An Apartment in Venice (5 page)

“I know. Little old dried-up Lucy upstaged Jeremiah when they settled her into his church after demolishing hers for the train station. At least she got her name on the station,” Marlowe said and chattered on about other churches dedicated to fabricated saints. She ticked them off on her fingers. Moses,
San Moisé
, Samuel,
San Samuele
, and
San Girolamo
, Jerome.”

“You’re really up on this, aren’t you?” Giulia said.

“Sometimes I get carried away with trivia. I became intrigued because of the Venetians’ habit of going their own way for centuries. They must have been arrogant bastards to face down the powers in Rome. And they managed to give several popes giant headaches.”

Giulia half listened enjoying the companionship of this open, friendly woman. She felt a kinship with Marlowe, and Lord knew she needed a woman friend here. She wanted to learn Marlowe’s story. But all in good time, knowing how reluctant she felt about sharing her own.

* * *

The elderly sacristan gave Marlowe a warm hug. He seemed fragile and creaky as he bowed slightly to Giulia. But after a few words with him, it was clear his mind was not one bit creaky. As he showed the women through the church, he explained at great length—when he understood Giulia spoke fluent Italian—about the marble carvings done by the famous Lombardi brothers. After a while, though, he slipped away.

Marlowe took Giulia’s hand and led her to a painting by Girolamo Savoldo. The label stated it had been painted in the early 1500s, and the colors were as brilliant and jewel-like as a Vivarini painting that was hanging near the sacristy. Vivarini, came from a glass-maker family on the island of Murano and was said to have had a secret formula to make his paints glow. Maybe Savoldo knew Vivarini’s secret.

It was a manger scene, and Marlowe slipped quietly onto a bench in front of it saying nothing. It seemed this painting had a special meaning for Marlowe, and Giulia let herself be drawn into the ancient story as she sat on the edge of Marlowe’s bench.

The baby Jesus lies on the floor of a rustic hut. Mary and Joseph stand over him. A foreboding sky hovers over the hills behind the hut, maybe a symbol of the agony to come for this child. At the rear, a shepherd lounges into an open window, observing the family. Another shepherd peeks around the corner. Mary wears a crimson renaissance-style dress with a sumptuous green shawl, and Joseph sports a bright red cloak—the usual renaissance anachronisms in religious paintings.

“What’s funny?” Marlowe asked in a whisper.

Giulia moved closer to Marlowe and said, “The babe reminds me of my twin brothers when they were tiny. That chubby leg kicking in the air is exactly how they kicked covers away. They were such darlings at that age before they grew up to be major pests to this older sister.”

“Sounds fun to me since I’m an only.”

“Sometimes it was,” Giulia said. “Compared to many renaissance painters, though, Savoldo knew what a real infant looked like except—”

“Except what?” Marlowe interrupted.

“That babe,” Giulia said grinning, “is not a newborn.”

“Yes, I noticed that,” Marlowe said in a bare whisper.

Again Giulia sensed Marlowe’s distress but hesitated to intrude. Then she took a chance. “Is this why you wanted to bring me here?”

“I guess so,” she sighed. “Marc knows about my year in Venice and I’d like to share with you. I’ve kept this secret far too long for my own good.”

Giulia felt honored to hear those words and remained motionless not wanting to disturb Marlowe’s flow.

“That year
was
wonderful until I let one of my teachers seduce me into pregnancy.”

Giulia noticed Marlowe examining her closely—expecting a critical reaction, maybe? Evidently satisfied, she continued with her story. Good, I want her trust, Giulia thought.

“The teacher was married. He suggested an abortion and
offered
to send me to Trieste.”

“Send you! How old were you?”

“Almost sixteen.”

“My God.”

“A real prince, huh? I’m not a Catholic, never have been but couldn’t do the abortion. Of course, the Padre and Sisters didn’t encourage such a thing. So I had a son and gave him away… for adoption.” Tears slipped out the corners of her eyes. Giulia moved to hold her. Between sniffles, Marlowe said, “The church found a ‘good Catholic family’ for my little Tomaso.”

“It must have been so hard,” Giulia said. “Did you get to see him before—”

“Once. He was perfect.” More tears slipped down her cheeks.

“What about your parents?”

Marlowe sat up, wiped her face and sucked in a big breath. “That’s a long story for another time. The short version is that I believed I couldn’t tell them. My Aunt Belle had arranged the trip to expand my horizons.” Marlowe snorted. “That backfired for sure. But Belle came to see me through. And Padre Tomaso sat with me most every afternoon through my pregnancy. He left off being a priest shortly after that and works with organizations that promote sex education and choice.”

“A priest left the church to support choice?!”

“He’s an amazing person. We met recently, and he said what happened to me had been the tipping point for him. For too long, his colleagues had been eager to ‘take care’ of such mistakes. He wanted no more of it.”

“Wow,” was all Giulia could say. “How long have you kept that secret?”

“Twenty-seven years.” They were both silent. “A long time, right?”

Giulia nodded. “What was Marc’s reaction when you told him?”

“He’d been adopted himself. I was sure he’d drop me in disgust when he heard my story. Instead, he understood. Said he thought his birth mother probably suffered the same fate.”

“Wow, again,” Giulia said, thinking of her own secret. Similar story, different outcome. It had been eight years for her, and the only person who knew about Giulia’s abortion was Nancy, and now, Nonna. But compared to other things, maybe her abortion should be shoved away into a dark corner.

“I spent hours in front of this painting trying to decide what to do,” Marlowe said bringing Giulia back from her thoughts.

“Does the old sacristan know?”

“I didn’t tell him, but he may. Venetians are voracious gossips and priests? Probably more so.”

“Are you trying to find Tomaso?”

Marlowe nodded. “When I last saw Padre Tomaso—I can’t stop calling him Padre—he had a lead. Marc and I followed up, but the man’s age wasn’t right. Marc’s already registered with an agency to search for
his
birth mother, and we recently filed the paperwork for me.”

“A formidable job,” Giulia said almost under her breath.

“I almost doubt if legal work was ever done. The convent may have found that ‘good Catholic family’ after receiving a hefty donation for their efforts.”

“What about
your
efforts?” Giulia said, then worried she’d been too flip.

But Marlowe laughed. “You’ve got a point there.”

“Do you have other children?”

“A daughter, Mandy.” Marlowe’s face lit up. “She’s getting a master’s in the Urban Planning Department at Portland State University. Do you know it?”

“Of course. PSU is well known for their Urban Planning. But you’re so young to have a daughter in grad school.”

Marlowe laughed. “Thanks, but I
am
old enough, believe me.”

“How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Not at all. I’m forty-three. Marc’s thirty-nine and teases that he’s always been attracted to older women. How about you?”

“I’m thirty-two.”

“And you look about twenty-two, so here we are older women masquerading in Venice.”

“That fits, doesn’t it?” Giulia said. “Sometimes this whole city feels like continual Carnivale.”

“Ready to go? Marlowe asked. “We can catch a vaporetto to Murano at Fondamenta Nuova.”

“I’m ready. Thanks for getting me inside this little gem. It’s been on my list for ages. And Marlowe, thanks for opening up to me.”

“Thank
you
, for listening without judgment.”

On the way to the vaporetto stop, Marlowe said, “Where’d your feet take you first today?”

“Pretty much straight to Didovich’s pastry shop.”

“My favorite, too.”

“Since you’re a maven on Venetian trivia, maybe you know what happened to Santa Marina’s missing church.”

“As a matter of fact, I do. In fifth-century Lebanon, she was called Marina the Monk because she entered a monastery disguised as a boy. Until the monks prepared her body for burial, they hadn’t known they’d been living beside a woman. Can you imagine the shock to those sequestered old monks!”

They whooped with laughter. As each woman offered a different image of the improbable situation, they kept erupting into more laughter until they were staggering down a narrow calle. Giulia guessed they were both releasing tension of one sort or another. When she caught her breath, she said, “I assume poor old Marina’s bones were brought to Venice in the usual way—by theft. But why was her church destroyed?”

“Napoleon, no doubt. It was probably one of those that he suppressed when he swept through demanding huge changes. Maybe the same time he ordered all bodies in Venetian cemeteries dug up and placed on the cemetery island.”

“You could write a book for the tourists on Venetian trivia.”

“Sometimes I drive Marc crazy with it. Let’s turn left here onto Calle del Fumo. It’s a nice, straight shot to Fondamenta Nuova. A relief from the twisty turns everywhere else in this city.”

“I can’t believe I’ve been in Italy for more than a month already,” Giulia mused aloud.

“Me too. It’s almost April,” Marlowe said. “When classes began March fourth, I couldn’t believe I had a job to support myself in Italy.”

“But you were married before coming to work, weren’t you?”

“Barely—we married in February. But what’s that got to do with work? Are you implying that once I married, I’d drop everything and sit back to stitch Home-Sweet-Home samplers?”

“No,” Giulia sputtered. “That was a knee-jerk reaction coming straight from my mom’s knee through my mouth.”

“I know about that. If Mom had known what I was studying, she would have done her best to discourage me from the Law.”

“Why?”

Marlowe shrugged. “Because she feared I’d fail maybe? Or… jealousy? Thank God Marc came up with the idea of me teaching law at the base. I’ve never practiced, but in trying to make it understandable to others, I’m learning more than the students. Marc was intent on keeping me here, not that I minded. He called a good friend, Chuck Novak, about the possibility. Chuck arranged an interview for me. Do you know him?”

“Met him recently on the post.” Giulia told Marlowe how they’d met outside Oliver Ogle’s office. One part of her wanted to know more about the tall, dark, sexy man. Another part wanted to veer far away.

That problem was temporarily solved when they arrived at a row of
pontiles
—floating landing stages—lined up along the broad quay. Usually, one pontile was enough, but here, many water-bus lines left for all parts of the lagoon.
Il Cimiterio,
the cemetery island, seemed to float just across the way, and several flower shops crowded this particular quay. Marlowe stopped to buy a small bunch of brilliant, red poppies.

“I’ve been lusting for these beauties lately,” she said. “Today I have an excuse to celebrate. It feels liberating to have shared with you. It seems silly to have worried about what happened long ago. Marc reminds me of this whenever I begin to brood. But letting it go still feels scary.”

“I can imagine,” Giulia said as they moved toward pontile number twelve.

“After I told Marc, I’d about decided to not tell anyone else. Of course, good friends would sympathize, but they’d also pick away at every detail. It’d be like opening up an old wound. But with you, it didn’t feel that way.”

“I’m glad,” Giulia said.

They stepped aboard the floating landing stage and waited in a semblance of a line for the vaporetto chugging toward them from the cemetery island. After they boarded, it would turn back to repeat its route.

“How do your parents feel about your job and plans to stay on?” Marlowe asked.

“Well, they
are
Italians from towns north of Venice even though they’re in Portland now. But they have mixed feelings. Mom thinks I’ll be disillusioned when reality sets in. The thing is, I’ve been here enough to see the downsides of living in Venice. I’m sure you know what I mean.” Giulia began to tick off items on her fingers. “The physical difficulties of carrying everything on foot and no elevators in most buildings. The dampness, the
acqua-alta,
the high-water times, and the mobs of tourists almost year round.”

“Don’t forget the glut of shops full of masks and doo-dads at the cost of real shops for real people,” Marlowe added.

Giulia sighed. “Mom’s glad her parents are nearby, but no matter where I’d land, she’d worry about me still single and going on thirty-three.”

“And your Dad?”

Giulia inhaled a breath through her teeth with a little frown creasing her forehead. “Dad? Not sure. He’s always been there to listen—I think he listened—but he, too, worries his little girl has no big man to take care of her.”

“Speaking of big men,” Marlowe said. “Yesterday, I ran into Chuck. He waited outside for me while I delivered a report to Oliver the Ogre.” She laughed as she told Giulia of Oliver’s reaction when he saw Chuck standing against the wall. “He looked ready to slit Oliver’s throat. He didn’t mention your run-in with Ogle to me, by the way. Probably didn’t want to say anything without your permission. And, I didn’t know about it yet either.”

Giulia felt pleased that Chuck hadn’t mentioned her encounter with Ogle. The two women sidled forward as the vaporetto nudged against the pontile and came to a stop with engines roaring in reverse to hold it there. The gatekeeper held newcomers back while passengers disembarked, then dropped the loose rope to let them step aboard. Both women donned their sweaters for the ride, preferring to stand in the outside space between the pilothouse and the enclosed cabin that held seating.

“Chuck claims some officers want to get rid of the guy,” Marlowe said, “but it’s complicated because of layers of protocols within the University of Maryland and the Military. He also said that all males on the post have been warned about serious career damage from
any
form of sexual harassment. But if women don’t report it, how effective is the warning?”

“I know. Many guys don’t get it at a gut level. I’ve preached to my brothers about the horrors of harassment and the dangers of escalation. Oh, they were protective IF they happened to be around when somebody hassled me. With their wives, though, they’re more aware, but . . .” She shook her head.

The water bus stopped at the cemetery. As soon as people stepped off and others got on, it moved toward Murano. In two minutes, they arrived and got off in front of the Barovier palazzo. At a door marked number four, Marlowe said, “Here we are. We can talk more over a glass of wine. Okay?”

“Absolutely.”

* * *

Marc’s family palazzo was an enormous, grey building abutting the quay. Marlowe explained that traditionally, a glass-blowing family lived close to its ovens because they often needed to run twenty-four/seven. No automatic controls back then and family members took turns tending the fires. Marc’s family company—the oldest and most famous of those in Murano—kept their ovens at the rear of the complex. Each family member has a separate entrance. To Giulia, it looked as if most units enjoyed marvelous views of Venice.

Marlowe unlocked a door and they started up a steep stairway to the first floor where another door opened into a living/dining room area. They stepped onto golden flooring. Straight on through was the kitchen with two casement windows that looked toward the inner buildings of Murano. In the distance, a church dome reflected the setting sun. A dining table sat in the center and to the right were two large, leather couches with a smaller loveseat forming a comfortable grouping around a fireplace.

“The floor, is it bamboo?” Giulia asked impressed with the layout.

Marlowe nodded.

“It’s exquisite. That bright orange and yellow Rya rug near the fireplace is a brilliant touch. Yours?”

“Not at all. Everything here was chosen by Marc. Once I overheard his mother say ‘that woman’—me—‘would be making big changes in his beautiful design.’ But I haven’t had any desire to change a thing.”

She was obviously in his thrall, Giulia thought. “Could I use your bathroom?”

“Of course,” and Marlowe led her toward it. “When I first saw this tub, I lusted for it. As you well know, most rentals only have showers. But later, when I saw the jacuzzi in Marc’s master-bath, I set my sights higher. Truth to tell, my sights were already set on him.”

Yep. She’s smitten.

When Giulia saw the sleek, blue-grey pedestal sink with toilet and bidet to match, she longed for such elegance.
Someday.
The mirror over the sink gleamed and its beveled glass sparkled. “I could get used to this,” Giulia said. “Was that mirror made in Murano?”

“Don’t know. It’s gorgeous, isn’t it? Always something new to find out about this place and my man.”

“That would make you his woman, right?” Giulia said with a wicked grin.

“Yeah. Jeez, I sound like someone out of a Mafia novel.”

When Giulia emerged from the bathroom, Marlowe was taking lasagna out of the fridge. “Marc’s Nonna gave strict instructions to let it come to room temperature before putting it in the oven. All we need is salad and Marc will do that. His Caesar’s far superior to anything I’d put together. He’ll bring a couple baguettes from my favorite bakery on the short calle near Zanipolo. Do you know that one, just across the Rio dei Mendicanti?” she said bringing out a bottle of red holding it up. “Red good?”

“My favorite. I think I do know that bakery, their homemade bread sticks are to die for,” Giulia said.

“I know. They always sell out early. I should have called ahead.” She turned around with the bottle opener in hand holding it in front of her like a weapon and took a mock stance. “Now. Back to the Ogre. I really want to get him out of our hair,” and she twisted the corkscrew in the air with a vengeance.

“Ouch. He better stay out of your path,” Giulia said.

“Would you hand me a couple of wine glasses while I open this?” Marlowe asked.

Giulia opened cupboards until she found them.

“The trouble is,” Marlowe continued, “we’re the new kids on the block. I can
not
understand why the other women have put up with him this long!”

“I agree. They act like abused wives.”

“I wish I’d been a fly on the wall when you kneed the bastard.” Then she mentioned her talk with Chuck and his thoughts about setting up a system where a woman could call for backup when visiting Oliver. “Frankly, I can see a flaw in that idea because—”

“Me too. The guy who’s sent to protect could be another predator.”

“You know what Chuck said when I pointed that out?”

“What?”

“He ran his hand through that thick hair of his and said he keeps forgetting about the world we women live in. It’s clear where his heart is.”

Giulia relaxed, noticing she’d felt uneasy about his possible response.

He asked about you,” Marlowe said as they carried their wine to the fireplace corner.

“About me?”

“He wondered if I knew you. I said I thought we’d be good friends, but I know he wanted more. Listen, Marc and I often have Chuck for dinner. Would you come by sometime when Chuck’s here? I’m no great cook, but . . .”

Giulia stiffened. “I’m not in the market for a man.”
You sure, girl? Your life sucks.
“But it sounds nice. Particularly in your beautiful home.”

“And I’m not in the matchmaking business. But the four of us might cook up ideas on how to get rid of Oliver other than Marc’s idea of bashing his head and tossing him in a canal.”

“Put that way, why not?” Giulia said smiling. The wine was delicious and she felt herself unwinding as she sat on the couch.

Then Giulia heard a key in the lock, and Marc came in. She saw immediately why Marlowe called him her Viking. Absolutely gorgeous, he was big and blond with large, grey eyes and a smile that could light up all of the North country. A white paper bag was in one hand which he tossed to Marlowe—the bread no doubt. He turned to someone behind him and said, “Coast is clear, Chuck, come on in.”