, I knew he would always be there for me.

  Why hadn't I considered all that before getting on that plane?

  Stop it.

  I couldn't avert my eyes from the phone. Only hours ago I viewed it as a gift of love from Kyle. It had now transformed into the proverbial eight-hundred-pound gorilla. Why did I sit there, waiting for the phone to ring? At some point I came to my senses and got dressed. The sun shone, and I needed some coffee. I would go out, explore the town, and grab something to eat. What about the phone? Take it or leave it?

  The jingle.

  No.

  My hand shook to the beat of my heart. "Hello?"

  "Mom, is Cruz there?"

  "Kyle?" A sigh escaped my lips. "Cruz?" I sounded like a parrot.

  "Yes, Cruz. He hasn't shown up. His tardiness is well known, but this is plain stupid. I'm either going to do the interview alone or cancel it. Damn. Can you do me a favor and see if he overslept? I know it's farfetched since it's almost noon, but I'm running out of ideas. His agent Roberto is checking if there were any accidents reported on the autostrada. Cruz loves any publicity. That's why it's so strange he isn't here. Please, go knock at his door."

  "I…okay. Be right back." I hated this. I didn't want to go check on a grown man, and this was his place, not mine. The living room looked just as it had when I went to bed. A faint smell of wine lingered. Snowy noise patterns streamed on the television screen. This was so awkward. Still holding the phone, I barely touched Cruz's door, and it opened quietly.

  "Cruz?" I couldn't get myself to step in or even look directly into the room.

  "Is he there? Mom?" I could hear Kyle talking.

  I called out louder. "Cruz, are you in the bathroom?" The door to the bathroom was open, and I could see it was empty from where I stood.

  "No one is here, Kyle. The man sure is neat. He even made his bed."

  "What are you talking about? If the bed is made it means he didn't sleep in it. Damn."

  "You want me to talk to the concierge?"

  "No, Roberto already called her. What now?"

  "Kyle, where are you?"

  "Bologna. Not that far from Chioggia. Where the hell can he be? Okay, Mom. Thanks. Go about your day, but call if you see him or hear something. Otherwise I'll see you in maybe four hours. If I'm running late I'll let you know. Ciao." Anger and stress percolated in his voice. Not a good mix.

  I didn't know enough about Cruz to pass judgment. Although if Kyle was right and he hadn't slept in his bed at all, why hadn't I heard anything? When someone stays up all night they walk around, flush the toilet, speak on the phone.

  The phone. It looked as if I had no choice but to take it with me around town, just in case Kyle needed me. I didn't really have to worry about Larry calling. It was the middle of the night in Southern California.

  I checked my hair, put on some lipstick, and grabbed my purse. "California Girls" caught me by the front door.

  I froze. I knew.

  I walked back to my bedroom, closed the door behind me, sat on the bed, and answered.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Breathe.

  "Hello." I didn't want him to know how badly I trembled, how confused my heart was. My heart, not my brain.

  "Hi, Lella. How are you?"

  How I had missed the way he said my name.

  "Fine. You're up early." Oh God, why are we playing games with each other?

  "I couldn't sleep."

  She must have kept him up all night. "Sorry to hear that." I waited for another polite banality.

  "I spent the last twenty-four hours replaying our last conversation in my head to see if I could make sense out of…this."

  "This? This what?"

  "I was worried sick something happened to you, blaming myself for not being there. All kinds of scenarios played in my head when you didn't answer your phone. Wrong, of course. You packed your things and hopped onto a flight to Europe without so much as a message on my answering machine. Why? Was it something I said? What could be so irreparable you wouldn't talk about it? Don't you think I've earned the courtesy of an explanation? I wouldn't be calling you halfway around the world if I didn't care about you." His voice a mixture of sadness and conflict.

  Not quite what I had expected. No snake-charmer performance. All I heard, or felt more than heard, was that he couldn't fathom why I left.

  I swallowed air. Time to set the facts straight.

  "How would you feel if one day you called me and I told you I wasn't able to talk just then as I was traveling cross-country with my former lover?" I waited.

  Did he hang up? Did he? So I was right. He wasn't even going to try to deny it. I sat still, afraid to touch the wrong button. If he hadn't hung up, I didn't want to be the o
ne to do it accidentally. Damn, what was wrong with me?

  Push the little red button and be done with it. Isn't it what you want?

  No, no. The idea of never hearing his voice again broke my heart and sucked the breath out of my being. No. I leaned against the headboard and closed my eyes.

  "Lella…you think I'm having an affair with Olivia's mom?" He was back.

  Olivia's mom? How convenient. Take the sexuality off the table, make it family, a sense of duty, responsibility. Clever. The knuckles on the hand holding the phone looked pale, deprived of blood flow. I was that tense.

  "Is Jennifer staying at your house?" There, I said it. Jennifer, not Olivia's mom.

  "In the guest room, yes. The rented truck with her belongings is parked in the driveway until she can move into the place she just leased. This is why you left?" His voice was almost an octave higher than usual. "You have no trust in me, so little faith in yourself, in our relationship?" The surrender in his voice was so real I wanted to cry out that he should forget what I said, that I didn't mean it, that I believed him.

  Instead I found myself wondering what Jennifer looked like. Was she tall, short? Fat, skinny? Did she wear glasses? How about her hair? Why had I never seen a picture of her in Larry's house? He had plenty of photos of Olivia. "Larry, why did you fly to Florida in such a hurry?"

  "You were sitting next to me when Jennifer called. I asked you to go with me. You weren't interested. Don't you remember her despair? Her husband had been arrested for having a sexual relationship with one of his high school students. Apparently she wasn't the first one. Jennifer was terrified he might have molested Olivia. She thought that was the reason Olivia didn't want to come back from Europe." He spoke in a hurry, as if afraid I would stop him.

  I didn't know what to say. He was telling the truth. I had meetings scheduled at the mission that week. Seemed important at the time, and then there was Flash. Who was I kidding? None of that really mattered. Convenient excuses.