Getting the Boot

by Peggy Guthart Strauss

  “Do you know what Orations are, exactly?” Kelly asked.

  Marina scratched her nose, leaving a big, black paint streak. “From what I can tell, they put on togas, go to the Forum, and read famous speeches in Latin. Y’know, standing in the original guys’ footprints and whatnot.”

  It sounded even more boring than Kelly had thought, but it meant so much to Sheela, she wanted to be there for her.

  “C’mon, it’ll be cute watching the brainiacs put on a show. Is sweetie pie coming?” Marina teased.

  Kelly had been taking every opportunity to spend time with Luigi, in person and on the phone. The idea of the Forum, lit up by a gorgeous sunset with the lights of the city glimmering behind it, was too romantic to pass up. “Yes, and he’s taking me out to dinner first.”

  Marina snorted. “I’d bet you’ve already got your Italian couture wedding dress all picked out. You better let me know when you set the date. I know a guy who makes great skirts out of old seat belts, but they’re made to order.”

  Before Luigi picked her up, Kelly ran to the local flower shop and talked the clerk into making her a garland of laurel leaves. Sheela deserved a prize for facing up to her fear of public speaking; strange how something so harrowing for poor Sheela came so effortlessly to Kelly.

  By six o’clock, Kelly was primped, polished, and standing on the steps of the PIR as Luigi drove up. Right on time, Kelly thought. And he looks adorable on that Vespa.

  Luigi smiled as he got off the bike and kissed Kelly hello.

  “Ciao.” Kelly beamed. “Thanks for coming.”

  “It is my pleasure, signorina,” Luigi answered, handing Kelly his spare helmet and getting back on the Vespa. “Come, your chariot awaits you.”

  Kelly climbed on and slid her arms snugly around Luigi. She could definitely get used to this.

  Kelly had no idea what “Sott‘er cielo de Roma” meant, but the song certainly sounded romantic. She and Luigi were sitting across from each other at a small table at La Cisterna, the oldest restaurant in Trastevere. As far as Kelly was concerned, this was already the best date she had ever been on. Luigi was so sweet and charming, he made her feel like a Roman goddess. And after an unspeakably delicious pasta dinner, the two of them were being sere naded by a tuxedo-clad tenor. When he finished, everyone applauded loudly. The man smiled broadly and winked at Kelly before he moved on to another table.

  “This is perfect,” Kelly gushed. “The restaurant is beautiful, the dinner was beautiful—”

  “And you are beautiful,” Luigi finished, blushing despite himself. “But I have one more treat for you before we go to the Forum.”

  Luigi helped Kelly out of her seat, then led her down to the restaurant’s lower level. Kelly picked her way over the cobblestones, careful not to get her stilettos stuck. Luigi stopped in front of what looked like some kind of well. “La Cisterna is named for this,” he explained in a soft voice. “It’s an ancient well from imperial times.”

  Pulling her close, Luigi reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver coin.

  “Legend says that if you toss a coin into the well, your wish will go straight into the heart of Rome, and will surely come true.” He pressed the coin into Kelly’s hand and kissed her gently on the lips.

  Kelly closed her eyes, tossed the coin over her shoulder, and wished for another summer in Rome.

  As predicted, sunset at the Forum was spectacular; the ruins were bathed in soft, orange light and the sky was streaked with pinks and purples. Kelly and Luigi met up with Marina in front of the Senate Building to watch the orators’ procession. Kelly noted with pleasure that Luigi didn’t even blink over Marina’s offbeat appearance.

  About twenty students and a few curious bystanders milled around in front of a low stone column called the Umbilicus Mundus, which sounded to Kelly like it meant “belly button of the world.” Crazy Romans.

  Six kids, including Sheela and Jarvis, arrived in togas and sandals, carrying rolled paper scrolls. Dr. Wainwright, and Marco, also wearing robes, led them to the Rostra, the ancient stone platform where the empire’s greatest speakers had voiced their opinions.

  “You know, after he had the famous orator Cicero assassinated, Marc Anthony ordered his head and hands cut off and nailed to the Rostra for all Romans to see,” Luigi whispered.

  “Nice,” Marina said. “Don’t tell Sheela till afterward.”

  Dr. Wainwright delivered a brief, official-sounding speech in Latin, and then turned the platform over to Jarvis. With dignity and poise, holding his tall, scrawny body rod-straight, Jarvis opened his mouth and delivered a five-minute-long string of pure gibberish. Worst of all, when he finished, he repeated his speech in English—and it still made no sense to Kelly.

  By speaker number three, Kelly had stroked Luigi’s hand a hundred and forty-seven times, counted thirty-nine airplanes landing at Fiumicino Airport, and completely lost interest in Orations. But when Sheela’s turn came, she forced herself to focus. The poor girl looked petrified; even in the semidarkness, Kelly could see the scroll shaking in her hands. But her voice was clear and expressive and her delivery was dramatic and convincing. Kelly caught her eye and smiled encouragingly.

  Soon Sheela had completed the Latin and was moving on to the English translation. “‘On Friendship,’” she said, “by Marcus Tullius Cicero.

  “‘The most difficult thing in the world is for a friendship to remain unimpaired to the end of life. So many things might intervene: conflicting interests; differences of opinion in politics; frequent changes in character.’” As she spoke, her eyes moved from Kelly to Jarvis to Marina, Lisa, and Minnie. “‘Let this, then, be laid down as the first law of friendship, that we should ask from friends, and do for friends, only what is good. But do not let us wait to be asked either... Let us have the courage to give advice with candor.’”

  Kelly blushed as she remembered all the times Sheela had stuck up for her, stuck out her neck for her, and told her when she was being a jerk.

  “‘How can a life be worth living,’” Sheela continued, “‘which lacks that repose which is to be found in the mutual goodwill of a friend? What can be more delightful than to have someone to whom you can say everything with the same absolute confidence as to yourself?’” She smiled out at the audience, and paused before the last line. “‘The greatest of all things is Friendship.’”

  Kelly agreed with every word—the luckiest people were the ones who had friends. Flawed, honest, true-blue friends.

  When the last words echoed through the Forum, the audience erupted in cheers. Kelly ran up to the platform and placed the leaf garland on Sheela’s head.

  “Thank you for being my friend,” she whispered.

  There were only ten days left; ten days to finish projects, spend time with friends, and soak up every last drop of Rome. Kelly had painted the entire Vatican on the wall; now all she had to do was add about three million details. Lunch was winding up, and she could hear plates and sil verware clattering and kids chatting behind the makeshift curtain that hid the mural wall. Dr. Wainwright wanted the finished product to be a surprise.

  Knowing there was so little time left brought everyone closer. Even Lisa, who generally avoided Kelly like the plague, had become slightly more civil. And Minnie was positively genial since Kelly had rescued her in Siena. One night, sitting in the common room, Kelly realized that she’d miss hearing Aïda three times a day. She’d even miss old Lisa, who had taught her volumes about ozone-friendly hairspray.

  Several other groups were using the cafeteria as their workroom. A big cardboard model of Florence’s Duomo and an ancient Roman cookbook were coming together on one of the long tables. Several other kids were taking a study break, playing Boggle in Italian.

  In three months, this place had become home. Kelly would never have believed it, but it was true. She didn’t even mind the heat so much anymore.

  As each hour went by, another pillar, another statue, another window appeared on the Vatican. Kelly
put down her paintbrush and checked her watch: 3:51. Luigi had asked her to meet him at the Vatican at 4:30; he wouldn’t say why. She cleaned the paint off her hands and arms in the huge kitchen sink and hustled off to the metro station. These days, time was at a premium, and as much as she loved being with Luigi, the mural wasn’t painting itself.

  Still, as she entered the information center, Kelly felt warm and nostalgic. Luigi was in his usual place behind the desk, telling two old ladies where to find the closest bathroom. When she walked in, he smiled—the same mischievous grin that had cheered her up the first time they met.

  After a few minutes, Luigi joined her on the other side of the desk. “I got permission to leave work early today. I explained that I had something very important to do.”

  He led her across St. Peter’s Square to the Basilica, which Kelly had missed on her first visit. He flashed his ID and spoke rapidly to the guards at the door, who, with a wink to Kelly, waved them inside. They weren’t nearly as intimidating this time around.

  “I know you didn’t get to go inside when you were here before,” Luigi said, taking her hand. “How would you like a guided tour?”

  The Basilica was enormous, and beautiful. Kelly stared up at the elaborately carved altar, supported by four ornate golden columns. “The great sculptor Bernini designed the high altar,” Luigi told her. “Only the pope is permitted to give mass here. It stands over the spot where many believe Saint Peter, the first pope, is buried.”

  There were ornamental carvings everywhere Kelly looked. And the columns she had admired were solid gold. Just like the galleries, this place housed a treasure trove of magnificent artwork.

  “There are no paintings in the Basilica,” Luigi explained. “Only mosaics. It is necessary to constantly repair and maintain these works, and to create new ones, as well.”

  Kelly turned her attention to a marble statue sitting in a huge glass case. “Michelangelo, right? We studied the Pietà in art class.”

  “You’re correct. Did you know it is the only work that bears his signature?” Luigi pointed to the sash running over the Virgin Mary’s shoulder.

  They spent nearly an hour in the Basilica, then Luigi grabbed Kelly’s arm. “There’s one more place I’d like to take you before closing. I think you’ll enjoy seeing it.”

  It was a workshop, off the beaten tourist path. “Here we have our own mosaic artists working full-time to keep St. Peter’s beautiful,” Luigi whispered.

  Kelly watched the men bent intently over their work. The mosaic tiles were tiny and delicate. Micromosaic, Luigi called it. Rome was a bustling, chaotic city. But in this peaceful place, artists toiled away all day, with tweezers and magnifying glasses, piecing together intricate works of art one tiny stone shard at a time.

  “I guess my project isn’t as overwhelming as I thought,” Kelly said.

  As they walked back through Piazza San Pietro, Kelly gave Luigi a kiss on the cheek. “This has given me loads of inspiration for the mural. Thank you so much for doing this for me. But I’ve really got to get back to work.”

  “May I come see it?”

  “If you promise you won’t laugh. I’m not the greatest painter.”

  Kelly felt a bit nervous introducing Luigi to the mural group, especially to Andrea. She had become genuinely fond of the five other kids—in the many hours they’d spent together, the motley group had formed a bond. And Andrea? She was the cool older sister Kelly wished she had.

  Andrea and Luigi had a nice conversation in Italian—Kelly couldn’t understand all of it, but she could tell that they were saying nice things about her. Watching them talk, with Marina working in the background, brought a lump to her throat. She would miss them so badly it hurt.

  “But you lied to me!” Luigi told her as he surveyed her work. “You are a wonderful painter.”

  Luigi kept her company until dinnertime, then Kelly walked him to his Vespa. “I have one more surprise for you,” he said. “I hope you will think it’s a pleasant one.”

  Kelly’s heart began to pound.

  “I will be visiting America in about three months’ time. Is Chicago very far from New York City? My friends and I decided several months ago to travel there for our winter holiday.”

  “It’s about a thousand miles.” She looked up at him thoughtfully. “You know, Chicago has some really important architecture. There are all these great old office buildings, Navy Pier, and just outside the city there are some amazing Frank Lloyd Wright houses. No engineering student should miss it.”

  Luigi laughed. “I will consider that very seriously, Professor.”

  She kissed Luigi good night and rushed back to her work in the caf, wondering how her parents would like spending Christmas break in New York City.

  Kelly weeded through her half of the dresser, figuring out what to wear for her last three days in Rome. There was so much left to do! She pulled out a drawer and dumped the contents into a garbage bag—she’d lug it down to her storage space later. She had a summer’s worth of shopping to do this afternoon—gifts for everybody, plus a couple of souvenirs for herself.

  The night before, she had put the final strokes of paint onto her Vatican. Before hitting the shops, Kelly ran downstairs for one last look. St. Peter’s stood shoulder to shoulder with Marina’s boldly stroked, brashly colored PIR building. Veronica’s obelisk sat in the center, with Dai’s crazily intricate rendering of the Colosseum next to it. On the opposite end, Hildy’s Fountain of Trevi kept company with Gaby’s perfectly rendered Pantheon.

  Kelly surveyed her own work critically. It was decent. And it had been fun to paint. For laughs, she had placed two superserious Swiss Guards at the entrance to the Basilica, holding traditional long-handled axes. But at the top of one, instead of a sharp metal blade, flew a white flag. On it she painted a tiny yellow tank top and a pair of pink shorts, with a bright red slash drawn through them. On the left side of the piazza, a tall, thin young man with glasses smilingly offered brochures to camera-toting tourists.

  Looking more closely at Marina’s painting, she found a tiny Kelly and Sheela, waving from their fourth-floor window. Two stories down, Dr. Wainwright stood on the terrace outside his office. Marina had signed her name in flowing graffiti script.

  The next morning was open house. Everyone’s projects would be displayed, read, or performed. The kids who lived in Rome were invited to bring their families. Luigi had promised to stop by on his lunch break. The banquet would take place afterward.

  As Kelly stood in front of the mural, deep in thought, Andrea appeared next to her. “You guys did an amazing job. I’m really proud of you.” She looked at Kelly in her usual thoughtful way. “You know, you should really consider majoring in art at college. Dr. Wainwright and I meant what we said—you’re genuinely talented.”

  Kelly had always been more concerned with where she’d go to college than with what she’d study. She had wanted to go to a city that had an active nightlife, maybe New York City or Los Angeles. She’d just assumed she’d work the rest out later. “You can do that? For college credit?”

  Andrea laughed. “It worked for me. You have to take other courses, too, but art counts just as much as any other major. If you’d like, I’ll get you some information about some good programs back home.”

  Kelly nodded. “I would love that.” She felt her eyes beginning to dampen. “Thanks, Andrea. For everything.”

  “It’s my pleasure, Kelly. This summer would have been dull without you.”

  The two of them stood in companionable silence, admiring the mural.

  The presents sat in Kelly’s backpack, neatly wrapped in pretty paper bags sealed with little ribbons. Two copies of Italian Vogue were tucked in her suitcase, one for Tyff, one for Starr. And a spanking-new, hotter-than-hell leather jacket was burning a hole in her suitcase, far from Lisa’s disapproving eyes.

  The library was jam-packed with the fruits of everybody’s labor. The projects ranged from a huge wooden model of an ancient
Roman ship to Kelly’s favorite, a modern-day Italian traffic-survival guide.

  Parents and students swarmed the building, speaking in a dozen different languages and making a fuss over the projects. Kelly felt like a proud mother as she stood by the mural, answering questions and having her picture taken. She only wished her own parents could be there, to meet her friends and see how far she’d come.

  After the day-schoolers and their parents went home, a group of summer kids sat on the roof terrace, drinking Cokes, trading project horror stories, and just talking. In the yard below them, a few students juggled a soccer ball in the waning afternoon sunshine. Kelly shut her eyes and breathed deep, smelling the odd mix of orange blossoms, diesel exhaust, and warm earth that she’d come to know and love in Aventino.

  At six, everyone ran upstairs to get dressed for the program’s farewell banquet. Kelly and Sheela primped in front of their tiny mirror, fixing each other’s hair and dancing to cheesy Euro pop blasting from Sheela’s clock radio. Marina met them downstairs in her party outfit—a miniskirt made out of black electrical tape, a black bat-wing top, and platform boots. “And you guys thought I never dressed up,” she said, spinning.

  The banquet was held at the same osteria where they’d eaten their first dinner in Rome. This time, the simple wood tables were decked out with candles, linen tablecloths, and bottles of wine. Best of all, they were serving one of Kelly’s favorite dishes, risotto.

  Kelly had grown to love the creamy rice dish while she was in Italy, though this one looked a little strange to her. She was picking out the little black specks scattered over the top when Sheela elbowed her in the ribs. “Don’t you like truffles?”

  Kelly shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t tasted it yet. I’m trying to get rid of the burned stuff first.”