Authors: Alexa Land
“Could you keep your eyes on the road, please?” I asked, clutching the doorframe with one hand and the Chihuahua with the other.
He grinned and faced forward again as he said, “I hardly ever crash. You don’t need to worry.”
“Hardly ever. Good to know.”
We traveled north, out of the city center, and eventually we reached a ramshackle church near the river. Ignacio parked the car and plucked Diego Rivera from my hands as he said, “Go on in, he’ll be so happy to see you. I’ll take the dog for a walk to give you two a little time.”
“What is this place?” I asked as I climbed out of the Fiat.
“It’s my studio, and home for now.”
“Is it condemned and about to be leveled with a wrecking ball? Or is it just going to collapse in on itself without any help?”
He shrugged and said, “It’s stood for a hundred and seventy years, it’ll stand for a few more.”
I went in through a heavy, wooden side door, and emerged into a wide-open space with high ceilings. The plaster was crumbling and the pews and altar were long gone, but it still had that feeling that all old churches had, a kind of quiet somberness. Long extension cords snaked across the worn wood floor, leading to tall, portable lights that gave it the feeling of a movie set. Half a dozen easels were set up around the edges of the room, and the smell of oil paint and linseed oil hung in the air.
A door opened to the left of where the altar would have been, and Luca stepped out. My heart leapt at the sight of him. He was barefoot, hadn’t shaved in days, his hair was tousled and his faded jeans and white button-down shirt looked like they’d been slept in. To me, he looked more beautiful than ever, more real and vulnerable somehow, compared to his usual perfect exterior.
When he saw me, his face lit up and he rushed over and grabbed me in an embrace. “Nico,” he murmured, burying his face in my hair, “I’ve missed you so much.”
“I missed you, too.” I had a million questions, but nothing was more important right then than holding him, touching him, breathing in his clean, familiar scent. My lips found his and I tasted his mouth, his whiskers coarse but oddly appealing against my skin. I caressed his face, his hair, and when he pulled back to look in my eyes, I ran a fingertip over his full lips.
“My beautiful Nico,” he whispered. I liked the fact that he called me his, probably more than I should have. He kissed me again and I let my eyes slide shut. God it felt good to be in his arms. It felt like I was exactly where I belonged.
He told me, “I’m so fucking sorry that I had to break our plans and run off on short notice.”
“What happened?”
Luca put his head on my shoulder and said, “If I asked you to trust me and said I couldn’t talk about it, would you be willing to just leave it at that?”
“I can try, but you should know trust doesn’t come easily to me these days.”
“I know. I get that I’m asking a lot here.”
“I’m worried about you. Something big is obviously going on in your life and I want to help, but you’re shutting me out.”
“I’m sorry, Nicky.”
I was quiet for a few moments, filtering through the hundred questions I had cued up, and finally distilled them down to one. “Who were you arguing with in front of the hotel in Viladembursa, right before you took off?”
“That was my brother Andreo. I didn’t realize you saw me.”
“So, this is family-related.”
“Yes.”
“Okay, that’s all I need to know.”
“Really?”
I nodded and said, “I wanted to have a general idea of what you were dealing with for my own peace of mind, and now I do. I won’t press you for details. Whatever’s going on is your business, not mine.”
Luca kissed my cheek and whispered, “Thank you for being far more understanding than I deserve.”
He led me over to an old, overstuffed couch that was against one wall, and pushed aside a rumpled blanket and a couple pillows before sinking into it and pulling me down with him. I nuzzled his shoulder and balled up his shirt in my hands as I clutched him to me and he held me tight. There was no such thing as playing it cool with Luca, not when it felt so incredibly good to be in his arms.
“I know this sounds pathetic,” I whispered after a while, “but please don’t hurt me. You have me right in the palm of your hand, Luca, and it would take so little to break me. Please don’t make me regret trusting you.”
He wrapped himself around me like a shell. “The last thing I want is to hurt you, Nicky, and I promise you I’m not seeing anyone else. You’re what I want, only you. In case you’re wondering, Ignacio is just a friend. I met him when I returned to Rome, and he’s been very kind to me. He’s even letting me stay here while I get a few things sorted out.”
“Are you…never mind.”
“What?”
“I wasn’t going to ask any more questions, but I forgot for a moment and almost asked if you were hiding from your family. That’s none of my business, though.”
“I don’t know if I’m hiding, exactly. I’m definitely avoiding them. I’m furious with my brother, and I have no interest in another confrontation with him. Ignacio’s place is completely off Andreo’s radar, which is why I’m staying here. My brother and I need some time to cool down, before we say or do something we can’t take back.”
“I see.” Luca kissed my forehead as I put my head on his chest. I had so many more questions, including how I fit into all of that. Even if he was avoiding his family, why wouldn’t he come get me himself? It wasn’t as though his brother would be staking out the St. Regis. But I made a conscious decision to let it drop. Luca didn’t want to talk about it, and I needed to respect that.
He stroked my hair as he asked me, “When your family vacation ends, do you have to hurry back to the states for school?”
“No. I’ll still have some time before classes begin.”
“Would you consider going away with me for a couple weeks after your grandmother and Jessie fly back home?”
I tilted my head to look up at him. “Where would we go?”
“Someplace quiet and romantic, where we can spend days naked in each other’s arms.”
That sounded like heaven. I told him, “I have five more days here, then ten in Venice. Where would you want to meet after that?”
“Where are you staying in Venice?” I told him the name of the hotel, and he said, “I don’t know where we’ll go yet, but I’ll get it all planned out. Then I’ll send you a message at the hotel. Are you okay with it being a surprise?”
“Sure. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy, either. I just want to be with you, that’s all that matters.”
“There you go, being so sweet again. I have to start calling you
mio dolce caro
.”
I grinned at that, and translated, “My sweet darling, that’s nice. I once again appreciate your willingness to dive head-first into the industrial-grade terms of endearment.”
Luca grinned, too. “Only for you,
mio tesoro
. You inspire me to strive for new heights of sappiness.”
“Good. I like it.” I stretched up and kissed him, and he returned the kiss tenderly.
We stayed like that for a long time, curled up on the couch, holding and kissing each other. Ignacio came in maybe an hour later with the Chihuahua tucked under his arm, and blurted, “Shit, sorry, I thought you’d be done by now. I didn’t mean to barge in.”
When our host put the dog down, he skittered across the wood floor at top speed with a clatter of toenails and leapt onto Luca. “Hey there, buddy,” Luca said, and kissed the dog on the top of his head. “You’re looking sharp in your little sweater, as usual.” I thought all of that was cute beyond words.
“I should clear out again,” Ignacio said, “and give you two more privacy.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I told him. “This is your home, we don’t want to drive you away.”
After some cajoling, we convinced him to stay, and the three of us ended up having dinner together. The church’s old kitchen wasn’t really functional, so Ignacio went out and soon returned with pizza and wine. Pizza in Rome was very thin, slightly charred, and all-out delicious. We ate on a blanket on the floor and drank the wine out of paper cups, and Ignacio and Luca tried to outdo each other with hilarious stories about difficult artists they’d known. I could see right away why they’d become such fast friends. Their sense of humor was very similar, and of course they shared a passion for art.
Late that evening, Luca walked me to the car and held me for a long time. “These next couple weeks are going to feel like an eternity,” he said. “I can’t wait until we’re together again.”
“Me, too.” He kissed me tenderly as Ignacio came out of the church with the dog under his arm and got in the car to drive me back to the hotel. “Goodbye, Luca,” I said, running my fingertips along his short beard.
“Please take care of yourself for me,” he said, and caught and kissed my hand before stepping back.
As we drove away, I turned to look back at him. He was standing in the street, watching me go. I raised a hand and he did, too, and I kept staring at him until he disappeared from sight. I felt like I was leaving a piece of myself behind.
*****
When I got back to the hotel, I found Nana, Jessie and Ollie deep in conversation, clustered around a tourist map of Rome that was spread out on the coffee table. I put Diego Rivera down, and the dog shook himself before trotting over to his owner. Nana looked up at me and said, “Hi Sweetpea. Clear your schedule for Saturday.”
“I don’t actually have anything planned, so that won’t be a problem. What are we going to do?”
Nana’s dark eyes sparkled as she told me, “We’re going to storm the Vatican.”
She’d been exaggerating, but only slightly. It wasn’t technically possible to storm the Vatican. Many layers of protection were in place to keep armies, invaders, dissidents, and my eighty-year-old grandmother from doing just that.
What she could do, though, was create such a spectacle that local reporters would show up to cover it, under the theory that the Pope might end up seeing the news footage. Nana invited Rafi and his dance troupe to join the demonstration. When they readily agreed, she sent them plane tickets and put them up in a hotel. Next, she went to several gay nightclubs and an LBGT community center, talked to a lot of people, and told them to bring their friends and families.
I wasn’t entirely sure what she had planned, but Jessie and I showed up in the rainbow tie-died t-shirts Nana had given us at the appointed time on Saturday. We carried two tote bags filled with little rainbow flags. A couple guys we’d met at one of the clubs joined us, also dressed in rainbow colors. We chatted with them as a few more people filtered in.
St. Peter’s Square was enormous and buzzing with tourists, the basilica grand and ornate behind us. Two news vans were parked outside the square, since Nana had tipped them off that something was going down. The reporters looked bored, smoking and leaning against their vehicles, but started to take notice when Rafi and his troupe arrived. They were in full makeup and five- and six-inch heels, and were dressed in rainbow-sequined tank tops and tight shorts. Giorgio and Jessie hugged and chatted (with the help of their translation app) as more of our group started to gather.
In all, about fifty people showed up, which didn’t seem to make much of an impact. We were like a little army of ants, given the vastness of the square. We held our heads high though and joined hands in a show of unity. I held Jessie’s hand to my left, and a dire-looking goth teenager took my other hand. I was pleasantly surprised when he flipped his long, black bangs out of his eyes and smiled at me shyly.
Rafi’s troupe fired up some music on a big, 1990s boom box, and started dancing. The camera crews looked bored again and started to pack up their equipment. But then, Nana happened.
When I saw her round the corner at the far side of the square, I whispered, “Dear Lord, please don’t let her be naked.” She was riding a huge, white horse, which was being led by an oiled up bodybuilder. The man was dressed (more or less) as Cupid with wings, little white briefs, and combat boots.
And then there was Nana. My grandmother was doing her version of Lady Godiva. She wore a very long, white wig, which was dotted with colorful flowers, and either body paint, or a skin-tight rainbow body stocking (I prayed for the latter).
As Nana did a lap around the square and we danced with Rafi and his troupe, a family of tourists with cameras around their necks came up to us and started dancing, too. Then a second family joined us. And a third. Over the next few minutes, almost every tourist in the huge square came over and became a part of our group. Young and old, singles, couples, families, people from all over the world gathered with us and started dancing. Jessie and I handed out all the rainbow flags we’d brought. The sight of all those people waving the flags and dancing with us made me a little choked up.
Jessie tilted his head all of a sudden and exclaimed, “Holy shit, he actually did it!”
“Who?”
“Ollie! I didn’t think he’d go through with it!” Jessie pointed at the sky, and when I looked up, I saw that someone was parachuting into the square, dressed in a rainbow-colored jumpsuit and a white crash helmet with some kind of large, pink horn stuck to it. The chute itself was rainbow-striped and said in giant block letters, “GAY OK.” A banner streamed behind him, which read, “Make love, not hate.”
All of a sudden, a lot of people were yelling, including the reporters and their cameramen, who were running toward the descending figure. A couple of the Vatican’s Swiss guards were yelling and running, too. Parachuting into the square was probably all kinds of illegal, judging by the commotion it was causing.
“Oh no,” I murmured. Ollie was headed straight for the obelisk in the center of the square, but he spread his stubby legs and swung them up just in time to barely clear the tip of the structure. As he descended, I noticed he had a harness strapped to his chest. In it was Diego Rivera the Chihuahua, his skinny little legs sticking straight out, panting happily and wearing a rainbow sweater and a miniature crash helmet.
Ollie ended up landing all the way across the square, near the entrance. He actually hit the ground fairly gracefully. Clearly it wasn’t his first time skydiving. He pulled a couple cords and his parachute and the banner fluttered away. Sirens could be heard in the distance, growing closer every minute. This wasn’t going to end well. Jessie and I began running toward him, and as we got a bit closer I asked, “Is that…does he have a dildo stuck to his head?”
“Yup,” Jessie said.
“Should I ask why?”
“He thought it would be fun to jazz up the plain white helmet with a unicorn horn, but we couldn’t get the glue to hold. Then he remembered that some dildos have suction cups on the base. Worked like a charm!” It was right then that I realized my grandmother had found her perfect match.
Nana trotted up beside us on that huge, white horse (I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw she was wearing a body suit) and exclaimed, “Shit, the fuzz is onto us! I need to help my man!” She dug in the heels of her bare feet and snapped the reins as she yelled, “Yah!” The horse took off like a shot with a clatter of hooves.
I doubted Nana had been on a horse in forty years, but she looked like a jockey as she leaned close to its mane and rode it expertly. She reached Ollie before anyone else, and took his hand as he used the stirrup to swing himself up behind her. He kissed her cheek and grabbed her waist as she flicked the reins again and the horse took off.
“Well damn,” I mumbled as I stopped running and watched their escape, the stallion bolting out of the square and disappearing from sight. I then calmly pulled my phone from my pocket and began finding my grandmother a lawyer.