by Gail Mencini
The Gothic white Santa Croce church presided over one side of the sand-covered piazza. It loomed like a smaller version of the Duomo. They had toured the church the previous week—the resting place of Michelangelo, Leonardo Bruni, and Galileo.
“Great.” Meghan raised her hands in mock exasperation. “First Galileo’s finger, now his tomb. You got a thing for him?”
Lee shook his head. “Nope.” He grinned. One hand gestured to the piazza. “Check it out. For the Calcio, the football game that started centuries ago.”
“Football?” Meghan had tuned out most of their guide’s talk about Santa Croce.
“They brought in sand for a playing surface. The players all wear elaborate costumes, like from olden days. It started right here, at Santa Croce.”
Sand covered the stone center of the piazza, and wooden bleachers lined one side of the square.
“There’s a match today.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
His mouth twitched. “I pay attention.”
“This is pass-fail, remember? You don’t need to nail an A in it. You and Stillman want to go to med school, so you need a high GPA, but this class won’t matter, not unless you flunk.”
“I dig Florence.” His eyes looked serious, reminding Meghan of a professor. “I’ll live here someday.”
“Why?”
His head ducked low, as if he were embarrassed to answer the question. “The art. Mostly the sculptures.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her behind him. “C’mon.”
They walked around the piazza, then down a tiny street off to the side. Shadows edged the narrow street. Lee stopped near a window that displayed a single black leather jacket and matching handbag. He pulled her inside the store.
Her eyes adjusted to the subdued light after the glaring sun of the piazza. Glass ceiling fixtures—identical to those in her grandparents’ small frame house in Chicago—lit the store. Their cozy house always felt welcoming and warmed by love. This tiny leather goods shop had the same feeling. It was exactly what she hoped one day to capture in a boutique of her own.
Six jackets hung side by side on the left in the shop. Narrow walnut shelves lined the opposite wall. A scant dozen purses and three belts comprised the rest of the visible selection. Below the shelves, splotches of color peeked out from narrow cubbyholes. Pink, yellow, tan, white, black, red, shades of brown and cordovan. The cubbyholes held leather gloves for every occasion—dress gloves, not the knobby knit mittens Meghan used to warm her hands against the blustery winter cold.
The rhythmic hum, punctuated by steady thumps, that came from the rear of the store suddenly stopped. Only the whir of an oscillating fan cut the silence.
“Buon giorno.” A thin man in his sixties stood beside the sewing machine in the back of the room. Thick, straight, steel-gray hair covered his head. He pulled his bifocals off, cradling the lenses in his palm. He grinned at Lee. “You are back, American.”
“Buon giorno.” Lee moved with purpose to the older man. He clasped the man’s right hand in both of his own. “I brought a friend. She likes leather and fashion.”
Meghan’s face erupted in a smile. She took her turn clasping the man’s rough hand in both of hers. She bobbed her head to each side of his face as she gave him a double kiss. “Your work,” she said, glancing back at the hanging jackets, not sure if he would understand her words, “is beautiful.”
“Grazie, grazie.”
“Prego.” She smiled, then broke eye contact, afraid he’d speak Italian to her. She patted the sewing machine, identical to her grandmother’s. Black, with a cord running from the wheel on the right to the foot platform below, the machine was powered by the pumping action of the operator’s feet. Her fingertips traced a line along the smooth surface of the top. “Could we watch you work?”
Laughter erupted from deep within the man’s chest. “Of course.”
The afternoon flew by. Ideas for new designs bombarded her head. Shadows covered the street when Lee and Meghan stepped out into the cool air.
Meghan threw herself at Lee and kissed him square on the lips. “That shop was great.”
Lee placed one hand under Meghan’s long hair, sliding it up her spine to the back of her neck. “So was the kiss.” His mouth found hers.
Her skin tingled all over. His left thumb traced a pattern up and down her right side, his hand finally lingering at her bra line. Shivers raced from his touch and extended to parts of her body that his hand was nowhere near. Lee nibbled on her lower lip. “Umm, this beats the middle finger of Galileo’s right hand all to hell.”
Acting like young Italians who take their love to the street, Meghan and Lee explored each other’s faces, ears, and necks in the cool alley street. Time melted away.
The sound of beating drums, reminding Meghan of those in Chicago’s St. Patrick’s Day Parade, came from the nearby street, the Borgo Santa Croce.
Lee grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the noise. A crowd sat in the bleachers and circled the piazza. Cheers and clapping erupted when men wearing yellow and red tunics and black bloomers inset with yellow and red silk reached the sand field. Rows of marchers followed the drummers. They carried either blue and green flags or red and white flags–all embellished with designs of animals and symbols.
Meghan’s fingers ran through the back of Lee’s frizzy curls. “Now what?”
Lee slipped his arms around her waist. “It’s the Calcio Storico. It’s about to start.” He bent his head, nibbling the side of her neck. He took a break from his playground to peer into her eyes. “It’s today’s event.”
“Oh.” Meghan frowned. “The event we’re all supposed to watch together. Think the rest of the group is here?”
Lee’s eyes sparkled. “We could watch five or ten minutes—maybe from over there, in the shadow of the awning—and then split. We can go to my room.”
She thought about his roommate. “What about Rune?”
“He and Stillman are going to get stoned.” Lee winked. “Besides, we have a signal when we don’t want to be disturbed. We drape a towel over the doorknob. It means, ‘I’ve got a girl inside, so don’t come in.’”
Meghan peered at his face. “Have you used that signal this summer?”
“No.” Lee blinked and his face was as solemn as if he were in church. “There’s only one girl I want to use the signal for, and you’re it.”
Hours later, Lee walked her back to her own room. His mouth probed hers again. Meghan rested her palm against his damp chest. “You can’t come in. I don’t know if Karen’s back yet.”
“I know.” He sighed. “Tomorrow?”
Meghan bit her lower lip. She nodded.
Inside her tiny room, the still air smothered her. Karen hadn’t returned yet. Meghan ran to open the window, then flicked on the fan. Now the hot air moved. Sweat covered her face and body. She stripped to her bra and panties and danced around the narrow beds. Her hands moved to their own rhythm, the rhythm they had discovered together. How had she not seen this coming? She had been drawn to Lee since the first afternoon they met, but never imagined she’d lose her virginity this summer.
The warm stickiness between her legs made her look down. A sheer smear of blood crossed her thigh. She remembered a bit of pain, but her passion had made her forget it. Karen seeing blood on her leg was not the way Meghan wanted to tell her twin about Lee, and how much she cared for him.
Karen knew all about having a boyfriend. Ed and Karen had dated for two years and had been having sex for over a year. Karen teased Meghan that if she didn’t get busy, Meghan would be a virgin when they turned thirty.
Meghan grabbed a towel and fresh panties and threw a sundress over her head. At this hour, her odds with the communal bathroom looked promising. As she moved through the door, Karen’s foot accidentally stepped on hers.
“Where were you?” Karen’s lips pinched together. “You canned the museum. And I didn’t see you at the Calcio, or at the phone booths.”
&nb
sp; Meghan grinned. “I had the most amazing time.” With her wide smile, she probably resembled a circus clown, but Meghan didn’t care. She waited for Karen to pump her for information. But instead of questions, Karen gave a whoop and her words rushed out.
“Meg, you won’t believe it.” Karen spun in a circle, her arms waving over her head. “Ed proposed.” She stopped her spin and grabbed her twin by the arm. “I'm engaged.”
The warmth of the lovemaking evaporated from Meghan’s body. She froze. She couldn’t tell Karen about Lee now. Karen’s engagement trumped her news.
Disappointment washed over her as if it were a cool, slimy gel. Then, like she had so many times before, Meghan thought about Karen, about her twin’s excitement. Meghan had a lifetime of Karen’s triumphs outshining hers. Karen’s part in the play was bigger. Karen, not Meghan, was soccer team captain. Karen’s prom dress was more elaborate, and more expensive.
Meghan tossed her towel and panties onto the closest bed. She hugged Karen and pulled her close.
The twins sat together cross-legged on the bed. Meghan had her face in control now. She widened her eyes. “Tell me everything.”
Partway through Karen’s recounting of her brief phone conversation with Ed, Karen stopped mid-sentence. “Hey, what happened to you?”
Meghan inhaled a deep breath. This was Karen’s moment, not hers. “Lee and I watched a man make leather jackets and gloves. A real artisan.”
Karen grinned. “Get some ideas we can use in the States?” They had long planned to open a boutique together someday.
“Of course.” Meghan patted her sister’s hand. “But tell me more. When are you going to tell Dad?” While Karen chatted on, Meghan’s mind drifted back to her time with Lee. She thought of his gentle touch, his quiet whispers, and the fairy-tale future she had imagined while lying naked in Lee’s arms.
10
Night train Milan, Italy to Paris, France
After running to catch the train, Bella and Karen collapsed onto a lower bunk. Stillman and Rune swung themselves onto the two top berths of the six-person couchette. The train jerked, then swayed side to side as it lumbered away from the loading platform in Milan.
Karen giggled. “I didn’t think we’d make it.”
Washed with relief, Bella sprawled on the hard berth, her arms and legs splayed out. “I know Lee wanted to be prepared.” She gestured to the two bags crammed with food and bottled water on the floor of their couchette. “But those heavy suckers nearly cost us our train.”
Bella laughed, thinking of their awkward dash through Milano Centrale with the guys carrying heavy bags of provisions, dodging fellow passengers, small children, and the occasional large pushcart stacked with luggage. Their stop at the small store a block from the station gobbled up precious time and nearly cost them the trip.
Stillman’s head appeared above them over their berth, as he leaned into the center aisle. “By the way, thanks for the treat, Rune.” He stretched one hand out toward Rune, who was perched cross-legged on the opposite top berth.
Rune slapped Stillman’s hand in a “low-five.”
“Thank the artists of Florence, whose paintings I resold at a profit.”
Karen giggled again. She slid out of the berth and stood tiptoe next to Rune’s berth. She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him toward her, planting a long, loud kiss on his mouth. “That’s for your part in giving me a trip to Paris. This is going to be a blast, although you did take advantage of those painters.”
Rune mocked offense. “You feel sorry for them? Because I purchased their watercolors at the going rate and sold them to Americans starved for a touch of Europe? Hell, they should thank me. I introduced their art to America. Thanks for the kiss, by the way, but won’t the dude you’re going to marry get pissed at you for stuff like that?”
“He’ll never know,” Karen said. “We’re not married yet, and I intend to enjoy this last summer of freedom. I’d be stupid to not live it up while I’m in Europe. I have a lifetime to be married, but only one summer here.”
Bella stood up next to Karen. She pulled Rune’s head toward her and touched his mouth with a light kiss.
“Hell of an entrepreneur,” Stillman said. He swung down next to Karen and Bella, so they stood side by side in the narrow space between the two triple bunks. Stillman wrapped an arm around each girl. “Now, as they say, it’s a long train to Paris, and we can party down. Where’s the wine?”
The sliding door to the tiny compartment jerked open.
“Hey.” Phillip pushed his way inside, with a gloomy look on his face. “This is no fun, being split up.” He walked into the compartment until he stood beside Bella. “All eight of us could cram together.”
Rune vaulted out of the top berth and stretched his hands toward the ceiling. “Nah. This is way better. I’d rather take our chances and play roommate roulette. Maybe we’ll score and end up with only four and have extra room.”
Bella felt Stillman’s arm tighten around her waist. “Yeah. It’s better. I bet no one shows up.”
“Want to switch compartments?” Phillip asked Rune.
Rune leaned back. “I like it here.”
“Me, too.” Stillman answered Phillip’s question before it was even asked.
Phillip scowled and looked at Bella. “We’re three doors down, if you need anything.” He tugged on the sliding pocket door to close it behind him, but it stuck halfway open. He swore, and jerked on the door.
“Leave it.” Stillman’s voice seemed to infuriate Phillip even more.
Phillip pounded his fist against the uncooperative door and then squeezed through the gap. He stomped off in the direction of his couchette.
Stillman, full of confidence, released Bella and Karen and addressed the door. He jiggled it back and forth until it broke free and slid closed. Bella and Karen sat side by side on one of the lower berths. Rune opened a bottle of wine, took a swig, and then passed it to Stillman, who drank and passed it to the girls. They took turns sharing the wine and discussing which of the cookies they’d try first.
Soon, they heard male voices muttering outside the door. Again, the door rattled and then edged open.
Two men with dark complexions looked at the four students with obvious disdain. They consulted their tickets and then entered the compartment.
Stillman and the girls backed up to the window side of the couchette. The men gestured to two berths. They looked at Rune. Without waiting for a response, they tossed their black cylinder bags onto the bunks.
The taller and thicker man nodded in the direction of the girls and spoke loudly in an indecipherable language to his companion. Karen scooted closer to Bella.
Bella squinted at the two men. Following the president’s lead, the U.S. had backed Iraq in its war with Iran. She wondered about the nationality of their cabin mates. They looked Middle Eastern, but that could mean they were from Saudi Arabia, Iraq, Iran, or a host of other Middle Eastern countries. Beginning with the boycott of the 1980 Olympics and now the Iraq-Iran War, the U.S. continued to take sides in that part of the world, meaning her country had made enemies. How did these two men feel about the U.S.? Friend or foe?
Karen whispered in Bella’s ear, “They either think we’re lesbian or want to rape us. But I’m not sure which.”
Bella nodded, her eyes on the two strangers. Then, as abruptly as they had joined them, the strangers strode back into the corridor and disappeared. They left their bags behind.
Rune stuck his head into the hall, then pulled back into the couchette and closed the door behind him. He shot a glance up at Stillman. “You stand guard. I’ll check the bags. Listen first to make sure there’s not a bomb.”
Stillman slid down and cocked his ear next to each bag, his mouth pursed as he concentrated. “I don’t hear a thing.” He took a position in front of the door.
Rune slid one of the bags to the edge of the berth. “Think it’s safe to open?”
Stillman nodded, leaning his head
next to the door to listen for anyone approaching in the hallway. His body swayed back and forth with the train’s movement.
Rune pulled on the zipper and pried the top of the bag open. Examining the contents, he burst into laughter. “Contraband.”
Bella slid off the bunk to see for herself. Grain alcohol, folded paper packets, and cigarettes filled the bag.
Stillman abandoned his post to inspect the bag, too. He pulled out one packet of paper, four inches square and half an inch thick.
Rune grabbed the packet from Stillman and opened it. A flat cake of dark brown rested on the white paper.
“What is it?” Karen asked, cowering on the opposite bunk.
Rune grinned at her. “Hashish.” He smelled it. “Yup. Spicy as hell. Want some?”
Stillman moved back to the door and leaned against it to listen. He tipped his head at Rune. “Put it back, man. Those two would probably kill us if we stole from them.”
Bella retreated from the bag and curled next to Karen on the bunk. “Stillman’s right. You don’t want to get caught snooping.”
Rune tossed the packet into the bag. He wolf-whistled and pulled out a long-stemmed wooden pipe. He waved the pipe in the air.
“Knock it off, Rune,” Stillman said, his ear resting against the door.
Rune threw the pipe into the bag and zipped it up. “I’m surprised they left their bags here with all these drugs inside.”
“Finding this stuff makes me nervous.” Bella wrinkled her nose. The strangers’ bags stunk like perspiration and dust and old gym socks. She looked at Karen. “It may be a long night with them.”
“I don’t think I’ll sleep a wink.” Karen looked as worried as she sounded.
Rune, who had returned to his bunk, leaned his head over the edge and raised one eyebrow. “One or both of you ladies can share my bunk. We could give those junkies something to talk about back home.”
Karen giggled and grinned up at Rune.