Zander nodded in agreement. As they began to walk away, he noticed at his feet a telephone. He reached down to pick it up, realizing that it belonged to the crazy woman who'd just screamed at him.
"Do you suppose we should wait in case she comes back for it?" he asked.
Lorenzo shook his head. "You don't want to be near that pazza woman if she did," he said in rapid Italian. "She'd probably call in the polizia and have you arrested for stealing it. Bring it along and we can figure out a way to get it back to her."
Zander shrugged, tucked the phone into his pocket, and walked on. After all, they had a party to get to.
Chapter Three
IT took Andrea all of about three minutes after storming away from her nemesis to figure out that she'd lost her phone in the ruckus. Which meant she had to return to the scene of the crime and no doubt mix it up with the snooty prince again, which wasn't tops on her to-do list. But she needed to get to her Couchsurfing home, so she had to figure it out. Besides, her entire everything was on that phone. Without it, she was doomed.
By the time she got back to binario due, no prince was to be found. She asked around in her barely serviceable Italian if anyone had seen her cellulare, to no avail. Eventually she saw the old gypsy woman again.
"The prince," she mumbled to Andi in her garbled voice. "The prince has what you need." Or at least she thought that's what she said. She could have said the prince was a bad seed. Or the prince loved to read. Hell if she knew what the old gal had said. Great, Andi thought. I am now without my traveling lifeline, and I'm supposed to rely on advice from a demented old woman that some stupid prince has what I need. As if he could have anything I'd ever want or crave. Well, except maybe that cricket bat he was packing. After all, it had been an awfully long time since she'd been with a guy... She gave herself a little dope slap on that thought and found a Tourist Information desk and got directions to the nearest Internet café to check here email, so at least she could find where she was going to sleep for the night.
~*~
"What do you think was up with that strange bird at the train station," Zander shouted to Lorenzo above the din of the party as he topped off his glass with yet more champagne. "She acted almost as if she knew me, like I'd wronged her, even. What a lunatic! And shouldn't we be drinking prosecco, not champagne, being that we're in Italy? Though I'd rather a beer."
His friend pointed to his ear, unable to hear with the band playing so loudly. "Let's take it outside," he said as he led the way through the Great Hall of Palazzo Donatello, the walls and ceilings of which were covered with spectacular Renaissance murals, tapestries, frescoes and maps. The opulence was breathtaking, though Zander was accustomed to living in such a rarified world, so barely lifted a brow to notice it all.
Outside they followed a pebbled path beneath a canopy of orange trees, past a large Baroque fountain with a statue of Neptune cavorting with a bevy of water nymphs. Zander pointed at the statue.
"Now we're talking," he hoisted two thumbs up. "My kind of man, that one."
"Don't I know it," Lorenzo said, well aware of his good friends roving ways. "But remember, you're still on parental probation."
"I'll choose to ignore that."
"Ignore it all you want, but remember, I'm tasked with keeping you out of trouble. Besides, what's with the mixed mythologies, there? Nymphs belong with Poseidon, not Neptune."
"You do know I'm not known for my scholarly attributes, right?" Zander gave him a wink. “For all I know that is Poseidon. Or maybe they’re not nymphs. But I love me a good nympho, if that matters at all.”
Lorenzo just rolled his eyes. "I swear to you that statue reminds me all too much of you in that pool in Vegas."
"Will I never live that one down?" Zander wrung his hands together, pretending to lament his fate, but he had a broad smile on his face. Truth was, he couldn't have given a care if that episode had aroused fury in his mother or a million hits on YouTube or even an auto-tuned version of his little foray (there were four, in fact). He was perfectly comfortable in his skin, with or without any extra layers of pricy designer clothes covering it up.
They were enjoying this early evening al fresco at his father's cousin's sprawling fourteenth century palace on the outskirts of Rome, basking in glorious late spring weather in a garden the size of a football (soccer, that is) field, fragrant with an intoxicating clash of lavender, rosemary, honeysuckle and jasmine, along with the scent of roses climbing tall trellises scattered throughout the gardens. Nearby, elegantly-clad Italians in various shades of black, gray, tan and white milled about as equally stylish waitresses, in what appeared to be sleek, form-fitting black Armani sheaths, passed canapés to party guests. Euro-beat dance music was blaring, though still the vibe was decidedly less rambunctious than Zander's usual preference.
"Do you think we might slip out of here and go clubbing later?" he asked, batting his eyelashes dramatically as if that would charm Lorenzo.
"Sorry. To answer your many questions, in order of appearance: I don't know, and no," Lorenzo said. "That woman? Who knows? Clearly she wasn't playing with a full deck of cards. And as far as the clubbing idea: if you step out of line and engage in some stupid public display of erection again, your mother will have your head."
"Very funny," Zander said. "Just for the record, there was no erection involved."
"Truth matters not, once the tabloids have their way with the story," his friend said, tut-tutting him. "Granted the pictures weren't particularly in focus, but arguably that could have been a hard-on. Hard to tell, ha ha. I refused to pull out my magnifying glass to inspect it for clarification's sake. Or maybe it's just that your dick is as big as they say it is, even in dormancy. What's it like to be an Internet meme, by the way?" He chucked his good friend on the arm.
"Oh stop with that nonsense," he said. "Besides you have me confused with my brother. Not that mine's not just as huge, but Adrian's the one who stirred up the buzz for being hung like a horse."
"Yeah, yeah, right," Lorenzo said. "That fashion show in Milano." He started laughing. "God, that was too perfect. Your brother spends his whole life ensuring he does nothing that could be interpreted badly, always following the straight and narrow. And then some guy's measuring his inseam for pants he has to wear at a fashion show and the next thing you know the Internet is abuzz with rumors of the size of his cock."
"Must suck being first in line to the throne. I wouldn't know. Although I suppose there could be worse rumors about a man," Zander said. "Come to think of it, there was a lot of talk about me, too, wasn't there?"
"I vaguely recall something that trended on Twitter to the likes of hashtag ZandersWompingWillie, if it makes you feel any better. Nevertheless, I think the palace's grave displeasure with your failed attempt at international bridge-building kept me from paying attention to that niggling detail. Though I'm sure there were squeals of delight the world-over with the chance to see you naked. I just know your mother practically blamed me for being a bad influence on you, and I wasn't even there! And don't even get me started on the episode at the cheeky Tiki Mahiki lounge in London a few months ago. It's a wonder your mother hasn't stuck you in the dungeon at this point."
"Enough of this talk. All in the past," Zander said, waving his hand to dismiss it. "For now, how do we get the crazy woman's phone back to her? And then we can figure out which nightclub to go to?"
Lorenzo's eyes got large. "You are truly serious, aren't you?"
"I'm a young, single man with no responsibilities but for showing up at the occasional charity function or polo match. I'm in Italy, where there are many hot women. I need some healthy diversions in my otherwise ho-hum existence. Besides, I promise to keep my pants up. At least until I'm alone with her."
"Her who?"
"Her anyone! I just need to find a little means of relaxation is all I'm asking for," Zander said. "After all, a man's got needs."
"Why can't you find that at, say a sports club, or a juice bar, even a gelateria? Must you
r fun always involve the opposite sex, and, er, sex?"
Zander tipped his chin down and pursed his lips, staring straight at Lorenzo with his sincere blue eyes. "Surely you're not asking me that. Did you lose your man-club membership card or something? Of course my fun involves women and sex. You should be worried for me if that wasn't the case!"
"All right, already. I can hardly dispute your argument. If you promise not to do anything foolish in public, we'll see if we can find a discreet nightclub with discreet upscale customers with whom you can fraternize discreetly. And in case you hadn’t picked up on the theme yet, discreetly is the operative word. Did you hear me?"
The prince clenched his hand in a victory fist. "I knew you'd see it my way. In the meantime, let's look in this phone and see what we can find."
~*~
By the time Andi arrived at her Couchsurfing host's apartment in the gentrifying working class neighborhood of Testaccio, it was well after dark. Her host, a man named Rafaele, was excited to show her the town. Andi really enjoyed the Couchsurfing experience and had met lovely people in every town in which she'd stayed with a host, but she was truly beat and longed to put her head on a pillow and call it a night, but her host would have none of it.
"To overuse a cliché I'm sure you've heard a thousand times," Rafaele, whose English skills were as good as Andi's, said, "When in Rome..."
Rafaele was a classically handsome Italian man, if a little old for her, with dark, soulful eyes, wavy, thick salt-and-pepper hair that curled at the nape of his neck, and a strong body that looked like it was earned not from a gym but from hard work. When he smiled his bright, white smile, it was impossible to plead exhaustion or old lady muggings or even being creeped out by gypsy soothsaying. She knew she had little choice, so dug into the bottom of her backpack and pulled out her no-muss,no-fuss little black dress and slapped on what little make-up she traveled with for just such rare occasions. She even threw caution to the wind and applied mascara.
~*~
Andi hopped onto the back of her host’s Piaggio for the quick ride to the nightclub, passing by the Campo de’ Fiori along the way. Vendors were closing up for the night, and she made a mental note to return to this glorious-looking market by day. Shari Vari Playhouse was packed by the time she and Rafaele got there. They pushed their way toward the bar in the cavern-like basement, where Andi ordered an Aperol spritz and Rafaele a Campari sanguinea.
“Drinks are on me,” he said, which surprised her, though once she saw what he paid for them, she was ever so grateful for his generosity, as she’d be relegated to washing dishes to pay for hers.
They negotiated their way through a swarm of partiers, all grinding on the dance floor, and pressed up to the wall near a corner, just to be able to drink without spilling the precious liquid. Rafaele’s eyes were scouring the room and suddenly he waved his arms in the air, motioning toward a lovely woman with shoulder-length, wavy, black hair who danced her way in their direction.
“Andi, meet the love of my life, Elisabetta,” he said, pulling his girlfriend close and kissing her on the lips.
Andi and Elisabetta did the usual European two-cheek kiss, tried to speak, but couldn’t hear a thing above the DJ’s pulsing music, so resorted to smiling and some futile hand gestures.
“Come, let’s dance,” Rafaele said, nodding toward the hoards of people pressed together dancing. Andi waved her hand to politely decline, but he instead grabbed a hand of each of them and pulled them out to the dance floor.
Andi tried hard to feel as if she was part of the crowd, to just let it all go, and go with the music and the energy and the vibe. But after dancing through several songs, as the third wheel with her host and his girlfriend, she politely excused herself to wander the facilities, making sure they had plans to meet back up so she wouldn’t be left without a way back to his place. If she couldn’t exactly leave yet, at least she could escape the mob for a few minutes. Somehow going from the solitude of the silence of billions of stars in the North African desert to the sensory overload of a Rome nightclub left her feeling strangely rudderless.
Chapter Four
ZANDER and Lorenzo left the party and decided to seek out one of Lorenzo’s favorite Roman restaurants, La Taverna dei Fori Imperiali, a quintessentially Roman family-run bistro tucked away on a side street in Monti, Rome’s oldest neighborhood, not far from the famed Roman Forum and Coliseum. Toque-topped chef and owner Alessio greeted them each at the door with a hearty two-cheek kiss, and ushered them to a discreet table toward the back where they could have some privacy. After placing their orders, as the waiter poured their wine, they got down to business.
Zander pulled the backpacker’s phone out of his pocket. He held it up with his fingertips as if it had cooties.
“You think the thing is toxic or something?” Lorenzo asked him.
“I have no idea, but with that girl who knows what sort of booby trap might be set for whomever finds her phone,” Zander said. “I can’t imagine that one going off gently into the night with a missing mobile. At the very least I’d expect she has some sort of remote control stun gun attached to it. Or she’s bewitched it by casting a spell on the thing.”
Lorenzo laughed. “She did seem like the type who might want to cause bodily harm to the likes of you if you crossed her wrong.”
Zander held up his hands in surrender. “All I did was stand there! I didn’t do a thing!”
“Women,” Lorenzo said, holding his wine glass up to Zander’s. “It’s why God invented alcohol.”
Zander laughed and turned the phone on. “Well, would you look at that,” he said. “Not even a password required. Who doesn’t require some modicum of security in this day and age?” He started poking around on the thing. “So what do we do—read her emails first, play back voice messages, or go straight to the pictures and see if there are pervy selfies in here that she sends to her boyfriend?”
“I vote for pervy selfies.”
“I second the motion. Looks like the pervs have it then,” Zander said, immediately opening up Andi’s photos and scrolling through her pictures.
“She certainly gets around,” he said, pointing at various images. “Look at this: looks like Morocco here. I’m guessing the souks in Marrakesh. Then somewhere in Africa on this one, judging by the elephant. Oh look, there’s a baby cheetah. Cute thing. Some blood-covered lions enjoying their zebra supper. I hope this girl’s got her pictures backed up or she’s lost a lifetime of memories. Though damn, so far not one naked shot of her. Shame, that. I was all about catching a glimpse of those perky little—”
Lorenzo grabbed the phone, rapidly scrolling past her holiday pictures till he stopped at one. “Holy mother of God,” he said, clicking to enlarge it. He looked at the image, then at Zander, then at the image, then at Zander again. “Well, well, well. We’ve finally got confirmation now, my friend.” He held the image up to Zander.
Zander stared at himself staring back at him from Andi’s phone, one fist around the neck of a Vintage 2004 Veuve Clicquot, the other a bottle of Patron tequila, and an arm draped over the shoulder of a breathlessly beautiful—and extremely naked—young woman with a perfect set of breasts. “How did I not hang onto those for future reference?” he asked, shaking his head. “I should have at least had a plaster cast made of them so I could remember their feel forever.” His eyes wandered downward, and he pointed. “Well, Lorenzo, there’s your answer. That’s one rockin’ boner, if I do say so myself.”
Lorenzo spread the screen with his fingers to enlarge the image. All in the name of fact-checking. Just in time for a waitress to refill their waters, with Zander’s huge—albeit slightly blurry—erection staring up at her. Lorenzo quickly covered it with his hand. “I must admit, I’ve got a little of the green-eyed monster.” He laughed.
“Better than the one-eyed monster,” Zander said, slapping his leg at his own wit. “Not too bad a joke, eh?”
“Well, don’t let it get to your head,” Lorenzo said.
“Besides, it’s all in how you use what you’ve got.”
“Speaking of head, that’s what little guys always say,” Zander said in a high-pitched voice, pinching his thumb and pointer finger close together as a size indicator and holding it to his friend’s face.
To which Lorenzo simply flicked the backside of his fingers against his chin in a classic Italian hand gesture. “Ma ne frego. I couldn’t care less. Now let’s be real here: we’ve got to figure out the bigger question,” Lorenzo said, looking up at Zander. “How in Hell does she have this picture of you on her phone?”
“More important, let’s delete the thing,” Zander said, trying to grab the phone from his friend. “But first, I want to text a copy to my phone.”
“No!” he said. “You can’t do that! This is her private phone. Do you want her thinking you’ve been snooping about it?”
“But I have been snooping about it.”
“But she doesn’t need to know that.”
Zander shrugged. “But that’s me. Starkers. Stiff as a flagpole. It’s my badge of honor.” He said as he punched in his number, then forwarded the image to his private phone.
“I’m impressed you could maintain that with all the alcohol you must’ve been drinking,” Lorenzo said. “Nevertheless, consider leaving this picture on her phone your penance for your bad behavior.”
“I suppose it would be a public service to the poor, lonely woman,” Zander said. “I’ll leave it to her, a piece of me she can keep with her to warm her up on those cold nights. A little Zander fantasy, if you will.”
“Your ego really needs to be checked sometimes.”
“Calling it like I see it, mate,” he said, brushing his nails against his chest. “After all, she does have my naked boner picture on her phone. And it’s been a damned year. I don’t see a picture of your Johnson on her phone.”
“That’s because I’m not stupid enough to get naked in a Vegas pool.”
“You say stupid, I say venturesome.”
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