An Apartment in Venice

by Marlene Hill

  He knew where this was going. Yes, he wanted her mouth on him. Oh yeah. He’d fantasized that. But did she think she ought to do this? Hell, he couldn’t hold out much longer either way, and in one swift movement, he jerked away from the wall to haul her up against it instead. Pinning her there, he shoved into her again and again, making no apology for the roughness. They both exploded at the same time.

  “Ohmigod,” he whispered as the water continued to pour down on them. He held her to him, grateful for demand water heaters in Italy. “Are you all right?” Before she could answer, he said, “Giulia?”

  “Yes?”

  “I forgot a condom.”

  “I know. It should be fine.”

  He relaxed but wondered why she’d asked for one in the first place. He opened the shower door and grabbed towels. “Let’s dry off and see about that pizza,” he said with a slight roughness in his voice.

  Giulia, seemed overcome and said nothing. She pulled on a deep-blue oversized Tee-shirt and wrapped up in a pale-blue robe of terry cloth. Chuck pulled on his pants but left off his shirt; he was still overheated.

  While Giulia set a couple places at the table, she said, “Chuck?”

  “Yeah,” he answered, turning from the sliding glass door to the balcony where he’d been checking the lock mechanism.

  “I want to tell you something.”

  He walked toward her holding his arms out to her as he’d done earlier in the evening.

  Lord, he was magnificent, all broad chest and hard body. “Stop,” she said, “I need to see your face when I say this.”

  “Okaaay.”

  She inhaled deeply and spilled out the story about Ricky and her abortion at twenty-four, about never telling Ricky or anyone else, and also about learning too late, that she couldn’t rely on birth-control pills if she was taking antibiotics.

  He stepped up again and put his arms around her. After a beat or two, he asked “Are you on antibiotics now?”

  “No. I know it’s not reasonable to be paranoid—”

  “Shhh. I get it,” Chuck said. “We hardly know each other. Although, if you were to get pregnant, I’d want to know about it. My marriage ended before we had kids. The idea of making a child with you sounds… right to me.”

  She tipped her head to look at him. He hadn’t been shocked or appalled by her abortion. And what was that about a child? This was the first time she’d told anyone except Nancy, ages ago, and recently, Nonna. In that moment, those taut bands that had bound her chest for years lost a lot of their power.

  “Pizza?” he said. “Shall we see how this thrice-baked pizza tastes?”

  “Thrice? That rhymes with mice,” she said, feeling giddy.

  “And lice,” he laughed.

  “And nice and rice and vice!”

  “Heist?” he said.

  “Hmm. There are those who might call that a slant rhyme. Enough. Thrice will do. It’s a good word. Besides, cardboard with melted cheese sounds good.” She grabbed two wine glasses from the cupboard, forgetting the glass left at her computer table a lifetime ago. And at 3:30 a.m., they were at her dining table gobbling pizza and drinking wine.

  “Chuck, may I ask you a personal question?”

  He laughed. “I’d say you’ve earned that right.”

  “I’ve never seen a man wear black silk underwear before. When I watched you take them off. Zowee.”

  He burst into a guffaw. “Were you shocked?”

  Only by what rose up underneath. “Just surprised,” she said. “Are sexy briefs the norm now?”

  “Sexy, huh?” His dimple began showing again. “I started wearing them after my first trip to the Middle East. Saw a couple of other guys wearing silk. Sand doesn’t cling, and in that part of the world, they dry in minutes. And… well… they feel nice.”

  “Why black?”

  “Hmm. They come in all styles and colors, but I noticed the light-colored ones fade and look grungy. After that mission, I ordered a couple dozen. Wouldn’t wear anything else.”

  “You sound like a walking commercial.”

  “I do, don’t I? Maybe that’ll be my next job when I retire from the Air Force. Selling silk briefs.” With that he jumped up, unbuckled his belt, slid his pants down and took a stagy stance.”

  She clapped her hands.

  Then he stuck his thumb in the waistband of his briefs and slowly nudged them downward.

  Her eyes widened and her eyebrows rose. “Whoohee! You’ve got the moves. You could be their top model.”

  Her look of approval made his cock start to grow. But he re-adjusted his clothes and sat beside her to pour more wine into their glasses. “More pizza?” he asked.

  “What? Oh. One small slice.”

  She doesn’t miss a thing. “I’m free to go apartment hunting this weekend. How about you?”

  She nodded. “Nonno Tony lit a fire under me… seems more than one fire’s been kindled around here.”

  Holding her hand to his lips for a beat, he said, “It does seem like that spark—we both felt from the start—has come alive.”

  She smiled into his eyes, but eased her hand from his. Giulia seemed to love everything she knew about him, but old, cautious habits must have crept back in. And he noticed she turned the conversation to the apartment search.

  “When you called with the pizza, I’d just started an internet search. By Saturday, I should have a list of names and maybe appointments. No doubt many will be dead-ends. Are you sure you want to take all that time looking at rental properties?”

  “Sure, sure, sure,” he said punching the air with his fist three times. “I think you understand those words.”

  “Even so, house hunting can’t be high on your list of weekend pleasures.”

  “Angel,” he said, wrapping a tawny curl around his finger, “being with you is all the pleasure I can handle.”

  He knew she had relished their sensational love making as much as he had, but she still seemed unsure and continued to skirt his personal remarks.

  “Nonno Tony has a good point. After the beating he took, Botteri must be a ruthless man.”

  “I’m sure he is. So far no one knows you live back here with your private entrance, but I don’t have much confidence in that door to your balcony. It’s only a matter of time before the wrong person notices you walk down those steps. Tony’s right about getting you out of Vicenza—and soon.”

  “Maybe I’ll find the ideal place this weekend,” she said raising both thumbs up in a pre-victory salute.

  They both continued to eat and drink, thinking their own thoughts.

  “I know this sounds presumptuous,” he said, “but you could move in with me until you find what you want.”

  Before she could do no more than straighten her spine and swallow the mouthful she’d taken, he put up his hands. “Wait. Hear me out. I have a large apartment; you could have your own space.”

  “It’s a generous offer, but, as you said, we barely know each other.”

  “Can’t think of a better way to remedy that situation.” He put his hands on the table and leaned across to nuzzle her nose. “Think of it as temporary. Hey! If I were a woman, would you consider it?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well, no worries tonight. But keep in mind, it’s as much about your safety as my desire to have you nearby.”

  Again, they were quiet. She poured the last of the wine in his glass. Chuck said, “Do you have to go to the base tomorrow morning—today, I mean?”

  “It’s Thursday now isn’t it? Nope. Was planning to organize lessons at home and do more online searching. You?”

  “I need to go in for a morning review, but we could get the jump on the search by going to Venice this afternoon. Check out the areas you’ve already picked as possibles. What do you think?”

  “It would help narrow down the choices before having to deal with an agent,” Giulia said, thinking aloud. “I like that idea. Are you sure?”

  “Babe, a long time ago,
I quit offering things I don’t want to do. Unless my combat group gets a sudden order to lift off, let’s meet at two at the train station. Tell you what, I’ll reconfirm with you around one.”

  “Sounds good.” She yawned. “Maybe we could get some sleep?”

  “Maybe.” Sleep is important, but damn . . .

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  It was misting when they met in Vicenza’s train station. Giulia wore waterproof walking boots and her full-length, cobalt-blue raincoat with a hood.

  “Hey! That coat, matches one of my favorite eyes!” Chuck said when he met her. “You may need that coverup with these rolling clouds overhead.”

  She nodded pulling the fastener of her hood closer around her neck. After settling on the train, she asked if any women had called for backup while they’d been gone.

  “l did get your call about that. Planned to tell you when, or if, you let me in with pizza last night. Then… I forgot.”

  She smiled, thinking about why he forgot.

  “Two called. Each of the guys reported that Ogle noted their presence, then pointedly ignored them.”

  “And the women’s reports?”

  “Smooth with no slimy innuendos. Maybe this plan will be enough.”

  “Hope so, but I’d still like to tutor and teach basic Italian and need to discuss the pros and cons with him.”

  “And la mia micina, I plan to be there whenever you go into his den.”

  “Micina? Why micina?”

  “A couple of reasons. When Dad grew up, ‘kitten’ was Czech slang for a pretty woman. And,” Chuck hooked one of her tawny curls around his finger, “it fits. You have tawny streaks in your hair like the stripes on Mom’s Tabby cat.”

  “What’d your mom call her? Assuming it was a her.”

  “Oh, definitely a her. Mom called her Smartypants, and Smartypants was a lot like you. Intelligent, beautiful and always one jump ahead of me. I never could figure that cat out.”

  Giulia laughed feeling a little embarrassed that he’d chosen a pet name for her. “So, would next week be good for my appointment with Oliver?”

  “Yes.” He noted her quick change to the business at hand. “Try to make it toward the end of the week. Friday if possible. The lock on the door is already taken care of. Enrico Zava, a skilled carpenter in the maintenance shop, has agreed to work on the mechanism for closing the door. We want it to not quite snap shut unless someone gives it a push. Ogle will notice it and request repairs, but in the meantime, he’ll get used to it and may ignore it. It’s one more precaution in case he goes off the deep end.”

  “Surely he’s getting the message that he’s in trouble,” Giulia said.

  “Yeah. It’d be best if he’d decide to slither away. We could all forget about any charges and counter charges. If he feels cornered, it’s a sure thing he’ll play out the legal card as far as he can take it.”

  * * *

  As the train moved across the causeway and quietly slid into Venice station, the city looked more ethereal and seductive than usual. When they reached Chuck’s sestiere, called San Polo—one of the six original districts of Venice—they could only make out fuzzy outlines of buildings.

  The first apartment on her list overlooked Rio della Madonnetta and was in his sestiere. It didn’t have a grand water view like the one she’d dreamed about. It’s windows didn’t look at the lagoon toward Murano or across the large Giudecca Canal where all kinds of water craft passed. But, she thought, an apartment overlooking a quiet canal might suit her better. Grand views draw tour groups for at least nine months out of the year.

  They checked out an interesting prospect that overlooked Rio di Angelo Raffaele in a quiet area of Dorsoduro, the sestiere that included nice shops and the famous squero, where gondolas were built and repaired. The Academy of Art was also in Dorsoduro. After visiting the Academy, tourists often went to photograph the squero, but seldom ventured on to the Raffaele area. Another listing was in an ancient palazzo overlooking the lagoon that faced the Cimiterio. The cemetery was a beautiful place in itself both from afar and within its soft, red-brick walls that were accented by tall, dark cypress.

  Those were only three of the listings she’d found, but already Giulia was ready to stop for the day. This project gobbled time and energy. Nonno Tony had been right, she needed to move with it. She wasn’t ready to admit to Chuck or Nonno that she’d been feeling uneasy walking in Vicenza. At odd times, the tell-tale trembles in her stomach seemed to warn her of something or someone. More and more often, she had cut short any errand not absolutely necessary in order to hurry inside the safety of her building.

  “Okay, Micina, time for a break. You’re starting to fade. And I can smell the rain coming. Could I treat you to a meal at Da Carlo?”

  “Don’t believe I’ve eaten there. What is Carlo’s specialty?”

  “He does a mean Torta Verde, made with spinach, rice, eggs and Parmigiano Reggiano. Sound good?”

  “Fabulous, but right now all I can think about is putting my feet up.”

  “You can do that too. Let’s hurry. The rain’s moving in fast.” They ran, ducking under roof overhangs and dodging people with umbrellas. Da Carlo’s happened to be Chuck’s apartment. His given name was Karl but schoolmates had dubbed him Chuck early on. He told her he’d preferred it because he fit in better; Novak was bad enough since most kids had Italian or Irish names in his neighborhood. He settled Giulia on a Chuck-sized leather recliner which, when stretched out, left her with inches to spare.

  When he brought her a glass of wine, she asked, “Do you spell Da Carlo with a C or a K?”

  He looked at her. “Yes,” he said as that dimple appeared.

  She waited, then said, “I’ll call you Karlo with a K.” And she took a sip.

  He went to check his larder. In a few moments, he came back to say he had to go out but found her eyes closed, the glass of wine still in her hand. He smiled, lifted it gently and covered her with a faded afghan left by his Czech grandmother. It was made of green granny-squares, some kelly green and some lime. He remembered being dazzled by the bright colors. She’d even taught him how to crochet similar squares. He’d been her first and maybe favorite grandchild. She always had time to listen to his boyhood dreams.

  He left a note for Giulia on top of the afghan and headed out. When he slipped back inside, she was still sleeping. God, how lucky I was to find her. Now, can I hold her? At least he didn’t have to gain Antonio Tuon’s approval about their relationship. And her father and brothers were far away in the States. Old-world thinking, he knew, but then, both of their families came from the Old World.

  He went into the kitchen and began assembling ingredients while he listened to an aria from Bizet’s opera “The Pearl Fishers” coming from a small DVD player mounted on top of the fridge. The beautiful blending of the tenor and baritone voices in the famous duet got to him every time. Typical of most operas, it had an inane plot.

  Chuck always thought of his grandmother when he cooked because she had taken time to teach him how to handle himself in the kitchen. Now, though, he didn’t seem to find enough time to deviate from the few simple recipes learned all those years ago. He melted butter and added sliced leeks. When they were soft, he added chopped garlic and pancetta. Before the garlic turned dark, he added fresh chopped spinach, salt and pepper. After the liquid from the spinach had reduced, he stirred in rice and added boiling stock, one ladle at a time. He didn’t make his own as his Babička did, but it was still a tasty dish.

  In her stocking feet, Giulia slipped in silently and watched. When the rice had absorbed the last of the stock, he removed the mess from the heat and stirred in beaten eggs, grated cheese and a grind or two of fresh nutmeg, then dumped all of it into a shallow oven dish. He topped it off with breadcrumbs and dots of butter. Just as he slid it into the oven, he noticed Giulia.

  “Hey there,” he said as he straightened up.

  “Karlo’s with a K is a special place,” she said. “Gre
at music and the promise of good food.”

  “Feeling better?”

  “Oh yes. Guess I needed that nap. You have a perfect place here. Hope I can find one as comfortable. Was that marvelous baritone with Bocelli the one from Wales?”

  “Yes. Bryn Terfel. Fantastic isn’t he?”

  “I had no idea you liked opera.”

  “Nor did I know you do. Lots of unknowns, Giulia, but I have no doubt about one thing.”

  “Oh. What’s that?”

  “I already find you endlessly fascinating.”

  “Sometimes you overwhelm me with statements like that, Karlo with a K. But the feeling might be mutual, and with the aromas in this kitchen . . .”

  “You stinker. You’re only after my cooking,” he said swinging her around and moving out of the kitchen. “No peeking for forty-five more minutes. Now what could we do in that amount of time?”

  They found something to do while the rain pounded down outside his bedroom windows. Later when Giulia was gathering her clothes to get dressed, he handed her one of his Tee-shirts. “If you want, you can wear this for now.”

  But maybe that wasn’t a good idea, because she looked too enticing, and he wanted to throw her back on his bed. The rain continued to blow outside the kitchen window while they ate the cheesy spinach tart and sipped white wine.

  “This is beautiful, like golden water.” She held her glass to the light.

  “It’s from the area over toward Slovenia. They’ve been making wines since Roman times. Most were destroyed in World War II, but the vines are coming back.” He took a mouthful and slowly savored it. “Isn’t there a famous quotation from Galileo about wine?”

  “Something about sunlight?” she asked.

  “Yes. Now I remember. ‘Wine is sunlight held together by water.’”

  “I do believe you’re a literary airman,” she said.

  “Hardly. Now tell me about that picture of the lion and the goddess in your attic room. It’s obviously been on that slant wall a long time.”

  She was surprised he’d noticed. “Not much to tell. After I saw the huge sculpture in Giardini when I was about nine, the image stayed with me. For a while, I’d tried to count all the lions found in Venice, thanks to dear old Saint Mark’s influence, but that wild-maned one with Minerva riding side-saddle was the one that grabbed my imagination. I suppose part of it was that I had dreams of being a famous poet one day and wanted to learn more about Minerva.” She held out her glass for more wine.