by Rich Allen
Zoe smiled and paused as though making an important decision. “No,” she finally said to the waiter, “we’re good, thanks.”
Phew. Jack watched the waiter leave. “So, do you have a favourite actor?” he asked her.
She paused for a moment’s thought. “Well,” she said, “I love Johnny Depp. There’s something about him don’t you think?”
“Yep. He’s always watchable - even when the film sucks. What about the movie stars from the past?”
“Good question. Let me see…Bette Davis…Steve McQueen…Audrey Hepburn.”
Jack tasted the improving wine. “Audrey Hepburn, huh. You ever see her in Roman Holiday?”
“Yeah, I saw it when I was a kid.”
“Do you remember that scene at the Mouth of Truth? The place where you put your hand in the mouth and if you’ve been telling lies, it supposedly swallows your hand. Have you been there?”
Zoe looked as though she was recalling the scene in her head. “Oh yeah, I forgot about that place. No, I’ve not been. I believe it’s somewhere close to the Circus Maximus.”
“Would you like to go and see it with me?” Jack asked. Please say yes!
Zoe shot him a considered look. “Yeah, ok,” she said. We could go tomorrow morning if you like.”
Get in! “Brilliant!” he said with a smile.
Once more the waiter returned. “Please to enjoy,” he said as he placed their desserts down in front of them.
They both thanked him as he moved to usher in some fresh faces from the street.
Jack heard Zoe’s voice as he stared at the church across the road. “So, who are your favourite actors… from any era?”
Jack looked down at the three scoops of different flavoured ice cream staring up at him from the bowl. “Well,” he said, “Let me think. I really rate Christian Bale. Russell Crowe’s good too. As for the ladies: Nicole Kidman springs to mind.”
“What about the legends?”
They both sampled their desserts. Jack’s sensitive teeth didn’t thank him. “By legends,” he said, “I take it you mean deceased?”
“Not exclusively,” Zoe swallowed a mouthful of tiramisu. “Harrison Ford’s a legend and he’s not dead.”
Jack’s face recoiled at the sharp sensation from the ice cream. All this fuss to save a few euros. “Ok, my favourite actors of all time then: Michael Caine…”
“Alive!” Zoe chipped in.
“Steve McQueen…”
“Dead!”
“Liz Taylor….”
“Dead,” she said.
“Richard Burton.”
“Dead.”
“Peter Sellers.”
“Dead…funny!” She said and then smiled.
“Dustin Hoffman…”
“Alive. He’s alive!” Zoe seemed to be getting quite excited at this impromptu game of Movie Star Dead or Alive.
“Robert Shaw,” he said.
Zoe tapped her finger against her chin. “The guy from Jaws?”
Jack nodded.
“Dead, I think. He is dead isn’t he?” Zoe shovelled in another mouthful of cake.
Jack smiled. “That’s a very good question. I thought he was, but now I’m not so sure.”
“Well, either he is or he isn’t!”
“Do dead people send emails?” Why the hell had he said that!
Zoe looked at him like he was talking gibberish. “Come again? You’ve had an email from a dead person?”
Jack felt embarrassed. He reached for his wine glass. “Not exactly. It was from a movie character, actually. Forget I said anything,” he said.
Zoe put down her dessert fork and stared into Jack’s eyes. “No, you’ve got me curious now.”
Jack tried to think of a suitable bluff to skirt the subject, but he felt really comfortable with Zoe. She might well think him a complete fruit cake afterwards, but he felt like offloading to her. “It’s a long story,” he said to her.
“I got all night, Jack.”
Chapter Ten:
Over dessert, Jack told Zoe about the emails from Quint, though he omitted the parts relating to his intended suicide. He explained that he’d been taking a break in Barcelona when he’d first received an email from someone named Quint, and that this Quint person had, after further emails, directed him to Rome. As Zoe had pointed out, the name Quint may have been a coincidence and not connected to the character from Jaws. “Fair point,” Jack had said, but he then explained about Quint calling him ‘chief’ like the name of Roy Scheider’s character in the movie. “That’s what makes me think that it’s either someone that knows me really well, or someone that has hacked into my personal life,” he told her.
Zoe smiled. “Wow. This is like a real mystery,” she said. “I think it’s really cool that you came all the way to Rome on the back of some mysterious email.”
“I can’t believe I actually told you about all that,” said Jack. He’d brought Zoe up to speed about the emails – well, the bespoke version, and she hadn’t done a runner. Result! Maybe he should have filled in the bits about his trip being a Suicide Vacation. He visualized Quint’s first email: “Don’t do it, chief.”
“So, what happens next?” Zoe asked as she finished off her tiramisu.
Jack now felt embarrassed for raising the whole business. He didn’t want this charade with Quint to overshadow their time together. “I guess I just wait for him to make contact again. Look, it’s no big deal – I wanted to visit Rome anyhow,” he said.
“Could a friend or an ex-girlfriend be behind it?” Zoe asked.
Jack shrugged. “Perhaps, though I can’t think of anyone who would go to such lengths.”
“Maybe you were right about being hacked, then” said Zoe. “If it’s not a prank then it must be a scam.”
“It seems like the logical solution, I know, but my gut instinct is telling me that it’s not a scam,” he said.
Zoe gave him a considered look. “Is there something you’re not telling me? Or are you pulling my leg with all of this?”
“I’m not pulling your leg. I swear.”
“Well, in that case, I can’t wait to find out what happens next. It’s weird, but I guess, exciting as well. I tell you what though; I’d never have come to Rome after receiving those emails.”
“Really!” Jack raised an eyebrow. “I thought that you said it was cool?”
“Yeah,” she said with a smile and then laughed. “It’s cool when somebody else does crazy shit like that, but I’d have just ignored them.”
Yeah, Jack thought. But if she’d been suicidal and then received an email from someone calling themselves say, Holly Golightly, would she be in such a hurry to dismiss the idea of following their directives? Maybe he should spill the beans about the planned suicide and the “Don’t do it, chief” email. After all, it was simply pride holding him back from telling her. His story sounded a bit lame, but it was close enough to the truth. Zoe seemed intrigued, though understandably, it all sounded a bit kooky to her.
The waiter cleared away their dishes and offered them coffee which they both declined.
“Il conto per favore,” Jack said.
The waiter nodded then headed back inside.
“You wanna go check out the Trevi Fountain?” Zoe asked.
Jack smiled. He’d been worried that she’d make her excuses and leave after his revelation about the mystery emailer. Maybe he did the right thing after all by withdrawing the suicide element to the saga. “Yeah sounds like a great idea, but listen…” he said, “I don’t mind if you have other places you want to go on your own. You don’t have to hang around with me if you don’t want to.”
Zoe raised her eyebrows. “Oh, no, it’s cool hanging out with you. You’re by far the most interesting person I’ve met in a long time. Unless you’d rather be on your own.”
“No, no, not at all. The Trevi Fountain sounds great.”
“Ok, I’ll just nip to the washroom.” She got up and left the table as the waiter arri
ved with their bill. He placed it on the table inside a leather wallet. Jack could hear the thudding rhythm of his own heartbeat as he slowly opened it. Please don’t let it be too much.
Fifty nine euros, excluding a service charge. Call it sixty six. Thirty three each. That would leave him a bit of subsistence money. Another important element that Jack had omitted from the story: he was broke. It would be impossible to hide that from Zoe for much longer, but tonight Jack wanted a perfect evening; away from such harsh realities. Talk of suicide or destitution would break the spell. To Jack’s relief, when Zoe returned, she reached into her bag and took out her purse. They split the bill and then headed off into the dusky Roman night.
Chapter Eleven:
Jack and Zoe walked along Via San Giovanni in Laterano towards the hostel. It had just gone midnight and they’d missed the last Metro. The walk back, along the cobbled Roman streets took them a good forty minutes.
What a night, Jack thought. After leaving the restaurant, they’d walked to the Trevi Fountain. It was the kind of tourist Mecca that Jack hated, but, he had to admit that there’d been something magical about it. Jack and Zoe had sat there and people watched for the best part of an hour. He’d bought her an ice cream and used her camera to take her picture in front of the fountain. To Jack’s surprise, Zoe then asked a randomer to take a photo of them both.
From the Trevi Fountain they’d moved on to the Spanish Steps. Hordes of tourists gathered there like some mass pilgrimage of the sartorially bereft. Dozens of immigrants trawled the steps, selling flying gizmos which soared high into the night sky and laser pointers. The green laser spots dotted the area like a SWAT team trying to take out a terrorist cell. Other immigrants pushed wilted roses onto female tourists. Fortunately for Jack, Zoe had politely ushered them away. Jack disliked the guys with the flowers. It felt like they’d followed him around the globe. Everywhere he travelled; there they’d be. “A rose for the lady.” What they really meant was: “If you don’t buy this over-priced wilted flower for your girlfriend, it will look like you don’t care about her.” Actually, deep down, he felt sorry for them. No doubt they worked for some Mr Big who took all their money and treated them like shit.
Zoe took more photos at the Spanish Steps including a few of Jack. Afterwards, they’d sat on the famous steps to drink in the atmosphere. Zoe asked Jack about growing up in Yorkshire and they chatted about that for a while. They took a quick look around the Pantheon before heading back towards the Spanish Steps and the Metro at Spagna. When Zoe saw that the Metro had finished for the night, she suggested grabbing a cab, but Jack persuaded her to walk back instead. After all, it was still a lovely evening. That much was true, and it was probably fifteen euros for a cab.
Jack fumbled around for his key as they reached the hostel. A street light offered some illumination as he opened the door, exposing the eerie darkness within. The light switch in the hall didn’t work so Zoe held onto Jack’s arm as they made their way up the staircase, towards the second floor.
There didn’t appear to be anyone around as they walked past reception and into the lounge area. Jack asked Zoe if she fancied a coffee from the vending machine but she declined. Very wise: nothing tasted as bad as hot drinks from a vending machine.
“Hey,” whispered Zoe, “why don’t you see if your mystery man has emailed you since we’ve been out?”
Oh Zoe, why ruin a perfect evening? Jack thought. He could see the excitement in her eyes though. “The broadband may be switched off,” he told her. “It’s gone midnight.”
“Only one way to find out,” she said.
“Ok, follow me.”
Jack led Zoe down the corridor and into his room. They could hear heavy snoring coming from the male dorm further down.
“Nice,” said Zoe as Jack turned on the light switch. “I see you don’t have an en suite, either.”
“I would say make yourself comfortable, but…”
“It’s ok,” Zoe said as she sat on the bed, “it’s no worse than my room.”
Jack grabbed his netbook and sat down. It felt cosy, the two of them sat there under the forty watt bulb. The netbook churned into life; the sound of the machine’s fan punctuating the quiet. He felt the touch of Zoe’s hair against his shoulder as she arched her neck to get a better look at the screen which sat on his lap.
“Here we go.” He typed in the WI-FI password, hoping that the connection would be down, but no such luck. He clicked his inbox and it began updating. He mentally crossed his fingers, hoping that Quint hadn’t sent him a fresh email. It wasn’t that Jack didn’t want to hear from Quint, because he did, but it had to be for Jack’s eyes only. If Quint had sent a new message which alluded to suicide then it might compromise Jack’s credibility in front of Zoe.
New messages streamed in. Spam…more spam…spam…and spam. Phew! Jack turned to face Zoe and shrugged his shoulders.
Zoe smiled and Jack fought the urge to kiss her.
“Oh well,” she said. “Why don’t you email him?”
Jack quickly thought on his feet. “That gives him all the control if I do that,” he told her.
“I guess.” She looked disappointed. “Show me some of the other emails then,” she said.
Jack had been afraid of that. He could show her the last email, but not the first one. That would leave her asking ‘Don’t do what?’ He clicked on Quint’s last correspondence then turned the screen to face Zoe.
She read out loud: ‘“I’ll be in touch when you get to Rome.”’
“I’m still waiting,” Jack said.
“That’s really weird. There doesn’t appear to be an email address from the sender. It’s like it’s encrypted or something. May I see the others?” she asked.
Jack sighed. “Sorry, I’m really tired,” he lied. “I should get some sleep.”
Zoe nodded. It felt to Jack like her unspoken gesture of disappointment.
“There’s one thing I forgot to mention earlier,” he said whilst faking a yawn.
“Oh really.”
Jack closed the netbook. He hoped the manoeuvre had been subtle. “When I was in Barcelona, after I first started receiving emails from Quint, something strange happened…”
Zoe flicked her hair back and positioned herself across the bed, using her shoulders as supports. “Strange?” she asked.
“You’ll probably think it a coincidence though.”
“Go on.”
“One afternoon, after I’d looked around La Sagrada Familia, I stopped to sit down in the park opposite the church. At the time I had my iPod playing on Shuffle. The song was “Drive” by R.E.M. - I don’t know if you’re familiar with it…”
“I don’t think so,” she said.
“Well anyway,” Jack went on, “here’s the kicker: guess who was sat down on his own, quietly reading a newspaper on the bench opposite me?”
Zoe sat up and stretched. As she did, her hair brushed against Jack’s face. “A racing driver?” she said whimsically.
“No, Michael bloody Stipe.” He turned to look at Zoe. Their faces were almost touching. Her eyes gave nothing away as she just stared at him. Say something Zoe. “Well?” he whispered.
Zoe moved her face away and crossed her legs. “Are you shitting me, Jack? Michael Stipe from R.E.M?”
“I swear. Michael Stipe smiled at me then got up and walked off towards La Sagrada Familia.”
Zoe rolled her eyes. “It’s fair to say that you could have been mistaken.”
“Yes, I could have been mistaken, but I wasn’t. I know what I saw. Anyway, it’s too much of a coincidence, don’t you think? The mystery emails and then R.E.M. playing on my iPod at the same moment as I spot Michael Stipe. Everything seems to be happening for a reason, but I don’t know what the reason is. Even meeting you might be part of some bigger picture.” Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned that bit. Not good to talk about fate after a first date.
Zoe sighed. She looked tired, Jack thought.
“The whole
thing sounds too fantastic to be true,” she said.
Jack took his cue to sigh. “You mean you don’t believe me?”
Zoe remained silent as Jack stared at her. The opportunity for a tender moment had passed.
“Ok,” he said. “Let me show you this.” He opened the netbook, scrolled down the screen and then pressed the touchpad. “What do you make of this?”