Happened in Tuscany

by Lorena Franco

  "Shit,itfeelslikeneedles..."shewhispers,pursingherlipsandsqueezinghereyesshut.

  "Mypills...inthefirstdrawerofthedressingtable."

  Igetupquicklyandobeyherdirections.Inafewseconds,Isabella,withoutneedingaglass ofwater,swallowsfourpillsandletsherselffallintobed.

  "Sleep,Isabella."

  Shenodsandalthoughthepainhasn´tceasedfromtheexpressiononherface,shecloses hereyeswiththeintentionoffallingasleep.

  "Tomorrowitwillbeanotherday"Isay,tryingtohidemyfear.

  "Thankyou,Mark.I'mgoingtotaketothegraveanintenseandwonderfulmoment."

  Ithurt.Herwordshurt.

  IwanttotellherthatIloveher.Tellhernottogo,tostaywithme.Butit'snotsomething shecandecide.

  Shelooksatme.Asifsheguessedmythoughts.

  "Staywithme"shesayssweetly.

  Ihugher.

  A few minutes later, she sleeps placidly; the pain is gone. And I, I think of Alice and withoutknowingwhy,IfeelthatIhavedisappointedherbysayingthatInolongerfeltanything forthewomanwhosleepsinmyarmsandwithwhomIhavejustmadelove.Thewomanwho diesandforwhich,atthemoment,Iwouldgivemywholelifeifitwerenecessary.

  ALICE

  It'shalfpastthreeinthemorningandtheydon´tcome.Theydon´tcome.Forhours,Ihavebeen engrossedinthewritingofmynovelandtheclockhandshavelongedtorunatagreatspeed.I pick up the cell phone and go down to the garden. I sit under the weeping willow and dial Amy's phone number, but she doesn´t pick it up. She must be asleep, I think. But then, I get goose bumps at the thought of sleeping with Alessandro. However, that's what least worries me.IlookupatthestarryskyandthinkofMarkandIsabella.Inlovewithamemory?Crap.

  Thinkingofthembothmakingloveputsanalmostunbearablelumpinmythroat.HasIsabella told him the truth? Will Mark know at this time of the night that Alessandro is actually his brother?

  Igotothekitchenandmakecoffee.I'mdeadtired,butIcan´tsleep.IknowthatifIslept, uncomfortablenightmaresthatIdon´twanttosufferwouldcometovisitme.Foramoment,I feel a crazy desire to call Angelo and tell him to come to me. Tell him that I feel bad and desperateandthat'swhy,Iwanttomakelovetohim.Feelingprotectedandlovedinhisarms, although everything is a lie in order to regain my self-esteem and not think of Mark. Not thinkingofMark,Ithink,overandoveragain.

  "Youcan´tthinkofMark!"Iexclaimloudly.

  Iamgoingcrazy.Ipourmyselfacupofcoffeeandgobacktomybedroom.Istandinfront ofthecomputerscreenandIfeelthatIbegintowanderbetweenwords,thatIambeatinground thebushandthatthestorythatIamwritingmakesnosense.Howcan"Angelo"disappearfrom mystoryassuddenlyas"Mark"appears?Iwillconfusemyreaders.Thefemaleprotagonistis becomingascrazyasIamandaterminalcancerpatientismakingherlifeimpossiblewithout meaningto,revealingasecretsheshouldneverhaveknown.

  Mycellphoneisringing.IlookatthescreenandI'mdisappointedtoseeit'sCindy.

  "Ciao!"Shesalutes,beforeIcananswer."Iknewyouwerewriting!"

  "WhattimeisitinNewYork?"

  "It’snine-thirtythatnight,I'mstillattheagency.Whatanovel,Alice!Iloveit!"

  "What'scomingisgood..."

  "Angeloisextraordinary,whowasyourinspiration?"Shecontinues,notreallylisteningto me."Becausebelieveme,I'dlovetomeethim..."Shelaughsamused.

  "Angelhasdisappearedfromthestory"Isaydryly,lightingacigarette.

  "What?Youcan´tdothat!"

  "OfcourseIcan.Anothermanandaterminalcancerpatienthaveappeared."

  "What?Howcomeallthesechanges?"

  "Whoisthewriter?"

  "You can´t make Angelo disappear from the story. What need is there? " She asks indignantly.Idon´tknowwhethertolaughorcry.

  "IthinkI'llfinishitinaweek.Oneweekandweleavebehindthisplace."

  "Whathappened?WhataboutMark?SinceyouarrivedIhaven´tspokentohimagain."

  "Mark..."Ibreathe.Untilnow,IhadnotthoughtCindywouldbeinterestedinknowingshe hasabrother."Hewillexplainittoyou."

  "What?Hasanythinghappenedbetweenyoutwo?Iknewit!"

  "No!Nothinghashappened,Cindy."

  "Iwanttoseeyourface.ConnecttoSkype."

  "Noway."

  "Whatisit,Alice?"Whatareyouhidingfromme?"

  "I'mnobodytotellyouanything.I'mgoingtokeepwriting,Cindy."

  "NowIwillnotbeabletosleep.Keepwriting,butdon´tremoveAngelofromthestory.He is the perfect protagonist, continue with that storyline. Your readers don´t like the drama, or terminalillnesses,orseconduncleswhodestroythestory."

  "Doyouthinkso?"

  "Listentome..."

  I hang up the phone and then start deleting words, paragraphs and whole pages, starring

  "Mark"and"Isabella."AngelostaysinhistoryandalsoinmydaysinTuscany.

  Angelo’sreturn

  Inspiteofhowlateitis,acallhasbeenenoughforAngelotoshowupatmyhouseafter only a few minutes. I waited for him outside the front door, where Mark usually sits with a glass of whiskey. I get a little drunk, so as soon as he arrives, I approach and kiss him passionately.

  "Is not Mark there?" He asks, moving a little away from me and my initial effusiveness which,asnormally,hedoesn´tunderstandafterourbriefconversationinthemeadowofafew hoursago.

  "Wehavethehouseforthetwoofusalone."Iwinkathim,takehimbythehandandwego insideofthesummerhouseoftheHopes.

  "Thisisn´tme"IsaytomyselfasImakelovetoapassionateAngelo.Mylipsirritatedby therubbingwithhisroughbeard,don´tgettiredofkissinghisandmyhandsburnindesireto caresshistannedskin.Hismusclestightenineverymovement;ButIprefertoclosemyeyes, letmyselfbecarriedawaybypleasureandnotthinkthatwhoeverisinsidemeisn´ttheperson Iwouldreallylike,evenifIamenjoyingthemoment.

  Whenhefinishes,Angeloasksmeifhecansleepover.Idon´tseewhynot,sohehugsme and feeling his breath on the back of my neck, I know he has fallen asleep instantly. I can´t sleep.Hisarmsdrownme,hishandstouchingmynavelsmothermeandIwanttogetupfrom there,gotoIsabella'shouseandtellMarkthatwearetwoidiotswholikeeachotherandthat don´thavetobewithothersinordernottofeelalone.ButmaybeIwaswrong.MaybeMark doesn´tlikeme,butIsabella.AndmaybethebestIcando,istohavefunwithAngelothedays thatIhaveinthisbeautifullittlecornerofTuscany,writemynextnovelandletAmylivewith intensityhersummerlovewithAlessandro.WhenIgobacktoNewYorkIwillseeitallina differentwayandmy"nonsense"withMarkwillbeover,becausewewillnotliveunderthe sameroof,althoughwedohavetoagreeononeoccasion.Autumnwillcome,alsowinter...

  and the desire to know again what it feels like to live a summer love story, will have disappeared;Aswellasmymadnesstofeellikeayoungwomanoftwentyyearsofageandto thinkandfinallyfeellucid,asIshouldfeelatmyageandmaturity.Wewillgobacktoreality, tothehustleandbustleofthecityandtothepromotionofanewnovelthatsoon,ifIfocuson it,willseethelightoftheday.AndIwillforgetallthis.That'sit...I'llforgetabouteverything andfocusonwhatreallymatters:Amyandmyjob.WhathappensinTuscany,staysinTuscany andwhenIreturntoNewYork,itwillbeforgotten.Justlikethat.

  IglimpseatAngeloandsmile.Whatacrazythingcoulddo:callhim...thenaughtypartof methinksofMark'sfaceifheseesAngeloathomeinthemorning,andI'dliketo
imaginehim jealous and furious for having spent the night with Isabella and not with me to avoid falling intotemptation.Hehimselfwasproudofme,describingmeicecoldandimplacablebeforethe flirtation of Angelo with another, just a day after making love with me. What would he say now?Whatwouldhefeel?Disappointment,surely.

  IundomyselffromAngelo’sarmsandgetoutofbedfeelingahumanwaste.ThenIgoto thebathroomandvomitallthewhiskeyIhavedrunkandsomeofthemozzarellapancakesthat AmypreparedinthemorningandwhichIdevouredwhenIgothome.

  IliedownnexttoAngeloavoidinggettingtooclose.Iclosemyeyesandfinally,Igetto sleepwhentheclockisabouttostrikefive-twentyinthemorning.Fortunatelythenightmares don´tcometovisitme,butneitherdosweetdreamsthatcouldbringasmileonmyfacewhenI wakeup.

  CHAPTER11

  MARK

  Iwakeupatteninthemorningbecauseofanintoxicatingscentofcoffeeandpancakes.Also becauseofAmy'sraucouslaugh,thatasusually,getsuptoheroldtricksinaforeignkitchen.

  Isabellasleepsatmyside,calmandrelaxed.Withoutmakingasound,Igetup,getdressed, andleavethebedroom;NotbeforemakingsurefirstthatIsabellaiswell.

  The wallpaper I see in the kitchen reminds me of the summer spent with Isabella. Young AlessandrohugsasmilingAmy,whoismorefocusedonpreparingpancakesthanonher"new boyfriend".WhatshouldIdo?ShouldIinterruptthisidyllicmoment?

  "Goodmorning,"Isay.

  "Mark!"SaysAmy,cominguptomeandplantingakissonmycheek.

  "What’supwiththisjoy?""AmywinksatmeandlooksatAlessandro."Youbetternottell me.Whatisforbreakfast?"Iaskedlaughing.

  "Didmymotherhaveagoodnight?"Alessandroasksseriously.

  "Sheneededsomepillsbeforegoingtobed"Isay,frowning.

  "Thereisn’tmuchtimeleft,Mark"theyoungmansays,holdingbacktears.Amycomforts him,takinghimbythehandandlookingathimlikeneverbefore.

  "We'dbettergetbackhome,Amy.Yourmothermustbeworried."

  "My mother will have spent the night writing and now she must be drooling over the computerkeyboard."

  "Iknow"Isay,amused,imaginingthesceneAmyhasjustdescribed.

  Assoonaswefinishbreakfast,Isabellaappearsinavioletsilkdressinggown.Herfaceis worsethanyesterday.Hersadandmutedlook,sayseverythingshecan´texpresswithwords.

  Evenso,shesmilesandtellsAmythatshewantstotasteherpancakes;Withwhichthecrazy teenager, neither shy nor lazy, returns to the kitchen and serves to Isabella a couple, with raspberrysyrupontop.

  "AmyandIaregoinghome,Isabella"Isay,takingonelastsipofcoffee.

  "Nono.Youleave.I'mstayingherewithAlessandro"Amylaughsamused.

  "Asyouwish."

  "Whydon´tyoustaythewholeday?"Isabellasuggests.

  "I need to take a shower, change clothes, and make a few calls. I'm neglecting work too much."

  It is true. I don´t want to feel worried, but I am. I don´t want to go back to being the eccentricandmaniacalchef,whoseonlyconcernishispremisesandthebadreviews,butitis necessarytotakecareofeverything,ifInowhavetolookafteraboywhowantstostudyina veryexpensiveschoolofcooking.

  "Ofcourse,Iunderstand,"Isabellasays,lookingworriedlyatherson.

  IpatAlessandroontheshoulder,IlookatIsabellawiththedoubtofwhethertokissheror not and then deciding that it is best not to kiss her in front of the teenagers, I say goodbye,

  promisingthatIwillreturnafterafewhours.

  On the way home, I send a few messages to the managers of my restaurants, with indicationsofwhattheyshoulddointhenextfewdaysuntilthetimecomesformyreturn.New ideasthathavebeencrossingmymindandthatcanbenefittherestaurants.I'llcallthemlater, whenthesunrisesinNewYork.AtcheckingemailsthatIhadtoread,Iamsurprisedtofind one from Amanda Morgan, a lover that I had years ago and that is directive of an important cookingTVchannel.

  DearMark,

  Idon´twriteyoubecauseofanypersonalmatterortoharassyou,althoughyouknowthat you owe me a dinner; but better for work issue. On the TV channel we thought that after the controversialbadreviewoftheidiotofJohnLogan,itwouldbegreattoproposeyouanew programforourcookingchannel.Itisn´taboutchefscookingforgrannyoranythinglikethat,it is something a lot more fun. "Love in the kitchen for single ladies". What do you think?

  Cookingandflirtingwithattractiveunmarriedgirls(andnotsoattractive),andafterwards,you wouldhaveinfrontofthecamerassomekindofdates.Withyourphysicalattractivenessand your lip, it is going to be a guaranteed success for sure. Tell me your answer as soon as possible,sweetheart.

  Akissonthelips,

  AmandaMorgan

  IcanonlylaughatAmanda'sunprofessionalmail.Foramoment,I'mbackbeingtheMark ofbefore.TheMarkthatdoesn´tdeepeninthefeelings,theonethatcaresfornoonebutfor himselfandtheonlythingthatinterestshimishiswork,hispropertiesandhismoney."Itcould be fun" I think. "I could re-launch my career, I haven´t been on television for a long time. I wouldpissoffJohnsomuch."

  IanswertoAmanda'semailwitha"Whendowestart?"andthenthephonerings.

  "Mark!"

  "Amanda,whatareyoudoingawakeatthishour?"

  "YouknowI'manightbird"shesaysmischievously."Haveyoureadmyemail?"

  "Yes."

  "Wewanttostartassoonaspossible!"

  "I'minTuscany."

  "Whendoyoureturn?Ifit’snecessary,I'llcometoyou."

  "Intwoweeks."

  "We can wait two weeks" she laughs. "We'll start in September. First we will have to recordapilotepisodetoseehowitgoes,butwehavealreadyrecordedafewwithamodel thatdoesn´tholdacandletoyouandtheformatworks."

  "Wow,that’sgreat"Imurmur.

  "Super!Youdon´tknowthejoyyoubringme!"

  "Thankyou,Amanda."

  "That's what friends are for, even though you've been very careless to me these last few years,Mark..."

  The Mark of only two weeks ago would have said: "Calm down beautiful, that will change."TheMarkwhocan’tstopthinkingabouttheromanticwriterandatthesametimeis

  distressedandafraidforwhatwastheGreatloveofhislife;Hepreferstolaughandbesilent.

  "I'llcallyouwhenI'minNewYork."

  "Wehaven´ttalkedaboutmoney,Mark."

  "Iknowyouwillpaywell.Seeyousoon,Amanda."

  "Akissonthelips,Mark."

  Icomehome,withsecurityandtranquillity,thatataprofessionalleveleverythingwillgo well and improve over time. I did not want to think about John Logan again; I have more important things to dedicate my time to, but Amanda has opened up old wounds with the catastrophiccriticknownalloverthecountryandIcan´thelpit.Ishouldstartworkingonnew recipeswithoutinterruptionsofanykind,mixingnewingredientsandmoreinnovativeideas; imitateAlice’seffortandconstancyandstayinthekitchenuntillateatnightasshedoeswith her next novel. But then, I think of Isabella and what will happen any minute now, and my desiretoworkandadvance.

  Beforeopeningthedoor,Inoticethepresenceofahalf-emptyglassofwhiskeyontheback ofthegardenchair.MaybeAlicewaswaitingforuslastnight.MaybeshegotworriedandI thinkweshouldhaveinformedherthatweweresleeping.Itsaddensmetoimaginethescene inwhichAliceissittingtherealonewithaglassofwhiskey;Waitingforherdaughterandthe jerktoappearwalkingdownthepathin
thedarknight.

  From the threshold of the stairs, I eavesdrop, maybe I will heard Alice's computer keyboard; But there is a sepulchral silence throughout the house. Maybe she's gone, maybe she's still sleeping. I climb slowly up the stairs and stand in front of Alice's bedroom door.

  Twothuds.Silence.

  "Alice?"Iask.

  Idecidetoopenthedoorslowlyandquietly.ThefirstthingIsee,isthedeskinfrontofthe windowwithAlice'slaptop.She’snothere.Iopenthedooralittlemoreandlooktotheright wherethebedis.IwouldhavepreferredtohavestayedwithIsabella,aslongasIdidnotsee that son of a bitch Angelo sleeping next to Alice. A fury I did not know it existed until then takes over me. I close the door trying not to slam it and just when I lean on it with my fists closed,itopensandIfalltothefloor.

  "Mark?"Aliceasks,hervoicehoarseandstillsleepy.

  "What'shedoinginyourbed?"

  IgetupwiththehelpofAlice,whoshrugsandsmilesamused.

  "Where'sAmy?"

  "He'sstayingwithAlessandro."

  "I...I'mgoingtothebathroom."

  "Wait."

  "What?"

  Alice'seyeswiden.

  "Youknowit?Isthat,no?Sheputsherhandstothemouthandcomesbacktome.

  "What?"

  "Youdon’t?"

  "Idon´tgetit."

  Shefrowns,lookinguncomfortableandconfused.

  "Imean""Sheswallows,touchherhairnervouslyandforcesahalfsmile.You'veentered theroomandyou'veseen..."

  "Angelo,yes.OfcourseI'veseenhim"Iinterrupt,tryingnottobetoohurt.Whatthehell!I havenorighttofeelhurt;Thereisabsolutelynothingbetweenthetwoandafewhoursagoit wasmewhowasmakinglovetoIsabella.Ican´tblameherorbeangryaboutit.

  "You know? I have decided not to waste my life anymore" she begins to say calmly. "It doesn´t matter if I look like a teenage jerk with twisted hormones at my forties. It doesn´t matter.Iwanttolive.IwanttohavefunandwithAngeloIhaveagoodtime.Beforeyousay anything...No!Iwillnotfallinlovewithhim."