Killing Kiss

by Sam Stone

  ‘Who is that?’ I asked one of the servants as he passed by holding a tray of drinks.

  ‘Count Lamberetti’s youngest son, signore. Gennaro.’

  ‘I see.’

  At that moment my uncle approached and I forgot about Francesca and Gennaro Lamberetti as I asked the question I had wanted to ask all evening.

  ‘Uncle, I saw a most unusual lady in the crowd today. Perhaps you know her? Wearing a rather shocking, low-cut gold gown.’

  ‘Ah. Yes, Gabriele. Countess Borgia. It is said that she is mistress to the Duke ... Beautiful, but I fear so very cold. Stay away from her. Consorting with such a woman would be bad for your reputation.’

  ‘Oh, Uncle, really!’ I laughed. ‘I thought consorting with “such women” was very good for a man’s reputation.’

  My uncle chuckled then grew serious. ‘Not her Gabriele ... Please take my word on this. Not least you would make an enemy in very high places.’

  He left me to ponder his comments and my eyes followed the Duke as he escorted his wife from the dance floor. The Duchess was incredibly beautiful with silky brown hair and dark eyes. Why on earth would any man want to betray such a woman? Manhood was still a mystery to me, especially the affairs of powerful men.

  I grew tired. The concert had been a strain despite my confidence. It had been important that I make a good impression on my first visit to court. It was early and Francesca and I also had to sing later on in the evening. The polite conversation had taken its toll and I was drained. Looking for a place to rest before my next recital, I entered a quiet salon in the west wing. The night was warm, the room cool and dark with the French windows wide open onto a balcony that looked down over the Duke’s gardens. It was the ideal place to rest. Very few people used this part of the Palazzo and I felt an intense desire to be alone. I had much to consider, because I had decided to make my interest in Francesca known and ask my uncle’s permission to pursue her. It was important I approached him soon because clearly there were other men who might steal her from me. I walked to the fireplace and stood looking at my dull reflection in the mirror above.

  Away from the light of the torches a whispered moan came from the shadow of the chaise wedged in the corner of the room. I turned my head and saw with shock my Francesca, half dressed, in the arms of Gennaro Lamberetti. My world furrowed. She lay on the pale green silk couch, her tight blue bodice open while Gennaro kissed the prominent line of her collar bone, his hand massaged her slender waist, sliding gently downwards as he pulled up her gown. Her hand was tangled in his wavy dark hair and she sighed as his fingers delved under the skirt of her dress.

  I held my breath. The beauty of the moment was not lost on me. She would never have allowed me such liberties, despite my passion for her. Could this mean she loved him? She would always see me as her younger cousin, never a potential lover or husband.

  I flew at Gennaro, wrenching him away from her, and landed a punch on his smug handsome face.

  ‘You filth! Defiler! You’ll give me satisfaction or I’ll let the entire court know you for a coward.’

  I hit out at him once more but he scurried away to stand by the cool fireplace, waving his hands before him.

  ‘Cousin. Calm yourself,’ he replied.

  ‘What right have you to call me cousin?’ I fumed. ‘I swear I’ll kill you!’

  Francesca’s screaming began to sink into my befuddled, naïve brain.

  ‘Gabriele! Please! Stop this madness. I love him. He’s done nothing that I did not allow. We are betrothed.’

  I staggered back, reaching for the back of the chaise that had been the bed to these two lovers. She clutched her bodice closed and sightless fury surged into my face. She let him ... but not me. Never me.

  ‘Whore!’ I yelled. ‘Your father ...’

  ‘He gave his consent two days ago,’ Gennaro replied. ‘I assure you I love Francesca. I would not have allowed things to go too far, Gabriele. We were both a little imprudent this evening ... But I will keep my word. In fact, your uncle has agreed to a short engagement.’

  I backed away.

  ‘No. No ...’

  ‘Gabriele ... ?’ Francesca pleaded.

  ‘We were going to announce it officially tomorrow night.’

  I ran through the halls like a man chased by some demonic curse and I left the court, never to return. The memory voice, as she screamed my name, reverberated in the recesses of my besotted brain as though they were a part of the dark corridors that led me to find these two lovers.

  ‘I never realised how you felt about Francesca,’ my uncle said, his arm around my neck. ‘Please, Gabriele, don’t go. What of your mother?’

  ‘It’s best I leave. I can’t stay here and pretend that I am happy. Mother must understand.’

  ‘Then I’ll help. I have contacts in the Doge’s court. It’s a beautiful city. A romantic town with many a beautiful woman.’

  I stared at him.

  ‘I’ll never love another ...’

  ‘Of course you will. You are a musician, Gabriele. Singers are passionate by nature. You’ll get over this, I promise.’ He pulled me to him, kissing my cheeks with affection. ‘And when you do, you will come home to us again.’

  A few days later I left Florence with a letter of introduction and made my way across the country as a gentleman of wealth and influence heading for the beautiful, musical city - Venice.

  Chapter 5

  We run hand in hand through the rain. As usual St Mark’s Square is flooded; the water rising to at least a foot. We duck under the arch and into the open doorway. Above the curved doorway, four shiny bronze horses look out over the square as water seeps into the Cathedral behind us, pooling in the well of the dipped mosaic reception. I push the heavy doors closed behind us, shutting out the rain and the vile-smelling sea. I turn to the set of doors ahead, walk up the three marble steps to open them, and look in at the pews and altar. Beside this door is another that leads up to the balcony where the commoners converge for the service.

  ‘Why are we here?’ she asks.

  ‘I wanted to show you the Art; just look at this mural above the altar.’

  ‘I ... can’t.’

  ‘Why? It’s just a church. It really has no power over our kind.’

  ‘I’m an evil being, shunned by God.’

  ‘Lucrezia ...’

  I turn and find it is ... Lilly who backs away into the now waist-high water and the rain is her tears; she is the rising water. Quickly it reaches her chin, swallowing her like the gulp of a mastiff, but the tears don’t stop and I sink in the salty liquid as it soon covers my head. I can’t breathe - still my heart convulses at the sight of her lovely corpse floating in the cathedral doorway.

  Her blonde hair is seaweed and as I try to swim away I become entangled in its rapidly growing length. My lungs are bursting. I can’t escape. My arms and legs are tied as her herbaceous tresses wrap around me and pull me deep into suffocating death. I am drowning ...

  ‘Jay. Wait up!’

  I turn to see Carolyn running towards the humanities building. I stop, smiling. I am not surprised to see her after two weeks of entering her dreams but I feel strained and tired. I am haunted by unfamiliar desires, my interests seem too fractured, my dreams so strange.

  ‘Want to go for coffee in the refec?’ she asks. ‘You look like you need some. Rough night?’

  ‘That would be nice. Yes. I didn’t sleep too well.’

  We walk in companionable silence away from Humanities and through the Education block.

  ‘We’ve not seen much of you the last few nights ...’

  ‘I’ve been working on my first assignment,’ I explain, though this is untrue. I have spent every night watching her from afar. It is part of my technique to appear distant.

  ‘It’s not
due in for weeks ...’

  ‘I like to be organised.’

  She falls silent. We reach the refectory and enter for the traditional morning coffee. I like food - but I must curb my urges to overindulge - too many times attention has been drawn to the excessive amounts I can eat. I eat what my fellow students eat and no more. I don’t wish to raise questions about my habits, though I’ve let it be known that I have a wealthy father who funds my studies. This allows me to be at least a little eccentric. The girls flock around me - though this is not intentional - I am by any standards quite ordinary looking, but the lust attracts them when it is so heightened. They are like Catholic schoolgirls to a young priest; they feel it is wrong but just can’t help it.

  ‘Jay?’ Carolyn is looking at me strangely and I realise I am holding a chair out for her.

  ‘Sorry, miles away!’ I stutter, quickly joining the queue for coffee and breakfast.

  The refectory is full of uncomfortable plastic furniture that is supposed to give a young and contemporary feel to the place. I detest the modernity and crave the plush comfort of padded renaissance chairs, and carved oak tables with lace tablecloths. Or even the real class of Art Deco. Modern imitation never quite gets it right.

  Carolyn picks up a modest breakfast of toast and jam, while I opt for the full breakfast special, with a large latte. I insist on paying for us both at the till and we sit together at an empty table in the furthest corner I can find.

  ‘Jay, can I ask you something?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’re a twenty five year old rich guy. You could be in Cambridge or Oxford instead of Manchester. Shit. You probably don’t need to do anything.’

  I quietly chew a mouthful of greasy bacon and egg - trying to keep from grimacing at the disgusting, soggy taste - I take great pride in being able to ‘enjoy’ revolting food. I swallow a mouthful of my coffee before answering.

  ‘My dad said he’d cut me off unless I get a degree.’

  ‘Harsh.’

  ‘Not really. I promised I’d knuckle down if he let me travel for a few years. I travelled for six. Fair’s fair.’

  Carolyn nods, sipping her coffee.

  ‘So where did you go for all that time?’

  ‘Everywhere. You could say I saw the world. I’d love to tell you more, if you’re really interested.’

  Her shining eyes tell me how intrigued she is. ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘How about tonight? I could take you out, somewhere special. Name a restaurant and I’ll arrange it.’

  ‘Hi guys.’ Steve plops down beside me. His athletic bulk would be intimidating if I didn’t know my own strength. I could push him harder than he could throw a punch. ‘There’s a party tonight at Nate’s. Wanna come?’

  My mouth drops open to answer. I’m ready now to send Steve down the road.

  ‘That’d be great, Steve,’ Carolyn answers, ‘but I can’t make it. My cousin’s having a hen night.’

  ‘Oh. Never mind. What about you Jay? You up for it?’

  ‘Sorry, no. I’ve got to meet my dad in town. Cash flow problem.’

  ‘I get you, mate.’

  Just like that we have our first date and I realise that Carolyn is within my grasp. So much so, she lied to spend time with me. I try to catch her eye but she avoids glancing my way, a perfect example of guilty conscience. Things have really moved on. Alice, Dan and Nate enter, followed by Lilly, who is the only one who looks awake.

  Nate looks as always like he needs a bath. There is a grubbiness about him that I can’t fathom. Although Nate shares rooms off campus, all of the apartments have hot and cold water. Maybe it is his nose ring that gives the appearance of unseemliness? They queue for food. Lilly and Alice have crumpets and toast, while Nate and Dan have sausage barmcakes; another disgusting form of nourishment I’ve never found appealing. They all have large coffees, except Lilly. Nate stops at the condiment counter and pours a sickly amount of sugar into his.

  ‘Lilly, come sit with us,’ says Alice, and for a moment they study each other as the question of a blossoming friendship suddenly seems viable. Every day till then, Lilly has eaten and drank alone.

  ‘I’d like that. Thanks.’ And with this simple invitation she has becomes part of the group.

  I study Alice for a moment, my opinion of her somewhat changed. I would never have thought she would be so sensitive. All four students sit at the table I share with Carolyn. Out of the corner of my eye I see Lilly pour a little water from an Evian bottle into a polystyrene cup. Putting her backpack on her knee she searches through her books until she finds and extracts an orange tube that says effervescent vitamins. While the others drink coffee she opens the tube and drops one of the flat discs into the water. It fizzes and bubbles.

  ‘What’s that?’ Carolyn asks.

  ‘I try to stay healthy. There are lots of infections flying around campus ...’ She casts a dubious look in Nate’s direction and I choke on a mouthful of coffee. It’s as though she shares my thoughts and opinions of Nate.

  ‘Yeah. Right. Your body is a temple,’ Dan says, his eyes focused on her full breasts as they press against her pink tee-shirt.

  ‘Can I cum and worship it, Lilly?’ Nate leers while Dan and Steve laugh.

  I tense up. I don’t think Nate is at all funny and I want to hit him, but Lilly just looks at him while calmly raising her fist. She flicks up her middle finger and everyone laughs this time, including me. I meet her gaze and my eyes skitter away as quickly as possible. Yes. I know - guilty conscience.

  In order to avoid detection, Carolyn meets me off campus and I drive her in my Saab.

  ‘This is some car.’

  ‘My dad let me borrow it. I explained I had a very special date.’

  Through the corner of my eye I see her flush with pleasure and my body responds when a certain bulge grows in my Armani jeans. I clear my throat.

  ‘Like to hear some old fogey music?’ I suggest inserting Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro into the CD player.

  Carolyn giggles when she hears it, but the immaculate voices of tenor and soprano lull me and my libido cools down. I feel her eyes on me and wonder if she has observed how I love the music.

  ‘You know, it’s really not that bad,’ she says thoughtfully. ‘Don’t understand a word of it, but it’s quite pretty.’

  Before I know it I am translating the Italian for her.

  ‘This one is called Voi Che Sapete. The singer is a teenage boy asking the women of the court “What is the Meaning of Love” ...’

  ‘It doesn’t sound like a boy singing. It sounds like a woman.’

  ‘You’re right. It is a Mezzo-Soprano who traditionally sings this role. She’s more likely to be in her mid thirties than her teens too,’ I explain.

  She laughs a clear musical throaty laugh. ‘So it’s - a tranny? That’s amazing.’

  ‘I guess so.’ I laugh with her at the thought.

  ‘How do you know all this stuff, Jay?’

  Then, like all good liars, I tell her the truth. ‘I studied in Florence with my uncle who was a composer and tenor. Sadly he’s dead now.’

  ‘You can sing? Like this?’

  It is my turn to blush a little now. ‘Yes. But nowhere near so well. I’m a little out of practice.’

  ‘Sing for me.’

  ‘I might, though not tonight. Did you know that Mozart only wore red when he was composing?’

  ‘Really? Why?’

  ‘He said it inspired him. Helped him tune in to his creativity apparently.’

  ‘How’d you know that?’

  ‘I asked him.’

  Carolyn giggles. If only she knew.

  The restaurant is the m
ost exclusive I could find. I order in French for both of us, while Carolyn peeks nervously over her menu at the pale pink and grey décor of Chez Nouveau. She is out of her depth, but that makes my sophistication all the more appealing. We sit in the corner, the Maitre d’ suitably tipped, a single candle burning in the centre of the spacious table. I order champagne and she beams, totally hooked. My goal is almost in sight - it’s too easy, what a disappointment.

  ‘You’re gorgeous ...’ I tell her.

  She blushes and I know that the men she’s dated, Steve included, don’t know how to talk to her like this. Modern man lost his masculinity in the struggle for supremacy with the women around twenty years ago. Until then, it was pretty evenly balanced. As she makes a trip to the ladies’ I send the waiter for the flowers I pre-ordered for her. I know this is cheesy, but it will be a new experience for her. When she returns a bouquet of blood-red roses are waiting. She is completely speechless. I refill her glass and she gulps the champagne down in an attempt to hide her embarrassed delight from the beaming elderly couple at the next table.

  ‘You’re not like any guy I’ve ever met, Jay.’

  The waiter serves our starters on expensive hotel ware and then refills our glasses as he holds one hand behind his back. His silver service training is immaculate.

  ‘I guess I’m a little old fashioned ...’ I reply once we are alone again. ‘I hope it doesn’t offend you.’

  ‘No. I think it’s great. I’ve never had anyone open a door for me before. It’s kind of cool. This place is awesome too.’

  ‘I’m glad you like it.’

  The kitchen door swings open as a chef enters with a blazing dish held on a tray. Escargot sizzles and crackles under the hustle of smoke as he passes us.