“Well, I've got my character out of bed.” Howard drains his glass.
“That's good,”says Belinda optimistically. “I thought you did that a while ago.”
“Yes,” agrees Howard, “but at least he hasn't crawled back in again.”
“Oh,” says Belinda, nodding slowly. “And that's good?”
“Very good,” says Howard, rattling his ice cube. There is a loud knock at the door. “I'll just get myself another,” he says, “while you go and get that.”
“Yes, right you are.” Belinda smiles, tottering back toward the door. “Mary!” she hisses, as she walks past her daughter, who is sitting in a chair, “go and mingle.”
Belinda opens the door, her hostess smile in place.
“G'day!” announce four smiley female faces, all crowded into the door-frame.
“Hello,” says Belinda, taking a quick step back.
“Oh, this looks great,” announces the copper-haired woman with freckled skin as she walks in. “Jaqui,” she says to Belinda, shaking her hand firmly. “We met at Lauren's the other day?”
“Oh, yes, of course,” says Belinda. “From the commune.”
“That's right.”
“And your partner, Paloma,” says Belinda, shaking her hand.
“Er … no,” declares Jaqui. “My girlfriend is Janet here.” She indicates a neat pretty woman with a dark urchin crop, in cream linen trousers and a white shirt. “Paloma is my business partner.”
“Yuk,” says Paloma, with a flick of her long dark hair and a tinkle of her Indian-belled skirt. “I can't believe you presumed we were girlfriend and girlfriend. I can't stand redheads.”
“My hair's not red,” says Jaqui.
“Well, not naturally, anyway,” says a slim blonde, with bright blue eyes. “Duran,” she says, offering Belinda her hand, “and I'm very pleased to meet you.”
“I suppose you chose that name yourself ?” observes Belinda.
“I'm sorry?” says Duran.
“You know, like Paloma?”
“No,” she replies. “My parents were ahead of their time. I was christened way before the pop group.”
“Good,” says Belinda, not understanding what the girl means. “Well, come in.”
“Oh,” says Jaqui, rummaging around in her large beaded handbag. “We've brought you a nice Australian Riesling. Not too sweet.”
“Thank you,” smiles Belinda as she accepts the bottle of wine. “It looks lovely.”
“Oh, it is,” confirms Paloma. “We have the best wines in Australia. Have you ever been?”
“No,” says Belinda.
“Well, you should,” continues Paloma. “We have the best food in Australia. We have the best climate in Australia. We've got the best beaches as well as the best wines.”
“It sounds wonderful,” says Belinda.
“Oh, it is,” she confirms with a smile. “It's great.”
As the four stunning young lesbians walk into the sitting room and out onto the terrace, Howard perks up no end. He follows on after them, gin in tow, and tries to engage them in conversation. “So what are you four beautiful women doing in a place like this?” he jokes.
“Sorry?” says Jaqui.
“We were invited,” replies Duran.
“Excellent,”says Howard. “I'm Howard Oxford,”he says, offering his hand to Duran.
“We met the other day,” says Jaqui.
“Yes, I know, but I haven't met your two friends,” he says.
“Girlfriends,” corrects Jaqui.
“Oh, yes indeed … girlfriends,”purrs Howard, a pleasant sexual fantasy of a grin on his face. “So where are you all from?”
“Sydney,” they reply.
“Well, actually,” adds Duran, “I'm from Perth, the most isolated city on the planet, so as soon as I got the chance I went to Sydney.”
“The gay capital of the world,” shares Paloma. “It's a really great place,” she smiles. “Sydney's really great. Have you been there?”
“Um, no,” agrees Howard. “But it sounds like I might enjoy it very much.”
“Oh, you would,” she continues. “It's got the best food, the best restaurants. The lifestyle's really good. Sydney's great.”
“Good,”says Howard. “That's marvelous.”He pauses. “Would anyone care for some nibbles? Ah, Mary,”he says, turning around to greet Mary, who is holding up a tray of cups filled with red or white wine. “Alcohol, ladies?” he suggests. “And some cheese on a stick?”
The women gather around and help themselves.
“Pineapple and cheese,” says Paloma, her pretty lips curling. “That's a very odd combination. It doesn't even sound edible.”
“Not at all,” insists Janet. “My rellos serve it all the time in Tassie.”
“But that's Tassie,” laughs Paloma.
“Would anyone like an olive?” asks Belinda, balancing on the back of her heels. “They're produced locally.”
“Are they?” asks Jaqui, plucking a shiny black one out of Be-linda's bowl. “How clever of you to source them.”
“It was nothing,” she says. Her olives are locally purchased from a local supermarket, which is local enough for anyone. “I always find it so much more rewarding to go to the local market and talk to the local people selling their own produce, rather than the supermarket. Don't you?”
“We try and do the same,” Jaqui tells her, “but it's difficult for us because we're back and forth all the time. We find it quite a lot easier to go to the supermarket since my Italian is nonexistent.”
“Right … oh dear,” sympathizes Belinda. “Che peccato.”
“I suppose you must speak like a native,” says Jaqui.
“Well, I am a native.” Belinda smiles. “You know, I've lived here for nearly five years now. These things just rub off on you.”
“Yeah.” Jaqui smiles. “I suppose they do.”
“Will you excuse me?” says Belinda. “I'd better go and answer the door.”
Opening her front door Belinda is greeted with a sight that makes her inhale sharply and clutch the doorframe.
“Ta-daah,” says Barbara, twirling in her hot pants and smock top. “Rustica enough for you?”
“Barbara! Derek! Lauren! Kyle!” she says, just managing a smile. “You've come together!”
“I know! Wasn't it a good idea?” chirps Barbara. “Lauren suggested it, and it made sense to come as a gang. Anyway, how are you? This looks great. What do you think of the outfit?”
“A gang?” says Belinda.
“I know,” says Derek. “With Lauren at the wheel, I shan't have to drink and drive ever again. This looks great, Belinda, with the little flags. You've made an enormous effort.”
“Effort?” she says. “No, no effort Derek. This is a relaxed soirée. Terribly, terribly relaxed.”
“Well, it certainly looks very Italian to me,” says Lauren. “Good evening, Belinda. Thank you for welcoming us into your home.” She ducks her head unnecessarily as she comes through the doorway. “It's very cute. Where do you put all your guests?”
“Oh, it's a terribly deceptive house,” replies Belinda. “There are rooms off rooms and floors above floors. It's a Tardis. Sometimes I can lose myself in it.”
“Right. I'm sure you can.”
“Anyway, Kyle,” says Belinda, “do come in. Oh,” she adds, spotting a rather slim, soignée-looking woman standing behind him. “I'm sorry I didn't see you there.”
“I'm so sorry,” drawls Lauren, clutching her tight-fitting white T-shirt, “I've brought a guest with me.”
“Oh,” says Belinda.
“I'm sorry,” says the girl, her French-polished fingernails thrust forth. “I'm Selina, a journalist with Bride's magazine. We're doing a honeymoon-retreats special, and I'm doing a whole double page on Lauren's place.”
“Oh,” says Belinda again.
“Isn't it just the most romantic place you've ever seen?” she enthuses. “It's almost worth getting married just to ho
neymoon there.”
“Yes, right,”says Belinda, shaking hands, gathering her across the threshold. “Buongiorno, buongiorno. Do come in. Have an aperitivo. I must show you around Casa Mia.” She puts an arm around Selina's well-worked-out waist, and leads her away from Lauren and toward the alcohol. “What's interesting about this area is that you'll find some places have been sympathetically restored and some places, quite simply, have not. Did you know the McMahons had a problem with the art police people?”
“I heard about that!” Selina laughs. “Apparently some old bat in the valley rang up and complained. I thought it was very magnanimous of Lauren to do nothing about it. I personally would have had her hounded out of the place.”
“Yes,” agrees Belinda, pouring Selina a large gin and tonic in the kitchen.
“I mean, it's not as if the frescos were any good,” continues Selina. “They're the sort of thing you'd get in some DIY makeover show, or a pizza restaurant in Fulham.”
“Yes, right,” says Belinda, steadying herself on the sideboard. “Grab a little nibble and I'll give you a quick tour so you can see something terribly Italian for your pages.”
As Selina follows Belinda down the stairs to the guests' cantinas, the rest of the guests start to mix. The commune girls tire of Howard's lascivious enthusiasm and move out onto the terrace to admire the view. Barbara picks up Howard and pins him into a corner to discuss the merits of her outfit. Derek talks Lauren through the subtleties of cheese rolling.
Mary and Kyle find a quiet corner, near the french windows.
“How are you?” he whispers, his lips brushing her earlobe as his hand takes hers. Avoiding eye contact, they stand side by side and look out toward the terrace, pretending to take in the view.
“I've missed you,” she says, her eyes shining, color mounting in her cheeks, “I thought you weren't coming tonight.”
“I know,” he replies, his grip tightening around her hand, his breath shortening. “I didn't think she'd let me.”
“Really?” She turns to him and immediately looks away.
“Yeah,” he says. “Don't look at me like that,” he whispers. “You make me want to kiss you. It's hard enough just standing here pretending to be normal.”
“Sorry.”
“Yeah, well, Mom almost made me stay behind to look after the screenwriting guy.”
“Oh?”
“But fortunately he's doing the Atkins diet, so he was more than happy to cook his own steak.”
“Thank God for Atkins,” she smiles, squeezing his hand.
“Yeah,” laughs Kyle. “That's got to be a first.”
They stand for a while, holding hands, their hips brushing together. An electrical heat pulsing between them, they don't need to talk. They are lost in their own forbidden company. The tension between them is so strong, so powerful, it takes all their will to keep control of themselves.
“What are we going to do?” asks Kyle, squeezing her hand more tightly.
“I don't know.”
“Well, one thing I do know,” he says, and turns toward her. He stares down at her mouth and unconsciously licks his lips. “I don't think I can stand this much longer.”
“Stand what?” says a voice.
“Mother,” says Kyle, moving swiftly away from Mary and dropping her hand. “I didn't see you there.”
“Stand what?” Lauren repeats, maintaining eye contact.
“Nothing,” he says.
“Good,” smiles Lauren. “I'm not interrupting, am I?”
“No,” say Kyle and Mary together.
“Good,” repeats Lauren. “If that's the case you can escort me out onto the terrace to take some air. Good evening, Mary.”
“Good evening,” says Mary, looking at the floor. “I think I'll hand around the prawn vol-au-vents. Would you like one?” she asks, picking up the tray.
“Um,” says Lauren, leaning in for a closer inspection and recoiling at speed, “I think I'll pass.”
“Kyle?” she asks, trying to contain the flutter in her voice.
“Lovely,” he says, taking one.
“Those Australians seem keen,” says Lauren, indicating with her head that Mary should move on. “They've had a whole plate already.”
Mary walks off, tray in hand, to the girls on the terrace. Kyle unconsciously watches her go, smiling as the fading sunlight pours through her white dress.
“Come along, Kyle,” says Lauren, linking arms with her son. “Put that disgusting prawn thing down and let's go outside.”
They go to stand on the edge of the terrace, sipping their wine and looking down over the valley.
“I had no idea you can see everything from up here,” says Lauren, taking in the view of her house, the Bianchis' farm, Derek and Barbara's swimming pool and cypress complex. “Do you think she sits and spies on us all day?”
“Well, that's what I've heard,” confirms Kyle, swilling the wine in his cup.
“Amazing,” says Lauren, shaking her head. “I left New York to get away from the boredom of petty boardroom squabbles only to arrive in this little hornet's nest.” She gives a little wry laugh. “The sad thing is that she's picked a fight with someone who's used to fighting for a living.”
“Anyway, Selina, siamo arrivati. ” Belinda's trill hostess voice floats up to them from the terrace below. “You see what I mean about it being a traditional Tuscan country house? I took extra care when renovating to keep all the features in the house. In my quite substantial experience, when people travel here for a holiday, they do like to see traditional features in their Tuscan house. There are some people who think that it is fine to take all the features out of a house and paint it white. They think that's good taste. Like the McMahons' place,” she whispers loudly. “What was she thinking?” She laughs. “Between you and me, that might be all right in one of those New Loft things. But in the Tuscan countryside? Honestly! I think it looks terribly cheap. And I do hate cheap. Don't you, Selina?” Belinda succumbs to a little shiver just to prove her point. “Ghastly. To be honest with you, I'm amazed that the readers of Bride's would be interested in such a place—Aaaarrrgh!” Belinda screams. Her hands shoot into the air and her eyes widen in shock as warm alcohol pours over her hair and her face and down the back of her neck.
“Oh, my God, I'm sooo sorry!” shouts Lauren, from the terrace above. “I didn't see you down there. I was just throwing away this plonk. Very acidic,” she adds, with a sucking-lemons face. “I had no idea you were down there. I'm sorry. Did I get you?”
“Jesus!” says Belinda, shaking her arms as rivers of wine course down her back, between her breasts, and under her armpits. Her mascara spreads out from her eyes like a spider's web. Her hair hangs limply, stuck to her scalp, yet the red comb valiantly holds on to the side of her head. “What the hell …” She catches Selina's eye. “What the hell does it matter?” She recovers. “I'm rather partial to a glass of wine, but I've never quite had it served like that,” she says, firing off a burst of hysterical laughter. “I'll just go and change.”
“I'm so sorry,” says Lauren again.
“I can't believe you just did that,” mutters Kyle out of the corner of his mouth.
“Shut up,” hisses Lauren, through a smile. “You heard what she was saying—I'm so sorry,” she shouts again.
“These things happen,” Belinda trills.
“Mum!” comes a shout from the other side of the terrace. “You'd better come quick!”
“Mary!” Belinda calls back from the terrace. “I'm slightly indisposed at the moment.”
“Mum!” Mary shouts again. “This is serious.”
Mary is not lying. Kyle and Lauren turn around to find two of the Australian girls, Paloma and Janet, doubled up in pain.
really don't feel very well,”mutters Paloma, one hand on her stomach, the other holding a terra-cotta geranium pot for sup-port. “I'm all hot and sweaty and I'm dizzy, too.”
“Yeah, right,” says Janet. “So am I.”
“Mum!” calls Mary.
“Coming,” says Belinda, jogging into her party in her silver heels with her streaked makeup, wine-soaked hair, and a Gina Lollobrigida outfit that is now clinging in all the wrong places. “Ladies, what seems to be the problem? Paloma?”
“I think I'm going to be—” Paloma looks up and vomits all over Belinda's silver sandals.
Belinda stands rigid with shock. She doesn't dare to look down. She can feel the warm prawn vol-au-vent and wine mixture seeping between her toes.
“Oh, my God, so am I!” Janet sprints through the party, her hand covering her mouth as she tries and fails to make it to the bathroom.
“Derek,” Barbara grabs Howard's arm as she sways on her platforms in her hot pants, “I'm feeling a little off color myself.”
“Do you think it's the prawns?” asks Derek, putting down his half-eaten canapé. “Belinda?”
“What?” says Belinda, still stuck to the spot, incapable of moving or looking. Her hands are in rigid fists and her eyes are half closed as she tries not to inhale the sweet smell of vomit that engulfs her.
“The prawns?” asks Derek. “Do you think they might be off ?”
“Mary?” asks Belinda, her voice tight and strained.
“You did the vol-au-vent mixture, Mum.” Mary replies qui-etly. “I just stuffed them.”
“Right,” says Belinda, her shoulders beginning to hunch.
The Three Tenors CD grinds to a halt, and the party is silent as everyone stares at their wine-soaked hostess, standing in a pool of pale pink vomit, waiting for some sort of explanation.
“They were a couple of days past their sell-by date,” says Belinda, almost as if she is speaking to herself. “I really didn't think it would matter. Only a couple of days, that's all,” she mumbles. “They always mark these things down early anyway. Health and safety—”
“Jesus.” Jaqui grabs her stomach and runs down the terrace steps into the garden, retching as she goes.
“Derek, I've got to go home while I can,” announces Barbara, fanning her face with a brown hand. “I can feel it coming on.”
Tuscany for Beginners Page 21