Suicide Vacation

by Rich Allen

  “Well smile then. Or at least try and look happy to be here,” Zoe jested.

  “Sorry. I don’t photograph very well.” He attempted a smile for the camera then saw the blinding light of the flash.

  “One more, but try smiling a bit more this time,” Zoe told him.

  “This isn’t a Vogue shoot, Zoe.” He shot the camera a cheesy grin and the flash went off.

  Jack walked over to her. The shots had come out ok, though he looked as awkward as ever. They walked down towards the Roman Forum; a series of ruins dotted around the vicinity of the Coliseum. The combination of soft artificial lighting and fading daylight lent them a magical quality. A romantic setting, Jack thought. He resisted the urge to put his arm around Zoe. Then again, maybe she’d like that. No, girls didn’t like pushy guys.

  Zoe directed them past the crowds as they walked past the white marble palace at Piazza Venetia, then across the road. “There are some decent bars and restaurants down here,” she said. “It’s best to eat and drink just outside of the centre. Are you sure you’re not hungry?”

  Bloody starving actually. “No, I’m ok, but you knock yourself out,” he told her.

  Jack noticed the street lights coming on as Zoe led them towards signs for the city centre. She pointed out a small taverna opposite a gothic church. “How about here?”

  To Jack, it looked as good a place as any. A few tourists sat outside drinking white wine while a waiter brought out a tasty looking platter of seafood to a group of locals. “Sure, why not,” he said.

  They sat down at a table for two on the outer perimeter of the canvas shelter. The soft lighting from the church across the street added to the ambience. After a few moments a middle aged waiter greeted them: “English?”

  “One English, one American,” Jack said to the eager looking man.

  “You is very welcome. Here is your menus. May I take from you some drinks?”

  Jack and Zoe smiled conspiratorially at each other as they took their menus.

  “Yes,” Zoe said to the waiter, “you may take from us some drinks.” She looked across at Jack. “Do you like red wine?” she asked him.

  Jack nodded. “Love it.”

  “A bottle of your house red please,” she said to the waiter.

  “Bueno. Thanking yous very much.” The waiter lit a candle on the table then vanished. Zoe studied her menu, and with a sense of reluctance Jack opened his.

  “I thought you weren’t hungry,” she said.

  “I’m not really. No harm in seeing what they have on offer though.” Maybe he could afford a pizza. Just a Margarita. Two pizzas in one day wouldn’t hurt would it? He scanned the pizza section. Twelve euros for a Margarita. “What do you fancy?” he asked her.

  “The cod in white wine sauce sounds good. You’re not really going to let me eat on my own are you?”

  No, I suppose I can’t really. “Oh go on then, I’ll have a pizza,” he said.

  The waiter returned with the wine. After his theatrical performance removing the cork, he poured a few drops into Jack’s glass. Jack humoured him by sloshing the vino around his palate and then nodding.

  “Grazie,” said the waiter as he filled Zoe’s glass to the top before returning to top up Jack’s. “Can I take from you some food?”

  Jack and Zoe shared another embarrassed glance across the table. Jack let her order first, which seemed to impress her. Maybe she was under the illusion that all British guys were perfect gentlemen. Boy was she in for a shock, he thought.

  The waiter seemed keen to push the extras of bread, nibbles and table water but Jack managed to get rid of him. He’d already deviated from his plan of only paying for a few rounds of drinks. Now he might have to offer to pay for the whole meal. Was Zoe the kind of girl who’d let a guy pay on a first date? He certainly hoped not. He tried not to think how embarrassing the situation might get if she expected him to pay and he didn’t have enough money to cover it. Well, he wouldn’t be able to with fifty five euros. His best bet was if they agreed to go Dutch. He’d be able to pay for his own food and drink if he managed to resist dessert.

  Luckily, Zoe skipped a starter and went straight for a fifteen euros main course. Jack looked at the menu and noted that the bottle of wine cost seventeen euros. He totted up the bill so far: forty four plus ten percent tip making forty eight. He could just about afford it, but he’d be sleeping on the streets after tonight.

  “You ok?” Zoe asked.

  Jack had been staring into the flickering candle on the chequered table cloth. He snapped himself out of his stupor and glanced across at her. Zoe’s azure eyes seemed to sparkle over the soft light. “I’m fine…sorry,” he said. “I was just hypnotised by the flame. Must be because my folks had an open fire when I was a kid. I could sit and watch the flames for hours.”

  Zoe took a sip of the wine. “So, what’s the story with your family?”

  Jack tried the house red. It tasted a bit rough. “My folks have both passed on, I’m afraid,” he said.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” She offered an apologetic half smile.

  “No, it’s fine. My dad died when I was a kid and my mum passed away recently. I have an older sister, though. She lives in Yorkshire.”

  “Yorkshire, I’ve heard of that. What’s your sister’s name?”

  “Rose. What about yourself? Do your family live back in Ventura?”

  “Rose is a great name. Yeah, my folks live in the burbs, but they’re in Milan right now. I’m going to meet up with them next week. My mom’s not been too well lately, so I’m hoping the vacation is doing her good.”

  Jack took another sip of wine. It tasted better this time. Unlike a harsh tasting white, a rough red could grow on you. “Sorry to hear about your mum,” he said. “Still, it’ll be nice for you to see her in Milan.”

  Zoe caught his eye for a second. “Yeah. I’m looking forward to it. It’ll be Mom’s first ever European vacation.

  Jack asked her if she had any siblings. Yeah, an older brother who was a dentist in New Jersey, she told him.

  “He managed to resist the lure of feet then?” he asked.

  Zoe smiled. “Yeah, Peter prefers teeth to feet I’m afraid. I wouldn’t let him loose on mine though.”

  “You have lovely teeth,” Jack said without thinking.

  Zoe’s smile diminished momentarily and Jack thought he noticed a frown make its way across her brow.

  “I meant smile,” Jack said as he put down his wine glass. “I meant to say that you have a lovely smile. I’m sorry. You have lovely teeth…who the hell says that?”

  “A vet talking to a pony!” Zoe said straight-faced before her lips curled upwards.

  They both started laughing.

  Jack grabbed his glass and raised it. “A toast…to Rome.”

  As their glasses chimed together they shared a glance which lingered half a second longer than any previous ones.

  “So, Jack. What kind of music are you into? I take it you do like music. I ask that because from what I hear on the radio back home, the DJ’s don’t seem to know what a good tune sounds like. I tend to listen to CD’s when I’m driving.”

  “Well to be fair,” Jack said, “most jocks don’t get any choice in the music they play on air. It’s all done by automated play-list. Radio stations spend thousands on music testing so that they don’t have to trust the musical tastes of individual presenters. They basically get fifty people from their target demographic in a room and play them the hooks of songs.”

  Zoe appeared interested, but he didn’t want to bore her with radio speak. “Anyway,” he continued, “the focus group rate the songs they like and dislike and then the programmers change their music output accordingly. The people rating the songs have to listen to hundreds of hooks – that’s a snippet of the chorus, over the course of four hours. It’s not exactly scientific, in fact it’s heavily flawed, but that’s how music radio works.”

  “It sounds really interesting,” she said.

 
“It’s not, I promise. Anyway, back to your question. I enjoy all types of music. Please tell me you’re not a music snob, Zoe!”

  Zoe opened her mouth in mock outrage. “No, not at all. But that’s not very specific is it. Nobody likes all types of music.”

  “Ok. I’m not big on reggae, hillbilly, bluegrass and dance. How about you? What floats your canoe?”

  She smiled at him. “I enjoy all types of music,” she said.

  They both laughed.

  “Actually, I like a lot of British bands,” she told him. “Coldplay, Kasabian, Mumford & Sons.”

  Jack nodded. “I like your Yankee bands too. The Killers, Kings of Leon, Fleet Foxes.”

  “Hey yeah, pretty good. You’re really down with the kids ain’t ya?”

  “What, for an old timer you mean?” Jack flashed her a smile.

  “I didn’t mean it like that. Why, how old are you?”

  “You should never ask a gentleman his age.”

  “It’s a lady, you should never ask.”

  “Whatever,” Jack said. “How old do you think I am?”

  During the few moments that Zoe eyed him, Jack felt as uncomfortable as someone being genetically scrutinised by an ethnic cleanser. “Thirty four,” she said.

  Jack grinned. “Yeah, spot on,” he lied.

  “No way! Honestly? That was just a guess.”

  “Good guess.”

  Zoe looked quite pleased with herself. She took another sip of wine and Jack topped up her glass. “Hey, here comes our food,” she said.

  The waiter eased the hot plates down in front of them, and then offered the obligatory pepper, which they both declined.

  “Yours looks good,” Jack said.

  “You’re welcome to try it.”

  “No, but thanks for offering.” Wasn’t that the sort of thing that couples did? Offering each other bits of their meal. “You wanna try some of my pizza?” he asked her.

  Zoe shook her head. It sure looked good though, she told him.

  They both tucked in with gusto. Jack was surprised how quickly Zoe had ploughed through her meal. He liked a girl with a healthy appetite. Not like some of the girls he’d dated in the past. The kind you’d take to a fancy restaurant and they’d order a salad and some mineral water.

  “This is really good,” she said as she paused to savour the meal. “So Jack, apart from music, what else are you into?”

  Jack finished chewing before replying: “Well, I like football, sorry - soccer. Most sports actually, apart from golf, and I like movies.”

  Zoe finished off her meal then washed it down with some wine. “I’m not really a sporty person myself. My pop’s a big golf nut though. Spends hours on the golf course. Probably to get away from Mom. I love movies, though. What sort do you like? Let me guess: you enjoy all kinds of movies and hate movie snobs!”

  Jack smiled at her and topped up both of their glasses. The bottle was two thirds finished. “Well, yes, I like a lot of different movies,” he told her.

  “So, do you have a favourite?” she asked.

  “Oh yeah.” Jack wanted to use his finger to dislodge a remnant of food at the back of his palate but, out of good manners tried to do the job with his tongue. It wasn’t working. “My favourite film is Jaws,” he said.

  “Really? The shark picture. I’ve not seen that for years. I remember I enjoyed it, though. What other movies do you like?”

  “Where Eagles Dare,” Jack said.

  “I don’t know that one. Who’s in it?”

  “Richard Burton and Clint Eastwood. ‘Broadsword Calling Danny Boy.’ Sorry, that’s a famous line from it. It’s a war film written by Alistair Maclean. A boy’s film, I guess.”

  “Ok. So what other movies make it into Jack’s Top Ten?”

  “Raiders of the Lost Ark. I really like JFK as well. Must’ve watched it a hundred times.”

  Zoe nodded. “Yeah, I like Oliver Stone movies, though I prefer Natural Born Killers myself.”

  Jack was impressed. “I also like Terence Malick films like Badlands and The Thin Red Line,” he told her.

  “Yeah, doesn’t he make a movie like once every ten years?”

  “He’s not the most prolific director. Being There is another favourite of mine,” Jack said.

  “Really,” Zoe gushed. “I absolutely love that film. Chauncey Gardener, and the way he walks on the water at the end.”

  “I prefer watching Shirley Maclaine rubbing herself against the rug, myself.”

  Zoe shot him a frown.

  “Only kidding,” said Jack. “So, apart from Being There, what else tickles your fancy?”

  Zoe laughed. “Tickles my fancy? Is that rude?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “Well,” she said, “I absolutely love Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

  Jack nodded. “Great movie. What else?”

  “It’s really quirky, but I dig Harold and Maude.”

  “No way,” Jack said. “You’re just like Cameron Diaz in There’s Something About Mary.”

  The waiter appeared and cleared away their plates. He asked if they’d enjoyed their meals, to which they both replied in the affirmative. He tried to finish off the wine bottle by topping up their glasses but a remnant remained.

  Nice try, Jack thought. He didn’t want Zoe to order another bottle.

  Zoe resumed their conversation: “Actually, I liked Harold and Maude way before There’s Something About Mary came out.”

  “Well, Being There and Harold and Maude were both directed by Hal Ashby. One of the great underrated film makers,” Jack said.

  “Right, yeah. By the way, what did you think of ‘There’s Something About Mary’?” Zoe asked.

  Jack had finally succeeded in loosening the pizza lodged between his lower molars. Now, what was the correct response to that question? Was he going to be judged either way? Who cared; it was only a movie. “Yeah, I like it,” he said. Not quite as good as Blazing Saddles or Murder by Death, but pretty good. Do you like it?” Please say that you do!

  “Yeah, I love it,” she said. “Did you say that you liked Murder by Death?”

  Jack felt relieved. “Oh yeah. It’s a classic.”

  “I never met anybody else that had even heard of it,” Zoe said, “I watch that film at least three times a year.”

  “Get out of town.”

  “No, seriously. Do you have a favourite line from it?”

  Jack couldn’t believe that Zoe liked Neil Simon’s spoof on the Murder Mystery genre. Girls didn’t normally like films like that. He tried to picture the characters. They were all spoofs of famous fictional detectives like Sam Spade, Charlie Chan, Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot. They had to solve the murder of Lionel Twain, played by Truman Capote.

  “‘Conversation,’” Jack said in his best Charlie Chan voice, “‘like television set on honeymoon: unnecessary.”’

  Zoe giggled.

  Jack had taken a while to dig out the quote, but, by Zoe’s response, it’d been worth it. He remembered another: “‘No pulse, no heartbeat. If condition does not change, this man is dead.’”

  “I can’t do the voice,” Zoe said, “but what about: ‘Big house like man married to fat woman: hard to get around.’”

  They both laughed as the waiter reappeared with two dessert menus.

  “Hey, you gotta try a dessert,” Zoe said.

  Jack looked at the menu. What was the cheapest thing on it? Italian ice cream; six euros. He’d have some of that.

  “The tiramisu tickles my fancy,” Zoe said with a giggle. “Oh, I just remembered another quote from Murder by Death.” She attempted a thick Humphrey Bogart voice: “‘Now, if one of you gentlemen would be so kind as to give my lady friend here a glass of cheap white wine, I'm going down the hall to find the can. I talk so much sometimes, I forget to go.’”

  This time, Jack giggled. “Pretty good Sam Diamond impression schweet-heart!”

  “Thanks. No more impressions from me, though. Must be the wi
ne going to my head.”

  “What, you mean you do more impressions?”

  Zoe smiled and shook her head.

  The waiter took their dessert orders and finished off the bottle by topping up their glasses. “You like another bottle?” he asked Jack.

  Jack glanced across at Zoe. “I’m ok for wine,” he said, “but would you like some more?” Please say no.