I guess that explains your being in this hotel.
Yes, I thought it would be more convenient.
Well then, I’ll see you tomorrow. I gave him a smile and moved toward the open lobby door.
He caught up with me. May I make a suggestion? I know a fine restaurant near the Trevi Fountain, so we could go there first to kill time before dinner. That is, in case you want to see the fountain and you’d be willing to have dinner with me.
I didn’t answer for a moment, and he continued. If I’m being too forward, I’m sorry. You won’t offend me if you say no. As I said earlier, you can tell me to go away.
Well, hardly. Sure, I could get rid of him now, but since he had joined my tour, go away would not be a viable option in the future.
So, I hesitated again, not wanting to either hurt his feelings or send the wrong message, yet all those warnings my mother had given me about picking up strange men in foreign places crept into my mind. Still, Todd was no longer a complete stranger. In spite of trying to fend him off in favor of reading my guidebook, I had begun to like him. A lot.
I thought about something else. Having dinner on board with all those passengers and crew around was one thing, but dining alone with him might give him the wrong idea. He’d been accepted on my tour—or so he said, but was that the truth?—so we’d be together for another ten days, and I didn’t want him to think we were...what? I needed time to sort this out.
And then I recalled my hunger pangs. Could I wait much longer for food? The rumbling in my stomach told me I had an appetite for anything dead or seriously slowed down.
I’m sorry, I said. If you don’t mind, I’ll just stroll through the city on my own for a while. Perhaps I’ll find a pub or someplace where I can get a bite to eat. If not, well, I guess I’ll be back.
He accepted my decline with a shrug of his broad shoulders and a wistful smile. I started off down the sidewalk, and he called after me, Don’t get lost.
I won’t. I turned left at the first corner. I decided to walk until I found an open restaurant, and, should that not work out in a reasonable length of time, return, as I’d hinted to Todd, to the hotel dining room, which might be open by then. In any event, I intended to be back before dark.
Pleased with the balmy weather, I strode off, my gaze often straying upward to admire the buildings—most apparently apartments—with their old-world architecture, decorative scrollwork, and balconies with flowerpots. I turned a corner, saw more lighted shop windows, and hoped I might find a café of some kind among them, but when I reached the area I saw they were merely shops selling clothing and shoes. Noticing the sky had begun to darken already, I walked more quickly.
Another turn produced more lighted windows, but those were businesses too and were closed for the night. In the next block I again found apartments, and in the street after that I saw several large structures that I decided resembled government office buildings.
Maybe this do-it-alone approach had not been such a good idea. I should have accepted Todd’s offer. I wished I had a map. When I exchanged my money in the terminal earlier, I had seen a display of local maps, even picked one up and unfolded it briefly. As large as a bedspread, it had a million pastel-colored squares and tiny print. A lot of good that would do me. I wouldn’t know the name of any of the streets. So, I had attempted to refold it, gave up, and stuffed it back in the rack. I didn’t need it. I would be with English-speaking people on a tour that took me everywhere. Yeah? So why, then, did I feel so alone and wish I knew how to get somewhere?
Grumbling about my poor navigation skills, I decided to go back to the hotel, but when I returned to the previous corner, I couldn’t remember which way I’d come.
My footsteps echoed on the cobblestones, and I looked in vain for a street sign. I finally realized the names of the streets were fastened to the stone sides of the buildings. However, darkness settling even faster, I could barely see them at all, much less find them useful.
A motorcycle, driven at high speed, zoomed past me, but no cars. Since I had apparently stumbled into an area of offices, which were now closed for the night, only a few pedestrians hurried by, and they were too far away to speak to. They looked as if they knew where they were going yet never glanced in my direction. Even if they had, I couldn’t tell them my problem, my knowledge of Italian being limited to Ciao.
Fear trickled down my spine. I was lost. A woman, all alone in a strange city, and I didn’t even know the language. What on earth had made me venture out alone at night? My sometimes poor decision making, that’s what. I’d read about pickpockets in large European cities, how women had their purses grabbed from their arms, jewelry snatched from around their necks. I could be mugged or worse.
I wanted to go back to the hotel, but how? At the corner on which I stood, five exceedingly narrow streets converged, looking exactly alike. And dark and dangerous. Black shadows lengthened on the sides of the buildings. Blown by a breeze, leaves from the pavement swirled around my feet. Blood pounded in my ears. My heart banged in my chest like a metronome gone berserk.
Wanting to run, I found myself rooted to the spot, my legs feeling like iron posts, my arms prickling with cold chills. What could I do?
Why, pray, of course. I took a deep breath, then another. Scolded myself. Why allow fear to control me? I could pray for God to protect me. My memory reverted to my days in Sunday school. There’s never a spot, where God is not, we had repeated in unison. Even here, I could call upon Him to give me wisdom and guidance. I closed my eyes and prayed silently for a few moments.
Then I put my newfound confidence to the test. I tried to visualize the first street I had turned into when I left the hotel. I had turned left after one block, then two blocks straight ahead, then I turned right into the street with the shops closing for the night.
Or was it left? Then—What came next? Which of the streets in front of me had been the one? How did I get to the government offices? Suddenly, my breathing stopped and icicles of fear returned. I heard someone walking behind me, coming closer and closer.
I opened my eyes and turned my head but saw nothing. The person stayed in the shadows, and I imagined him hiding, waiting, ready to pounce. I shivered.
I’d been resourceful in the past, found ways to get out of predicaments—like climbing out on balconies—but this time, no fanciful ideas came to me.
I prayed again.
The footsteps came up behind me.
Then I really prayed.
Roman Holiday
Chapter 4
Hi, there. Want some company?
I recognized the voice of Todd Matthews, swung around, and smiled at him. Okay, I hadn’t somehow remembered directions to the hotel. Instead, Todd had appeared. Unlike the fellow in the old joke who had declined the rowboat, the motorboat, and the helicopter, I wasn’t about to quibble.
Glad I hadn’t met up with a mugger, I had a sudden impulse to throw my arms around Todd. I told myself it would be in gratitude, but I realized that the stirring in my middle also meant a growing attraction to this handsome guy. All those thoughts of avoiding him dissolved. Maybe we were meant to be together.
Company would be nice, I said. Then honesty made me admit the truth. As a matter of fact, I think I’m lost.
He grinned. I worried that might happen, so I followed you. I hope you don’t mind.
Mind? You saved my life. I have no idea where I am.
For a while there, I thought you were heading for the Trevi Fountain on your own. You’re very close to it, you know.
Really? I think the Trevi Fountain is on our tour itinerary. However, I’ll be happy to go there now if you lead the way. Being scared had somehow dampened my hunger pangs.
Good. We have just time enough to do that before dinner at that restaurant I mentioned.
I agreed. Not only did I need his savvy, but I’d have his company again for dinner. Provided we go Dutch treat. That’s my only condition.
Todd pretended to frown then said, Accepted. H
e shook my hand and led me down the street.
After a short walk through more narrow streets with no cars, just pedestrians and the ever-popular motorbikes, we went across ancient cobblestones and turned a corner. I saw crowds strolling toward a large multi-statue structure. When we came nearer, I saw a pool of water glistening with the shine of many coins.
Here it is, Todd said. I hope it’s what you expected.
I studied it for a moment. Not exactly. I didn’t realize it backed up to a building. I visualized it as a circle with people able to walk all the way around it.
That’s not just any building. It’s a palace, Palazzo Poli.
It is beautiful. I couldn’t deny that, and, while Todd explained that the large stone statues represented Oceanus drawn by horses, I opened my purse and found a coin. I maneuvered my way between other tourists and down the three shallow steps until I stood closer to the water.
Don’t forget to make a wish.
Isn’t that automatic? If you throw a coin in the fountain it means you’ll come back to Rome someday, doesn’t it?
True, but you can make another wish if you like.
My wishes, for the past ten months, had been that I’d get a job and, more recently, that Hardcastle wouldn’t fire me from my current one. But I didn’t believe in magic fountains, so I just hoped for a pleasant tour of Italy and that I’d write an article about it Hardcastle would approve.
When I turned again, Todd’s hand reached out to mine, and he guided me back up the steps to the street. We still have some time before dinner. The restaurant I mentioned isn’t too far from here, so we could walk, if that’s okay.
That’s fine. In truth, even with the heavier-than-usual shoes I wore, I could feel the cobblestones underfoot. Fortunately, we soon met up with almost-smooth concrete sidewalks, making walking much easier.
When we turned into yet another street, I said, How do you find your way around? I’m still totally lost. There must be a zillion of these narrow streets, and they all look alike.
I have a GPS in my brain. And I’ve been here before, you know.
I’d have to live here for twenty years before I’d be able to find my way home.
No, you wouldn’t. Small children do it all the time.
Small children know Italian, too, but I don’t.
Maybe I’ll teach you.
I thought you were just learning yourself. Wasn’t that a language dictionary you had on the plane?
Yes, I always brush up a little before I come. Not that I’m at all fluent. But I could teach you a few important phrases.
I let that statement pass without comment in case the phrases he meant were X-rated. And, besides, we had reached a restaurant with tables set up behind barriers of tubbed plants in the street. Is this the one?
Nope. Just a bit farther.
No wonder the streets are crowded with cars, I said. The restaurants take some of the parking space at the curbs for their outdoor tables.
But Italians love to eat out of doors.
Is that where the term alfresco came from?
I guess so.
But there are so many cars. They’re parked nose to tail, even in the crosswalks.
In some places they even park on sidewalks. At least, he added, they’re small cars and motorbikes. No SUVs.
I’m not surprised there aren’t SUVs. With the price of gas in Europe, who could afford their consumption? I doubt they get eleven feet to a gallon.
He nodded. And most of the people who drive them don’t carry any cargo heavier than take-out food.
I laughed. Even with no large vehicles, I think the authorities should put a sign up outside of Rome: ‘No more cars may enter until one leaves.’
Good thinking. He held my elbow and guided me across the street. Here’s the restaurant I promised.
Unlike so many others I’d seen, its large dining area resided in a piazza, not a narrow street. Are we going to dine alfresco?
It’s inside for us. I want you to hear the opera singers.
They have singers?
Italy is famous for its music, you know, especially opera.
Of course, I knew. I wasn’t that culturally impoverished. I’ve heard of La Scala, I said in my own defense.
I don’t think these singers are with La Scala, but they seem pretty good to me. And, he added, they don’t just sing operatic arias. I expect you’ll recognize some lighter songs, even a Broadway show tune or two.
Inside the dimly lit restaurant, I could make out frescoes on the walls, wrought-iron fences that separated one floor level from another a foot or so higher, and charming glass-and-metal lamps on white cloth-covered tables. I followed a waiter in black trousers, white shirt, and bow tie to a table for two in a corner.
Is this all right? Todd asked. We’ll be able to see and hear the singers but not be so close we can’t carry on a conversation.
Fine. I folded my sweater over the back of the chair and sat down. Then the waiter pulled my napkin from the water glass and draped it across my lap before handing me a menu as large as a billboard.
When he left, I said, I do love being pampered.
Todd glanced approvingly at me. And anyone as pretty as you are deserves to be.
Embarrassed by the compliment, I hid behind the menu. Although written in Italian, the selections had English explanations beneath them, and I had no problem agreeing with Todd’s choices of minestrone soup, penne pasta, and chicken piccata.
We’re early, he said. This place is quite popular and will be filled in another hour or so.
They won’t chase us out before the singers arrive, will they?
Nope. He smiled at me again.
I grew nervous and scrounged for something to say to break the silence. Thanks again for rescuing me tonight. Anyone as directionally impaired as I am ought not to be allowed out without a keeper.
But you travel all over Los Angeles for your job, don’t you? How do you manage?
Very poorly. I start out two hours early so I have time to ask directions at every gas station I pass. I hadn’t exaggerated by much.
He laughed. Maybe you should get a GPS for your car.
I plan to. But at the moment I can’t afford the kind of cars that have them. I’m still paying off student loans.
Did you study journalism in college?
Yes. What about you? Did you study art?
No, I studied engineering.
Really? Was your father an engineer? Did he want you to follow in his footsteps?
Our soup arrived, and, when the waiter finished placing the bowls before us and offering a basket of bread, Todd either forgot or ignored my question. Computers are my hobby.
You said it pays for your lifestyle. How does that work?
I live in Arizona and, as I’m sure you know, a lot of older people retire there. Senior citizen complexes are one of the fastest-growing businesses in the Southwest.
And? I prompted, taking a piece of bread from the basket.
And these communities have computer labs where people learn how to use them to keep in touch with their children by e-mail and get current pictures of their grandchildren, even write their memoirs.
So you teach those classes?
Yes, it works out perfectly because they’re always held in the winter months. In summer, when it’s too hot in Phoenix, the snowbirds flock back to the cooler climate they came from.
But I’d think that working only part-time wouldn’t be very lucrative. Is the salary you get for teaching that good?
Not as good as I’d like, but some of these people are quite wealthy so I also give private instructions and do troubleshooting. I also moonlight sometimes as a consultant for businesses in the area.
That must pay well since it lets you take so much time off. And go traveling as well.
I have a confession to make. I’m independently—er, comfortable. I started a small software business while in college, and a couple of years ago I sold it for a nice hunk of change.
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Good for you.
The company gave me more money than I’d ever seen at one time, so I handed it over to a financial advisor, and he gives me some of the interest it earns whenever I run low on cash.
He turned his attention to the food and seemed to consider the subject of his career closed, so while I pondered that and wondered what other topic we could discuss, we finished the soup.
So, I said, you got a place on the tour after all.
Yes, one couple dropped out, it seems, leaving only eight of us. I talked to Enza on the phone, and she said we’ll be three couples, plus a single woman and her young daughter.
But we’re not a couple.
I’m—I didn’t mean to imply a relationship, just that I’m a man and you’re a woman, and I guess that makes us a couple.
I didn’t respond to that and changed the subject. Have you been to this restaurant before? The question sounded lame, even to me.
Yes, but I came alone the other times.
I recall you said on the plane that you were a loner. But here you are with me. I think you’ve been exceptionally outgoing, for a loner.
Well, I’m trying not to be like that anymore. The waiter removed our soup bowls, and Todd continued. You were so friendly on the plane, and, like I said, I’m trying to be more open with people. I sort of made it my goal to accomplish a breakthrough on this trip.
You’re doing a good job.
Can I quote you on that?
Why? Do you need a recommendation?
Only to a minister near my home.
My face warmed, and I wondered why he’d mentioned something I considered rather personal. And has going to the minister helped?
Without boring you with the details, I’ll just say we’re making progress. He paused and a frown creased his forehead. I’m sorry. I know people aren’t supposed to discuss personal matters on first dates, but—
That’s okay, I assured him. In the first place, I don’t consider this a date. We’re just having dinner together because otherwise I’d get lost again.
The waiter brought our pasta, and I waited until he left before continuing. But I suppose lots of people see...er, counselors, these days. I don’t mind your talking about it. Life is pretty stressful, so, whatever works...
Roman Holiday Page 3