Sisterchicks in Gondolas!

by Robin Jones Gunn

  I still didn’t fully see how her logic related to the hour-long gondola ride versus the half-hour ride. But I did understand more clearly why it had been so painful to Sue last year when she and Jack moved into a smaller house and had to cut way back on any upgrades. All the extra money had to go toward accommodating Jack’s wheelchair. The front ramp, the walk-in shower, and the low kitchen and bathroom counters all had cost extra. Sue’s artistic touches were limited to a new bedspread and a larger mirror over the bathroom sink. I filed away her comments and decided that the gondola ride was important to her because it was a final luxury on an already luxurious trip.

  Sue checked on Netareena one more time, and then we headed up to the roof to dismantle our hideaway. We worked quickly in the gathering dark, pulling up the bedding first. Trying to remember the angle we had bent the mattresses when we brought them up to the roof, Sue and I figured out how to turn them to maneuver them down the stairs.

  “You’re right,” Sue said after the first mattress made it through the narrow passageway. “It’s a lot easier with gravity on our side.”

  With a concerted effort, we removed everything from the roof. Making sure the door with the ancient latch was closed securely, we shuffled the mattresses down the hall on their sides. Once we reached the front door, Sue and I each took one side of the first mattress and lugged it to the top of the wide, marble stairs. We only had to move it ten stairs down to a landing, then a turn, ten more stairs, a landing, a turn and ten more.

  “Too bad we can’t just drop it out the window,” Sue said.

  “This won’t be hard,” I said. “We probably could push it down, and it would slide on its own to the landing. Let’s try it.”

  We placed the mattress flat at the top of the stairs and gave it a shove. It went down two stairs before stopping and teetering. I walked down, bent over, and pushed it the rest of the way.

  “You look like a mattress cowboy,” Sue said. “Should I get you a cattle prod?”

  I maneuvered the mattress around on the landing and stopped at the top of the next level of stairs to catch my breath. An idea came to me.

  “Sue, have you ever been mattress surfing?”

  She looked down at me. “No.”

  “Me neither.” Then, without stopping to allow even a glimmer of logic to speak up inside my head, I flung myself belly first on the positioned mattress and sailed down the ten marble stairs.

  “Sweet peaches, Jenna! What are you doing?” Sue ran down the two flights of stairs and came to my side, looking ready to perform CPR.

  I was laughing so hard I couldn’t tell her that nothing was broken. “That was awesome!” I finally peeped out.

  “For you, maybe. I thought I was going to have to try to call an ambulance. How do they get an ambulance down these canals?”

  “I don’t need an ambulance.”

  “Who says the ambulance was for you? You’d like to have given me a heart attack.”

  “Try it, Sue. It’s so fun. You’re well padded.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  I laughed again at my grammatical blunder. “I meant the mattress will protect you since the mattress is so well padded.”

  “No thank you.”

  “Fine. Then step back. I’m going again.”

  Before Sue could protest, I positioned the mattress at the top of the final flight of stairs and did an even more daring belly leap onto the cushioned sled. As had been the case the first time, the front of the mattress hit the wall, stopping me unscathed.

  “I can’t believe you’re doing that.”

  I rolled over on my back and laughed merrily. The sound echoed up the stairwell. Covering my mouth, I lowered my voice. “I’ll come up and get the next one.”

  Sue stood back, as I repeated my performance with the second mattress. For a girl who grew up in Minnesota with months’ worth of snow and every sort of sled and toboggan available, I was primed for this indoor event.

  “Come on, Sue.” I felt rosy-cheeked as I looked up at her still-leery expression. “Didn’t you ever sled as a kid?”

  “No.”

  “Then think of it as busting a bronco. You just hold on for the ride.”

  “I never busted a bronco, either. Why do people always think that, if you’re from Texas, you have experience with cattle?”

  “I forgot. You were the city-girl debutant. Didn’t you ever have a Slip ’N Slide in your backyard?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, then consider that your training for this mattress ride.” I looked up at her with an impish grin. “Only two more flights of stairs. This is your last chance.”

  She hesitated, so I took off, still cracking myself up. As I positioned the mattress for the final batch of stairs, Sue sauntered down to the landing where I stood.

  “What if we both went?” she asked timidly. It intrigued me that Sue could be fearless about things that daunted me like cooking for a group, yet she froze up in the presence of uncomplicated pleasures like this.

  “Sure, we’ll go next to each other. Hold on to the side, not the front. You want the mattress, not your head, to hit the wall first.”

  Fortunately the first mattress was currently lined up against the wall at the end of the stairs, so even if Sue’s head did hit first, it would collide with the mattress and not the stucco.

  Sue worked hard at having fun. She made sure she was in the right position, that her hands weren’t too sweaty, and that she had a firm grip.

  “Ready?”

  She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, and said, “Go!”

  I pushed us off. We sailed even faster with the added weight. Our ride was over before Sue had a chance to squeal. Soft-landing against the other mattress, I laughed as hard as I had all the other times.

  Sue opened her eyes wide and surveyed the successful landing. She didn’t laugh on the outside, but it looked as if some childlike giggle box inside her had been shaken loose.

  “Let’s do it again!”

  “That means we have to carry one of the mattresses back up the stairs.”

  “So? Isn’t that what you do with a sled? Come on! I want to go down with my eyes open this time. I missed it.”

  We lugged the mattress back up the stairs and positioned it.

  “This time,” I said, “don’t think so much. Just jump on and ride.”

  “By myself?”

  “Yes. By yourself. I’m throwing you into the deep end. Remember?”

  “Oh, yes, I’d almost forgotten that request. Okay. Tell me what to do again. I just jump on and then what?”

  “That’s it. Just get on and slide. It’s not rocket science. Go on. Jump!”

  Sue jumped. If she had been jumping into a pool, her maneuver would have been likened to a belly flop. But the important thing was that she jumped. The mattress did its part, and when she landed, her squeals of laughter could be heard throughout the building.

  I heard one of the neighbor’s doors open a few floors above us. Motioning with both my hands to keep the noise down I whispered, “We’re waking the neighbors.”

  “I’ll be quiet,” she said. “I’m going again.”

  I chuckled softly, as Sue pulled the mattress up the stairwell by herself with red-faced determination.

  “I’ll be right back,” I told her in a whisper.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I have to get the camera. This is too fun not to capture on film. Besides, I don’t know about your kids, but Callie will never believe I did this. I need pictures to prove it.”

  Sue instinctively smoothed back her hair. I laughed. “Uh, let me put it this way: Don’t bother.”

  “Do me a favor then, will you? When you come back with the camera, bring me a bandana or something to cover my head.”

  I did one better than just the requested bandana. I also returned with the colander we had used to strain the pasta.

  “Protective gear!” The grin that accompanied my declaration was far too comical, and S
ue knew it. She took my challenge and tied the colander down with her bandana. I laughed so hard and suppressed it so effectively that all the giggles came out in the form of tears. I couldn’t see well enough to line up the picture.

  “Here, let me.” Sue grabbed the camera, held it at arm’s length and snapped a photo of herself.

  My sides ached from holding in my amusement. One thing I was learning about Sue was that, even though it was a challenge to get her to jump into the deep end, once she was there, she turned into a mermaid.

  “All systems go.” Sue took her position this time by sitting on the mattress and folding her arms in front of her, as if she were riding a magic carpet.

  “Wait!” It was so hard to keep our voices low. “I’m going to go down a flight to catch a shot of you coming toward me.”

  “Whatever you do, stay out of my way,” Sue said with an air of authority.

  I scooted into position. “Spaghetti-Head, start your engines!”

  Sue gave herself a push off and tried to keep her sultan-like position all the way down. I snapped pictures one right after the other as the mattress came toward me. On the second to the last step, Sue leaned to one side and the mattress compensated by coming right at me. Before I could move away, my body turned into the bobsled guardrail. I fell into the mattress. Sue and I tumbled like a couple of crash dummies.

  “You were supposed to move!” Sue tried not to laugh.

  “You were supposed to steer!” I countered.

  “And both of you were supposed to answer your phone up in the apartment.”

  We turned to see Steph standing just inside the door that led to the entry garage space.

  “You be Calvin, I’ll be Hobbs,” Sue said in my ear, comically indicating which one of us she thought should turn into the deaf and mute stuffed animal in this unreal scenario.

  I swallowed back a huge urge to bust up and tried to face Steph with a sober expression.

  “Are those by any chance the mattresses?” she asked.

  I nodded, still not trusting myself to open my mouth due to all the laughter I was working so hard to swallow.

  “And should I even ask what you’re doing?”

  I glanced sideways at Sue. She kept looking straight ahead, and in a serious tone she said, “I understand the Jamaicans have a bobsled team. We thought we would help to develop a land version of the sport for the Venetians.”

  I couldn’t believe Sue came up with that. The ball of chuckles tangled up in my throat bounced up to the roof of my mouth. I didn’t know what would happen if I let them out, so I kept quiet and tried to regain my composure.

  Sue was uncannily composed. She untied her helmet and held it out to Steph, silently inviting her to come play with us. We were all out of our best jokes. If Steph was going to call us on the carpet for what we were doing, or should I say call us on the marble, this was her chance.

  She paused only a moment before a wide grin took over her countenance. “You two totally rock my world! I’m in. Where do I get on?”

  Twenty

  When the morning light slid through the cracks in the shutters of the princess suite, it took me a moment to remember where I was.

  “Ohh,” Sue groaned. “What time is it?”

  “I don’t know. Where’s my watch?”

  “Where’s my head?” Sue groaned again. “I ache all over.”

  I felt around on the nightstand for my watch and squinted to read the dial. “It’s ten after eight.” I sat up and stretched. “We should get going if we want to beat the tourist rush to San Marco Square.”

  “How can it be after eight already?” Sue rolled over with great effort. “I think I have a hangover.”

  “A mattress-sledding hangover?”

  “I think it wasn’t the sledding so much as laughing so hard. Is it possible to release too many endorphins and put your liver into overdrive?”

  “I don’t think so. The laughing was good for us. I think maybe the going out with Steph afterwards for triple scoops of gelato was what could have put the strain on your liver.”

  “It was good, though, wasn’t it? What was that one flavor you had? Not the chocolate.”

  “Grapefruit.” I rose and pulled up the sheets over my bed in a fluffy fashion.

  “That was it. Grapefruit and chocolate. That was so good. An unlikely combination, but definitely the best gelato combination so far.”

  “How’s Netareena?” I asked. “Is she still in her box?”

  When we finally had returned to the apartment late the night before, we found Netareena had returned to her box nest in the kitchen corner. Both of us were surprised she hadn’t yet flown the coop now that she was able to flap her way around the apartment. Sue had brought the box into our bedroom and positioned her on the floor beside the nightstand.

  Leaning over the side of her bed, Sue reported. “She’s gone. Watch where you step. She could be hopping around on the floor.”

  I looked up instead of down. I figured it was more likely Netareena would be perched on top of the buxom green dresser or one of the ornately framed mirrors than hopping on the floor.

  “I don’t see her,” I said. “I’m going to open the shutters.”

  “No!” Sue rolled over, her back to the windows. “Make the brightness go away.”

  “You really aren’t a morning person,” I said, stating the obvious. I pulled open the tall wooden doors. The adjustable slats in these wooden, true “Venetian blinds” rattled. The golden brightness of the new day engulfed me.

  “Awk,” Sue groaned. “I’m melting … melting …”

  I ignored her complaints and stepped out on the balcony, breathing in deeply. The fragrance of the sullen canal below rose to greet me with a thick, moldy, fishy scent. The air was still. No breeze existed on this side of the palace like the one we had experienced on the roof or during our afternoon nap on the sitting room couches our first day.

  “Phew! I think it’s better on this side later in the day.” Closing the shuttered doors and going back inside, I was greeted by words of appreciation for “turning off the light.”

  “I’m going to make some coffee and take a shower,” I said.

  “Good. I’m going back to sleep.”

  I could never fall asleep once I was awake in the morning. Sue seemed to have no problem doing just that.

  My bathing procedure started with the trickling shower in the bathroom and was followed by my moving everything to the kitchen sink. I planned to wash my hair the way Sue had a few days earlier, sticking my head in the marble sink and making use of the water pressure.

  Netareena was waiting for me in the kitchen. She was perched on the edge of the kitchen sink but flew away as I approached with my towel and shampoo.

  “Don’t be frightened. It’s just me. I’m going to wash my hair. You can have your watering hole back in a moment.” I stuck my head under the warm running water and lathered up. I could hear Netareena chirping at me from some corner of the kitchen. It felt like I was in an organic shampoo commercial where the birds chirp while the woman luxuriates in her shampoo’s herbal fragrances.

  I tipped my head under the running water, ready to rinse all the shampoo down the drain when suddenly the water stopped. I waited. I tapped the spigot. I kicked at the pipe under the sink and dripped soapsuds everywhere. My hair was only partially rinsed. All the lathered-up suds were racing down my forehead as well as popping in my ears.

  “Come on, water! Start again, will you?”

  I waited another minute before reaching for one of the plastic bottles of drinking water. Opening it with my wet fingers, I proceeded to pour the cold water over my head. Now that was a brutal wake-up call. The suds remained, so two more bottles were required to complete the rinse cycle.

  Shivering, I wrapped the towel around my numb skull and saw Netareena flying around the room. No doubt she was checking out where all the muffled yet primal wails were coming from.

  Coffee was next on the list. I filled t
he coffeepot with bottled water. This was my first time figuring out all the kitchen gizmos by myself. I didn’t have the knack Sue did to adjust the flame just right so that the water would percolate up through the metal tube in the middle of the coffeepot and bubble up like a fountain over the container of coffee grounds. My flame must have been too high, or else I put in too much water.

  The steaming, gurgling mess oozed over the rim of the old metal coffee percolator and doused its life-giving flame just as Sue came padding into the kitchen.

  “What’s going on?” she moaned, still squinting.

  “The water is off again,” I said. “And I think I just extinguished the pilot light on the stove.”

  “I heard all the banging, and then I smelled burned coffee.”

  “Sorry about that. I’m a mess in the kitchen without you, Sue. Now you know the truth.”

  She smiled, her eyes still half-closed. “Then I guess you weren’t kidding when you asked me to come with you.”

  “You mean not kidding about needing you to help me cook for the men? No, I definitely wasn’t exaggerating about that.” I turned off all the knobs on the stove top and removed the messed-up coffeepot. “I’m also not exaggerating when I say I think we should get out of here before I manage to blow up something. Paolo will have to make our morning cappuccinos for us.”

  “You won’t hear any arguments from me there. Let me just take a quick shower and … wait. There’s no water, right?”

  Sue managed what she called a washcloth bath with two bottles of water and a fresh-scented bottle of liquid shower wash. She wrestled amicably with her mass of unwashed curls and threatened to cut them all off. I’d heard those threats many times before, but so far the long hair remained.

  She was ready to leave before I was because I’d gone looking for Netareena. The perky bird had escaped from the kitchen like a wise soul the minute she saw me with the box of matches trying to light the burner. And that was before the coffee bubbled over.

  In my search for our flighty friend, I meandered through the dining room and into the open sitting room. I dearly missed the deep voices, the prayers, and Malachi’s reading of the Psalms. The ceilings in these rooms may have been painted with pastel clouds and cherubs and the walls covered with frescos and tapestries, but in my mind’s eye I saw them invisibly washed with the Word of God that lives and abides forever. His Word alone is eternal. That was a curious thought in this place of antiquity. There is old, and then there is eternal. I felt hungry for the eternal.