One Step Ahead

by J. J. Kapka

  It turned out that the destination came to her. The last little street Madison turned into dead-ended at a canal that had a walkway alongside it. After randomly choosing to go right, Maddie happened upon a small dock apparently meant for gondolas. There was a single gondola tied up to it, and the gondolier was standing in the middle of the path, chatting with someone who walked away as Maddie approached.

  The gondolier turned to her and immediately launched into a sales pitch to convince her to take a ride. Under normal circumstances, Maddie might not have succumbed to taking a lonely gondola ride after dark. First of all, she would rather have had a gondola ride in the daylight so as better to see Venice’s gorgeous buildings. Second, it seemed to be a bit humiliating to take a gondola ride alone at night without someone along to share it with. But in this case, it seemed the perfect way to avoid a chance encounter with Becker. Even if he did see her, he couldn’t very well swim out to her. As though he’d want to, Maddie reminded herself bitterly.

  Maddie boarded the boat, and the gondolier pushed them off from the dock. “When did you arrive in Venice?” he asked.

  Maddie realized with a start that not only did he speak perfect English, but he had no Italian accent whatsoever. In fact… “I just arrived today,” Maddie answered. “Judging by your accent, you sound more American than Italian. A New Yorker, if I were to guess.”

  “You got it,” the man said, while plunging his staff smoothly through the water.

  “Okay, I know you probably get this question all the time, but what’s a guy from New York doing in Venice, as a gondolier, no less?”

  “Well, actually I don’t get asked that question much at all,” he replied. “Most folks prefer their gondoliers to be seen and not heard. The romantic thing and all that. Sometimes they ask me to sing, and I then have to admit it would be painful for anyone within earshot, and they leave it at that. Now, as for what I’m doing here: my grandfather was a gondolier here for thirty years before he emigrated to New York. When I was a kid, I used to love sitting and listening to all his stories. Because of them, I developed this childhood fantasy of becoming a gondolier, too.

  “Of course, fantasy and reality are two different things by the time you become an adult, and I ended up studying Renaissance architecture in college instead. When it came time for summer vacation, I thought I’d combine both my adult and childhood interests and be a gondolier. I could earn money for the next year of college, while getting up close to some of the best Renaissance architecture in the world. It’s a pretty closed network here, but with my grandfather’s connections, it was actually not too hard to get a summer spot. It was so much fun, and such a great learning experience, that I’ve been coming here for summers every since—ten years now.”

  “What kind of job do you have that lets you take the whole summer off?” Maddie asked.

  “College professor, of course. I’m now an associate dean for Renaissance architecture. Still no spouse or kids, so I come back here to work as a gondolier on the evening shift, then get some sleep and head out in the afternoons to do field work. The last two weeks of vacation, I usually visit another city for additional studies, and it all works out perfectly.”

  “I’m impressed. It’s not everyone who gets to marry their childhood dreams to their adult realities so well.”

  “Yeah, I gotta say, it’s worked out pretty well. How about you? You sound like a fellow New Yorker, too.”

  “Born and bred,” Maddie agreed.

  “I guess you’re on the Grand Tour and Venice is one of the stops.”

  “Got me again.” Maddie smiled.

  “So what’s a nice New York girl like you doing wandering around Venice all by yourself? Aren’t you traveling with anyone?”

  “Well, actually, I was.” Maddie went on to give him the background on what had happened with Becker in London.

  “Asshole!” he exclaimed.

  “Excuse me?” asked a startled Maddie, afraid he might be referring to her.

  “Sorry, that was the blunt New Yorker in me coming out. Tends to happen when I’m around other New Yorkers. I lose my normal gondolier distance. But I meant it. That was a pretty rotten thing to do to you.”

  “I second that.” Maddie laughed. “But you know, it hasn’t been as bad as I thought it was going to be. In fact, it’s been just the opposite. I’ve had the most amazingly wonderful experiences since then. It’s kind of been a real eye-opener for me, learning that I can have a good time on my own. And to have made friends along the way when I was least expecting it, that’s been the most special part.”

  As they passed under a bridge, they went silent for a few moments, following on the heels of Maddie’s revelations. Coming back out from under the bridge, Maddie saw that their small canal was joining into a larger one; it was like driving into a major intersection, with the sudden increase of traffic on the larger canal making the quiet intimacy of the smaller canal fall away. The gondolier swiftly steered them over to another small canal, and upon entering, Maddie was again comfortable enough to continue their conversation by asking his name.

  “Paul. After my grandfather. How about you?”

  “Maddie. After no one in particular.”

  “Is that short for Madeleine?” Paul asked.

  “Nope. It’s short for Madison.”

  “As in the Avenue?”

  “No. Well, not exactly. My mother said it was just a name that came to her, but I’m guessing it came to her because she heard it every day of her life, one way or another.”

  “Well, I like it,” Paul said firmly.

  Maddie twisted around in her seat to look up at him steering behind her. She extended a hand. “Good to meet you,” she said, giggling at the sudden formality.

  Without missing a stroke, Paul reached out, shook her hand, and said, “Likewise, I’m sure,” with the sure pronounced “shoe-wer” in exaggerated New Yorkese.

  Maddie’s giggle escalated to a full-throated laugh.

  “It’s good to see you’ve still got your sense of humor,” he observed.

  “I’m not sure how long that’ll last after what happened tonight,” Maddie said, almost without thinking. She really hadn’t meant to bring her worries out into the open. Yet she had.

  “What do you mean?” Paul asked.

  “I was sitting in a restaurant, minding my own business, and I saw my husband walk by. I could almost swear that he seemed to be looking for someone. Although I can’t figure out why, I can’t help but wonder if he was looking for me. But that’s stupid…”

  Paul tried to reassure her. “No, that’s not stupid. Maybe he realized his mistake.”

  “Fat chance. Probably he just wants to start action on the divorce. He didn’t mind spoiling the start of our vacation by asking for a separation. Maybe he’s just as anxious to get it over with and start talking to lawyers. Frankly, I just don’t want to deal with any of those issues right now. I’ll be damned if he’ll interfere with the rest of my vacation. I promised myself I’d sit back and think about it all when I returned, but for right now, I’m officially in a state of suspended animation when it comes to my marriage. It’s vacation or bust.”

  “Sounds fair to me. In fact, it is said, it is done. No more talk about the jerk.” As they lazily made their way through the network of canals over the next hour, they happily enjoyed each other’s company, talking about New York and their respective neighborhoods and favorite restaurants. They even found they shared an acquaintance in common.

  With a sigh of regret, Paul brought them back to reality. “I better get you back to dry land. If you’re in a small hotel, they start locking their doors at midnight to discourage crime. Unless you’ve made prior arrangements, you’ll be sleeping out in St. Mark’s Square.”

  “Oh no,” Maddie said with a catch of her breath and a glance at her watch. “What’s worse, I’m totally turned around and have no idea where I am in relation to my hotel. After I got scared when I saw Becker walk by my restaurant,
I didn’t pay the slightest bit of attention to the direction I was taking when I left the place. All I wanted to do was avoid running into him.”

  “Don’t worry,” Paul said reassuringly. “I know this city like the back of my hand. Where are you staying?”

  The minute Maddie gave him the name of her hotel, Paul immediately started pulling the gondola into a sharp turn. Within ten minutes, he’d navigated through several right and left turns along the smaller canals and wound up on the larger one on which she’d originally traveled en route from the airport in the water taxi. As he was pulling up to the dock, Maddie assured him she knew exactly where she was, thanked him profusely for the wonderful ride, and asked how much she owed him.

  “First of all, your money is no good with me.”

  Maddie started to protest, but he held a finger to her lips and shook his head firmly.

  “Second, as nice as Venice is, it’s still no place for you to be wandering the streets alone this late. I’m going to walk you to your hotel door, and that’s that.” He set to work anchoring his boat to the dock before gently taking her arm and escorting her up the few steps to the pavement.

  Wordlessly, they strolled along under the moonlight for several minutes. When Paul appeared to be considering something, Maddie stayed silent and let him think his thoughts uninterrupted.

  As they stepped onto the sidewalk of the block on which Maddie’s hotel was located, Paul broke the silence. “Listen, I’m not sure how to put this, so let me just blurt it out. Tomorrow’s my day off. I was hoping you’d like to come along with me to Verona. I’ve got some field work to do for an article I’m writing about two of the churches in the town.” In a rush, he added, “I’m not hitting on you or anything. But you’ve been great company tonight, and I’m enjoying talking New York stuff with you. Whaddaya say, are you up for it?”

  Am I up for it? Maddie couldn’t think of anything better. It would, in fact, kill two birds with one stone: get her out of Venice and any possible confrontation with Becker, and give her someone to talk to and do things with. That would help her keep her mind sufficiently occupied that she wouldn’t be spending the day dwelling on her problems with Becker, which his sudden appearance had brought to the surface again. So it was easy to give her response.

  “Sold.”

  ~~~

  July 16

  Paul picked Maddie up in one of the tiniest cars she had ever seen. “Sorry,” he said, upon seeing her look that obviously questioned its road-worthiness. “I usually borrow cars from whoever’s away on vacation, and this is what the cat drug in this week.”

  By 9:00 a.m., they were already zipping along the Autostrada to Verona. Well, “zipping along” was a bit of a misnomer. “The little engine that could” was more what came to mind, since everything on two or four wheels raced by them in the passing lane.

  “Hungry?” Paul asked.

  “Yeah, I am, actually. It was a choice between more sleep or food this morning, and for once, sleep won out.”

  Barely looking over his shoulder to see if anyone was already on the exit ramp that he was about to pull onto, Paul moved onto it in the blink of an eye. In five minutes, they found themselves in a small village tucked away off the main access road.

  “I like to stop here,” Paul informed her. “Pretty plain, but the food is good.”

  “Here” apparently was a humble trattoria situated on the small village square. Parking the car right in front and racing around to open Maddie’s door, Paul escorted her into the nearly empty dining room. The only customer was an elderly man sitting at a table with a cup of coffee, reading the morning paper. Looking up, he gave a nod of recognition and immediately yelled out something in Italian.

  In response, an elderly woman pulled aside a somewhat tattered curtain leading to the kitchen in back. Raising her arms high at the sight of Paul, she hurried out to give him a hug and double-barreled pecks on the cheek, while Maddie stood back in mute appreciation of Italian service.

  Sliding his eyes over to her, Paul whispered his explanation. “Cousins of cousins.”

  He fired off greetings to both the old man and his wife, before the lady escorted them over to a table and marched back off to the kitchen.

  “She forgot to give us menus,” Maddie said, looking about expectantly, hoping perhaps there might be some lying around on other tables.

  Paul laughed out loud. “This isn’t a menu kind of place. Elena would be completely offended if you did anything but leave the choice of food to her own good judgment. Just wait. You’ll see that trusting her is worth it.”

  Despite Paul’s assurances, Maddie didn’t hold out much hope that this was going to be anything other than an Italian greasy spoon at best. The walls and floor were bare, there wasn’t another customer in sight, and this place was a bit too far off the beaten path to attract much of a crowd.

  No sooner did she finish these gloomy thoughts, than the telltale whoosh and high-pitched squeals of a cappuccino machine gave her a moment’s hope that perhaps she was being a bit hard on Elena. Shortly thereafter, Elena came trundling out bearing two cappuccinos on a small metal serving tray.

  As Maddie took her first sip, Paul eyed her expectantly. While she wasn’t going to judge this humble place simply based on its coffee, she had to admit its stock had just gone up 150 percent. The coffee was rich, bold, and smooth. The froth had a distinctively fresh taste to it, which Maddie mentioned to Paul.

  He chuckled. “They have their own cow. Elena does an amazing number of things with that cow’s milk.”

  “But…” Maddie envisioned herself confined to her bed for having drunk unpasteurized, unhomogenized milk.

  “Not to worry,” Paul added, knowing exactly where she was heading. “Elena is a stickler for cleanliness. Compared to some of the restaurant kitchens I’ve seen in the States, Elena’s is almost fanatically germfree.”

  Just then the lady appeared again from her kitchen, this time wielding an even larger tray. She must have deposited eight different dishes on their table before she patted Paul on the back, bent to give him another kiss, and disappeared back into the kitchen.

  Spread before them was a dizzying array of temptations. Half the dishes contained sweet pastries of every assortment. There were sugar-dusted buns, fruit-filled breads, liquor-soaked cake slices, and three kinds of biscotti. At the other extreme were plates of sliced meats, including thinly sliced Parma ham. There was yet another plate of sliced tomatoes sprinkled with olive oil and sea salt, and still another with blocks and slices of various cheeses.

  “Dig in,” Paul said encouragingly, simultaneously doing just that.

  “I don’t know where to start,” Maddie exclaimed, trying to ascertain which sort of food she was supposed to eat first.

  “It really doesn’t matter what order you eat it in. But I must warn you,” Paul added with a grin, “Elena is not a happy camper when people don’t finish her food. You know how the traditional Italian grandmother is known for pushing seconds and thirds on her guests?”

  Maddie nodded.

  Paul continued, “Elena eliminates those steps and just gives it to you all at once. She’s not much on small talk, but she is one fine cook.”

  “You mean she makes all of this herself?” Maddie couldn’t believe that one person could make this many pastries fresh each day.

  “You better believe it. She’s up before the crack of dawn. What’s more, she’s got parallel processing down to a fine art. You wouldn’t know it to look at her, but if you peek in her kitchen at five a.m., she looks like a whirling dervish.”

  “I’ll pass. I don’t need anything to make me feel guiltier about my own kitchen skills.”

  That was the end of the conversation for the next twenty minutes, as they slowly worked their way through a sampling of everything laid out before them. Elena would occasionally peek out through the curtain to check on their progress. When she thought there was a need, she’d bring out more steaming cups of cappuccino, as well
as a bottle of water. Luckily, Paul was a big man and had a matching appetite, so he was able to make a considerable dent in the banquet they’d been served. Still, just trying everything meant eating a lot of food. By the time she’d taken her last sampling, Maddie was ready to cry uncle.

  Paul soon groaned that he had gotten to the same point. Since there were still a few items left on a couple of the plates, he had a look of near panic on his face lest Elena discover their failure to finish and take it as an insult.

  Thinking quickly, Maddie pulled a couple of clean tissues from her purse, hastily wrapped up the remaining pastries, and thrust them in the bag just as she heard Elena’s feet shuffling to the curtain. Across the aisle from them, Maddie heard a quiet chuckle and glanced over to see that Elena’s husband had caught her in the act.

  With a twinkle in his eye and a smile on his lips, he raised his cup to them in salute before quickly bending his head to the newspaper, lest Elena notice him.

  Shortly afterward, they said their goodbyes and went back outside. Maddie was about to step off the curb to get to her side of the car, when Paul grabbed her arm to stop her. “Let’s take a little walk before we sit down again. I can’t even think of driving on a stomach this full. There’s a nice little stream down here with a small path alongside.”

  “I’m all for that,” Maddie agreed.

  It didn’t take long to walk the length of the town and find the path down to the stream. They walked in a comfortable silence, while Maggie enjoyed thinking back to her favorite items from the breakfast they’d just consumed, a difficult task, given how fresh and delicious it had all been.

  When her thoughts inevitably started to stray to Becker again, Maddie looked ahead to the broad shoulders leading the way down the path. Last night she’d been distracted with thoughts of Becker, and this morning she’d only been looking ahead to their trip to Verona, so that she hadn’t really taken the time to consider Paul in and of himself. For the first time, she took a good look at him.