by Ann Charney
Life
Class
Life
Class
Ann
Charney
Copyright © 2013 Ann Charney
This edition copyright © 2013 Cormorant Books Inc.
This is a first edition.
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LIBRARY AND ARCHIVES CANADA CATALOGUING IN PUBLICATION
Charney, Ann, author
Life class / Ann Charney.
Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN 9781770862968 (pbk.).— ISBN 9781770862982 (mobi).—
ISBN 9781770862975 (epub)
I. Title.
PS8555.H423L53 2013 C813’.54 C20139036709
C20139036717
Cover photo and design: Angel Guerra/Archetype
Text design: Tannice Goddard, Soul Oasis Networking
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Printed and bound in Canada.
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For Mel
Table of Contents
PART ONE
I The protégé
II Christophe
III The breakin
IV The Missing Brooch
V Christophe’s opening
VI Homeless in Venice
VII Life class
VIII Walter’s decision
PART TWO
IX Prison
X Cashier
XI Zipping along
PART THREE
XII Leaving
XIII A room of her own
XIV Big city
XV Meeting Edward
XVI Reunion
XVII Hybrids
XVIII Heart attack
XIX Helena arrives
XX Surprises
XXI Meredith’s opening
XXII Heading north
XXIII Walter’s find
PART FOUR
XXIV Gypsy blood
XXV Galerie Sarajevo
XXVI A reason for everything
XXVII Selling yourself
XXVIII Life goes on
Acknowledgements
PART ONE
Venice
I
The protégé
HELENA is on her way to do a good deed. The pleasant glow of selfsatisfaction that should rightfully be hers at this moment is fading with every step she takes. The interference comes from a throbbing in her ankle — the result of tripping over a rough patch of pavement in her Venice neighbourhood. The accident has persuaded Helena that her feet can no longer be trusted to navigate on their own; she must keep her eyes fixed on the ground when venturing outside.
She doesn’t mind missing the sights along the way. After fifty years of life in Venice, the city’s old stones and waterways are as familiar to her as her own body — and less changeable. The human landscape, however, still holds her attention, particularly the growing number of immigrants in the city — illegals for the most part, according to the papers.
Helena was once an immigrant herself — a young woman fleeing a country in ruins — but her interest in the new arrivals is strictly pragmatic. Human resource recruitment is how she sees it.
The business card she hands out to people she meets describes her as Canada’s honorary cultural consul in Venice. To promote her other, more lucrative sidelines, she relies on word of mouth. Helena’s talent for ferreting out people with useful skills, no matter how humble, is much in demand in her circle of acquaintances. In a difficult city like Venice, where everyone and everything moves on foot or by boat, sometimes a strong back is all it takes to save the day.
The young Africans selling knockoffs of Prada and Gucci bags along the bridges and squares of the main tourist thoroughfares look ablebodied, but she has written them off. Too specialized and too transient, appearing and disappearing each day as fitfully as the pigeons in Piazza San Marco. The same goes for the Gypsies who troll the tourist crowds in search of fresh pickings.
Helena has had better luck with recent arrivals from Eastern and Central Europe — a more dependable and ambitious lot. Right now she is on her way to meet Nerina, a young woman from the former Republic of Yugoslavia, whose life she is about to change for the better.
Helena spotted her latest protégé at the hairdressing establishment she frequents, Lorenzo’s Istituto di Bellezza. Watching Nerina sweep hair cuttings into neat mounds — the movement of her arms graceful and arclike, as if she were rowing a boat on calm waters — Helena felt there was more to the girl than met the eye.
The impression persists, even though Nerina has given her little to work with. Attempts to find out what lies behind the pretty face have been politely, but firmly, rebuffed. “Not important,” she says when pressed for details.
Helena’s offer of Italian lessons meets with an equally cool response. Despite her limited vocabulary, Nerina manages to make it clear that she is only biding her time in Italy until she can find a way to enter the US. “In America everyone speak English, no?”
Nerina spends much of her spare time watching US TV programs dubbed in Italian. This is not a frivolous pastime, she explains to Helena; it’s her way of picking up useful clues about her next destination — how people live, what they eat, how they dress.
Now, thanks to Helena, Nerina will have an opportunity to pursue her research first hand. As she nears Lorenzo’s on the Corso XXII Marzo, Helena smiles, anticipating Nerina’s reaction.
Lorenzo greets Helena with an inquiring look. She doesn’t have an appointment, and she can see all the chairs are taken.
“I’ve come to have a word with Nerina,” she tells him. “Can you spare her for a few minutes?”
“Prego, Signora, prego,” he answers with a flourish of the hand, pointing to the back room. Helena thanks him and walks towards it.
Helena used to enjoy her weekly sessions in Lorenzo’s chair, relaxing under a steady flow of flattery and gossip while he tended to her hair. That pleasure soured once she learned from Nerina how badly Lorenzo treats his foreign employees: paying them next to nothing, threatening disclosure to the police to keep them in line.
Thankfully, Nerina won’t have to put up with Lorenzo much longer. “Come along,” Helena says, taking hold of her hand and forcing her to abandon the pile of white robes waiting to be folded.
“I’ll have her back in no time,” Helena tells Lorenzo as they march past him. This time, his response is only a curt “va bene.”
“Not good time for break,” Nerina says, following Helena into the café next door. “Lorenzo very busy.”
“Relax,” Helena tells her, sinking into her chair with relief. The pain in her ankle has become harder to ignore. “You don’t have to worry about Lor
enzo any more. I’ve found you a much better position with an American couple. Yes, real Americans, and rich to boot. They’re looking for someone to help around the house and run errands. I convinced them to take you on.”
Nerina presses her hands to her mouth in a gesture of astonishment. For a moment, her dark blue eyes are as bright as a child’s with excitement, which soon gives way to a look of wariness.
“You tell truth about me?”
Helena knows Nerina is referring to her legal problems. As a citizen of Croatia, a country that is not a member of the European Union, she is obligated to seek permission to live and work in Italy. Nerina hasn’t bothered to apply — the wait can be long and the outcome uncertain — preferring to focus her energies on finding a way to get to America. In the meantime, she does her best to stay under the radar of Italian authorities.
“Of course I told them. They don’t care about your lack of papers.”
The Ohstroms, Helena goes on to explain, are conscientious people, known for their support of worthy causes and their generosity towards those less fortunate. If anything, Nerina’s illegal status is an asset.
“Your troubles are over. I promise,” she says, patting the girl’s hand.
Nerina still looks sceptical. Helena understands. Life has given her little reason to trust in promises.
She offers another bit of information, knowing it will appeal to Nerina. The Ohstroms are in the habit of going back and forth between Venice and New York. This means that Nerina will often have the house to herself, and, if she plays her cards right, they might take her along on one of their trips to New York.
The tantalizing possibility does the trick. “Helena, you best friend in the world,” Nerina says, jumping up to hug the older woman.
“Stop that, and pay attention,” Helena says, quickly disengaging herself from the girl’s embrace. “They’re expecting you tomorrow morning at nine o’clock. Make sure you’re on time. Please listen carefully to their instructions and remember to keep your emotions in check. I don’t want to have any reason to regret recommending you. One more thing: remember to smile a lot. Americans like people who look cheerful.”
In compliance with Helena’s advice, Nerina immediately responds with a wide smile, managing to make it look genuine.
Despite her show of sternness, Helena is pleased by Nerina’s grateful response. The truth is it took some persuasion to convince the Ohstroms to take her on. They were looking for a local woman with whom they could practise their Italian.
But when it’s time for her to leave, and Nerina rushes over to help her out of her chair, Helena responds with indignation. “If I want your assistance, I’ll ask for it,” she says, pushing the girl away.
She regrets her impatience as soon as she leaves Nerina, but knows she will give way to it again. She can’t help it. The desperation she senses in the young woman — even though Nerina does her best to camouflage it — has that effect on her: reawakening memories that, so many years later, still unsettle her.
A moment later, Nerina rushes back out onto the street, looking distraught. But it’s not Helena Nerina is worried about; it’s Lorenzo.
“What if Lorenzo go to Carabinieri and make big trouble for me?” she asks.
“He won’t. He knows he would be charged with hiring an illegal.”
“Vero?” Nerina asks, using one of her few Italian words.
“Absolutely. You can put money on it.”
Nerina repeats the unfamiliar expression to herself, smiling with pleasure. Forgetting about Lorenzo, she slips her arm through Helena’s, ready to accompany her. Helena, however, has had enough of her changeable moods. “Go back,” she says, pushing her away, more gently this time. She’s no longer feeling irritable, just tired.
If she were really honest with herself, she thinks as she walks home, she would have to admit that her own moods are as changeable as Nerina’s: vacillating between fondness for the girl and the need to protect herself from her. Now that she’s freed Nerina from Lorenzo’s tyrannical grip and found her a decent place to work, she intends to put some distance between them.
II
Christophe
NERINA does not discourage easily. Here she is on the landing outside Helena’s door on a day when she has been warned that Helena is expecting visitors from Canada and does not wish to be disturbed.
“For you,” she says, handing Helena the bouquet of sunflowers she’s brought, which she presents with a mock curtsy. “Make room nice for guests.”
Since Nerina started working for Bill and Alice Ohstrom, she has taken to dropping in at odd times of the day bearing gifts: flowers, persimmons, the occasional bottle of Prosecco. Helena has wondered if the offerings come out of the housekeeping allowance the Ohstroms give Nerina, but she doesn’t really want to know. The Ohstroms, in any case, will never miss the money.
“You can’t stay,” she tells Nerina, ignoring the flowers. Her visitors won’t be arriving for another two hours, but Helena needs the time to rest up for the work ahead of her — an exercise in charm and wit designed to ensure that her visitors speak well of her when they return home. Even at her advanced age, Helena must still hustle to survive.
“Ok, ok, I go,” Nerina says unfazed, taking her time to arrange the flowers in a vase before she leaves.
When Helena lies down to rest, she finds her thoughts scurrying about like squirrels. To calm herself, she tries a little preemptive selfhypnosis: You will not, on any account, complain about the craziness of Italian politics; the incompetence of civil servants; the difficulties of growing old in a city with no elevators.
The talkingto seems to work. When the two Canadians arrive — a Montreal artist who goes by the single name of Christophe, and his girlfriend, Annette — they find their hostess in excellent humour, ready to entertain. Shuffling her vast repertoire of stories, Helena selects a succession of bright sketches that offer tantalizing glimpses of the rich life she’s had and continues to have. Not only does she dazzle her guests, she also dazzles herself. Even the sore ankle feels better as she pops up and down every few minutes in search of props to accompany her stories: a goldedged invitation to a gala on the royal yacht Britannia; a photograph of the Canadian ambassador and Helena in front of the Canada Pavilion at the Venice Biennale; a celebrated novel inscribed to her with gratitude by its author.
As the hours pass, the thought of dinner crosses Helena’s mind. Apart from a steady flow of Martini & Rossi vermouth — a gift from a grateful client — she has nothing to offer her guests. Fortunately she can think of several Venetian homes, all better equipped than her own for the tiresome business of preparing food, and where she can always count on a warm reception. The welcome extends to any interesting guests she chooses to bring along, particularly now, in offseason, when the flow of visitors to the city slows to a trickle. But Helena is careful not to abuse her advantage in any season. Without missing a word of the conversation, she takes careful measure of her visitors to see if they will do.
Christophe and Annette look promising. They are attractive, reasonably intelligent and wonderfully responsive to the tired claims of Venice the beautiful. She will try them out on the Ohstroms, she decides; they are always interested in meeting new artists. The visit will also give her a chance to check on the restorations of the Ohstroms’ house, which Helena found for them. Finding interesting dwellings for wealthy foreigners is another of Helena’s sidelines.
“Sounds marvellous,” Christophe says as soon as he hears Helena’s plan. “I’d love to see the inside of one those old houses I’ve been admiring since we arrived. There’s an air of mystery about them that makes you wonder what lies behind the façade.”
Annette is less enthusiastic. “I think I’ll head back to the hotel,” she says. “I’m still pretty jetlagged.”
“Don’t be silly. You can sleep in tomorrow,” Helena hears Christophe say while she steps out of the room to collect her things. When she returns, she is relieved to find that Ch
ristophe’s efforts of persuasion have failed. It’s always easier to work with artists when their companions are not around.
The Ohstroms’ small palazzo on Campo San Polo is only a few vaporetto stops from Helena’s place. As the boat heads down the Grand Canal, Christophe’s excited response to the illuminated monuments gliding past them makes Helena wish the trip were longer. It would be nice to find out that he has some talent to go along with the charm and the good looks. But lack of talent, she knows, is not necessarily a deal breaker on the road to success.
When they enter the campo they run into Nerina, who’s just leaving the Ohstroms’ house. She appears agitated and in a great rush to get away — nothing like the playful young woman bearing flowers of a few hours earlier.
“Everything all right?” Helena asks, but Nerina only nods and flies past her. Halfway across the campo, she turns back and shouts, “Domani.” Helena ascribes her use of the Italian word to the presence of a stranger. But Nerina didn’t really give her a chance to introduce Christophe.
“I can see Venetian women are as beautiful as I’ve heard,” he says, watching Nerina beat her swift retreat.
Helena understands Christophe’s mistake. Nerina may have no interest in learning Italian, but she’s been quick to imitate local fashions. Dressed in Alice Ohstrom’s expensive castoffs, the ends of her long hair streaked in a clown’s palette of pink, orange and red, Nerina looks like any of the stylish Venetian women she sees at gallery openings.
“How’s Nerina doing?” Helena asks, finding herself alone with Alice while Bill takes Christophe on a tour of the house. She’s hoping Alice can explain Nerina’s abrupt departure.
“Fine, as far as I know. I’ve been out of the house all day. By the way, did I tell you Bill’s bought a boat for exercise? He’s trying to learn to row Venetian style — standing upright in the boat. Not as easy as it looks, according to Bill.”
“About Nerina,” Helena says, unwilling to abandon the subject. “She seemed in an awful hurry when we ran into her just now.”
“I’m not surprised. She’s a real live wire, that girl. Popping in and out pretty much as she pleases. Don’t get me wrong. We enjoy having her — when she’s around, that is.”