“I’m just happy you agreed to come on such short notice.”
Sappho reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “Why wouldn’t I? Our restaurant isn’t busy tonight and I like spending time with you.”
Petro sat quietly.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“No, I’m just waiting for the punch line.”
“Tonight I decided to be sincere.”
“Not sure I can handle it.”
“Don’t worry, it’s like water skiing. Just relax and let the boat pull you up.” She squeezed his hand again.
“Hi, Sappho,” said the waiter.
“Hi, Giorgio. How are things going?”
“Terrific. I’ve got a job. That’s enough to make any Greek feel terrific these days.”
“I hear you.”
“What can I get you guys? By the way, if you’re in a hurry you might want to put in your order right away. We’ve got a party coming in any minute that will take over the rest of the tables, and they’ll likely be pressing us hard for attention all night. Military types.”
“Tell me about it.” Sappho looked at Petro. “We had to deal with that sort all last night.”
“Yeah,” said Petro. “At least they’re big tippers.”
“So, should I put in your order?”
Petro looked at Sappho. “I’m not in a hurry, are you?”
She smiled at Petro. “Not me. I have all night.”
“Okay, guys, I get it. I’ll bring you the wine and some meze and just let me know when you need me for anything else.”
“Thanks, Giorgio,” said Sappho.
The waiter patted Sappho on the back, “Any time, darling,” and headed off to the kitchen.
“Everybody seems to like you,” said Petro.
“Are you surprised?”
“Totally. I thought it was only me who felt that way.”
“Stop already. You’re killing me with all this.”
“Don’t worry, I’m just booking credits for when you’ll want to smack me.”
“You mean there are exciting times to come?”
Petro smiled. “For sure.”
Sappho nodded toward the door. “Like right now, for instance. You’ll never guess who’s coming through the front door.”
Petro turned his head in the direction of Sappho’s stare. “My God, we’re reliving last night. It’s the same crew.”
“I knew this island was getting too small.”
“Oh, well, don’t worry, we’ll just ignore them.”
Sappho smiled and leaned forward close enough to almost kiss him. “Yes, it’s just the two of us in the room, and no one else.”
“Sappho! You’re here. What a surprise,” said one voice.
Come, you’ve got to join us,” said another.
Sappho dropped her head toward the table. “I can’t believe this.”
“As our guest,” said a third.
“And bring your father’s godson with you.”
***
The officers pushed four tables together, seated Sappho in the middle directly across from Colonel Retsos, and banished Petro to a far end.
Petro couldn’t help but admire her. He knew she didn’t want to be dragged into the middle of a stag party, but yet there she was, the centerpiece of an otherwise all-male night on the town. She knew just what to say. Who to encourage, who to discourage. Even though this wasn’t her family’s place, they were her family’s customers, and by showing them the attention they craved, she was respecting her family’s business.
Petro’s thoughts had drifted toward a feeling of pride at how masterfully she handled herself, until shame crept in for his part in tricking her into playing that role. But I honestly did want to be with her, he thought. And what he’d said to her he’d meant, even though the words also served the purpose of his job. He wondered if that made what he’d said any less sincere. He hoped not.
“Hey, godson, get with it, will you? You’re the damp rag at this party.”
Petro raised his glass to the clearly drunk major calling him out from the other end of the table. “Stin yia mas.”
“Yamas,” said the rest of the table raising their glasses and toasting to everyone’s health.
“Hey, Major, go easy on him,” said Sappho. “I’ll need him in one piece for later on. He’s more than my father’s godson—he’s my boyfriend.”
That brought on a host of shouts and hoots from around the table and what Petro thought for sure had to be a broad blush across his face.
An Air Force wing commander sitting next to Sappho jumped up and said, “Godson, sit here. I don’t want to separate you two hard-working kids on your night out.”
The drunken major staggered to his feet and said, “I’ll take your seat if you don’t want it. I’m willing to risk breaking up the two lovebirds.” But before he could move, officers on either side of him pulled him back down onto his chair.
The wing commander waved to Petro, “Get over here, son, that’s an order.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Petro.
“Pussy,” shouted the drunken major waving his glass of whisky in the general direction of Petro.
“Cool it, Major,” said Colonel Retsos.
The drunken major stared in the general direction of the colonel but said nothing, instead taking a swig from his glass.
“Sorry about that,” said the colonel as Petro sat across from him. “He’s really not a bad guy, just under a lot of pressure at the moment.”
“I bet,” said Petro with a smile.
The colonel extended his hand across the table. “The name’s Retsos.”
Petro shook his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“Again, I apologize for his behavior.”
“No reason to, Colonel. I get it. He’s just blowing off steam. The Mediterranean is one big tinderbox filled with crazies running around lighting matches, and Greece sits on the edge of it all looking to you guys to keep us from going up in flames.”
“Well said.”
Petro smiled. “Feel free to use it. I’ve a lot of career military buddies, and you guys get nothing but blame while you should be catching only praise. Every significant problem Greece faces, from FYROM, to the masses of immigrants streaming in through Turkey, puts you on the front lines.”
The Colonel smiled. “You’re starting to sound like a PR flack for the Defense Ministry.”
Petro shook his head. “Could be worse, I guess. You could have called me a politician.”
The colonel laughed. “Forgive me, please.”
Petro lifted his glass and held it up to the colonel. “Forgiven.”
They clinked glasses and launched off through many glasses of wine, accompanied by grilled eggplant, tomato keftedhes, fava, local cheeses, and a host of other Santorini appetizer specialities, into focused conversation over sports, fishing, the world of the military, and how lucky Petro was to have Sappho in his life. Though busy entertaining the rest of the table, at the mention of that final subject, Sappho jumped in on their conversation with a one-liner that let both men know she hadn’t missed a word of what they’d been saying.
“I think we’d better pick a less dangerous topic, Colonel,” said Petro, reaching over to pat the back of Sappho’s hand.
She turned her hand over, took hold of Petro’s, gave a quick squeeze, and let go.
“I’ve been so busy talking about myself, I haven’t given you a chance to tell me anything about your life,” said the colonel. He waved at Petro and Sappho. “Other than the obvious, of course.”
‘What would you like to know?”
“Well, I don’t know…how about what you do for a living?”
“I’m trying to get into the hotel business. As I see it, it’s about the only career
in Greece that looks to have a future.”
“Good thinking. Just be sure you find the right location. Like here on Santorini, for instance.”
Petro nodded. “Yes, but it’s tough breaking in on this island without the proper backing.”
“For sure. You need the right backing for everything in life.”
“Even in the military?”
“Especially in the military. If you don’t have connections, you’re fucked.” He glanced at Sappho, who didn’t appear to be listening. “Sorry about that,” he said to Petro.
“No problem,” said Sappho, without looking at either of them.
Petro shook his head and the colonel laughed.
“She’s amazing,” said the colonel.
“For sure. She doesn’t miss a trick.”
“I bet she could introduce you to backers.”
Petro leaned toward Sappho’s ear and said loudly, “Won’t ever happen. She wants to keep me working in the restaurant so I’m never out of her sight.”
The colonel laughed again. “Well then, maybe I can borrow her for an introduction….”
“To whom?”
The colonel took a sip of wine. “That civilian who came to dinner last night.”
Petro hoped his face remained steady. “Which guy was that? You all wore civilian clothes.”
“The one who arrived late and left early.”
“I don’t know him.”
“Maybe she does?” nodding toward Sappho.
“Let’s ask her,” said Petro.
“No, please don’t.” The colonel reached across the table to grab Petro’s forearm. “I don’t want to raise the subject at the table. It’s sort of a touchy one.”
“Touchy?”
“We’ve been going back and forth all day over whether we should try to meet with him on a policy issue. Some said yes, some said no. The brass has left it up to us to decide because they don’t want to hear any more arguing over it. In fact, that’s why they passed on joining us for dinner. They didn’t believe us when we promised not to talk about it tonight.”
“I take it you’re on the side that wants to talk to him?”
Colonel Retsos nodded.
“I don’t understand why you need an introduction. Couldn’t you just call him up and say you want to meet with him? After all, it’s not as if you’re complete strangers. You did have dinner together a night ago.”
“You’re probably right. But I still have to convince a few more of my colleagues that the brass meant it when they said we could speak to him if we wanted. Trouble is, none of the brass is willing to introduce us to him. So, despite what we were told, my colleagues are worried the brass will be pissed if we do manage to get in to see him.”
“Sounds like some folks are afraid to rock the boat.”
“Bingo,” said the Colonel pointing at Petro with his wine glass. “At all levels. But what they don’t understand is that meeting with this guy is our only chance of keeping the boat afloat.”
Petro raised his glass. “To floating your boat.”
“And to Greece.”
They clinked glasses and drank.
“Amen,” said Sappho reaching over and squeezing Petro’s thigh. She leaned in and whispered in his ear, “I probably could arrange an introduction for him, if you’d like.”
Petro whispered back. “Thanks, but it’s better for you to stay out of this.” He kissed her on the ear.
She turned her head and looked at him. “Well, that’s a start.”
“What is?”
“The kiss.”
***
The colonel and Petro talked straight though the main course of lamb kleftiko—lamb and potatoes cooked in waxed paper—and paidaikia (lamb chops), but neither said a further word about the disagreement among the troops over approaching Prada.
Petro saw no purpose in pushing the subject. He had his answers for Andreas: Colonel Retsos had no plan for hooking up with Prada and no one was encouraging or assisting him to make it happen. No one, except perhaps Petro, with his unintentional suggestion that he call Prada directly.
As for Andreas’ desire that he fish for what Retsos might do if he couldn’t get Prada to change his mind, Petro saw no non-suspicious way of raising the subject. But he did have a strong instinct on the point. He didn’t see the colonel as the coup d’état type. He came across as a good soldier committed to the separate roles of civilian and military leadership, and to working within that framework. He also struck Petro as not the sharpest blade in the military’s drawer, with traits more likely subject to exploitation by one possessing ulterior motives than to harboring any such motives of his own.
It was after two in the morning when the last wave of military left the taverna offering a farewell nod to Petro and an effusive, hugging session of goodbyes to Sappho.
Sappho dropped into a chair next to Petro and said to the waiter clearing the tables, “I think I deserve part of your tip.”
“You earned it,” he said without looking up from the plates. “Maybe you should consider going someplace where you won’t bump into your customers on your night off.” He looked at her. “Do you act like this every night?”
Petro answered for her. “Every moment of every night.”
Pointing at Petro she said, “I didn’t pick the place, he did.” She leaned toward Petro and whispered, “Besides, you really can’t say that until you’ve spent every moment of a night with me.”
“Promises, promises.”
Sappho jerked her hand in the air. “Check, please.’”
“Are you kidding?” said the waiter. “Your friends not only paid the check but tipped me three times what I expected. You’re welcome to come back any time you want, Sappho, and if the boss won’t comp your meal, I’ll pay for it out of my own pocket.”
“I’ll keep your offer in mind,” she said, pulling Petro out of his chair toward the door, “but right now I have another one to deal with.”
“Thanks and good night,” said Petro to the waiter.
As they walked out the front door, Sappho said, “Enough with being nice to everyone else. It’s time to start paying attention to me.”
“What are you talking about?” he said as they headed toward his motorcycle.
“I thought you and that colonel were going to elope.”
Petro smiled. “He did give me his card.”
“Stop making me jealous.”
Sappho stopped and turned to face him head-on. “One question.”
“Sure.”
“What was the real reason you asked me to dinner in this place?”
He hoped there wasn’t enough light to make out the color change he felt rush across his face.
“I told you, my friend recommended it.”
“Yeah, yeah, I heard all that. But I also heard the two of you going at it. It sure seemed to me as if the colonel was the only one in the room you had any interest in talking to. It was as if I wasn’t there.”
“Uh, let’s be real here. Once you get into your restaurateur mode, it’s bye-bye to anyone having a one-on-one conversation with you. You’re off entertaining the entire room and nothing else matters.”
She reached up and clutched the front of his jacket. “Are you suggesting we find a room for just the two of us?”
Petro smiled. “If you can find one, that works for me.”
She let go of his jacket and waggled a beckoning finger at him. “Follow me.”
***
For no reason in particular, Petro thought Sappho lived with her parents. She’d never said she did, but he assumed from how closely they worked together she’d simply moved in with them after her breakup with her husband. Another wrong assumption he’d made about her. And one that made it more likely this evening would end up in her bed.
Though virtually alone on the road, with Sappho mounted snugly behind him on his bike, her arms squeezed tightly around him, and her lips pressed hard against his ear whispering directions, it took far more concentration than he’d like in his too-much-to-drink condition to keep them smoothly on the road. The process became even more difficult when Sappho’s whispers turned to nibbles at his ear. Another reason for wearing a helmet, but that wouldn’t have helped him once her hands turned to gliding along the insides of his thighs.
She lived southwest of Exo Gonia at the heart of the island’s wine production country in the relatively out-of-the-way village of Megalochori. Her room was on the top floor of a nineteenth-century neoclassical mansion, a popular style in Greece back then among the rich, but one that hadn’t really taken root on Santorini. Historically, whether built in or out of town, Santorini houses came in three basic forms: those dug out of the volcanic earth and lived in as caves, those built partially dug out and partially built in the normal way, and those built completely above ground, virtually all designed with vaulted roofs of one form or another. As the island’s residents became more affluent, the mansions that evolved from those forms fell more under the Italian influence of the Renaissance than any other style. According to Sappho, architectural considerations had played no part in her choice of where to live. She loved her place for its southern view toward the island’s fabled black sand beaches.
It being the middle of the night, Petro took her at her word about the view. He also believed her when she said the neighbor below was deaf.
He parked in the shadows close by the front door, turned off the motor, and waited for Sappho to slide off behind him. But she didn’t move. Instead her hands moved higher up on his thighs and stopped just below his belt. He pulled her hands away and swung himself off the bike.
“Inside,” he said, pointing at the front door.
She didn’t say a word, just slid off the bike, walked to the door, and opened it with a key. He stepped in behind her and closed the door. She spun around to face him. Neither reached to turn on a light. They had no reason to. LEDs clustered by a nearby giant TV threw off a faint green, blue, and orange glow sufficient to make out all the shapes they needed to see.
He held her in his arms and kissed her. She pressed back hard and bit at his lower lip before probing for his tongue with hers. His hands ran up and down her back, coming to rest tightly and gripping the well-formed ass he’d watched so many times in the past forty-eight hours. They paused only long enough to wrestle their coats off onto the floor.
Santorini Caesars Page 17