The Younger Man

by Foster, Zoe

  ‘I am the luckiest man in this city tonight,’ he said as took her hands and pulled her in to kiss her on the mouth.

  ‘Welcome, Alessandro!’ Abby said, smiling widely as she pulled back.

  ‘More.’ He uttered the word so softly, so sexily, and came in gently to begin kissing Abby again, this time for longer, inciting memories of their first kiss in San Gimignano all those months ago.

  Abby, aware that they were in a public place, took a deep breath in and pulled back again. He smelled so masculine, so captivating, and as she took in his smiling face she could sense new warmth in him. His mouth was stretched wide, his eyes twinkled – he seemed very, very happy to see her. She felt like a bitch for presuming he would show up in white shoes and silky, open shirts: He was a successful, intelligent, chic European man; he knew how to adapt to his environment! And what was the worst that could happen, anyway? He was only here for a week. She could, and would, enjoy his company for that period.

  ‘You are more attractive than I remember,’ Alessandro said, after gracefully inhaling a dozen oysters as his entrée. ‘Attractive’ was as good as it got from him, Abby remembered. This was a hyperbole-free zone.

  ‘And you are more surprisey than I remember! So what is this trip here about, mister?’

  ‘I come to see Federico.’ Alessandro said, as he sipped on his whisky. ‘He is making his business to grow, and he needs help, he almost lost a big deal last week and so I flew here to help. It is family; you must help. It is my first time here, but already I like. It is relaxed. People are your friend.’

  Abby smiled, feeling relief that he hadn’t come all this way to see her – knowing him he would never admit such a thing anyway – but it was also affection: what a generous and kind man he was. He really was. He might be missing the wit and playfulness of A Certain Other Person, but he was sexy and thoughtful. She would simply have to ensure their time over the next few days was fun; perhaps with him out of his comfort zone he’d be more gregarious. She certainly was, she thought, recalling going back to his place after knowing him for thirty-seven seconds. And then having sex with him on his stairs.

  ‘What a lovely thing to do, Alessandro.’ She smiled her sparkliest smile and sipped on her champagne; he had ordered for them, as usual. It was Dom Perignon, as usual. Things could be worse.

  ‘Having you here made it easy. Because I have missed you, Abby.’ He looked at her in a way he never had before, with feeling and intention. Abby cleared her throat and looked away. Her nervous tic did not go unnoticed.

  ‘It is just me?’ he asked.

  Abby tapped her index finger nervously on her champagne flute as she wondered what she was supposed to say here.

  ‘Alessandro, I wouldn’t be Skyping and emailing with you if I didn’t have feelings for you …’

  ‘You have boyfriend.’ He had made a pyramid out of his fingers, and his elbows rested on the table – his detective position.

  ‘Noo! No. Do you think I would be here with you now if I had a boyfriend?’

  Abby was flustered though, and Alessandro picked up on it. She took a long sip of her champagne and shook her head.

  Alessandro laughed. ‘A husband maybe?’

  Her mind flew to Marcus and their first night together, when she had lied about her fake fiancé. Thoughts and feelings for Marcus had repeatedly bobbed up all day, and quite frankly, Abby had had enough. He was certainly not sitting there with his forty-something girlfriend thinking about her, so why should she sit here with her forty-something lover and think of him?

  ‘No husband, no boyfriend, just a busy, busy job I’m afraid.’

  ‘Must you work tomorrow?’

  ‘I must. I really must. I have an early meeting, in fact.’ She screwed up her face. She did not, but she did have an employee to fire and needed to write the accompanying email.

  ‘Stay with me tonight.’ There it was, that sexy, commanding lack of question marks that had driven Abby wild, in both a negative and positive way, in Italy.

  ‘We’ll see,’ she said, smiling in what she hoped was mysterious allure; although it was absolutely, 100 per cent guaranteed she would be in his hotel room within hours. It had occurred to her as she had been swearing about the fact she couldn’t get in with her waxer this evening, and so had to resort to trimming her own bikini line with the office scissors, that she was really, really looking forward to sex. Alessandro had been the last man she’d been with. She would bet her left breast that she was not the last woman he’d had. Not by a Roman soccer field.

  ‘When do you have to be back in Italy, Alessandro?’ Abby asked, wanting confirmation that it was set in stone, and he wasn’t going to try and stay for a month. The speed with which she fluctuated between wanting to be naked with him, and wanting him safely back in Italy was brainbending. But she wasn’t foolish enough to miss what was going on: her heart was still with Marcus, even though he didn’t want it.

  Maybe THAT was it, Abby thought, triumphantly. It wasn’t that she wanted Marcus, she was just put out that he didn’t want her. Yes. Yesyesyes, she thought, finishing off her drink and placing the flute down, already seeing the waiter swoop in to refill it in her periphery vision. That’s what it is. It’s all ego. Idiot! The ego was only happy in the past and in the future – it couldn’t survive in the present. And that’s exactly where her thoughts about Marcus always ended up: in the past missing him, or getting despondent that her life ahead would not include him. But when she was present and in the moment, Marcus wasn’t there.

  But an Italian prince and a glass of vintage champagne were. It felt magnificent taking back control of the situation, and being the boss of her feelings about Marcus.

  ‘Tuesday.’

  Abby did the math; that was only a few days! Now she was quite happy for him to stay a little longer, what difference did it make?

  ‘And are you working over the weekend?’

  ‘I am not sure. Do you have some plans we can do?’ He smiled, knowing his minxy, carefree Abby was hatching a plan.

  ‘I do. Can you keep from Saturday lunch till Sunday night free?’

  His smile was now at a very environmentally unfriendly 200 watts.

  ‘Of course. For Abby, I can do anything.’

  Abby was going to stop over-thinking every little thing; how often did you have a handsome, powerful, Italian gentleman – confirmed by every woman and quite a few men doing terribly obvious double takes of Alessandro as they walked into the restaurant – fly across the globe to land in your city, and want to spend time with you? She and Alessandro were going to have a beautiful couple of days.

  40

  ‘You poor, poor lamb, are you okay? I can’t believe you had to be lavished and romanced by a sexy Italian for a whole weekend.’ Mads was not quite able to comprehend the phenomenal, indulgent weekend her friend had just had.

  Abby laughed as she speed-scrolled through all of the brunettes on the Allure site, pausing occasionally to scribble something down. Clients were supposed to do this themselves, she thought. That’s why we set up the website in the first fucking place. The second Alessandro was gone she would hire a temp. And then, finally, she would tell Charlie she knew exactly what she was up to, and fire her.

  ‘I’m managing, I guess. Oh, Mads, it was so insanely decadent. And he wouldn’t let me do a thing. Well, I mean, I booked the hotel and the chopper and everything because he wouldn’t know where to start—’

  ‘He just handed over his ruby-encrusted AmEx at the end?’

  ‘I think they’re actually pink diamonds, but yes. Pretty much.’ Abby smiled woozily at the thought of the weekend she and Alessandro had shared, complete with twelve-star mountain ranch, endless French champagne, ninety-minute massages and 1200-thread-count-sheet sex.

  ‘But did you have fun? Gold-plated golf carts and jacuzzi-loads of caviar aside …’

  ‘Well,’ Abby said. ‘I mean, he’s never going to suggest we get blazed and watch The Simpsons, but we had fun, yes �
��’

  ‘This would make a terrific premise for a movie, you know. The young, sassy bird from ’Straya, who pines for her teenage lover—’

  ‘Whoawhoawhoa, I no longer pine for him, thank yo—’

  ‘And her sixty-year-old Mediterranean lover who secretly longs for a sedate life of golf, 6 p.m. dinners and comfortable recliners, and the journey they take each trying to convince the other that they’re something they’re not, but in the end, all that really matters is that they have access to helicopters and plunge pools.’

  The two women laughed, and Abby loudly sighed the specific sigh that comes from a happy lack of sleep.

  ‘Oh keep it down, sex glow. He leaves tomorrow, right?’

  ‘Yep. I’m cooking for him tonight, would you believe …’

  ‘You! Cooking! Sweet baby Jesus, you DO like him.’

  ‘Mads, I actually think I’m going to really miss him.’ Abby meant it. Alessandro had come out of his shell, the backhanded compliments had dried up … he appeared to genuinely feel something for Abby. Maybe without the pressure of work he was able to relax more, or maybe it was the benefit of a home-ground advantage on her behalf that had allowed her to enjoy her time with him so much. She felt less like a ‘kept woman’ when she was choosing the restaurants and had her own home to return to.

  ‘Maybe you’ll move to Florence to be his shiny exotic wife and drive your Lambo to Prada every day. Imagine that. Chelsea would faint with jealousy.’

  Abby had wondered when Mads would bring up Chelsea; she knew the girls had left the café Friday on okay terms, but with Alessandro in town she hadn’t had a chance to find out the exact details.

  ‘Speaking of Chelsea …’

  Mads exhaled. ‘We’re cool. We all know I over-reacted when she told me she was pregnant, but I was in such a dark place, Abs, it’s hard to explain. I’d never felt that low.’ Abby picked the phone off the desk and held it to her ear. This was no speaker-phone conversation anymore.

  ‘Poor darling. And you closed yourself off to us, we couldn’t even help you …’

  ‘But that’s just it – you couldn’t help me. I had to sit in that space for a bit, and toil through everything I was feeling, and be furious and bitter and despondent and wearied and … It was really, really horrible. Dylan didn’t know who he was sharing the house with. There was talk of anti-depressants.’ She blew air quickly threw her lips in disgust.

  ‘I knew I’d come out the other end eventually. Last week was the first time I started to feel a bit okay actually, and fortuitously that was when you chose to launch your kamikaze Chelsea attack. A week earlier and I would’ve slapped your little cheeks.’

  ‘She loves you, you know. She spoke of you every day you didn’t speak to her.’ Abby’s voice went quiet.

  ‘I’m happy for her, Abs. I’m concerned she doesn’t know what the high hell she’s gotten herself into, but we’ll help the little rascal. And I’ll just have to live vicariously through her pregnancy, I expect.’

  ‘Who would’ve thought Chelsea would be living, unwed and pregnant with a man and his kid?’ Abby mused.

  ‘Mmm,’ Mads said, a touch of sadness still in her voice. ‘More evidence that you can harbour intense hope and desire for something but the universe is indiscriminate with who receives its gifts.’

  ‘Well, you’re handling it beautifully Madsy. I’m proud of you. Hey, what crystal are you wearing today?’

  Abby held her breath and closed her eyes, hoping the answer wasn’t sad and hopeless.

  ‘Um, it’s rose, actually. For self-love. A little heart. Dylan bought it for me on the weekend.’

  Abby welled up a little. She was back into her magic crystals. Things were finally returning to normal.

  Abby’s call waiting beeped, it was Rob. That was never a good sign; he was an emailer. This was serious.

  ‘Oh, shit, sorry Mads … It’s Rob; I should take this. I’ll call you later? Love you.’

  ‘Bye toots.’

  ‘Abby, it’s Rob, how are you?’

  ‘Hi Rob … To what do I owe the joy or terror of this phone call?’

  Rob sighed. ‘Are you in the office? Is Charlie there?’

  The hairs on the back of Abby’s neck pricked up; she already knew where this was heading.

  ‘No … told her not to come in today. Why, what’s up?’ Abby said, guessing she knew exactly what was up.

  ‘Well, she’s not the dreamboat we thought she was, I’m afraid …’

  Half a day and an outfit change later, Abby was busy faking a delicious home-cooked meal, all bought from the local deli to look authentically homemade. She’d carefully selected absolutely nothing that could lead to curious or investigative, ingredient-based questions. Abby had ‘prepared’ oysters, a simple potato, chive and onion side dish, a green bean salad, some Parmesan and parsley-crusted flathead that required a couple of minutes being pan-fried – outstanding for authenticity – and some aioli. Smashed brownies with berries and vanilla-bean ice-cream would follow for dessert, and all of it would be supplemented with bottles and bottles of Australian wine, firstly so Alessandro could try them, and second so that they could both get quite tanked and any awkwardness about never seeing each other again would be diluted, if not eradicated entirely.

  At 5.54 p.m., a sleek black BMW 7-series pulled up out the front of Abby’s, and a handsome gentleman nursing a bottle of wine and a densely packed posy of elegant flowers stepped out. He uttered something to the driver, who nodded and cruised off into the fragranced, spring night.

  Abby flung open the door and smiled from ear to ear, seeing Alessandro on her doorstep. She kissed him passionately on the lips and pulled back as he handed her the flowers.

  ‘You’re early! Come in, come in … Oh, look at this posy … Thank you, Alessandro, that’s very sweet of you, they’re so beautiful.’

  ‘They are not nearly as beautiful as you.’

  Smiling bashfully, Abby stepped aside to let him walk through, her swishy, berry-red dress springing around her thighs as she did so.

  While ‘cooking’, Abby had already put away two glasses of wine. This only served to amplify her affection towards Alessandro. She hated thinking about him leaving tomorrow morning, because she was fairly sure she didn’t want him to. Just like when she was about to get her hair cut, and then it suddenly started looking terrific, and she didn’t want to cut it off after all.

  ‘Your house is just how I imagine,’ he said, walking through to the lounge room, past the closed door of the messy office and into a kitchen that, to the naked eye, looked as though it had been used approximately 80 per cent more than it actually had.

  ‘Please, take a seat on one of my genuine Australian bar stools. Can I pour you some wine? I want you to try some of my favourites tonight. Send you off in local style.’

  ‘And with the hangover,’ he said, grabbing a plump green olive from the nibbles Abby had laid out and popping it in his mouth, smiling.

  ‘Well, yes, but who cares; you’re flying first class, you can sleep it off.’

  ‘It’s true. Something light to begin?’

  ‘Buonissimo! I have the perfect riesling.’ She excitedly opened her fridge, which, like the rest of the apartment, was sparkling clean thanks to a gratuitous overpayment to her cleaner to have him come in this morning, and grabbed a slim, dark green bottle, pouring two moderate glasses and plopping them down on the bench.

  ‘Come to me …’ Alessandro said, taking her hand and pulling her around the bench so that she was standing directly in front of him, her legs between his, which were splayed open on his stool, his ankles resting on the foot bars. He gently took her in his arms, wrapping them around her so that she had to place her wine glass down and rest her hands on his shoulders.

  ‘What have you done to me?’ Alessandro asked, his skin smelling like cedar and gunsmoke and leather, his eyes looking into Abby’s, searching for an answer as to how she had fallen into his lap that night in July, in the tow
n he grew up in and in the restaurant he owned of all places.

  He kissed her, mouth closed, gently, softly, tenderly. It was unexpected; Abby was not used to him being, well, loving. She figured it was just part of the never-see-each-other-again business; he’d done a similar thing that final night in Florence. Was he falling for her? Was she falling for him? No, surely not. Just holiday flinging again. She was over-thinking things, as usual. Abby forced herself to be present, feeling his kisses, and his hands gently slide up and down her back, slipping under the flimsy silk of her dress. She pulled back from his kisses and looked at him. She didn’t want this to go any further: They were going to have a civil, romantic meal before they got down to biz.

  ‘Oysters?’

  He smiled and shook his head as she wriggled out of his soft grip.

  ‘I will get you.’

  Abby presented him with six oysters and a small dish of red wine vinaigrette, as she stood over the stove, gently pan-frying the fish. Alessandro happily slurped his oysters, chatting away. She was a little embarrassed about her bumbling around in the kitchen, but kind of didn’t care at the same time. He loved simple food and bare wooden benches back home, why wouldn’t he appreciate some simplicity here? Especially served by a blonde in a sexy red dress.

  ‘Uh, I hope you’re hungry, because I think I cooked way too much fish.’ Abby finished arranging the kind-of crumbly fillets onto the two plates already abundant with salad and fresh-from-the-oven potatoes, and presented them to her audience.

  ‘Abby! I am the lucky one tonight, no? It is the best to have someone cook for you.’

  Abby kissed him on the lips. ‘It is the very least I could do for such a generous man.’

  After dinner, dessert and more wine than was necessary or healthy for two adults, Abby wanted to have a cigarette on the front steps. Alessandro thought it was vulgar to sit on steps, but as there was nowhere else to do it, and Abby forbade smoking inside, they picked up their wine glasses and headed outside.