“Where are you going?” I yelled after him down the hall.
“I thought you were my friend but you are just a judgmental cow. And a slutty judgmental cow at that.”
And there I was alone in the apartment. The last vestiges of warmth and happiness seeping out the door with Marco. The opera drew to its terrible close as I stood there feeling the pit of my stomach fall to the floor in complete silence. I had behaved terribly and I hated myself for it. What a dreadful way to repay a man who had opened his life and his home to me at a time when I needed it most. There was nothing for it but to burst into tears, fill a bath, get into it and sob some more. And not just about the tumultuous fight I had just had with Marco. The raw emotion of our fight had brought back all the sadness, grief and pain of losing Charlotte. I started crying about Marco and ended up desolate and badly shaken, feeling as shocked and sad as the moment I found out Charlotte had gone. It seemed so cruel that the pain could return with such vibrancy and force. Would I always feel this way? Marco was right, no one cared about me, I was alone in the world. But I had to be here when Charlotte turned up. After eight months I could no sooner believe she was dead than when she first left.
Marco didn’t come home that night. I eventually dragged myself from the bath and put myself to bed, but I slept fitfully, waking at the slightest sound, hoping it was his key in the lock and that Marco would come in to my room and hug me, then everything could return to normal. I also spent a lot of time thinking about the things he said. It was true that few people had tried to contact me, but that was actually what I wanted. If I had been a better person and less self centred I might have had a few friends who would have made the effort to get in touch at a really awful time of my life. But my career had always been all I cared about. I dispensed with friends very easily if they got in the way of my precious job. And now that I had done away with that, what did I really have left? And I did have awful taste in men. First, Jim who controlled me, bullied me and stalked me. And then Lawrence, who I stayed with simply because it suited me to have a young, good looking toyboy, even if he was an apology for a human being and useless in bed. Marco was right. I was a shallow, pathetic woman feeling sorry for myself and moping around Venice which provided me with a reason to be anonymous, to the world and to myself.
I finally gave up on sleep at dawn, when I could see the church bells of St Trovaso ringing from my bedroom window. It’s something I had come to love, lying in bed watching the bells swing to and fro, signalling another day had started. I counted out each chime. Six dings and six dongs and I suddenly knew where Marco would be.
I was out of bed, dragging on jeans and a sweater, and running down the calle to the church. As I let myself in with the key he had given me, I saw him curled up in an old piece of drip cloth fast asleep. He looked so fragile lying there. His black curly hair messed up, his long lithe body suddenly looking skinny and frail. How could I have been so hurtful?
A rush of cold air came in behind me and woke Marco up with a shudder.
“Cosa c’è!,” he shouted sitting up abruptly. Then he squinted at me standing there against the light. “Is that you, Jane?”
“It’s me, Marco, you must be freezing,” I said walking slowly towards him.
As he looked up at me standing over him on the floor I could see his cheeky blue eyes had been crying. They were swollen and red.
“I’m so sorry,” I knelt down beside him and put my arms around him.
“No, I’m sorry,” he said pulling me down onto him in a bear hug. “I said some terrible things to you last night and I didn’t mean them. I think you are an amazing woman Jane, you are dealing with this nightmare which has been thrown at you so well, I would never hurt you. I was just angry.”
“I said some awful things too, and I’m sorry for bringing up your sexuality. I never meant to, I was just going to wait for you to tell me because it’s your business and no one else’s, but there I went and blurted it out less than 24 hours after I found out,” I said.
“We need to talk about that,” he said sitting up and shaking some dust out of his hair. He moved so that he was facing me and looked into my eyes.
“I’m not gay.”
Okay.
“Whatever you say,” I said, slowly standing up, eager to get off the cold tiled floor and wondering what the hell was going on.
“Come on, let’s go home,” he said. “I know this may seem very confusing to you at the moment but I need to have a bath and warm up and then we’ll have some breakfast and I’ll explain.”
“Yes, good idea,” I said helping him up and brushing him off. I was just so relieved to be friends again he could tell me he was a monkey who mated with sparrows for all I cared. I gratefully linked my arm through his and we walked home.
While Marco was in the bath I fried up a good Kiwi breakfast of bacon and eggs, only Italian style. It was crispy pancetta, fresh ciabatta, grilled tomatoes, fresh basil and eggs with strong, hot espresso.
“Just like Mama used to make,” I joked as I put the food on the table.
Marco was drying off his locks of hair as he sat down to eat in his bathrobe.
“God, that smells good,” he laughed. ‘Nothing like a good Kiwi fry up to restore a man.”
But despite our attempts to be light hearted, and the comfort food, we couldn’t look at each other throughout the meal, opting instead to make chit chat about what we would do at the weekend. And then he got serious.
“Jane, what I have to say to you could take some time and it’s going to require from you a great deal of understanding,” he said solemnly as he finished his coffee and gathered up our empty plates.
“Okay. Good. Dishes first or … ?
“It’s alright, you’re not in trouble. Just relax. I should have talked to you about this months ago, and after last night I know I need to do it properly.”
We sat on the couch together and for the first time looked at each other just for a second before we looked away.
“First up, I’m not gay,” he repeated. “And before you say ‘what about Antonio’ I did have a relationship with him if you could call it that. What I think I am, and I’m pretty sure, is bisexual. I like both men and women.”
“Oh cool,” I said trying to sound accepting and understanding. “But what does that mean exactly? Like how can you like having sex with both, we’re so different?”
“Well actually, Jane, sex is sex isn’t it really?”
“I suppose so, but don’t gay men do anal and all that?” I said trying not to wrinkle my nose at the image.
“Not a lot of gay men actually do anal, and I certainly don’t,” he laughed. “A few years ago after I had been in Italy a while I was in Sicily doing some research, I was feeling really lonely and I met Antonio. As you no doubt already know he is a pretty outgoing kind of man and I just well, I just experimented with him one night after I had drunk quite a lot of wine and found that I quite liked it.
“I was there for two months and we saw a lot of each other, but then I left, and well, when I got back to Venice I realised that I still found women attractive because you turned up on my doorstep. I realised that there was no way I was gay, in fact I’m convinced I’m more into women than men and Antonio was just an experiment. A rather long experiment as it turned out.”
“Oh, I see,” was all I could think to say as those words “because you turned up on my doorstep” rang in my head.
“Antonio wanted to come and stay with me but I told him it was over, and he was a little upset. I guess he found it hard to believe that I was not a ‘true gay’ as he put it. You’ll find that many homosexuals insist that you are one or the other and believe that bisexuals are just people in denial.”
“Oh,” I said again, struggling with images of blow jobs, Antonio, and me turning up on doorsteps.
“Are you okay? I’m not shocking you too much? So many people think that sex is a black and white thing, but it’s not.”
“I suppose so
. So when we kissed that night you didn’t stop us because you weren’t attracted to me?”
“Of course not, Jane, I really felt you needed time and the last thing I wanted to do was rush you into something you would regret. Did you not just hear what I was saying? I prefer women. And I doubt I will ever sleep with a man again. When you came to Venice I had been celibate for over a year, because I felt I really needed to sort out what was going on in my head. It was as much a shock for me, as it is for you. Imagine finding out something like that about yourself, especially with my background, and my mother,” he laughed.
“I am still looking for the right relationship and I hope, and I think I know it will be with a woman. But it is good that you know this about me, because it means there are no secrets anymore.”
“Have you ever told anyone else?”
“No, no one. And I don’t intend to. Did you tell your policeman what Antonio said?”
“Ah yes … sorry. Well I was so shocked because Antonio just came out and said it like I would know and I had to pretend I did. And, Marco, you have to know I had no intention of sleeping with Agapeto. In fact that night before I went to dinner I made up my mind that I was going to come home and tell you that I really wanted you, and ask you if you wouldn’t mind making an exception and letting me have sex with you and we could see if it worked out for us both, but then I found out you were gay, and I was drunk, and he was there and I was angry with you and then, well … ”
“Yes, yes I know,” he laughed. “I don’t blame you at all, I know what it is like to really want to make love, I love it too you know,” he laughed. Then he looked away as if he was searching for the right words. “So was he good?”
“Who, Agapeto?” I said stalling.
“No, the guy next door. Of course I mean Agapeto unless you managed to sleep with someone else as well while you were away?”
“Oh it was good, yes. Umm yes, quite good.” I said, not too sure I wanted to go into any more details with him.
“Well I’m glad. I could tell the moment you walked into the apartment you had been fulfilled. You were so sunny and warm and I think for the first time I saw the return of the woman you once were Jane,” he said smiling.
“Then why were you so angry with me?”
“I was jealous and I had no right to be. From now on let’s just be the good friends we are at this moment. I will always be here for you, I promise not to get in the way of you and your new lover because you deserve all the happiness you can find at the moment.”
“Okay but you have to take back what you said about Daisy. She isn’t my slave, she’s my friend and she loves me.”
“Well alright, but it is a bit weird how she runs around after you and does everything for you. When was the last time you did anything for her?”
“I sent her a birthday card last week,” I said weakly, only too aware that it was a month late. “I don’t know, Marco, we’ve always been like that, I can’t change the way we are.”
“Okay I take it back, but maybe you should make a bit more of an effort to give her something now and then, be there for her.”
“Yes, good point,” I said quickly because something was worrying me. “About the sex, you and me, isn’t that a bit strange?
That kiss we had, was it just me that felt something?”
“Jane, can we forget that? It was one kiss, it was nothing. I love having you here, you’ve made my life very happy and let’s just leave it at that okay?”
“Okay,” I said, not quite believing him and wondering if he realised he said that thing about me and the doorstep. “Will you be having lovers?” I asked cautiously.
“Will I be sharing the bathroom with guys and girls and witnessing bisexual orgies?”
“I’m not intending to sleep with anyone for a very long time. Not until the right person comes along.”
“And who will that be I wonder?” I asked cautiously.
“We’ll both have to wait and see. You’ll probably find out when I do.”
16
Marco left for work and immediately the phone rang.
“Darling, it is me,” chortled Agapeto down the line, full of the joys of life. “How are we today, I hope you are feeling as wonderful as me!”
“Agapeto, hi, thank you for such a great time in Sicily. It was really lovely,” I said, trying not to sound too subdued after my depressing night.
“What is wrong, my darling? You sound so sad, has something happened?”
“Marco and I just had a bit of a fight last night, but it’s fine now, we’ve had a big talk and it’s all okay. It was just quite a long night,” I said trying to lift my voice to assure him.
“Oh I thought you were not going to say anything just yet to him about that other matter,” he said, trying to be discreet.
“It just came out. Anyway don’t worry, it’s all okay, and I can’t wait to see you when you finish work,” I chirped finally finding the smile in my voice.
“Oh, darling that is why I am ringing. I am coming to take you to lunch and then after, well we will have to see, because there is not a lot for me to do this afternoon, if you see what I am getting at,” he replied in a voice I hadn’t heard before, which made him sound like a cross between Fonzie and Detective Columbo.
“Sounds good to me, my Italian stallion,” I replied caught up in the cliché of it all and hating myself for it.
“I’ll pick you up at noon, my pollastrello,” he signed off.
I grabbed my Italian dictionary. He had just called me a little chicken. When did I begin starring in an episode of the Love Boat?
Now that the secret of Agapeto’s wealth was out, there was no stopping him displaying it. He arrived in the biggest gondola I had ever seen, containing more red and gold velvet cushions than looked safe in such a craft. I tried my best to look comfortable on the cushions while the gondolier serenaded us with “O, sole mio” but all I felt was ridiculous and like one of the millions of American tourists doing exactly the same thing around me. I hoped like hell Marco wouldn’t see me. Agapeto, however was having the time of his life and grinning from ear to ear. When we pulled up at the entrance to a palazzo and the doors miraculously opened to let the gondola in I wondered what Agapeto had up his sleeve. What he had was in fact a palazzo. His palazzo, and it was a monument to all that glitters and sparkles.
“You are a very mysterious man,” I giggled. “I had no idea you lived in such splendour all this time when we were taking coffee and lunch in the local eateries. You must have really been slumming it.”
“Oh don’t be silly. Venetian food is always best away from the tourists in those local places. But I do keep my wealth to myself as people treat you so differently once they know you are rich. Come with me through to the kitchen. I am going to cook for you and you must tell me all about your gay friend,” he laughed.
If I thought living in Venice was like being a princess in a fairytale, then visiting Agapeto’s palazzo sealed the deal.
The New Zealand native bird the kea is an inquisitive parrot that steals anything sparkly from tents or cars and carries it away. Agapeto’s palazzo looked like he had hired an army of them to decorate it. Nothing was without a touch of gold or silver, the brocades, the upholstery, the chandeliers, the gilt picture frame, was that a real icon we just passed?
We sat in his sumptuous dining room feasting on prawns, crab and oysters.
“I have done my research, you Kiwis love your seafood so for you, signora, only the best!”
I recounted to Agapeto the previous night’s argument with Marco but toned it down a little. Something told me Agapeto would find Marco’s jealousy a little hard to bear, especially as I had always painted him as my platonic good friend from New Zealand. I simply said I had mistakenly dropped into conversation the discovery I made in Sicily.
“Ah Jane, I think it is all for the best. It is good to clear the air and really I have been thinking about you and him, and the fact that you had that kiss, there
was never going to be anything between the two of you. He is not your type, he is not a strong man with his churches and fiddling with bits of marble and stone. You need a big macho man to take care of you, and I am that man,” he pronounced reaching across the table and claiming my hand.
“Mmmph,” I managed, my mouth full of oyster.
“And do not be too hard on him you know. This feeling for both sexes, it is not so unusual as you may think. In fact I have come to believe that it is quite normal in my line of work.”
“Really,” I muttered, reaching for another oyster.
“Now why don’t I show you my bed, you will not have seen anything like it before in your life,” he said, standing and leading me along the hall.
Indeed I hadn’t. Large doesn’t do it. Enormous and not unlike something you would find in Versailles would do it.
“I can’t lie on this,” I protested to Agapeto. “I’d feel like Marie Antoinette with everyone watching me and … well … it’s so ornate,” I said glancing wearily at the acres of gold brocade and red velvet surrounding me.
“Oh come here and let me kiss you,” he said as he picked me up in his arms and threw me onto the monument to opulence.
We had lost nothing in the translation from Sicily to Venice and two hours later I lay staring at the fresco on the ceiling trying to determine whether it was real or fake and wishing I could get Marco over to take a look.
“Up you get, Jane, time for us to do some shopping,” announced Agapeto, naked but purposeful.
“Oh, why? What can you possibly need in this place?” I moaned, quite content in the huge bed, growing swiftly accustomed to such luxury.
“Not me, you. We have 10 silk slips to buy if I remember correctly,” he laughed
“Oh, if you insist,” I grumbled, crawling out of bed and wondering at the ridiculous situation I had found myself in.
“We will have to brave the tourists and go to St Mark’s piazza, for only there are the things I wish to buy you,” he grinned.
I headed for the shower. Another masterpiece in gold.
The Road from Midnight Page 13