“You’re going to California!” Owen’s head began to spin.
“C’mon, it’s just for six months.” Jessy bumped Owen on the shoulder.
Owen remained frozen with his mouth hanging open. California might as well be on another planet. Owen felt nauseous. Once Jessy left, that would be it. He would never come back to Syracuse or to him.
Chapter Nine
AS THEY came up the path from the lake and through the garden gate, Enrico and Fabrizio called, “Ciao, Papà,” to the skinny old man who was hunched over pruning a rose bush with surgical care. The old man continued to examine and clip the delicate branches without pausing to look up.
“I’m going to get changed,” Fabrizio said to his brother. “My balls get itchy if I sit around in a damp swimsuit.” He bounded up the steps and went directly into the house. Enrico followed him but went onto the terrace.
The sun was sinking behind the mountains on the other side of the lake, staining the sky the color of a ripe melon. Even though the hot weather had arrived early, there was still a tiny tip of white snow on Monte Rossa in the distance. The afternoon wind had subsided, and the surface of the water was as smooth as a fresh bedsheet, except for intermittent rolling waves from the hydrofoil out in the middle of the lake making its last run back to Laveno and the wake from a speedboat cruising along the shoreline heading to the marina in time for cocktail hour.
Tata stood there looking out at the lake. “I love this time of day,” she said as Enrico walked up to her. “It always makes me melancholy for Sicily.”
“But this is your home.” Enrico kissed her on the cheek.
“Born Sicilian, die Sicilian.” Tata shrugged. “Even though I’ve been here for almost fifty years, no matter how lovely the lake is, this will always be a foreign land for me.”
“Why didn’t you ever go back to Sicily?”
Tata brushed her hand through Enrico’s hair. “You know, your mother was like a little sister to me, and she was alone with your sister, Francesca.” She kissed his forehead. “And then, of course you two boys arrived and I was up to my eyes in dirty diapers and baby formula.” Tata laughed.
“Tell me about Mamma again, Tata.”
Tata had told them the story many times before, but each time she told it in a slightly different way or added a small detail. She knew that her memories were their only connection to their mother. “Your grandmother was a stern woman, with little understanding for what grows inside a young girl’s heart.” Tata shook her head. “Ha, it was me who had to explain to your mother about her monthly visitor and what to do.”
Enrico frowned. “How could she not know about menstruation?”
“It was like that for good Catholic girls back then.” Tata rolled her eyes and shrugged. “Then, when she had just turned fifteen, she met an older boy from across the lake.
“Every day that summer, as the sun was hanging low over the mountains, just like it is now, he would paddle across the lake and whistle for your mother to come to the shore and meet him. And like so many innocent young girls who are drunk on the wine of their first love, she gave her heart to that boy.” Tata shook her head vigorously.
“As these things so often do, it ended in tragedy.” She took Enrico’s hands and held them. “By the time your grandmother discovered their romance, it was too late. Your mother was already pregnant with your sister.”
Enrico bit his lip and swallowed.
“Your grandmother accused the young man of raping her daughter and sent the police across the lake to look for him, but he had already disappeared. They say he went to Bologna to join the Marxists.” Tata shook her head. “I don’t know why your grandmother didn’t send your mother to Switzerland and have the problem taken care of like most girls do. Maybe it was because her family was so Catholic and word had already spread throughout the village anyway.”
Tata let go of Enrico’s hands and brushed back a strand of hair from her face. “After that, your mother’s life was almost destroyed. She had your sister and raised her, facing the scorn of the other women and vulgar innuendos of the men in the village. But she always held her head high.
“When your sister Francesca was six, your grandmother insisted on sending her to boarding school in Milan, and from then on your mother and I looked after the old lady.
“Many lonely years passed. And by the time your sister was seventeen, your mother was only thirty-one. Then one day she met your father, who had just left university in Milan and returned to the lake. Even though he was almost ten years her junior, the two of them fell in together like left and right feet. Oh, you can imagine how those viperous tongues in the village wagged, but all the same, it wasn’t long before your father proposed to your mother and they were married.” Tata patted Enrico’s cheek. “And eventually your mother became pregnant with you two.” Tata stopped.
“Go on,” Enrico encouraged.
Tata put her hand to her face and spoke in a low tone. “After your mother died in childbirth your father became ill.” Tata’s eyes were glassy like she was fighting back tears. “By then your grandmother was too far on in years, so I stayed to look after her, your father, and the two of you. That’s why I never returned to Sicily.” Tata smiled, but her lips were trembling as if there was more to the story.
“When I die, you’ll send my body home to Siracusa.” She leaned over and kissed Enrico’s cheek. “But right now, I can smell my broccoli, asparagus, and cheese torte in the oven.” She brushed her hands and went back into the kitchen.
“ALL TUCKED in?” Enrico said as they walked into their father’s room after dinner.
Fabrizio picked up the blue plastic pillbox from his nightstand and examined it. “I see you’ve remembered to take your pill?”
“Look Papà, we brought you a rose,” Enrico said.
“Ah, com’e bella.” Papà lifted his head off the pillow.
“Just lay back. I’ll put it here where you can see it,” Fabrizio said.
Papà’s eyes followed him as he placed the vase on the table. “I think I will call her Isa, after my wife.”
“But you call all your roses Isa,” Enrico said as he and Fabrizio sat on the edge of the bed.
Papà studied their faces “You look so much like her. Are you her brothers?”
“No, Papà.” Enrico swallowed. “I’m Enrico, your son, and this is Fabrizio, your other son.”
Papà relaxed his face, reached out and took Fabrizio’s hand, and patted it. “Che bei raggazzi,” he said, speaking to the rose. He closed his eyes and drifted off.
The boys remained sitting on the edge of his bed until they were sure he was asleep.
“C’mon, the pill has kicked in. He’ll rest quietly until morning.”
Chapter Ten
“WE’VE GOT a problem,” Maggie said as she came into the house and found Owen staring into his computer screen. His eyes were red, and his hair was greasy. “What time did you go to bed last night?”
“I didn’t.”
She sniffed. “You didn’t shower either.”
“What’s the latest problem?” Jessy said as he came out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee in his hand.
“Fire inspection. The certificate is way out of date. I talked to the fire marshal, and they said they couldn’t do it before the end of June. We’re sunk.”
Jessy placed the cup of coffee on the edge of Owen’s desk, took out his phone, and dialed.
“Hey,” Jessy said into the phone.
Pause.
“I was thinking about you too.” Jessy voice was as sweet and slippery as lube.
Pause.
Maggie rolled her eyes. “Was he born with a permanent hard-on?” she whispered.
“Yes,” Owen whispered back.
“Listen, I need a little favor.” Jessy proceeded to outline the problem of the fire safety inspection over the phone while Maggie and Owen stared at him with an expression of bewilderment. “Of course it’s for a good cause. The LGBT hotline
.”
Pause.
“Was there ever any doubt.” Jessy practically licked the phone. “Oh, and give my love to the boys at the station. Especially that new guy with the hairy chest. What’s his name? Marco. Yeah, tell him he’s welcome to join us after the party if he wants.”
Pause.
“You’re the best, big boy.” And he hung up.
“Problem solved. The inspection will be next Thursday at three, as long as no buildings catch on fire or no cats get stuck in trees.” Jessy picked up his coffee and went back into the kitchen. “Oh, and don’t forget to get the publicity balloons printed up with your name and number.”
Maggie mouthed the words and grabbed her hair. “What planet does he come from?”
“I’m not really sure, but I wouldn’t touch his cell phone without rubber gloves if I were you.”
That Monday morning Maggie came with the keys to Skate-O-Rama and wrestled the rusty lock free. The graffiti-covered metal doors made a loud groan as she pushed them open. It was the first time in many years the light of day had penetrated the lobby.
Owen and Maggie walked in, stepping over something decomposing on the floor. They cautiously navigated around other mounds of nondescript garbage, past the front ticket bank, and into the cavernous roller rink.
“It’s like a time capsule,” Owen said as they stood and waited for their eyes to adjust.
“Yeah, a very dusty time capsule,” Maggie said.
“And it smells like mold and pee,” Owen moaned.
“Well, at least the wooden floor is still intact.”
By the end of the day Maggie had got the water and power temporarily reconnected and, with the precision of a military drill sergeant, organized the LGBT hotline volunteers into cleaning squads. They hosed down and scrubbed everything they could, and what they couldn’t, they covered with tarps. Owen arranged for portable latrines to be set up in the parking lot, procured a liquor license, and hung the decorations and mirror balls. Jessy, wanting to do his part, solicited everyone he knew to publicize the event. He convinced his ex, Eddy Lataro—a DJ who specialized in old-school disco, ecstasy, and light chems—to do the music.
By Friday afternoon, after he had inflated, tied, and hung the last balloon, Owen stood next to Maggie in the middle of the large empty roller rink. “I’m so exhausted I can’t even tell what it looks like.”
“I’d ask you to shoot me, but I think that would just be a waste of a good bullet.” Maggie leaned on a broom handle.
“I’m afraid to ask, but have we missed anything?” Owen said through a deep yawn.
“Thankfully, the hotline volunteers are handling the staffing. They’ll all be here at seven. Just enough time to go home, take a shower, and lay down for an hour. Oh, by the way, who’s covering security on the door?” Maggie could barely speak.
“Security?” Owen wheezed.
“Yes, sir!” A voice from behind startled them.
They spun around to face a mountain of a man in rumpled fatigues who looked like he had spent more than one night sleeping on the street. Both Maggie and Owen stared up at the figure with their mouths hanging agape.
“What do you want?” Owen was too tired to be frightened.
“My name’s Big Eddy. I’m looking for a job, sir, and this good-looking guy by the name of Jessy told me to talk to you.”
“Can you do door security tonight, Big Eddy?”
“Yes, sir. Military police, two tours in Iraq.” He saluted them.
“Good. I can pay you a hundred bucks, cash. You’re on the door, all night. Be here at 1900.”
“Yes, sir.” Big Eddy saluted again and marched away.
“Oh, and just don’t kill or maim anybody,” Owen called after him. “That’s an order!”
“Where did you learn to speak military?” Maggie sneered.
“Where else?” Owen shrugged. “Porn videos.”
Chapter Eleven
THE HOT, humid Italian summer settled in—like being trapped in an enormous steam room—and the rich families from Milan took up residence in their grand summer villas, along with the colonies of German and Dutch vacationers on their seventies-style summertime estates. Of course, most Italians were passionate beach babies, and by August, many would shun the dark green fresh water and its unpredictable weather in favor of the marine breezes and endless days of cloudless sky along the salty blue Mediterranean, leaving the lake pretty much to the Germans, Dutch, and the locals.
Enrico stood back and examined their work. Fabrizio came up behind and wrapped his arms around his brother, just as he had done during the nine months they’d shared their mother’s womb.
“What do you think?” Enrico said.
“Not bad. Not bad at all. It won’t be long before we’re ready for our first guests.”
“I have to admit, the two rooms in the tower look pretty good.” Enrico smiled.
“It’s amazing what a deep cleaning and a coat of paint can do.” Fabrizio let go of his brother.
“Not to mention new bed linen and curtains.” Enrico smoothed the bedcover. “We were lucky the mattresses were in good shape.”
Fabrizio yawned. “At least the tower is presentable.”
“Presentable!” Enrico put his hands on his brother’s shoulders and turned him toward the window. The gloaming sky streaked orange, and the bluing mountains on the other side of the lake cast a silhouette onto the pinkish mirror surface of the water.
“Okay, it’s got a view that could make Naples weep, but what about the rest of the house?” Fabrizio stretched his arms over his head.
“As long as our guests are looking out the window, they won’t see the cracks in the plaster.”
“Tomorrow we’ll start on the dining room,” Fabrizio said.
“And we’ll keep the doors to the rest of the house shut.” Enrico shrugged.
“Never underestimate the power of fresh cut flowers and candles.” Fabrizio spread his hand out in front of him like he was spreading light across the room. He had read in his online business course that special touches like fresh cut flowers, candles, and local color would create the magic that guests will remember.
Enrico shot him a curious look.
“What?” Fabrizio said.
“Sometimes you really sound gay, you know?”
Fabrizio sneered. “You don’t have to suck dick in order to have a sense of design.”
“No, of course not.” Enrico made a taunting expressing. “But it helps.” Enrico bobbed his eyebrows.
“It’s not the dick itself that I object to. It’s the sweaty balls.” Fabrizio flicked his tongue in and out.
“Speaking of sweaty balls, you really stink.” Enrico made two sharp sniffs at his brother’s chest.
“That’s the smell of a real man, little brother.” Fabrizio punched Enrico’s shoulder.
“Could have fooled me. I thought it was the smell of a dead pig.”
“Come on, let’s have a swim before dinner.” Fabrizio bent over and grabbed hold of one of the handles on the trunk that contained their mother’s memorabilia and their father’s secrets.
Enrico grabbed hold of the other handle. “First thing tomorrow we need to go to the community office and see why they haven’t sent us our B&B permit yet.”
The next morning Enrico and Fabrizio hopped on Angelina and zoomed off to Castelveccana.
“Aldo, why haven’t you approved our permit for our B&B?” Enrico said as they walked into the community office. “It’s already June and we want to start booking guests.”
A slightly rounded man in his midthirties sat behind the large wooden desk. A brass nameplate that read vice-sindaco, was carefully positioned on the front edge of his desk. “We need the certificate from the electrician and plumber,” Aldo said with a bored tone.
“They did the inspection two months ago. We sent it to you,” Fabrizio said.
“And then there’s the community health inspection.” Aldo lazily swirled his hand in the air.
“These things take time.”
“That was also sent a month ago,” Enrico said, barely able to keep the irritation from his voice.
“Look, Aldo, stop busting our balls!” Fabrizio barked.
“Hey, it’s not up to me. It’s the hotel association that blocked your request. You’ll need to take it up with them,” Aldo barked back.
“What hotel association? There’s only one hotel in Castelveccana,” Enrico said.
“Who’s the chairman?” Fabrizio said.
“Ottavio.” Aldo hunched and shrugged.
Enrico’s hands flopped to his side and he growled.
“They’re meeting next month. I can put it on the agenda and you can present your request then.”
“Come on, little brother. We’re getting nowhere here.” Fabrizio put his hands on his brother’s back and pressed him out of the community office door.
Outside Enrico put on his helmet and straddled Angelina. “This is why nobody can ever get ahead in Italy.”
“Oh wait, I forgot something.” Fabrizio darted in through the doors again and walked back into the office wearing an expression on his face that said let’s play hardball.
Aldo looked up. “Listen, Fabrizio, you know we’re friends and everything, but my hands are tied here. I can’t risk making Ottavio angry. You understand.”
Fabrizio held up his phone with the screen facing Aldo. Butt Pig 97.
Aldo went white and gripped the sides of his desk.
“The face is a little hard to make out, but it’s a nice shot of your ass.”
“What! That’s not me! You can’t prove it,” Aldo snarled.
“Then you won’t mind if I push this key and send a link to everyone I know.” Fabrizio’s tone was casual, almost lyrical.
“Wait! Wait!” Aldo shuffled through the pile of papers and documents on his desk. “See, here it is. I’ve got your certificate right here. All I have to do is sign it.”
“Good. Sign it and I’m out of here, and the identity of Butt Pig 97 remains a secret.”
Tiramisu After Midnight Page 5