by Beate Boeker
“Of course.” Uncle Teo hurried to the buffet.
Olga took a seat at the long wooden table and checked her impeccable fingernails. She was dressed in an apricot-colored dress that fluttered around her and enhanced the impression that she was small and fragile, someone to be cherished and protected. Her mahogany hair was cut fashionably short and emphasized the perfect shape of her cheek bones.
Carlina frowned. Something about Olga bothered her, but it was hard to pin it down. She was attractive, nice to look at. What was it?
Annalisa slid into the seat next to Olga and gave her a curious look. Annalisa was probably the best-looking woman in the Mantoni family, with her pearly teeth, perfect skin and long, red hair. Just turned twenty, she was the youngest woman in the family house on Via delle Pinzochere, and she knew how to use that fact to her advantage. In fact, Annalisa knew how to use most facts to her advantage.
Olga moved her chair to the side as if she didn't want to be in direct comparison to Annalisa.
No wonder. Carlina suppressed a smile. For someone like Olga who so obviously took care of her appearance, being placed next to Annalisa presented a catastrophe – no woman could get away with that, not even a doll-like fifty something.
Now Olga smiled at Annalisa – it was more a stretching of the lips than anything else – and said, “You're Annalisa, aren't you?”
Annalisa smiled. “I am. You've heard of me?”
Olga lifted one carefully plucked eyebrow. “Indeed I have. You're the woman who took a lover thirty years her senior.” Her voice was sweet like honey.
Carlina caught her breath. Annalisa was hard to hurt, but Carlina knew that her cousin's affair with the older man last Christmas had gone deeper than Annalisa ever admitted. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Benedetta half rising out of her chair in defense of her daughter, her red mouth pressed into one angry line. Oh, no.
But she needn't have worried.
Annalisa gave Olga a contemptuous look from beneath her long lashes and said, “Well, I can't recommend it, so you'd better stop taking me as a role model.”
The family gasped.
Olga turned red and opened her mouth, but at this moment, Uncle Teo reappeared, carefully balancing two cups of coffee on a tray. “Here you are, Olga.” He placed the cups onto the table in front of the tiny woman, then beamed at everyone around the table. “I see you're having a good time together. How nice.”
Chapter 2
“I can't believe that Uncle Teo didn't feel the vibes this morning.” Carlina struggled upstairs on a rickety staircase and stopped to catch her breath. “I swear there was murder in the air.”
Stefano smiled. “You don't have to tell me; I was there. I wonder if Olga knows what she's doing.” He held out his hand. “It's just one more floor. Come on.”
Carlina didn't budge. “Actually, I don't think we should go on at all. There's no way I'll trudge up and down these stairs several times a day just to get to my apartment.”
“Maybe it's beautiful inside.”
She snorted. “It would have to be a palace to convince me at this point. And if the staircase is anything to go by, it'll turn out to be a pig sty anyway.”
He bent forward and cupped her face with his hand, then traced his thumb over her cheek. “I know. But this is the only apartment on offer that's even remotely suitable and affordable. Let's at least have a look.”
She sighed and continued to climb up the stairs. “The things I do for you . . .”
He grinned. “I know. I'm a lucky man.”
But by the time they had done the tour of the apartment, his smile had faded. The kitchen window was ill fitted enough to allow a busy army of ants to pass without hindrance from the inside to the outside, the outdated bathroom smelled moldy, the carpet was stained, and the balcony was too dangerous to use at the moment, but was supposed to be fixed before the year was out.
“And if you believe that, then you'll believe that the stars sing good-night songs to you every evening.” Carlina's shoulders slumped forward as they descended the stairs again. She took Stefano's hand and held onto it. “Do you think we'll ever find something?”
“I hope so.” He shrugged. “If only Florence wasn't such a magnetic city. Maybe we should consider moving to the outskirts after all.”
She shook her head. They had been through this before, and were agreed that living close to her lingerie store and the police station was important to their quality of life. Commuting each day for an hour or more would take away too much of their time together. She clenched her fist. “Let's go on looking. There has to be a decent apartment somewhere, just waiting for us. We've only seen a few so far.”
“Twenty-one.”
She opened her eyes wide. “Twenty-one? You counted?”
He shrugged. “Yep.”
Carlina fell into a depressed silence as she followed him out onto the street. Twenty-one apartments, and not one of them even remotely suitable. Again, she wondered if she should just move into his apartment. Hers was out of the question – on the fourth floor of the family house, just beneath the roof, it had loads of charm, but it simply wasn't big enough for two people, particularly if one of them was so tall that he had to stoop every time he moved away from the center of the living room. Apart from that, she just couldn't imagine Garini in the bosom of the crazy Mantoni family, apt to be interrupted whenever one of them took it into his or her head to mount the stairs and burst into the apartment without so much as a perfunctory knock.
His apartment was slightly bigger, but she didn't feel at home there. Maybe it was his minimalistic furniture or the hideous modern print above the sofa; she couldn't tell, but for some reason, the atmosphere in his living room was chilly even in the middle of summer. The only place she liked was his bedroom, and not only for the obvious reason. She loved the fitted shelves which covered the walls from floor to ceiling, only leaving a free square around the head of the bed. Every slot was filled with CDs and books and somehow, that filled the room with his personality. Yes, she liked Garini's bedroom, but that was it. There was nothing magical in any of the other rooms in his apartment.
Another thought raised its head. If she moved in with him, it would always remain his apartment. She would be the guest; she would be the newcomer, even if they remodeled the whole thing. And remodeling an apartment that he found perfectly adequate offered plenty of pitfalls for their relationship. No, much better to start together on neutral ground – to build something from scratch, so she wouldn't have to dethrone any hidden deities in his house. Moving in with Garini was a big step. They were both in their thirties, used to be being single and independent. It would take some getting used to. What if their relationship could not cope with all the changes? A sudden shiver went through her.
Garini turned and looked at her in concern. “What is it?”
Trust him to notice her every single mood. She tried to smile. “I'm discouraged.”
“We'll keep on looking.” He pressed her hand. “At least, we've got time. Nobody is going to kick us out.”
She nodded and decided to change the subject. “I'm hungry, and I think it's almost time for dinner. Tonight, Benedetta made gnocchi. Do you want to come?”
He hesitated. “I'm not sure.”
She put her arms around his neck and rubbed her cheek against his, then she whispered, “I know what you're thinking: 'Benedetta's gnocchi are mouth-watering, but will they get stuck in my throat if I have to listen to the bickering of the Mantoni family again?' ”
He slanted her a glance. “Are you expecting anything even worse than usual tonight?”
She grinned. “No. I was just teasing you.”
“Then I'll join you.”
But when they were seated around the dinner table, Carlina realized that the atmosphere was more explosive than usual. To the dismay of the entire family, Uncle Teo had invited Olga. She now sat next to him like a model, on the chair that used to be occupied by Uncle Teo's wife Maria. Maria h
ad been as broad as she'd been good-natured, and for a fleeting instant, it made Carlina uncomfortable to see Olga in her place. Stop this, she admonished herself. You have to move on. Think of Uncle Teo. He's happy. Next to Olga was another newcomer she had ever seen before. He's a mammoth. The thought caught hold of her before she had fully taken in his shock of messy hair, his chest that could probably serve as a steamroller, and his right fist which clutched a knife that looked like a toothpick in comparison.
“This is my son Ugo.” Olga beamed with pride.
Carlina choked. Her son? How could a little doll like Olga ever have produced such a huge specimen?
Ugo had a flat face that looked as if someone had tried to sweep all emotions from its planes, leaving only a little nose that reminded her of a deformed gnoccho. With a vacant look, he gave a slight nod, then bared teeth that were larger than sugar cubes and said, “Ciao.” After this profound statement, he fell back into silence.
Carlina bit back a smile. Apparently, nature had invested everything into the shape and not so much in the mind. Another difference from his mother, whose clever eyes now surveyed the room like a General taking stock and finding his subordinates lacking.
The family was fully assembled – next to Uncle Teo, his Olga and the amazing Ugo, Benedetta's three children Ernesto, Annalisa, and Emma were already seated. Emma's husband Lucio was just picking up her scarf from the floor before sitting down again. The Frenchman Leopold Morin helped Benedetta fill the plates before passing them around the table. They had become a couple in the last months, and it made Carlina happy to see a small smile of intimate friendship pass between them as they worked together. Then she noticed the empty chair. “Where's Mama?”
Benedetta placed a steaming plate in front of her. The aromatic smell of the tomato sauce filled the room. “She'll be down in a minute. She said we shouldn't wait because she wanted to finish her piece first.” A disapproving sniff accompanied the words.
Garini leaned closer to Carlina. “What piece?”
“Oh, Mama has picked up knitting as her new hobby.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “I'm surprised. It sounds an altogether too mundane hobby for your mother.”
“Don't be fooled.” Carlina's voice was dry. “It's not as if Mama has taken up ordinary knitting.”
Garini slanted her a glance. “Please explain. What is un-ordinary knitting, then?”
“Knitting on a large scale.” Carlina enjoyed the look on Garini's face as she picked up her fork and started to eat. “She has plenty of projects - knitting sweaters for statues, covering up three hundred year old olive trees in colorful outfits, creating a warm scarf with a million little pompoms for the national library here in Florence . . .”
“A scarf for the national library?” He sounded stunned. “You're kidding.”
“Absolutely not. And don't get her wrong. It's Art with a capital A, and she plans to become famous, like that architect who covers whole buildings in fabric and gets away with it. What's his name again?”
“Christo.” Ernesto grinned across the table. His red hair shone like a beam of light.
“Thanks, that was it. Christo. Mama thinks she's the next Christo, but, to say it in her own words, she's 'interpreting' knitted material instead of fabric. At the moment, she's making a cape for David.”
Garini frowned. “Who's David?”
Carlina gave him a mocking smile. “The one and only David, my dear. Michelangelo's statue.”
“A cape?” Ernesto asked. “That's new, isn't it?”
“Yes. At first, they wanted to do a pair of trousers for him, but then, they figured that such a garment would take away too much of his beauty; besides, they might have gotten the reputation of being a bit too . . . inhibited, something to be avoided at all costs, so they came up with the idea of a cape that would swirl with the wind around his shoulders, to emphasize his stern marble beauty in stark contrast to the softly knitted material. I'm quoting her, by the way.” Carlina chuckled.
Garini blinked but as usual, he wasn't diverted by side issues. “Who's they?”
“Mama's knitting club. She organized a club of friends to knit with her because it takes too long to knit the whole artwork by herself.”
Garini closed his eyes for an instant. “Amazing.”
Olga dropped her fork with a sharp sound onto her plate. “Fabbiola always was amazing, as you call it.”
A sudden silence fell. Olga's tone had been venomous, and though the words as such were innocent enough, the meaning was clear.
Uncle Teo frowned and gave Olga a surprised look.
Right on cue, the door opened and Fabbiola waltzed into the room. “I'm sorry I'm late. I had to recover a dropped stitch in David's cape.” Her gaze fell on Olga. “Oh, no.” She pivoted on her heels and walked out the door again without another word.
Benedetta jumped up. “Fabbiola! Are you not eating?” She shouted to be heard by her sister who had probably reached the staircase by now.
“No, thanks. I'm not hungry anymore.” Fabbiola's voice faded, then a door closed.
Chapter 3
The next afternoon, Carlina was tidying a drawer at the bottom of one of Temptation's cleverly constructed wall displays. She was humming to herself and enjoying the soft May breeze that came from the wide open store doors, when a familiar voice behind her said in sepulchral tones: “Do you also have cheap underwear for an unfortunate woman who will never have a man in her life?”
Carlina jumped and turned around. “Francesca! I didn't hear you coming in.” She hugged her friend and looked at her affectionately. “You don't only look like a pixie, but you also walk like one.”
“Ha.” Francesca pushed her short hair away from her forehead until it stood up on end. “I wish I were a pixie. Don't they have magical powers? I'd conjure up a nice man for myself and I'd be happy.”
Carlina frowned. “That bad?”
“Yes, that bad.” Francesca flicked a finger against a lace bra as if she didn't want to see it. “Remember Alfi?”
“Alfi?” Carlina bit her lower lip. “Should I know him? I'm sorry if I don't recall--”
Francesca waved a careless hand through the air. “Oh, no, don't worry about it. I might not have mentioned him to you after all because I have a new rule: I've decided to wait for two months before I tell anybody about a new guy in my life.” She sighed. “Because most don't last that long and that saves me from the humiliation of confessing to my friends that another one bit the dust.”
Carlina looked at her petite friend with concern. Usually Francesca was bubbly and happy with as much will power as lung power – which she had in abundance due to her job as an artistic glass blower – but today, her shoulders were slumping forward and an air of dejection enveloped her.
“What did Alfi do to you?” She touched Francesca's cheek. “Should I go and tell him off?”
“No. And his name is not Alfi.” Francesca gave such a deep sigh that it sounded as if it came from the bottom of a well.
“No?” Carlina scratched her head. “Didn't you just say--?”
“I can't pronounce his real name, that's why I called him Alfi,” Francesca explained. “To keep it simple.”
“I see.” Carlina tried to sound as if it were standard procedure not to know the name of your boyfriend. “Is he foreign?”
“He's Japanese.” Francesca sighed again. “He is – I mean was – the teacher at my Japanese language course for beginners.”
“Hold on.” Carlina lifted both hands. “Since when have you been learning Japanese?”
“Since January,” Francesca said. “But I won't go anymore.”
“Why did you start to learn Japanese in the first place?” Carlina was intrigued. Francesca was a passionate glassblower, with a passion so consuming that she had little time or interest for anything else.
“I've got so many Japanese tourists at my store, and I thought it would be nice to talk to them. At least a bit. Usually, they arrive by bus and
have about three and a half minutes before rushing out again, but these three and a half minutes are quite intense.” She grinned for the first time that morning. “Anyway, I thought it would be cool to say a word or two that they would understand.”
“Wow. That's impressive.”
Francesca looked at the tips of her high heeled shoes as if she had never before seen their bright green hue. “And I also thought that successful businessmen would join in the course and that this might be a clever strategy to get to know some.”
“And did you?”
“No.” Another well-deep sigh came from Francesca. “Alfi was the only man in the course. We went out a few times, and he was so wonderfully exotic and polite and . . . oh, well, I thought this would lead to something, but yesterday, he told me he would go home for the festival of the cherry blossoms or something similar to see his wife and kids.”
“Bummer.” Carlina swallowed. What could she do to help? She took Francesca by the arm and dragged her to another shelf. “But to answer your question: Yes, I do have the right underwear for you. Look here: It's black with interesting, slightly translucent stripes, so you'll look hot and sexy if you're checking yourself out in the mirror, but it doesn't scratch or pinch or crawl into places where it has no business to be. Underwear that makes you happy, so to say.”
Francesca eyed the filmy black bra without enthusiasm. “I doubt it'll help.”
“Sure it will help,” Carlina said. “There's nothing to make you feel better like underwear that feels as if it belongs to you like your skin.” She grabbed the matching panties. “Here, take them. They're on the house.”
Francesca shook her head. “That's kind of you, but I didn't come here to--”
“Of course you didn't.” Carlina smiled at her friend. “But I've never seen you this down before, and it's all I can offer you at the moment.” She thought a moment and remembered that Francesca enjoyed eating with her family. “I'd also invite you to dinner at home to take your mind off things, but the atmosphere is a bit strained at the moment. Maybe we can go out together one of these days?”