Authors: Alexa Land
“Well, good.”
“Do I?”
“Do you what?”
“Come across as a manwhore,” Luca said.
“Oh totally. But a really upscale one. Like at least a thousand bucks a night, or whatever the going rate is these days for a really high-class manwhore. I’m not sure, because I haven’t priced manwhores lately.”
He smiled at me as I tried to keep a straight face. “Well, good. As long as I don’t come across as a cheap floozy. An expensive floozy is fine.”
“Oh yeah. Expensive for sure.”
“Perfect.”
The street was lined with nice shops and restaurants, and I window-shopped as we started walking again. “Oh wow, look at that,” I exclaimed at one point. “I have to get it for Nana!” I dragged Luca into a gift shop and bought my grandmother a hand-made tile that depicted Viladembursa with a big rainbow over it.
Finally, we reached the gallery. A little old man came bustling up to us and exclaimed, “Luciano!” Under his arm was a tiny Chihuahua wearing a chunky, hand-knit red sweater. The man pulled my companion down to his height and kissed both cheeks. He was probably in his late seventies and five-foot-six with thick, white hair, and he wore a slightly old-fashioned wool three-piece-suit, which he’d paired with red Converse high-tops.
“Hello, Mr. Caravetti,” Luca said, beaming at the man. “I’d like you to meet my friend Nico.”
The gallery owner greeted me warmly, then introduced me to his dog by saying with an unmistakable New York accent, “Please say hello to Diego Rivera.”
I shook the Chihuahua’s tiny paw and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Diego Rivera. I thought you’d be taller.”
We settled in around a small table at the back of the gallery, and Mr. Caravetti served us tea spiked with a generous amount of brandy while the dog curled up in a wicker basket and chewed a sock. The conversation soon turned to art. I couldn’t contribute much to the discussion, but I loved watching Luca talk. He became incredibly animated, gesturing with his hands, his eyes alight. He caught me watching him at one point, and when Mr. Caravetti went to retrieve something from his office, Luca leaned over and kissed me, then said, “This must be so boring for you. I’m sorry.”
“Not at all! I love how passionate you are.”
“I love talking to Mr. Caravetti. He’s been in this business for over half a century, but he’s never lost that enthusiasm.”
The little old man (and the Chihuahua) returned a few moments later. He carefully handed Luca an unframed canvas and said, “This is the artist I was telling you about, Ignacio Mondelvano. He’s from Barcelona, but he’s been spending a few months in Rome. That’s how I heard about him, he came to the attention of an old friend of mine. You should look him up next time you’re home.”
“I will,” Luca said. “This is absolutely extraordinary.”
“Mondelvano is gay. You can probably guess from that composition,” Mr. Caravetti said. “He’s single and quite handsome, so I was going to set you up on a date, Luciano. I see now though that your love life needs no help from me.” He grinned at me as he said that.
When Luca handed me the painting, I drew in my breath and murmured, “Oh wow.” It depicted two men dancing and made me think of the 1920s. It was impressionistic, the dancers depicted with a few bold lines. But even without a lot of detail, it suggested graceful movement and a sense of time and place. Even more striking was the emotion it conveyed. The way one dancer held the other said everything about the love and intimacy between them. I wasn’t sure how the artist had accomplished all of that with so few brushstrokes.
“Do you really like it?” Luca asked me.
“I love it. It’s absolutely perfect,” I said softly, still staring at the painting.
“Is it for sale, Mr. Caravetti?” Luca asked.
“For you, yes. I’m going to acquire more of this artist’s work. He’s really something special, I think.”
“I agree.”
We visited for another hour or so before Luca told his friend we had to go. I shook his hand at the door and scratched the dog behind his ears, then said, “Mr. Caravetti, I’d like to introduce you to my grandmother. Something tells me you two would hit it off. She’s throwing a party tomorrow night at eight, at the Hotel Conchiglia. Can you make it?”
“What type of party is it?” he wanted to know. “Will it be a bunch of old people sitting around talking about their hip replacements? I don’t like those types of parties.”
“It’s actually a singles mixer with people of all ages. A gay dance troupe from Catania will be performing, and possibly a mime, but I hope not. Knowing Nana, it’ll be big and wild and will spiral out of control, so the police will probably show up at some point.”
His brown eyes lit up and he said, “Now that sounds like a party! Count me in!”
After we said our goodbyes, we hailed a cab and I gave the driver the address of the bank where Fiona worked. Once we were settled into the backseat, I turned to Luca and asked, “Is it weird that I just tried to set your friend up with my grandmother? I probably should have asked you first.”
“I think it’s sweet. They live half a world apart, so I’m not sure what they’ll do if they hit it off. But hey, maybe Nana and Ollie can have a torrid summer fling or something.”
I grinned and said, “His name’s Ollie? That’s so cute.”
“It’s short for Olivio.” He was holding the small, framed painting, which had been wrapped in brown craft paper and tied with string, and he put it in my lap and said, “Happy Wednesday, by the way.”
I put aside the little gift box I was holding with Nana’s tile and carefully held the package by its edges as I turned to him. “You’re not actually giving this to me, are you?”
“I am.”
“It must have been so expensive! I can’t accept it.”
“It was actually a very good price.”
“Compared to the eighteen million dollar paintings you’re used to?”
He said, “Most of my clients don’t spend eighteen million dollars on a single painting.”
“Still.”
“I want you to have it,” he told me. “I loved the way your face lit up when you saw it. It clearly spoke to you, so it needed to belong to you.”
“This is the best gift I’ve ever received.” I gently hugged the parcel to my chest.
“If that artist’s career takes off like it should, you can probably sell it in a few years and pay down your student loans,” he said, dropping his gaze and tracing the cuff of my shorts with a fingertip.
“I’d never do that. I’m going to cherish this forever. Even if I become desperate for money someday, I still won’t sell it. If I end up homeless, this will hang on the wall of my cardboard box.”
“You like it that much?”
“I love it, not just because it’s beautiful, but because it’s from you.”
He smiled at me. “I’m sure it’s not news to you that art is incredibly important to me, so your reaction to that painting brought me a lot of happiness.”
I slid close and put my head on his shoulder, still hugging the painting, and he put his arm around me. “Thank you,” I said softly.
“You’re welcome, Nicky.”
“I like it when you call me that.”
He tilted his head and rested his cheek against my hair. “It’s so tempting to bust out all kinds of mushy pet names for you. I have at least a dozen of them all cued up and ready to go, but I know I need to pace myself, so I’m sticking with Nicky for now.”
“It’s funny, you don’t strike me as a mushy pet names kind of guy.”
“Oh I’m not. Usually. Something about you just brings it out in me.” I grinned at that and kissed his shoulder.
*****
We went by Fiona’s workplace and picked up a key, then walked the four blocks to her apartment. She lived in a sunny one-bedroom in an old building with cream-colored stucco walls and beautiful tiled floors. I dropped off the painting and Nana’s present, and then Luca and I went to the market, where I bought entirely too much stuff.
It was such a simple act, but it felt good to shop with another person. Luca was great company. He laughed and joked about the things I was buying to try to put together an ‘American’ meal, even though the Sicilian market didn’t carry anything truly over-the-top like spray cheese or Twinkies. He also gave funny suggestions for stuff we could make, some of which I actually went with.
Luca helped me haul the groceries back to the apartment, and then we got busy cooking. He draped his suit jacket over the back of a kitchen chair and rolled back his sleeves, and despite his promises he did try to help a bit. “Wow,” I said at one point, grinning as I leaned against the stone counter and watched him trying to dice a tomato, “you’ve literally never cooked before, have you?”
He grinned too and said, “Don’t judge me.”
“There’s no judging, but here’s a suggestion. Try holding the knife in a different way, not like it’s the shower scene from Psycho and you’re trying to murder the tomato.”
“I’m not!”
“Okay, not exactly. But still.”
He chuckled as he tossed the knife on the cutting board and pulled me into his arms. “Are we done cooking yet? You’ve made enough to feed fifty people.”
I’d made three different versions of tuna casseroles, in the hope that one of them would come close to what Jessie remembered. “I’m all set for now. The dessert and appetizers are done and the casseroles are all ready to go. We just have to put them in the oven when people start arriving. Throw your murdered tomatoes on top of the green salad and I’ll stick it in the refrigerator.” Okay, so the salad wasn’t strictly American, but I’d made some Thousand Island dressing to go with it, so I figured that qualified.
When the salad was put away, Luca poured two glasses of wine and handed me one, then took my hand and led me onto Fiona’s little balcony. We got cozy on her lounge chair, which was surrounded by potted plants. I put my head on Luca’s chest, and he kissed my hair and said, “I could get used to this.”
“Used to what?”
“You know, the whole domestic bliss thing. Quiet evenings at home with someone special.”
“That’s pretty far removed from your current international jetsetter lifestyle.”
He said, “I travel for work. Jetsetters travel for fun. Big difference.”
“Still. This has to pale by comparison.”
“Actually, what pales by comparison are all those lonely nights on the road. I’m turning thirty in a few weeks, and have been doing this job since I was twenty-five. I can’t even count the number of meals I’ve eaten by myself, or how many nights I’ve spent in random hotel rooms with no one beside me in bed.”
“I can see how it might wear thin after a while.”
“It does, and it was a sticking point in my one serious relationship. It’s really no wonder he wanted to keep our relationship open. I wasn’t around enough.”
“That shouldn’t have mattered,” I said. “Monogamy isn’t based on how much the other person is around, it’s based on love and commitment.”
“Apparently Axel never got that message.”
“Your ex is named Axel?” Luca nodded and I asked, “What is he, a rock star?”
“Investment banker.”
“I was close. Does he live in Rome?”
“Yup.”
“So, he’s Italian.”
“Yes and no. He grew up in the U.S. and his father’s American. His mother’s Italian though, so he has dual citizenship and decided to relocate to Rome after college.”
“Why?”
“Presumably because he’d already slept with everyone in the U.S., and wanted to start fresh in a new country.”
I grinned at that and said, “I can’t comprehend a man who had
you
, but still wanted to sleep with other people. It makes no sense whatsoever.”
“You seem to have a pretty high opinion of me.”
“For good reason.” I swung my leg over him so I was straddling his thighs and kissed him. He didn’t break contact as he set his wine glass aside, then took mine from me and put it beside the other. When both his hands were free, he slid them underneath the hem of my shirt and caressed my back.
“I feel so good when I’m with you,” he murmured as he brushed his cheek to mine.
“Same here.”
He kissed me and said softly, “Tell me something about you, Nicky.”
“Like what?”
“Anything. I just want to know you.”
“I don’t know where to start.”
“Start at the beginning. What did you want to be when you were a kid?”
I threaded my arms around his neck and said, “Promise not to laugh.”
“I can’t promise that. What if you wanted to be a Muppet? Or the Hamburglar?”
I burst out laughing as I sat up and looked at him. “How did you even come up with that?”
“No idea.”
“It doesn’t sound nearly as stupid now to admit I wanted to be a superhero.”
“That’s so cute.”
“Told you I always wanted to help people. When I was little, it seemed like superpowers were the best way to go about it.” I gently brushed his hair from his eyes and told him, “Your turn. What did you want to be?”
“A painter. I imagined it would be a wonderfully exciting life. I figured I’d move to the tropics like Gauguin and run around barefoot all the time and create fantastic, wildly original paintings that no one understood, but that someday everyone would realize were brilliant.” Luca grinned at me and added, “A total and complete lack of talent made pretty quick work of that fantasy, which is probably a good thing. It’s really hot there. Plus, have you seen the size of the insects that live in the tropics? They’re like something out of a horror movie.”