Roman Holiday

by Phyllis A. Humphrey

  How easily we take freedom of worship for granted.

  Todd drew me aside. His voice soothing, as if he’d been reading my thoughts, he said, Not to worry. The Christians got their revenge. Today the whole country seems like a monument to Christianity, with cathedrals, churches, and religious art.

  While Karen talked to the guide, Todd took my hand, and we climbed huge stone steps that led to the seats that had been occupied by spectators at the games.

  When we’d climbed so high up that the people on the wooden floor looked like ants, he said, Let me take your picture.

  Oh, yes, please. I may want to show someone I really stood inside the Colosseum. If no one else, there was always my boss, who might need to be convinced I hadn’t boarded the wrong flight and ended up in Brazil.

  I handed my camera to Todd, and, after using it, he took several more with his own camera.

  Would you like me to take one of you? I asked.

  By all means.

  After I snapped it, I said, Come to think of it, you probably already have lots of pictures because you’ve been here before.

  That’s true. He grinned. But if you take one of me, you’ll have to send me a copy, and we can keep in touch.

  Maybe I’ll just do that. In spite of my doubts of the night before, I realized I wanted to keep in touch with him. But people who meet on vacation trips often exchange addresses and say things like, If you ever get to—wherever—be sure to look me up. But it rarely happens.

  I enjoyed Todd’s company, and if he ever did get to Los Angeles, I’d be thrilled to show him around, if only as thanks for his kindness to me now. Oh, sure. The truth was I’d begun to think in larger terms, like maybe a meaningful relationship. I told myself not to laugh. It could happen.

  I’m serious, Todd said. Just because we’re on a tour in a strange country doesn’t mean our friendship has to end when the tour ends. He took my hand, and I felt the strength in his palm and long fingers surrounding mine. I mean it. If we met anywhere, I’d still want to get to know you better.

  My brain seemed to go into a coma, and I couldn’t think of anything clever or witty to say. I guess people have to meet somewhere. It would be a dull world if we were restricted to whoever happened to live next door to us.

  Todd suddenly frowned and withdrew his hand. What had I said that caused that? He hadn’t been in his mysterious mode lately, but there it was again: a sudden look of pain.

  Would I ever know what lay behind it?

  Roman Holiday

  Chapter 10

  Karen and Kimberly had apparently seen Todd and me climbing the steps and followed us. Karen soon stood at our side, a bit breathless from the steep climb.

  Here you are. Isn’t this a fabulous view? Not waiting for a reply, she went on. I see you’ve been taking pictures. Would you take a picture of Kimberly and me together?

  Of course. Todd gave his own camera to me to hold and took Karen’s for the pictures. He took two, from different angles, thereby getting different views in the background.

  Kimberly, once the snaps were taken, headed off on her own, climbing still higher across the stone seats.

  Karen finally glanced in my direction. Oh, be a dear and look after her, won’t you? I’m quite out of breath. She opened her jacket collar and waved a hand across her throat, as if enticing air to cool her flushed face and neck.

  I felt the gesture revealed more bare skin than necessary and then decided I should feel ashamed of my unkind thoughts. But could she, just once, act like I existed in my own right, not just as some annoying excess baggage hanging around Todd?

  Karen touched Todd’s arm again. Kim is such a sweet child, never gives me a moment’s trouble.

  Oh yeah, then why was I supposed to keep an eye on her?

  Trying for patience, I took off after the girl, catching up with her a few minutes later.

  Kim pulled out her own small camera and took a picture of me. If you give me your address, I can send you one.

  Fine. We’ll do that later, shall we? I think we ought to find the tour guide now.

  As we climbed back down, Kim took my hand. I want us to be friends.

  So do I.

  She stopped for a moment. My mother wants to be friends with Mr. Matthews.

  I detected a note of displeasure in her tone. Isn’t that all right with you? I thought you liked him.

  I do, but he seems to like you more than he likes her. This time, instead of displeasure, there was a note of understanding in her voice.

  Before answering, I tried to define what Kim meant. Sometimes young girls meant more than like in using the word, more in the realm of boyfriend. I didn’t think Todd showed anything as strong as that, see-sawing as he seemed to do between her mother and me, but I could hope, couldn’t I? Meanwhile, I had to respond to Kimberly. Can’t he like both of us, all of us?

  My mother doesn’t think so.

  What do you mean?

  Well, when Mr. Matthews is with you, she gets all kind of funny—you know, jealous like.

  I felt myself stiffen. Even if Todd were beginning to prefer me—and it certainly seemed that way—I didn’t need to be in the middle of a possible romantic triangle. Tell your mother there’s nothing between Mr. Matthews and me. He’s just being friendly and helpful to someone who’s traveling alone.

  I’ll try, the girl said, but she never listens to me.

  Out of the Colosseum finally, we walked through the remains of the Roman Forum, with its ruins of ancient temples, columns, and arches. I deliberately avoided being close to Todd, hoping, if Kim was right, to squelch Karen’s jealousy. But I couldn’t help overhearing his explanations to Karen, who asked dozens of questions, as if he must know more than the guide. She frequently clutched his arm. At times she walked so close to him she hardly let light come between them.

  She swept one arm about in a wide circle. How old is all this? I heard her ask.

  About the third century, I think. Todd said. They began excavating it in the late 19th century.

  Kimberly, who had been running ahead, came back to Todd’s side to ask her own question. Is that one of the seven hills of Rome that we read about in school? She pointed.

  You’ll have to ask the guide, but I think that one in front is called Palatine Hill. Wealthy Romans built their luxurious houses there, and that’s where the name ‘palace’ came from.

  Oh, wow. Kim stopped and pulled out her notebook to scribble something in it.

  A few paces behind, I waited until Todd and Karen had walked on before coming abreast of the girl. I see you’re making notes about everything you see.

  Not everything. But I’ll bet none of my friends know where the word ‘palace’ came from. Or the word ‘arena.’ She put her little book away. I’ve seen you taking notes sometimes too.

  Not for my friends. I’m here on assignment to write an article.

  Oh, wow, you’re a reporter. Did you always want to do that?

  I always wanted to write, if that’s what you mean. Last night you said you like stories. Is writing stories the kind of career you’d like?

  I’m not sure. They want us to decide when we’re still in middle school so we know what to take in high school, so we—

  I finished for her, —know what to major in at college. We laughed together.

  I mean, I’m not even fourteen yet. How can I decide now what I should do for the rest of my life?

  I know, but don’t let that bother you. Even if you pick something and later find you like something else better, you can always change your mind. I thought of Karen. What does your mother do? Maybe you’d enjoy that too.

  She grimaced in disgust, her tone mocking. Like, never in a million years. She works for a plastic surgeon, helps all those dumb women get their noses fixed or their boobs lifted.

  Before I could comment, Kim dashed off to explore another ruined temple. I lagged behind. Although wearing the heaviest shoes I’d brought, I felt they were no match for the uneven ground
with its occasional paving left over from an earlier millennium. I sighed with relief when we finally climbed a hill and reached the street where a regular sidewalk with smooth pavement took over. Shortly afterward, our van picked us up for the return to the hotel.

  Too tired to try to find a place for a late lunch, I had room service bring up a sandwich. Afterward, finished with my notes for the day, I lay across the bed. My phone rang.

  Todd’s voice greeted me. Robin and Lance Waxman are celebrating their tenth day of marriage, and they’ve asked us to join them at dinner tonight.

  Us?

  Like everyone else, they seem to think we’re a couple. I told them we’d just met, he added hastily, but you need to come along in order to make it a foursome. Odd numbers are so hard to deal with.

  I chuckled at his comment. Another dinner with Todd sounded like a nice idea, but what about Karen and Kimberly Vale?

  Todd seemed to have solved that problem already. We’re meeting in the Waxmans’ room at seven, and we’ll all sneak out together. He paused. They know Karen Vale has been, well, it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? So, we’ll just slip out discreetly.

  Besides the opportunity to spend more time with Todd, I felt relieved that he preferred my company to Karen’s. Plus, I wanted to get to know Robin and Lance better. So far on the tour, they’d kept excessively close to each other, holding hands or otherwise touching, even stopping for a quick kiss. I remembered the early days of my first crush on a boy. We had been like that too.

  But college and working, had brought different expectations. The men I dated were, well, men not boys. Holding hands and kissing didn’t satisfy them. And the present culture of television and movies made it look as if everyone had sex all the time. Sometimes I got tired of explaining why my answer was always No. Actually, I had memorized a dozen different ways of turning them down without hurting their feelings or seeming like something out of a Jane Austen novel.

  The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I felt quite content to be who I was. All I needed was for men to be a bit more—well—more like Todd. He hadn’t tried to take advantage of me in any way. No groping, no suggestive remarks.

  Hmmm. Last night I wondered why he hadn’t tried any of those things. Like a line from an old movie, if a guy didn’t occasionally at least try to make out with me, I felt like saying, Why? Was I so unattractive, so distant...? Now I appreciated his restraint.

  His words of the night before came back to me. He’d said he wanted to see me again, but then I apparently said something that brought an unpleasant memory and he changed. So, those perhaps-exchanged photos notwithstanding, Todd and I might never meet again after this tour ended. Perhaps he recognized that starting a relationship that had no future would only end up causing pain. Perhaps he felt that if he could never be serious about me, he didn’t want to escalate our relationship. In a way that was, well, gallant, and I admired him for it.

  He would go to Lake Como and take pictures to paint and sell in art galleries. I would go back home, write up my article, and wait for the next assignment. We’d soon forget each other.

  Well, maybe not. That night we’d be together, sans Karen and Kimberly, and maybe we’d build a relationship that would last longer than the tour. Unless, of course, there were skeletons in his closet, and I’d inadvertently remind him of them by some stupid remark I might utter. Foot-in-mouth was a disease I could be poster girl for.

  And why was I thinking like this anyway? We would not be alone: Robin and Lance would be there. We would be four people having dinner and talking in generalities. Perhaps Todd had nothing to do with my being invited. Perhaps the Waxmans didn’t want to include Karen, because they’d have to add Kimberly and that would make an uneven number. See, I can rationalize with the best of them.

  Roman Holiday

  Chapter 11

  I arrived at the Waxmans’ hotel room at seven for the planned dinner party, and Lance and Robin greeted me warmly. In fact, Robin hugged me as if we’d known each other since kindergarten instead of a mere three days. I decided she was either one of those people who makes friends easily or else was disgustingly happy and needed to spread her joy around.

  I had chosen my long, navy-blue skirt and a blue and mauve print blouse, the only dressy outfit I’d packed, which turned out to be appropriate. Robin wore an obviously expensive designer suit of cream silk that almost matched her long blonde hair, and Lance looked equally well-dressed with a blazer over an open-neck shirt into which he’d tucked a colorful ascot. He looked like an actor in one of those British films. Hugh Grant and Jeremy Northam couldn’t have looked any better.

  True to his word, Todd, also neatly attired in blazer and slacks but no ascot, arrived moments later.

  While Lance offered drinks from a tray he’d apparently ordered from room service, Robin discussed our strategy for avoiding Karen Vale.

  I know I shouldn’t feel this way, but it’s all too obvious she’s making a play for Todd here, and it’s equally obvious, at least to me, that he’s not interested but too polite to tell her to buzz off. She turned to Todd. Am I right?

  Todd grinned, a bit sheepishly, I thought.

  I mean, Robin continued, can’t she take a hint? In the common sense department, she’s a cross between oatmeal and a hamster.

  Lance howled with laughter, but Todd apparently thought Robin had gone too far. I don’t mind talking to her and answering her questions, but she acts as if I know more than the tour guides and I don’t.

  Have you told her that? Lance asked.

  Several times. It doesn’t seem to faze her. He shrugged.

  And the way she clutches your arm and pulls you close, Robin said, is rude at the very least. She emphasized her words with a toss of her head, sending her hair swaying.

  I’d have thought Robin was too busy clutching Lance’s arm and pulling him close so they could embrace and kiss to have noticed Karen’s behavior, but they were, after all, on their honeymoon, and a certain amount of coochy-coo on their part was excusable.

  At least for tonight, Robin went on, you won’t have to sit next to her at dinner. If you like, she said to Todd, Lance and I can surround you next time so she won’t get a chance to monopolize you. Right, Lance?

  Whatever, he said, then turned to me. Maybe Darcy should be the one to do that.

  Me? I protested. We only just met on the plane the other day.

  Nevertheless—

  Todd interrupted him, which pleased me, as he seemed as uncomfortable discussing all this as I was. Why don’t we go on to dinner now?

  We hustled out, and, after the elevator ride to the lobby, we took a taxi to a sprawling restaurant in one of the many squares liberally sprinkled throughout the city. Robin suggested we dine outdoors, and, since rain was not expected, we all agreed.

  We seated ourselves at a table for four near a boxy hedge that sported a lantern, and Robin said, I love Italy, but most Italians smoke, and I can’t bear to be inside next to a table of smokers. You don’t smoke, do you? she asked at once, as if suddenly realizing Todd or I might.

  No, Todd answered quickly. I don’t, and I don’t think Darcy does either. He glanced toward me, and I nodded assent, although the subject of smoking was something I generally avoided.

  At home, we have non-smoking sections in restaurants, Lance added, but I haven’t found one like that here.

  In California, Todd said, smoking isn’t allowed inside any restaurants. He glanced at me again. Isn’t that so?

  Yes, not even in bars, I think.

  Really? Lance asked.

  There we’d have to eat indoors , because smoking is allowed in the outdoor sections of restaurants.

  How civilized, Robin said, adding, after a pause, What about you, Darcy?

  I often wish those Native Americans had never discovered tobacco and started the—er—habit.

  The waiter appeared with menus, and I read mine eagerly, trying to decide what to order, grateful for the chance to f
orget smoking.

  After a moment, Robin said, I’ll have the duck. She put down her menu. I had a simply divine duck breast in Paris. I hope they make it that well here.

  We all decided to try her suggestion, and the waiter left with our orders.

  As we waited, Robin returned to the subject of smoking. Have you never smoked? she asked Todd. Most boys take it up sometime when they’re young. Lance did at fifteen. She looked at him with a smile. Fortunately, he gave it up again at sixteen.

  I tried it once, Todd said, and got terribly sick.

  I’ll bet you never did, Robin said to me. I think you started to say, earlier, ‘that filthy habit.’

  I looked down into my lap and straightened my napkin, embarrassed that I had let my feelings show.

  So what’s your story? Robin asked, as if everyone who didn’t smoke had to have a story. She leaned across the table, her voice cajoling. Tell us all the lurid details.

  I didn’t answer immediately, but something about Robin’s look made me decide to tell her. Smoking killed my brother.

  Oh, I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have— She looked genuinely embarrassed to have opened a painful subject.

  No, it’s not what you think, I said quickly. He didn’t die of lung cancer. He didn’t smoke. He was killed by a drunk driver who ran a red light and broadsided him.

  But where did the smoking come in? Lance asked.

  The driver had been smoking and dropped his cigarette in his lap. Between trying to find it and being somewhat intoxicated, he lost control of his car.

  Oh, how awful, Robin said. Did the man go to jail for it?

  Not yet. His trial comes up soon. His lawyer apparently advised him to plead not guilty and let a jury decide.

  But surely there’s no doubt that he took your brother’s life?

  He said it was an accident. He didn’t mean to do it.

  But if he hadn’t been drunk— Lance said. I mean I like the occasional glass of wine, but I know when to quit.

  Thinking about my brother brought angry tears that I fought to hold back, and Todd, apparently sensing my distress, put his hand on mine and gave it a gentle squeeze.