Stones

by Marilyn Baron

  Despite my state of mind, I adored Italy and felt right at home with the romantic cadence of the language, the fast-flowing Arno, the warmth of the people. I loved to wander down the narrow medieval streets and the wide Renaissance piazzas to explore the masterpieces of art and architecture. I studied Italian, religion, art history, mythology, and English. I loved the romantic and sentimental sonnets of the runaway lover-poets Robert and Elizabeth Browning, who sought refuge in Florence after their 1846 marriage. I visited the villa of Casa Guidi, overlooking the city, and wondered if anyone would ever love me the way Robert loved his “little Portuguese.”

  I spent the next four months living in Italy away from inquiring eyes and suspicions and as far away from Manny Gellar as I could get. I saw every piece of art in every church and every museum in the city. My favorite work of art in the city was Botticelli’s masterpiece “The Birth of Venus” at the Uffizi Gallery. The first time I laid eyes on Venus, the goddess of beauty, in all her nakedness, splendid and seductive, yet innocent, it shook my emotions and spoke to my heart. I loved the pastel colors and the way the wind seemed to blow Venus to shore. But it just brought to mind that I myself was no longer innocent. I was also no longer skinny.

  It was no wonder. I ate gelato at Vivoli’s, and calzone, pizza, and spaghetti at Bruno’s near the train station. Everyone attributed my weight gain to having given in to the tasty temptations of Florence. I never revealed my secret to anyone. I took long walks along the Arno, bought luscious fresh peaches at the public market, and listened to music at the Piazza della Signoria while sipping cioccolata.

  I crowded myself with new experiences and new places in hopes of losing myself along the way. But nothing had changed except the scenery. Instead of forgetting Manny, much of my time overseas was spent dwelling on him, mired in memories.

  When I was supposed to be studying Italian, I found myself writing my imaginary new name in cursive across the pages in my notebook: Julie Gellar, Mrs. Manny Gellar, Julie Goldsmith Gellar. The letters were so familiar I could even see them in my sleep. And I couldn’t stop the fat tears that slipped down the side of my face and plopped onto the paper, blurring my vision and soaking my signature.

  Mackie wrote that Manny asked about me all the time and wondered why I never answered his letters.

  “I truly think he’s lost without you. He mopes about like a hurt little boy, with no one to laugh at his jokes.” But I had sworn my friend to secrecy. Under no circumstances was Manny to learn about the pregnancy.

  Mackie’s latest letter arrived in a package with a book about pregnancy and childbirth. “Julie, from what I’m reading between the lines, I’m afraid you’re in denial. I don’t think you’ve really faced up to the fact that you’re pregnant. You’re an ostrich with her head stuck in the sand. Eventually, this child is going to come out the other end and then what will you do?”

  Was that what I was doing? Denying my child?

  Time went by in a blur. Mostly I remember scarfing down pasta and barfing it back up. Instead of snacking on saltines, I nibbled on biscotti. Other than that, I guess that being pregnant was pretty much the same in any language. My stomach was still expanding at an alarming rate.

  I was definitely not looking for any romantic entanglements. I was hardly in any position to be thinking in that direction, no matter how lonely I was. Even in my condition, I knew I still looked good in my brown cotton jeans, short-sleeved beige ribbed shirt, and clogs that clickety-clacked against the cobblestones. The familiar Italian pick-up line, the eternal male call, “Ciao, bella,” still greeted me on my walks to and from class. It wouldn’t have made any difference if I were wearing a potato sack. Italian boys weren’t that discriminating. They would have loved to practice more than their Italian on me, but after what I had been through, the barriers I had built up were too strong for anyone to break down. My emotions were buried as deep as the layers of stone in Pompeii. It would take a long time to peel back those layers, and I doubted even a top-notch archaeological team could crack the surface.

  Homesick and lonely, I spent a lot of time sitting in the disco—the hotel cellar—every night with the rest of the students on my program, listening to soulful American songs and watching everyone get mind-numbingly drunk on cheap Chianti. Drinking was something I couldn’t indulge in because of my pregnancy. But Italy was another place, and I was a different girl. So one night I made an exception. When I was about to be sick, I stumbled back upstairs to find Dana was gone for the evening, again.

  Dana, I discovered, was a serial dater. Four months into the program, she had graduated from the world of immature Italian boys to older, more sophisticated men, and my roommate and I had become somewhat estranged.

  When I saw her leave the hotel that evening in her tight red dress, tottering on matching red heels and encased in a full-length fur, she was on the way to a fancy party, escorted by her latest handsome Italian gentleman friend. I couldn’t quite see the difference between my roommate and the women of the night who plied their wares on the streets outside our hotel door. I didn’t expect her back until the early hours of the morning.

  When Dana returned from her date, I was throwing up in the bidet. I knew that contraption would come in handy. I didn’t remember much else about the rest of the evening, except Dana cleaning up my mess and helping me into my flannel pajamas. There was a spreading stain on her tight red dress. I had ruined it, but she didn’t seem to mind.

  “Would you please tell me what’s wrong with you?” she insisted. “You’re barfing your guts out and you don’t even drink. You’ve been acting absolutely hormonal since you arrived, and I can’t figure it out.”

  “I’m pregnant, okay?” I finally admitted. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  “It’s not what I expected,” she answered quietly.

  “You mean from Miss Goody Two Shoes?”

  “I didn’t say that. We don’t know each other well enough for me to judge you. Even though sometimes I think you judge me. I’d like to help.”

  “Promise me you won’t tell anyone, especially not the director. He’ll ship me back home early, and I can’t go home just yet.”

  “I won’t tell. But ultimately someone is going to notice, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe. I’ll just say I’m getting fat.”

  “That might work. What can I do for you?”

  “Do you know any OB-GYNs by any chance? I need to get checked out, I think.”

  “As a matter of fact, I’m dating a gynecologist. His name is Roberto, and he’s delicious.”

  “I don’t need a meal, just some vitamins,” I remarked.

  “Very funny. Trust me. You’ll like him. He’s very discreet. Great hands, too. I’ll take you to his office on Monday, and we’ll work everything out.”

  I started crying and hugged Dana.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I know,” Dana said. “Me too. I guess I don’t have to ask whose it is.”

  “It’s the Letter Writer’s.” That’s what Dana called him.

  “Does he even know?”

  “No, and he’s never going to.”

  “He’s not going to hear it from me. I don’t even know the guy. You’d better get some sleep now. All these late nights are bad for the baby.”

  How did Dana get to be so wise?

  As I drifted off to sleep I thought how nice it was that someone over here on this side of my world shared my secret, and that I no longer had to shoulder that burden by myself. I wasn’t alone, and the baby was somehow finally beginning to feel real. It was time to stop hiding out in Italy and get on with my life.

  Chapter Fourteen:

  I’m Not Fat, I’m Pregnant

  Miami

  Matt wasn’t much of a writer, but whenever he did drop me a line, I answered his letters, purposely leaving out the part about my pregnancy. I got my hair cut in a stylish Italian shag and sent him a picture of me taken in an auto photo booth. I t
hought I looked pretty good—from the waist up. Matt wrote back that he couldn’t wait to see me. Thrilled that I had come home early from Italy, it was obvious he was anxious to pick up our relationship where it left off. Although I suspected Matt was in love with me, he had never said the words to me, and I wasn’t ready to say the words to him.

  I went back to work for my parents at Goldsmith’s Jewelers. My favorite part of working at Goldsmith’s was helping young couples select their diamond engagement rings. The jewelry shop did a brisk and profitable wedding business, which kept my view of the world unnaturally rosy. All I ever saw, day in and day out, were people in love starting out together on an open road, focused only on each other, their new lives opening up in front of them, nothing but big dreams ahead of them.

  I was determined to make my own mark in the business. Media, marketing, advertising, dealing with customers, and anticipating trends were my areas of expertise. I had an eye for quality and style and knew what would sell. I designed ads and planned promotions that brought customers into the store and, once there, few failed to leave without a purchase.

  Matt landed a position with a small freight expediter that provided shipping services from the United States to Latin America. They had a network of agents scattered in cities throughout the Americas, so considerable travel was involved. The company offered a generous compensation package with an opportunity for Matt to buy into the business if he proved himself. Meanwhile, he was trying to prove how much he’d missed me.

  Parking his car by the lake near his house, he pulled me close and began kissing me. I responded instinctively.

  “Julie, I’m going crazy. Did you miss me as much as I missed you?”

  I didn’t answer because I was confused about how I really felt. We had never made love before, and from the way we were fogging up the windows, it was evident that he wanted to tonight. I was definitely not ready to give myself to him completely, especially not in a cramped car. Maybe I would never be ready. I had given up any hope of ever getting together with Manny. That was a fantasy.

  Matt was my reality, and he was here now, kissing me softly on the lips and telling me how much he loved me. But Manny was right there between us as surely as if he were flesh and blood, he was so much a part of me.

  “Julie, I want to make love to you. Please can we?”

  “No, Matt. I can’t now. I’m sorry.”

  “Well, when then?” he said impatiently, touching me, trying his best to arouse me. “Doesn’t it feel good when we’re together like this, honey?” he asked, pushing me into a prone position with my head wedged uncomfortably against the door handle. Well, not exactly. My neck was getting stiff, and I was losing all feeling in my legs.

  “I want more, Julie. I need more.”

  “I understand, Matt. That’s why I—”

  “No, I don’t think you do. I have something for you. He reached into the pocket of his khaki slacks and stunned me when he pulled out a small green Goldsmith’s box wrapped in a green ribbon.

  Was this what I thought it was? I opened the box to find a beautiful diamond ring. The stone was very fine, at least a carat in size, with a wonderful antique platinum setting, something I might have picked out for myself. Matt was pleased when he saw me admiring the ring.

  “Your mother helped me pick it out.” He smiled proudly.

  “My mother?” I asked, flabbergasted. “She knew about this? She never said a word to me.” Sylvia Goldsmith strikes again.

  “Well, I wanted to surprise you.”

  “You certainly did.” I was furious at my mother. How could she conspire against her own daughter and blindside me like this? I didn’t even know what I wanted, and now Matt and my mother had presented me with a fait accompli. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt Matt.

  Then I realized this was my mother’s contribution to the campaign to marry off her single, pregnant daughter. My mother had been shocked when I showed up at home as pregnant as the day I left for London. This was her not-so-subtle way of trying to arrange my life, again.

  “You haven’t said anything,” Matt said.

  I had traveled to Italy to uncomplicate my life, and when I decided to keep my baby, I could hardly tell Matt something so important in a letter. It never seemed to be the perfect time. I had planned to tell him the truth tonight. Now that we were face-to-face, it was time, way past time, to level with him.

  “Matt,” I said calmly, placing his hand on my stomach. “There’s something I have to tell you. Something that I should have told you before. You’re either incredibly unobservant or quite a gentleman. You never even commented about how much I’ve porked out in the past four months. I’m hardly the same girl you knew before I went away to Italy.”

  “I don’t care how much you weigh, Julie. I love you.”

  “Matt, that’s sweet, but you’re not listening.” I paused briefly. “I’m not fat, I’m pregnant.”

  Matt reeled and dropped my hand.

  “You’re pregnant? Julie, how could that have happened? We haven’t, I mean we never…”

  Exactamente.

  “That’s exactly my point. Now do you see what I’m trying to tell you? I’m so sorry.”

  “But who? Did it happen in Italy?”

  “That’s not important.” If I told Matt the truth, he would confront Manny, and that was the last thing I wanted.

  “It is to me.”

  “Matt, I know I’ve hurt you. I really wish I could…take the whole thing back, do it over, but it’s done. I think you’d better take me home.”

  The silence between us was intense. Finally Matt spoke.

  “But you haven’t answered my question.”

  “Well, you haven’t asked me anything,” I pointed out, trying to stall for time, growing increasingly agitated.

  “Julie,” said Matt taking my hand in his. He brushed his lips against mine so softly that the sensation barely registered. “I love you. Will you marry me?”

  I felt the tears stream down my cheeks. The man was some kind of a saint. I certainly didn’t deserve him. How could he ever get past something as huge as this? How could he possibly want someone as huge as me? I did care for him a great deal, and I thought I could even grow to love him. It wasn’t the passionate, all-consuming love I felt for Manny. But it also wasn’t a destructive love. With Matt there was no pretense. He always gave a hundred percent. He never held back. And I knew he would never hurt or disappoint me. I also knew it would be a long time before I found anybody else to fill that empty space inside my heart.

  Maybe it wasn’t fair to compare him to Manny. Maybe nobody would ever measure up. Manny had spoiled me for anyone else. Matt’s only fault was not being Manny. I wanted things to be good between us. I wanted to love him the way he loved me.

  “The ring is beautiful, but it’s such an important decision, I need some time to think,” I stalled. “If we did get married, when did you have in mind?”

  “As soon as possible, Julie. Tomorrow if we could. With my salary, I can support you—and the baby. I don’t want to live without you one more minute.”

  It was one of the biggest decisions I’d ever make in my life. Selfishly, I knew that Matt could solve all my problems. But I needed to solve my own problems. At the same time, I knew I might not ever get another chance for happiness. Mackie would tell me to take that chance. And so would my parents. But when I thought about who I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, I knew it wasn’t Matt. Hands down, no contest. There always was only one man for me. I doubted that would ever change.

  “Manny came by the store yesterday and said he wants to see me again,” I told Mackie the morning after the proposal.

  “He’s trying to break down your defenses,” Mackie said.

  “The trouble is I can’t make up my mind about us. I love who I am with him and at the same time, I hate who I am with him.”

  “Manny Gellar is your biggest weakness,” Mackie sympathized.

  “How can love be
a weakness?” I reasoned, dejected.

  It was easy for Mackie to give advice. She was about to marry Little Jon and her life was falling nicely into place. Mine was still up in the air.

  “You know how Manny is,” Mackie said. “He doesn’t want you, but he doesn’t want anyone else to have you. He’s still living in the past and he likes it there. He’ll never let you go. He’ll keep you hanging on until one of you dies. So you’re going to have to be the strong one and put him completely out of your mind, once and for all, unless he makes some kind of commitment to you.”

  “There’s still a connection between us on some level. I think there always will be. We’ll probably grow old together—and not together. But we can’t be just friends anymore. It’s gone way beyond that. But whatever this thing we have is, the relationship is not moving forward.”

  “You don’t see his flaws,” Mackie said. “You deserve better. You deserve someone like Matt. At least you know where you stand with him.”

  “But I don’t love Matt,” I said, suddenly struck by the simple truth of it.

  ****

  Matt was disappointed and hurt when I told him I couldn’t marry him.

  “Do you think there will ever be a chance for us?” he asked hopefully.

  “I’m sorry, Matt,” I apologized, giving him all the reasons but the real one.

  “I’m going to hold on to the ring for a while, in case you, you know, change your mind.” He looked away, but not before I saw how devastated he was. He didn’t get the answer he had expected, and he was trying his best to deal with that.

  Jeez Maheez! I hoped I wasn’t making the biggest mistake of my life turning my back in the face of such a fierce love.

  Chapter Fifteen:

  Memory Lane

  Jewels@aol.com: What do you know about sexy lingerie?

  DoubleMac@aol.com: What’s wrong with your regular underwear?

  Jewels@aol.com: Jockeys are practical and comfortable, but boring.

  DoubleMac@aol.com: Are these for Matt or for your trip to Palm Coast?

  Jewels@aol.com: No, they’re for me.