An Apartment in Venice

by Marlene Hill

  Chuck put his hand on Tom’s shoulder, “I’d like that… a lot. As usual, you’ve given me much to ponder. Next time, though, stay with me.”

  “Sounds good. In the meantime, scout someone for me exactly like Giulia. This could be a pleasant place to settle. More and more I’m thinking… quiet. Is that old age or what?”

  “Could be.” Chuck stood. Tom did, too.

  “Going back to her?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good.”

  “Good luck on your new project. But Tom, keep your heart open.”

  “I will, man. Hope it works out for you and Giulia.”

  “Thanks. I’ll need all the help I can get.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Giulia, already in her sleep Tee and robe came to the door. “Don’t you have a key?”

  “I do, but… thought you might want me to knock anyway.”

  She puzzled over that but didn’t reply. “Would you like a drink? Are you hungry?”

  “Nothing. Wait, I could use water. Not used to drinking brandy even if it was an exclusive brand I’ve never heard of before,” he snorted half-heartedly. Both seemed unable to slip into their former casual banter.

  When she brought a glass of water, he was sitting on the over-sized, rather lumpy couch. She joined him to sit at the end to lean back facing him.

  “Did you get your class notes ready?”

  “I didn’t have much. Guess I needed space.”

  “I kind of guessed.”

  “I wanted to give you guys space, too.”

  “He thinks the world of you.”

  “Can’t imagine why, considering my past profession.”

  “Semi-profession,” Chuck added.

  “Still I took money from men even if only for arm candy.”

  “Some arm candy.” He moved to pull her into an embrace beside him.

  “Giulia?”

  “Yes?”

  “Tom’s talk about hope in the bottom of Pandora’s box… I want there to be an ‘us.’ I don’t want us to split over your past.”

  “But?” she said, waiting for the qualification.

  “Tom would bust my ass if he heard what I’m about to ask. And I think I know your answer, but I have to ask anyway.”

  “Sure.” The word slid out on a ragged sigh as she eased out of his arms.

  “Did you ever fuck a client?”

  “No.” She stood up and walked toward the kitchen.

  “Hand job? Blow job?”

  “No, and no!” Then she whirled back to face him. As a hunky military man, you’ve probably fucked more women in six months than I have in my entire life. Marlowe said you took a gorgeous woman to the New Year’s Gala. Should I ask if you fucked her?”

  He put his glass down and walked toward her. “Giulia, I’m—”

  “Why care about what happened before we met? You’ll never let it go.”

  “Hunky?” he said as he took her into his arms and kissed her hard and long. He took her hand, led her to the couch and pulled her onto his lap.

  “I’m sorry, Giulia. I knew better. Had to stomp down that last—”

  “And how many more times will you need to stomp—”

  “Never. Never again. No more doubts.” They sat without speaking. The tick of the ornate clock on a wall shelf dominated their space.

  Finally, he broke the silence. “What’s the time period on this lease?”

  “Six months. I would have signed for longer, but you and Nonno urged me to sign for less until I knew how this place would work out.”

  Chuck nodded. “I could suggest one thing that isn’t working out.”

  “Oh. What’s that?”

  “That lumpy mattress. Haven’t you noticed?”

  “Those lumps are awful. They are hard and don’t give an inch. I spoke to the agent, and she said she’d contact the owner down in Calabria.”

  The place is spacious, though, with high ceilings and the view of a rio,” he said. “So, how are you feeling about your dream place?”

  “Confused. I keep thinking if I’d take pains to make it mine, I’d feel better.” She leaned against his chest. “Guess it’s the old expectation upset.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Like anything you build your hopes up for, the result falls flat. The apartment doesn’t have the tinsel and sparkle of a seven-year-old’s fantasy.”

  “Nothing could.” He pulled her closer. “But, Giulia, leases can be broken.”

  “Yes. But it might be best if I stay right here. As you said, we haven’t known each other long.”

  “Hey! Why don’t you move back in with me until the new mattress arrives? You can come visit your place any time.”

  She laughed. “Oh Karlo with a K,” and she put a hand on each side of his face locking his eyes to hers. “I think you agree we need more time in separate places, but you’re struggling to give up your side of the argument. Right?”

  His smile was wistful. “Maybe. But that mattress is—”

  “You’re right, it is horrid. I’ll grab what I need for work and we’ll go to your place, at least for tonight.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Sure, sure, sure.”

  * * *

  “You can still stash stuff in your room,” Chuck said when they walked into his apartment.

  “My room?”

  “I’m in no hurry to place my things back there, Micina. I’m hoping you’ll soon clutter it with your stuff.”

  “I see,” she said, “You place your things, but I clutter mine.”

  “Yes. Exactly. I know I have a little problem with order.”

  She gave a small snort.

  “The truth is, I like seeing your stuff around. I can’t explain it, but when you were living here, if I walked in and saw one of your scarves or a book lying around, I felt like I’d come home.”

  She dropped her briefcase on the floor and put her arms around him. “Oh Karlo, my love.”

  He wrapped his arms around her. “Let’s forget about leases and apartments tonight. Okay?”

  “Let’s!”

  * * *

  Chuck lay atop her body breathing hard. His weight felt good. It anchored her and she was right where she wanted to be. He rolled onto his side, carrying her with him, staying deep within.

  “That’s one way to forget about who lives in which apartment,” she breathed.

  “Yup. One way. Wait a sec. We’ll try another way.”

  “A second?”

  “Well maybe a minute?”

  “You think so?”

  “Know so.”

  She played with the dusting of hair on his upper chest. Lazily followed the dark path down to his navel where it circled around. She feathered a finger around his belly button and into it. He chortled. When she moved slowly on to the thicker, black bush at his penis, she felt a thickening inside her body.

  “You might be right,” she whispered.

  “Damn straight, I’m right,” he said as he rolled onto his back and slowly lifted her up to straddle him. She whimpered her pleasure. Those whimpering sounds had a way of pushing him beyond his limit. He thrust upward once, rolled her onto her back again, and drove with a wildness she hadn’t expected. But she welcomed each plunge until he roared out her name, and together they dissolved into bliss.

  They lay side by side, hearts pounding, gasping for breath.

  “I think I’ve found il mio leone, my very own lion.”

  “Hmm,” he sighed. “And are you la mia leonessa?”

  “Si,” she growled softly. “Do you think Nonna and Nonno Tony came up with their pet names this way.”

  “I have no doubt,” he said turning her on her side to curve around her. “And now this contented lion is ready for a nice, long snooze.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  The following Saturday evening, Giulia and Chuck met Marlowe and Marc at Peggy Guggenheim’s Museum with plans to go on for dinner at Ai Gondolieri nearby. The two coup
les wandered through the museum that had been Peggy’s home for about thirty years. Giulia had always thought Peggy had led a fascinating life although maybe not a contented one. She had been a child of one of the incredibly rich Guggenheim sons of New York city. But her father had been a black-sheep playboy, who lost a huge fortune by gambling and also his life on the Titanic. While living in Europe before the Second World War, Peggy began collecting Modern Art and lovers, some of whom were the very artists whose work she collected. After the war, she moved to Venice permanently.

  “This building’s still listed on local maps as Palazzo Venier dei Leoni,” Giulia said as they walked through the rooms. “Supposedly the Venier family kept lions in the huge garden in the back.”

  “I’ve always thought the building looked more like a sprawling ranch house than a Venetian palazzo,” Marlowe said.

  “Me too,” Chuck said. “It’s squat and ugly and doesn’t fit in with the other masterpieces along the Canal.”

  “The original design was supposed to have several upper floors,” Giulia said. “Imagine how big and ugly it would have been if the family hadn’t lost their fortune? Lucky for Peggy, though.”

  “Why lucky?” Marlowe asked.

  Marc chimed in. “Since it wasn’t finished, it’s never been listed as a national monument, right?” he said turning to Giulia who seemed to be up on details about Peggy Guggenheim.

  “Exactly,” Giulia said. “That way she could make all kinds of changes inside to show off her art collection.” They entered Peggy’s bedroom. “She did it her way,” Giulia said with a glow in her eyes. “Imagine having this mobile by Alexander Calder hanging over your bed.”

  Chuck put his arm around her as they all walked out to the front courtyard to inspect the famous equestrian statue. It had been part of a sculpture exhibition held by Peggy in her backyard. Each of them had seen it whenever they cruised past on a vaporetto. Before entering the museum, they had speculated whether the phallus would be in position. Marc saw it first and gave a thumbs up signal to the others.

  Giulia may have had more details on Peggy and her eccentric life, but they all knew the story of the famous phallus. When Peggy was planning the exhibition, she’d gone to Milan and ordered the sculpture from Marino Marini. It’s an exuberant statue of a horse and rider, and Marini christened it The Angel of the Citadel. The nude rider’s arms are spread out in ecstasy and to emphasize the rider’s euphoria, Marini added a phallus in full erection. When he cast the figure in bronze, he made the phallus separately so it could be screwed in or out depending on who might be attending the exhibition.

  After they strolled through the gardens, Marc asked, “Anyone hungry?”

  * * *

  Ai Gondolieri was one of the few restaurants in Venice without fish or seafood on the menu. They ordered wine, pasta, entrées and salads, then Marc asked Giulia how she liked her apartment. She sighed and made the famous Roman emperors’ signal of thumb down. “It has its problems.”

  “I’ll say. Oh my aching back,” Chuck said, trying to lighten Giulia’s mood.

  “It’s the mattress, mostly,” Giulia said. “But there’ve been other reasons for complaint. After the first few days, I went to Aletta, the managing agent, with a list. First, the pillows provided were those huge, hard foam ones.”

  Marlowe groaned in commiseration.

  “Not only that. No bread knife, no breadboard, no garbage pail, no towel hooks or toilet-paper holder in the bathroom.” Giulia threw up her hands in disgust. “And the teapot leaked!”

  “An impressive list,” Marc said with a bit of a grin emerging.

  “I’ve asked myself at least fifteen times why didn’t I lie on the bed before I signed the lease. Why didn’t I inspect the kitchen? I was too excited about the location on the Rio di Angelo Raffaele.”

  “Raffaele is a fabulous area,” Marlowe said. “Quiet, too. Few tourists make it that far from the Academy of Art.”

  The waiter brought them all flutes of sparkling Prosecco and a plate of crudities to dip in individual bowls of olive oil that held a dollup of brown mustard. A strange but interesting combination.

  “What did this Aletta say?” Marc asked.

  “She’s unflappable. She suggested I buy the items I needed and submit the bills. I asked if that included pillows and she said, ‘Certo, Certo.’ She says certo a lot to let me know she understands, but so far it hasn’t taken the lumps out of the bed. When I asked if she’d spoken to the owner, who lives in Calabria, she assured me she was trying to reach her.”

  “I’m sorry, Giulia. You’d been counting on having your own apartment here for so long,” Marlowe said.

  “Maybe I wanted it too much,” she said, glancing at Chuck.

  His eyes softened.

  “Three days after I told her about the lumpy bed, Aletta came to see it.” In a high, sweet voice, Giulia mimicked Aletta, “‘Ah si. È vero, il materasso è terribile!’ Ah yes. It’s true, the mattress is terrible.’ Well, I already knew that!”

  Chuck snorted. The others did too.

  “By the way,” Marc asked. “Is Aletta an Italian name? It could be I suppose, but I’ve never heard it.”

  “Dutch. Her mother’s from Holland, but it seems to me Aletta’s more Italian than Dutch. For example, five whole days after pronouncing that the mattress was horrible, she called all excited to tell me that the owner would pay for a new one but didn’t want to replace the bed since it was an antique. That’s fine, I told her. All I want is a good night’s sleep.” Then Giulia grinned. “Aletta doesn’t need to know I have another place to lay my head.”

  “Of course not,” Marc added, glancing at Chuck.

  “Then what happened?” Marlowe asked.

  “Two days later, she called to say she had specific directions for measuring the odd-sized mattress and needed to come by. I told her to come anytime and use her agent’s key. Aletta is often an hour or more late or calls to change the time. I know she has other duties, but my time is worth something.”

  “Take a break, love,” Chuck said, “our pasta’s here.”

  Giulia exhaled a big breath and slumped back onto her chair. “Good idea. Enough of my woes.”

  “When it’s finally settled, I hope you’ll be able to laugh about all this,” Marlowe said.

  “Someday, maybe,” Giulia said. “Let’s enjoy our meal.”

  For a while, they were quiet as they ate their small plates of pasta.

  “Marlowe and I have finally settled on a date to celebrate our wedding back in February,” Marc said. “We want you to be there.”

  “Marc’s family wasn’t all that happy with us for slipping away to Las Vegas.” She looked at Marc, whose large, grey eyes seemed to shower rays of adoration onto Marlowe.

  Marc turned to Giulia “After Chuck helped her get the interview for the job at the base, she had to go back to sort her belongings. And I had to make sure she’d return. We took a detour to the Little White Chapel.”

  “It sounds tacky,” Marlowe said leaning in, “but the thing is, we got to do it our way. For me,” she looked at Marc again, “it was perfect.”

  He laid his hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

  “But, the reception’s another story. It’ll be what everyone else wants!”

  The pasta plates were cleared, and the waiter had no problem sorting their entrées because they had all ordered the same thing, una braciola di maiale con salsa di pere e finocchetto selvatico, a pork chop with pear sauce and wild fennel. Marc leaned over his dish and inhaled, giving a huge sigh of pleasure. “Buon appetito!” he said and waved to the waiter making a pouring gesture that they needed more wine. They all tucked in.

  “This chop is superb. Tender and succulent,” Giulia said, and took a sip of wine. “When is the reception? Can I help?”

  “Saturday, the fourteenth of June,” Marlowe said. “We hope to hold it outdoors but with the crazy rain patterns, we need a place where we can duck inside if we have t
o. Until that’s settled, all we can say is the date. As for your help, I’ll let you know, but I have a feeling there’ll be so much family help that I might just disappear until the fourteenth.”

  * * *

  Later they all strolled through the calles leading to Santa Maria della Salute, the gorgeous church across the Grand Canal from the Gritti. Marc and Marlowe said goodnight and boarded a vaporetto destined for Murano.

  “Do you feel like walking or shall we wait for a vaporetto going the other way?” Chuck asked Giulia.

  “Walk. I ate a lot and also need to work off more frustration.”

  They backtracked across a bridge and caught a traghetto over to Campo Santa Maria di Giglio. In the quiet evening, they were the only two standing in the bare-bones gondola that made the trip across the Canal. They moseyed slowly through the quiet streets, crossed the Rialto and on to Chuck’s place.

  “Do you realize it’s been almost three weeks,” she began again, “since I first complained about that darned mattress?”

  “That long?” he commented. Chuck listened with supportive grunts here and there but was glad it was dark enough that she didn’t notice him grinning. It was fine with him that Giulia spent most of her nights on his mattress.

  “For a whole week, I was under the illusion it had been ordered until she brought a mattress person to get the exact measurements. She apologized profusely but as far as she knew, I was still trying to sleep on those lumps.”

  “So far, I haven’t noticed any on your side of my bed.”

  “Oh you,” she said punching him in the belly. “I’m being crazy over this. Guess it’s not only the mattress that makes me crazy, is it?”

  “Probably not,” he said as he opened the outer door to his building. He knew she still worried about Botteri and his thugs and, of course, Oliver Ogle’s trial loomed in their future.

  “It’s hard to stay angry with Aletta, but it’s obvious the owner hadn’t maintained the place before turning it over to an agency.”

  “That’s for sure.” Still focused on that damned apartment.