by Alexa Land
“We’re new to this and haven’t gotten many gigs,” a dancer named Danny said, “so we were excited that you asked us to be a part of your event. We’re also thrilled that a gay and straight singles mixer is coming to Viladembursa. Even though I live in Catania now, this is my hometown, and believe me when I say, nothing ever happens here.”
“It’s my hometown, too,” Nana told him. “My family moved to the states when I was a girl, but I guess not much has changed. It’s probably quadrupled in size, but it still feels like a sleepy village.”
“My family goes way back,” Danny said. “My last name is Grasso, what’s yours?”
“My maiden name is Russo,” she said. “But my married name is Dombruso.”
“Merda, you don’t mean the Dombrusos, do you?” Danny asked.
“Yeah. My husband’s family had quite the reputation around here, I know. My mama was both a mother and father to me since she was a widow, and she went ballistic when I told her I was marrying a Dombruso,” she said. “Nothing was gonna stop me, though. I was young and reckless, and the fact that my family forbade it just made it that much more exciting. We were married for a lot of years, and even though he proved to be a schmuck, I had three beautiful sons and a whole mess of wonderful grandkids and great-grandkids, which made it all worthwhile. But my mother never did forgive me.”
“Did Mr. Dombruso pass?” Danny asked solemnly.
“Yes and no. He’s dead to me, but technically he’s shacked up with a hussy in Florida. I recently filed divorce papers against that son of a bitch. That’s why I’m hoping to find me a honey at the party tomorrow night. I haven’t been single in sixty years and got some catching up to do!”
I glanced at Luca while my grandmother was talking, to see how he was taking the news that my family was fairly notorious in Viladembursa. He didn’t react to it at all, his expression remaining neutral as he swirled the ice in his whiskey and focused on Nana. Well, good.
Meanwhile, Jessie flirted with a cute dancer named Giorgio, who didn’t speak a word of English. The language barrier didn’t seem to be much of a deterrent, though. They were making each other laugh with hand gestures and pantomime, and proving that words weren’t really necessary when attraction was involved. It was nice to see him enjoying himself.
Eventually our companions said they had to go, since a couple of them had to get to work (a couple others had called in sick, since they were so excited to actually have a gig). Luca and I said goodbye to them, and Nana said, “I’ll walk you out, and I’m looking forward to seeing you boys at the party tomorrow night. It’s gonna be a real humdinger!” She linked arms with Rafael and Danny, and they all held their heads up and paraded out of the hotel on their high heels as everyone stopped and stared. Three of the other dancers did a choreographed routine on their way through the lobby, as if they were in a parade. Well, why not? They had everyone’s attention anyway. Jessie and Giorgio followed, exchanging numbers. I kind of wondered how that was going to work, and imagined them texting nothing but emojis to each other.
“I admire people who are comfortable in the spotlight,” I said as Luca and I headed to the front desk. “I’m just not like that at all.”
He grinned and said, “It’s such a losing battle. You try to blend in with your khakis and your uniform, but you never, ever will. And you know why?” When I shook my head, he turned to me and pulled me into his arms. “Because you’re absolutely beautiful, Nico. My God, look at you! You completely take my breath away, and you do it effortlessly! You can’t be a wallflower, no matter how hard you try.”
I chuckled self-consciously and dropped my gaze. “You’re really good for my ego. Then again, you also walked right past me without seeing me that first day.”
“That first day, I kissed you and pulled you into a fountain. The second day, I was too busy being an idiot and staring at my cellphone to notice my surroundings at all. Once I saw you, it was game over.”
“Why did you pull me into that fountain anyway?”
“I was desperate. You were leaving and I needed a few more minutes with you. I wasn’t exactly smooth when I was sixteen.”
I began to lightly massage his shoulders. “I thought you were plenty smooth. Actually, I’m surprised I was your first kiss. It seems like you would have gotten around to it at an earlier age.”
“Before that moment, I was kind of grappling with being gay. I mean, I knew for a fact that I was,” he said, “but I didn’t know what to do with it. I was pretty sure trying to kiss a boy would result in getting punched in the jaw. I’d never seen a guy trying to get with another guy on TV or in the movies, and certainly not in real life. I had no examples to follow.”
“But then you met me and went for it.”
“Well, yeah. I had to! You’re just…that guy.”
“What guy?”
“You know, that one guy special enough to make me want to take a chance, no matter the consequences.” He said that so sincerely.
“Oh, come on. I’m just ordinary.”
“There you go, trying to pretend you can blend in again. It’s not working, Nico, because I see you. I see not only your beauty, but your sweetness, kindness, gentleness, and a million other good things. Hell, just look at what you’re doing right now.”
“I’m not doing anything,” I said.
“Yes you are. You’re massaging my shoulders, and you’re doing it without a thought. It just comes naturally to you, trying to make others feel good.” He was right that I’d barely noticed what I was doing. “I also love the fact that even though you hate being the center of attention, you’re standing in a public place right now in the arms of a man, and you well and truly don’t give a shit that people are staring.”
“I decided a long time ago that I was never going to hide the fact that I was gay. It might make me uncomfortable when people stare at me, but that’s not enough of a reason to hide who I am,” I said.
“I totally respect that.”
“Okay. Well, thank you for all of that,” I said, taking his hand and continuing our walk across the lobby.
“You suck at taking compliments. We’re going to work on that.”
That made me smile. “Good luck.”
When we reached the front desk, I asked if I had any mail, and when the clerk handed me a shipping envelope, I exclaimed, “Yes!”
I thanked him before tearing open the package, and Luca asked, “What is that?”
“My wallet got lost at the dry cleaners, so I had to cancel my credit cards. My bank overnighted me a replacement, for a fee of course, but it was totally worth it. Now I don’t have to keep mooching off my friend and grandmother. It’ll be nice to be a functioning adult again.” As I put the card in the new wallet Jessie bought me, I asked, “What are you doing this afternoon? Since you’re all dressed up, I assume you have work to do.”
“I’m planning to visit a local gallery that’s owned by a friend of mine. Would you like to come with me?”
“Sure. After that, there’s something I need to do. You’re welcome to join me, but you might find it dull. Do you cook?” I asked him.
He shook his head. “I’m hopeless. If it wasn’t for restaurants, I’d starve to death.”
“Well, then you probably wouldn’t want to hang out with me while I made dinner for Jessie. You’d be bored to death.”
“No I wouldn’t. I could sit around drinking wine and trying to distract you every three minutes by kissing your neck and nibbling your earlobes. My contribution to the cooking process.” He flashed a big smile and I grinned at him.
“I’m going to text my cousin Fiona and see if I can borrow her kitchen this afternoon.”
We headed for the door as I pulled my phone from my pocket and began to compose a message, and Luca asked, “What culinary marvels will you be creating, and will I be impressed by your mad cooking skills?”
“Tuna casserole, so probably not. I do enjoy cooking, though. Or, I did, back when I had my own kitchen
. Now that I live with Nana, hers usually has way too much going on at any given moment, including the filming of her cooking show.”
He asked, “She’s on television?”
“Kind of. She has a low-budget show on cable TV. She really is an excellent cook and owned her own restaurant for years, but for some reason when the camera starts rolling, it all pretty much goes to hell. I think people tune in just to see how many f-bombs she drops and to watch everything spiral wildly out of control.”
“Sounds entertaining.”
“Oh, it is.”
“One question,” Luca said. “Why on earth are you making tuna casserole?”
“Because I want to give Jessie a taste of home. He told me he grew up on it and misses it. He’s estranged from his family, and last night I saw how much he’s hurting. I think he’s a bit homesick too. So, I don’t know, maybe this will help.”
“That’s very sweet of you.”
“Well, Jessie’s a good friend. He’s always doing stuff for me, and I want to return the favor.” My phone buzzed and I looked at the screen. “Fiona says it’s no problem to use her apartment. She suggested calling some of our cousins and having an Americano theme night to go with the ‘tacky casserole’. Her words.” I glanced at Luca and said, “Want to be my date? My family is pretty loud and obnoxious, and there’s every chance the dinner will be inedible, just so you know.”
“Way to dress up the offer,” he teased, “and I’d love to be your date. Sounds fun.”
“You have an interesting definition of fun.”
“You’ll be there, so it’ll be fun. Plus, I’ll get to try tuna casserole. What is that, anyway?”
“You don’t spend much time in the states, do you?”
“I do actually, but as a businessman. That’s not generally on the room service menu.”
“Oh. Yeah, good point,” I said. “I’m pretty sure it’s noodles and canned tuna baked in some kind of sauce. There might be crumbled potato chips on top. I didn’t grow up on it, so this will involve a bit of trial and error. How hard could it be, though?”
I texted Fiona again, giving the impromptu party a thumbs up. When we ran into Nana and Jessie in front of the hotel, waving goodbye as the float pulled away, I said, “We’re making you two dinner at Fi’s apartment tonight. She’s going to invite some of my cousins, too. Can you be there by seven for cocktail hour?”
Nana clapped her hands and said, “Sounds fun! Want me to come early and help you cook?”
“No thanks, Nana. I just want you and Jessie to be our guests and relax. You’re on vacation,” I told her.
“Well, so are you.”
“I know, but I’m going to enjoy this, especially because Luca’s agreed to be my completely unhelpful sous chef.”
He said, “Yup. Total unhelpfulness guaranteed.”
“You boys have fun,” Nana said. “Jessie and I are gonna relax by the pool for a bit, we’ll see you at seven. I want to work on my tan so I look hot for tomorrow night. I hope I remembered to pack my bikini.”
They went into the hotel, and as Luca and I started down the sidewalk he asked me, “Does she really have a bikini?”
“Oh yeah. Just be glad we’re at a family-friendly hotel. It means she won’t be doing any topless sunbathing this time.”
Luca chuckled and said, “I can honestly say I’ve never met anyone like your grandmother.”
“And you never will again. She’s definitely one of a kind.”
He held my hand as we walked north, toward what the locals referred to as Nuova Citta, or ‘New Town’. The fact that it was over two hundred years old said a lot about Viladembursa. “I need to buy a suit,” I said. “There was one in my luggage, but at this point I think the chances of it showing up are pretty slim.”
“Why do you need a suit?”
“Because right now, it looks like you’re walking your child home from school.”
He laughed at that and said, “It does not!”
“Sure it does. Here I am in shorts, sandals, and a camp shirt, and you look like you’re on your way to seize control of a Fortune-100 corporation.” I waved my hand up and down, indicating his perfectly tailored suit. “Am I going to be completely underdressed when we reach this gallery? Are they going to seat me at a little table with a juice box and some crayons while the grown-ups talk about art?”
“You’ll be fine. I tend to overdress for work.”
“Why?”
“A lot of what I do is a confidence game. People need to feel they can trust me and believe in my expertise. It helps to look the part and exude an air of authority. That isn’t why I dressed up for this particular gallery, though. The owner’s a friend of mine and he’s older, so I’m wearing a suit as a sign of respect.”
“Explain to me exactly what you do.”
“In a way,” he said, “I’m kind of a personal shopper. I have several wealthy clients who live all over the globe, in Dubai, Manhattan, London, Helsinki, among other places. They all have the wealth to put together truly magnificent art collections. What they don’t have is the time or inclination to do the legwork and seek out exceptional pieces. Some have a passion for what they collect, but all of them also want to invest in artwork that will increase in value.”
“And you find things by going to galleries, not by attending auctions?”
“I do both.”
“Do you think you might find something at your friend’s gallery?”
“Possibly,” he said. “One of my clients is a bit of a gambler. He doesn’t want to spend a hundred million dollars on a Gauguin, though he could. He wants the up-and-comer, the next Jasper Johns right before he’s discovered and his career skyrockets. This gallery owner strives to do the same thing, and has a pretty remarkable eye. He used to run a well-known gallery in New York. Then he retired in his late sixties and moved here with his wife, because this was her hometown. She passed a couple years later though, but he stayed and opened a small gallery, which he calls a hobby. I’m lucky that it’s in a town I visit frequently, though really, I’d travel just about anywhere for Mr. Caravetti.”
“Have you ever bought anything for a client that you really wanted to keep for yourself?”
Luca grinned. “It happens all the time. The one that broke my heart was a small Cezanne I procured in 2009. It had been one of my favorite paintings since childhood. I carried it in my lap from Brussels to Los Angeles. It was so special, and it killed me to hand it over, especially because that particular collector didn’t even sort of appreciate it. He was only interested in its monetary value. It would have been so much easier to give it to someone who bought it because they absolutely adored it and would appreciate its beauty.”
“If he decided to put it on the market, could you buy it for yourself?”
He shook his head. “I could never afford it. Even if I could, I wouldn’t keep it. Something like that belongs in a museum, so it can be enjoyed by everyone. Right now, it’s hanging in the downstairs bathroom of a Hollywood celebrity. That fucker hung it over the toilet. He doesn’t respect or appreciate it at all! He was a new client, and led me to believe his interest in the painting was more than monetary. I should have known not to believe him.”
“What an asshole! Why the hell would someone pay, what, millions? For a beautiful work of art and then hang it in a bathroom?”
“Yeah, millions. Eighteen of them, to be exact. Normally a Cezanne would be much more, but this one is tiny, it’s just six inches by six, though it’s framed out to feel larger. And the bathroom thing was completely deliberate. He wants people to say, ‘Oh my God, he’s so incredibly successful that he can hang an eighteen million dollar painting in the crapper!’ His ego is out of control.”
“For the first time in my life,” I said, “I wish I was a criminal. I want to liberate that painting and give it to you.”
“Oh believe me, I’ve had fantasies about doing that, too. But like I said, it belongs in a museum, and they’re not big on r
eceiving stolen property.”
“Yeah, good point.” I thought about the painting for a while as we walked, and eventually asked, “How did you get to be so knowledgeable about art?”
“I have a PhD in Art History from Cambridge.”
“Holy crap!”
“It’s not that impressive. All it really means is that I get to sound like a pompous asshole when I discuss art at cocktail parties.”
I grinned at that and asked, “Was this job always the plan?”
“No, not at all. I figured I’d find work as a curator in a museum. This pays a hell of a lot better though, and has allowed me to keep traveling. I don’t know how I’d do living in just one place. It’s not something I’ve ever done.”
“Do you have a home base, or are you always in hotels?”
“I have an apartment in Rome, but I’m not there very often.” Luca squeezed my hand and said, “Enough about me, tell me about you. Where do you go to school?”
“Hastings.”
“Excellent. What did you study as an undergrad?”
“Biology. I became an EMT after I graduated, because I wanted a job where I could make a difference. That’s all I’ve ever really wanted, actually.”
“Why did you stop working as an EMT?”
“When my relationship ended and I moved out of Los Angeles, I tried to give my entire life an overhaul. The job sort of became collateral damage.”
“I see.”
“So now, the goal isn’t to become a corporate lawyer, it’s not about the money. I haven’t really narrowed down exactly what I want to do with it, but I can see myself ending up in the nonprofit sector when I graduate. A law degree can provide a lot of opportunities to make a difference and to help people.”
“How much time do you have left in your program?”
“I just completed my first year.”
“And you hate it, right?”
“I really do. The material is so dry! I have to force myself through it.”
“I guess I don’t get why you’re sticking with it,” Luca said. “It doesn’t seem to be a good fit for you.”
I thought about that for a while as we walked, the level terrain transitioning to a bit of an incline. “It’s not, but it keeps me busy and it keeps me moving forward, you know? I think I just needed to throw myself into something after my breakup, and in that respect, law school was perfect. I’ve been way too busy to sit around feeling sorry for myself. Or, well, to feel much of anything.”