by Julia Talbot
The twins had asked him to go out with them sight seeing a few times in the last few weeks. He had declined. The few meals he took with the family were ones he shared with them, though, and it made him glad that they could still get along. He made a point to get out of the house every few days, and he saw Father Bertolli often. He'd even stopped dreaming those odd dreams. He felt like he had his life back, and he was pleased. He'd gone to church with Cristina's family, though Cristina herself was ignoring him. Life was steady, and that was a good thing.
The first week of June saw him working on a much more interesting Venetti. He liked to think of paintings of this style as the middle years, where Venetti had really started experimenting. It was a misnomer of sorts, because Matteo Venetti had never reached middle age. His painting career had lasted some eight short years after his apprenticeship ended when he was sixteen. So, the “middle years” were really the years between 1650 and 1653. Venetti would have been somewhere between eighteen and twenty at the time.
The painting was a cityscape of Venice. It had the same grand, sweeping scale that Canaletto would later become famous for. Unlike Canaletto, Venetti's vision of Venice was not a softly blurred place of busy beauty. It was a city rotting back into the sea. Looking at it, you could smell the salt and sour mildew in the gray, crumbling buildings. The Piazza San Marco was filled with people for carnival, in masks and costumes. Not an unusual subject, but none of the usual masks were in evidence. Demons and devils, grotesque and twisted, danced about Saint Mark's cathedral with torches in their hands while the bishop of the city cowered in a doorway, brandishing a huge crucifix, an agonized effigy of the dead Christ.
It was a disturbing image, made even worse by the little flashes Jacob saw behind his eyes as he stared at the painting. Venice as it had really looked then, huge and looming and frightening to a small town boy apprenticed to a painting master. A vast panorama of sin and decadence. The two images blended, the painting becoming a moving, living thing, until Jacob wasn't sure what was canvas and what was memory. Memory? He was lost in it, seeing the dark, winding little stairs that led to his master's garret, and the dingy little room he was given to sleep in. The constant fight to keep the floors from collapsing under their feet with rot, and how stupid Matteo thought it was for them to build them out of wood in a city built on water. Saying things like that just got him knocked in the head, so he learned to keep his thoughts to himself, to act like he really didn't have any in his head. How that ham fingered man had ever reached the rank master painter was beyond him, and his master's appalling lack of skill was reflected in their poor surroundings.
Scene after scene flashed through him, his master scratching his big belly and calling him stupid boy. The other apprentice, Pietro, curled up with him at night for warmth, and those first innocent fumblings with him in the dark. Learning to mix paints, and the smell of the pigment seller's shop. Jacob was utterly consumed by the images, and might have stayed that way indefinitely if the pounding on his workshop door hadn't brought him back to himself with a thump. His own shriek rang in his ears, and his heart was pounding worse than the fist on his door. He stood on unsteady legs, and moved to open up with a shouted, “Coming!”
It was Terri. She peeked over his shoulder into the workroom, then looked at him oddly. “Are you alright?”
“Yes, of course.” Jacob stepped back to let her in. “I just dozed off. You woke me up.”
She looked dubious, but was kind enough not to mention it. “I just wanted to talk to you for a minute.”
“Okay. Talk away.”
Blowing out a sigh, Terri perched on an empty stool. “Cecilia is going to ask you to eat with the family tonight.” Seeing that he was about to protest, she held up a hand. Jacob subsided. “I think it would be wise to accept. You've been avoiding everyone but the twins, and then you've only seen them at the occasional meal. And while I might be able to understand that decision, and certainly respect it, I think you should schmooze a bit. These people are fronting your grant money after all. And Cecilia wants to ask you to attend her midsummer costume ball. I suggest you say yes.”
His mouth opened and closed a few times before Jacob made any answer. He was trying to word his reply carefully. “I think that would be rather unwise of me, actually. Dinner, yes, I can do that. But I would much rather the family treated me like an employee.”
A mocking grin appeared on Terri's face. “No, I don't think you would. The Rossis and Miggliozzi's demand absolute loyalty from their employees. You would have been fired long before now if you were one. Be grateful you are considered a guest.”
“I see.” Jacob hated that smile. Then he wondered at himself. It wasn't like him at all to feel that quick flash of anger. “Then I'll go to dinner and tell the signora that I will attend her ball. Does that make you happy?”
“Not really.” Terri sauntered toward the door. “But it will make her happy. And that's always a good thing. Ciao, Jacob.”
The urge to throw something at her as she left was strong. Jacob took a deep breath and tried to calm down. His jaw hurt from gritting his teeth. His dream must have affected him more strongly than he thought. That and the stress of the impending meeting with Cecilia and family. Obviously he needed to get some rest. He cleared his clutter and tucked his notes away, then went upstairs to shower and nap.
The dinner invitation came as expected, and Jacob was downstairs promptly at eight for pre-dinner drinks. The family was “dressed” tonight, presenting a united front of fine feathers and making him feel drab by comparison. It was an obvious tactic, and somewhat beneath them, but he could see it from their point of view as well. Which told him that his nap had restored his usually equanimity. He was glad, because if his temper had still been frayed the evening would be impossible.
The twins gifted him with tiny smiles, and Cecilia poured him a Campari and soda. She handed it to him, and when he took it she grasped his wrist. “Jacob,” she said. “It has been far too long since you joined us. I thought you were over your upset?”
Her hand was warm and soft on his arm, and for a moment all he could do was stare at it. She took it as distaste, apparently, because she let go of him quickly and moved a few feet away. His head snapped up and he hastened to reassure her. “I am. I mean, I have been. I just need to work, not socialize.”
There was a chuckle, he thought from Marco, but he didn't look to see. Jacob kept his attention centered on Cecilia. “I'm grateful to you and your family for everything. And I apologize again for my erratic behavior. But I really feel I'm better off keeping to myself. This project is stressful. I don't need the distraction of playing tourist or feeling like a pampered guest. I think that's where I went wrong in the first place.”
“I see.” She pouted at him a little, which was rather devastating. This time the chuckle was definitely from Marco, as the man stepped up and put his arm around his wife.
“Don't let her sway you with that little girl look. I, for one, understand business. And a work ethic.” Marco grunted when Cecilia poked him. “But I hope you will visit with us once in a while to keep us appraised of your progress. We only trust Terri so much.”
Jacob chuckled himself, because Terri stuck her tongue out at Marco's broad back in a supremely juvenile gesture. “Si, signore. I think I can do that.”
“Good. Now, my wife wants to ask you something.”
Turning back to Cecilia, Jacob raised his eyebrows. She smiled at him and pushed away from Marco. “Si. I wanted to ask you to attend my masked ball, for midsummer. It is something I do every year, for charity. We open the house and sell tickets to friends at an exorbitant rate.”
“I'd be happy to,” he started, but Cecilia cut him off.
“You might not wish to agree so soon. I wanted to ask your help with the arrangements.”
“I'm not sure what kind of help I could be.”
Taking his arm, Cecilia led him out toward the dining room. The rest of the family trailed along behind them.
“I want the theme this year to be Venice during Carnival,” she answered. “Renaissance Venice. Venetti era. I know you will be my best resource for authenticity.”
Feeling trapped, Jacob looked at the twins. They grinned unrepentantly, and Jacob had a feeling they had something to do with choosing the theme. Terri wouldn't meet his eyes. He gave in graciously. “Of course.”
“Perfecto. Alessandro will be back then, too. Maybe you will get a chance to have that meeting with him about family history.”
“I hope so.” Jacob did feel horribly guilty about that missed meeting with Alessio the day of his little blow up. The man was very busy, and had made time for Jacob to meet with him, and Jacob had blown him off. He supposed the masquerade ball was his penance. That thought made him feel a bit better, and he spent the rest of the meal in pleasant conversation with his hosts.
Penance was too light a word. The masquerade ball sucked up his time like he couldn't believe. The problem was that Cecilia didn't just want a fun little party. She wanted authenticity. Renaissance Venice during Carnival. Not only that, but her guest list was full of people who were wealthy, educated and bored. It had to be just right.
The first week, Jacob managed to spilt his time between his real work and the “historical consultant” duties Cecilia thrust upon him. He occasionally had to lock himself in his workroom and refuse to come out to do it, but he did. He managed to make an outline for the introduction to his paper on Venetti. He examined two more paintings. He got sucked into discussions about masks and food and whether or not a miniature gondola could be set up in the reflecting pool. They had to settle for the indoor swimming pool.
The servants were cleaning. All of them. In droves. You couldn't go anywhere in the house without being run down by a bevy of maids scrubbing floors and polishing chandelier crystals. If you stood still long enough, they dusted you. No one was safe. Jacob went to his room one afternoon and found footmen moving his things. Flabbergasted, he demanded to know what they were doing. They told him to talk to the signora. He did. Loudly. And he was informed that many of the masquerade guests were from out of town and would be spending the night. They were moving him to the family wing, so the guest room he was in could be cleaned and used the night of the ball.
The new room was simply breathtaking. He had thought the guest chambers sumptuous. The bed was big enough for three or four people, the bath was big enough to swim in and a whirlpool besides. Instead of blues, this suite was done in green and gold, with a woodland theme. Jacob wondered if the twins had picked it out for him, because one particular painting of a satyr and nymph was naughty enough to make him blush. It would be like them to put him there.
After the first week, Cecilia gave up the pretense of allowing him his own work, and pressed him into overseeing the artistic arrangements. He was amazed to discover that those arrangements including directing a crew of young art students to create Canaletto style Venetian cityscapes on giant wall hangings for the ballroom and grand salon. Once he gave in to the inevitable and decided he would not get more studious work done until this whole mess was over, Jacob really enjoyed himself.
One of his more enthusiastic rambles to Father Bertolli was met with an admonition to watch what he was doing, and that sobered him up for a day, maybe more. It was impossible to resist the spirit of the affair, though, and the idea of having a whole artist's studio to command was heady. Pride, he thought ruefully, was a sneaky and attractive sin.
Jacob himself inadvertently gave Cecilia the idea for the theme of the family costumes. Or rather masks. As was common in the time they were emulating, the family would wear formal clothing (of the period of course) and hold the mask responsible for creating the character they wanted to portray. A chance comment about what was popular back then from Jacob, and Cecilia decided to go with the Cardinal Virtues and the Deadly Sins for her family and close friends. Of which Jacob was considered a member of course.
A casual inquiry about the guest list almost made Jacob hyperventilate. Some two hundred people would attend, some of them Jacob's superiors in the Church and at the University. He wasn't allowed to hide. In fact, Cecilia and crew seemed to have a positive intuition for when he was going to try to withdraw, because that's when they gave him yet another project to keep him busy and involved. The life-sized chessboard he set up in the garden was a particularly fun assignment.
Family arrived first. Alessandro came in a few days before the party with his wife, a lovely Frenchwoman, and another of the brothers. Darius, who was barley a year younger than Alessio, and who looked so much like him they too could have been twins. Darius brought his wife Gemma and their son. By the day before the party Jacob's head spun with names and faces. Here was cousin Santino, the flaming queen, and over here was cousin Estella, the horse faced woman. Jacob found out that the twins should never be allowed to perform introductions. They had a derogatory nickname for everyone, and they told them all to Jacob when that person was out of earshot. He was terrified that he would refer to Aunt Livia as the Shar-pei in drag, rather than the Contessa of whatever.
His last, and ultimately unsuccessful, attempt to resist the chaos came when he saw his costume. Jacob had flatly refused a “secular” costume, so the bulk of his costume was a long cassock of severe black. He rather liked it. His mask, though, sent him stomping to the study, which had been converted into a sort of command room. Cecilia was there, as was half of the Rossi family. He shoved the mask at her and she automatically reached for it.
“What is the meaning of that?” he demanded.
Looking genuinely surprised, Cecilia studied the mask. It was a beautifully made Venetian mask, and it must cost the earth, but just looking at it made Jacob angry. His deadly sin was Lust. The mask was a copy of a plaque done by one of the Renaissance masters, Cellini maybe. It was the face of a man, but twisted with an exaggerated expression of lewdness. The lips curled up in a grotesque smile, and a tongue curled up out of the breathing hole, long and pointed and suggestive. The eye-holes were shaped on an extreme slant, and the eyebrows were peaked into a distinct lustful waggle. He hated it.
“What is wrong with it?” Cecilia asked.
“I resent the implication.”
Her laughter rang out brightly. “Oh, come now, Jacob. Surely you don't think I would insult you that way? I was simply having a joke.”
“You mean this isn't mine.”
“No. I mean, yes it is. No, that's not what I meant.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Jacob demanded, “So what do you mean?”
“Here.” Cecilia put his mask down on the desk and crossed to a cabinet along one wall. She pulled out another finely made mask and held it up for him to see. He moved closer, and he could see a cunningly crafted vision of saintly Patience. He looked at Cecilia questioningly.
“My mask. I decided to be patience, which they say is a virtue. I think you'll agree, however, that it's one I don't possess. You see the joke?”
“I suppose so.” Inspiration struck. “Who's chastity?”
Grinning, she answered, “Vanni.”
That made him feel much better. And like an idiot. He picked his mask up off the desk and held it to his face. There was a bit of snickering, and he laughed. “Okay, I overreacted. I'm sorry.”
“Eh.” Cecilia waved him off. She smiled and touched his arm, making his blood zing in his veins. “Forget it. Now go. I need to work. And you need to try on your cassock. See if it needs altering.”
That was his last protest. The night before the ball, the whole clan gathered for an informal dinner and tour of the house, and Jacob found that he was actually looking forward to seeing the reactions to his decorations. Everyone was duly impressed, and the twins even bestowed great, squeezing hugs on him before pulling away self-consciously. Which caused him a pang.
He slept poorly that night, tormented by odd images of throngs of revelers peeling away their masks to reveal rotting faces. He woke several times cold and sweating and shook h
is head at his own over-active imagination. As a consequence, he slept late and made it to breakfast long after everyone else.
The entire day went that way. Jacob was a half step behind everyone else all day long. He just missed Cecilia here, or Terri there. The whole house was thrumming with tension and anticipation. The atmosphere was one of controlled chaos. The only members of the family he did manage to see before evening were the children. Between the Rossi brothers and sisters (of which there seemed an interminable number) there were several offspring. Jacob's favorite was Massimo, who belonged to the youngest cousin, Guiseppe. Precocious but adorable, Massimo distracted him until it was time to go and change.
He didn't catch up with the family until late afternoon, when they assembled in the grand salon, in costume, for one last conference. The salon was simply amazing. Panels hung from the walls, depicting the Grand Canal and the Rialto market. The footmen were dressed in Renaissance era livery, with the Miggliozzi crest in full view on their chests. Much of the delicate Baroque furniture had been removed, and the seating groups were now heavy chairs and padded benches of dark, carved wood. Long trestle tables were set up and would soon be loaded with appetizers and drinks. The buffet would be in the formal dining room, which Jacob knew had been arranged for an ebb and flow of guests seating themselves and eating while listening to the musicians in the music gallery.