Fairytales (35 page)

“Well, I’m sure Roberto’s gonna make you proud … how’s Dominic?”

“How’s Dominic? Damned if I know … he’s been workin’ his tail off, tryin’ to get this Senator DeKaye from Sacramento re-elected. Why, I’ll never know, but one thing I’ll tell you, Mama, he better have all those meetin’s and conferences over by June because we’re gonna take Gina Maria to Europe on her birthday. Imagine, she’s gonna be seventeen.”

“I just can’t believe it.”

“That’s right … Good Lord, Mama, where’d all the years fly? Sometimes, I feel as though I just misplaced about half my life.”

“Oh, come on, Catherine, you’re still a young woman with a long life ahead. I’m gonna be seventy and I never think about it … never felt younger or better.”

“That sure makes me happy, Mama, seein’ as how we’re so far apart.”

“No one would believe it… you know we’ve been on the phone close to two hours?”

“Honest? My, oh my, how the time does fly when I talk to you … Oh, I almost forgot to ask. When you come out for the weddin’ in June, well be leavin’ right after for Europe … will you take Vincente back home with you?”

“More than thrilled about that … but why isn’t he goin’ to Europe with you?”

“’Cause he doesn’t want to go.”

“Well, he will when he gets older. Now, Catherine, I’m just about runnin’ outta steam … I’ll be callin’ in a few days … oh, and Catherine?”

“Yes, Mama?”

“About Tory … I’m just as sure as I can be, she’s gonna turn out fine and you’re gonna like her. I just know you are, Catherine.”

“I sure as hell hope so, Mama, because at this moment, I’m damned disappointed I didn’t have the influence over Tory that you had with me.”

T
O SEE VENICE FOR
the first time through eyes of innocent youth was to capture all the romantic fantasy of a sheltered, overly-protected, seventeen-year-old Gina Maria. All the poetry of life with its extravagant sentimental imagery brought forth feelings that captured and untapped longings yet to be born. The first night of their arrival she stood on the balcony of her room and looked out to the Grand Canal, watching with breathless excitement the gondola passing below in the moonlight. She heard the rippling sounds of oars dip gently into the serene water and listened to the handsome gondolier singing songs that must have been sung for hundreds of years. The sights and the sounds conjured up images of Venetian ladies long since past being escorted by their dashing lovers to some rendezvous. Gina Maria could see them … almost hear them speaking … breathing … could almost reach out and touch the delicate silk gown … the soft velvet flowing cloak … the jeweled masks which hid the eyes in disguise from some jealous husband. Her pulse quickened as her mind moved back into time and glimpsed the ladies dancing at court … their ball gowns billowing out as the gallant gentlemen dressed in satin pantaloons, brocade waistcoats and powdered wigs, twirled them gently around the room to the sounds of violins. Perfume wafted through the air. The blackamoors, turbanned and plumed, stood at attention as the King and his Queen entered. There was a hush after the sound of trumpets blared announcing their arrival. The ladies curtsied and the gentlemen bowed gracefully, then with the wave of an imperial hand, once again the festivities began as the room reeled with twirling dancers and the violins played till dawn.

“Gina Maria?” she heard, calling her back from the grandeur of a once glorious Venice.

“Yes, Mama?” she answered, turning around.

“Enjoying the view?” Catherine asked, smiling.

“Oh yes, Mama … I’ve never been so happy or excited about anything in my life.”

“That’s the way I felt when my Daddy and Mama brought me here for the first time, but, darlin’, you better get some sleep. We’ve got a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Alright, Mama, but first, I want to say good-night to Papa.”

Dominic was sitting up in bed reading an Italian newspaper when Gina Maria bent over and kissed him. “Papa, it’s so beautiful. I wish we never had to go back.”

He laughed at her excited, exquisite face with the large brown eyes. Her hair was thick like strands of silk skeins that hung loosely to her slim waist, and the most beautiful soft lips kissed her father. “Oh, Papa, thank you so much for taking the time out to bring me here … it wouldn’t have been the same without you.”

“Did you think I would miss an occasion as important as seeing your face at this moment?” he asked, smiling.

Catherine stood in the doorway and thought, you’re damned right you would have if I hadn’t put my foot down.

But he continued, as though he were reading Catherine’s mind. “No, Gina Maria, I wouldn’t have missed this for
anything
or
anybody.”

Kissing him once more, she said, “Oh, thank you, Papa, again … I can hardly wait for tomorrow.”

Climbing into the tall, oversized, draped four-poster Venetian bed, she turned off the bedside lamp and looked up at the starry blue night through the long French doors and thought that somewhere beyond those doors, her future waited. There was a world out there … How wonderful to be grown … finally … to be seventeen, in love with the love of life.

Early next morning, Gina Maria went down to breakfast alone, knowing her parents still slept and would have breakfast served in their suite. There was no one in the dining room yet. Apparently, it was a little too early even for the maître d’. She hesitated, thinking perhaps she would wander around for awhile, then return at seven. But at that moment the maître d’ came out of the kitchen. Mildly startled at seeing a guest this time of the morning, he said, “Good morning. You’re a little early.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I …”

“No … no … no, don’t be sorry for such a little thing, please let me show you to a table. My name is Luigi.”

She sat at a table looking out to the lagoon where she observed in wonderment the motorboat tied up along the short pier, unloading fresh produce. It was a delivery truck, Gina Maria realized, laughingly. Not quite like Guido’s where Mama shops. His deliveries are made in a Ford pickup … poor Mr. Guido … with all due respect, Fords will never be as romantic delivering groceries as motorboats.

“What will you have, my dear young lady?” the dapper maître d’ asked in his most elegant broken English.

“What… ?”

“What is your pleasure … for breakfast?”

In Italian Gina Maria responded, “Coffee and a roll … please.”

Astonished at her accent, he asked, “You are American and speak such Italian?”

“Yes,” she said proudly, “because I am Italian … the same as you.”

He answered with equal pride, “But I am not Italian.”

She looked at him. “I thought you were.”

He answered in tones of hushed reverence, raising one eyebrow, “No … I am
Neapolitan.”

“Well, that’s Italy … Napoli, that is.”

“True, geographically … but I, my dear young lady, am Neapolitan.”

“In that case, I am Sicilian.”

He looked for a silent moment, then added, “Because of your beauty … you can be forgiven.” Smiling, with a twinkle in his eye, he adjusted the napkin with a great flourish across Gina Maria’s lap and asked, “Now, I will have the waiter bring your coffee, rolls and a little cheese.”

“Thank you, but the coffee and rolls will be sufficient.”

“A little cheese with the rolls is good.”

“No, I really don’t care for the cheese.”

“Yes, but a little cheese to start the morning with is good,” he winked, shaking his head yes.

Waiting for her breakfast, she thought, we’re wonderful, aren’t we … Neapolitans … Sicilians … Romans … Venetians … all of us … how wonderful to be Italian …

After her breakfast of rolls, coffee and
cheese,
Gina Maria walked for blocks just beyond the hotel. The streets were still deserted except for the street vendors getting ready for the tourist trade. Here and there shopkeepers were washing down the sidewalks in front of their stores. How gorgeous the morning is … “I love you
Bella Venezia,”
she said aloud, throwing her broad straw hat in the air, then ran to catch it. The cats, rummaging through the garbage cans, stopped and peered at her through slanted yellow eyes. They arched their feline backs and sneered.

“Stop being so disagreeable,” she said, laughing. “I love you, too. Now, go back to your breakfast.” Walking rapidly, she returned to their suite.

As she entered quietly, Dominic was coming out of the bathroom showered and shaved. Adjusting the sash around his dressing robe, he looked at Gina Maria. “Where have you been so early? I went to your room and you were gone. From now on, Gina Maria, when you go out, please leave a note, so I don’t worry.”

She laughed, “Were you worried, Papa?”

“Yes … a little … a foreign country, a young girl can’t …”

Laughingly, she interrupted, “Papa, you’re being so
Sicilian.”

Feigning a scowl across his forehead, he said, “That’s right … I’m very
Sicilian
… very, when it comes to my favorite daughter … where were you?”

“You sound like you’re going to lock me in my room and chain me to the bed for fear my lover may climb up and carry me off.”

He laughed, “Maybe, that’s not such a bad idea … at least I’d know where you were.”

“I was downstairs having breakfast.”

“Downstairs, having breakfast so early? I just called room service.”

“But when I woke up, I couldn’t wait to see Venice in the morning.”

“Really?” He smiled at her radiant, fragile, fawnlike face, so full of wonder, not like so many unfortunate young girls Gina Maria’s age who had the look of oldness about them, all the freshness of youth gone, never to be returned. By God, Catherine was a good mother …

“Papa, I have to tell you something funny.”

“Yes …?” he answered, moving his mind away and back to her.

She told him about Luigi, the maître d’, refusing to admit that he was anything but Neapolitan. She repeated almost verbatim the conversation … “And when I said I was Sicilian, he forgave me.” She laughed, “He simply wouldn’t budge.”

“Do you know why?”

“No, unless he thought being Neapolitan was like being the aristocracy of Italy.”

“Not exactly … you see, it’s a strange thing about us Italians … it wasn’t until a hundred years or so that that Italy became a united country by a general named Garibaldi. For centuries, Italy was overrun by every other nation so that even now, Italians never say I’m Italian. Instead, they think of themselves as still belonging to the province or the city from which they’ve come. If they were born in Rome … they’re Romano, or Genovese, or Tuscano.”

“I didn’t know that … we’re fabulous people, aren’t we?”

“You can’t argue that with me … why, when the whole world was making war, we were painting the Sistine Chapel and producing the greatest art and artisans the world had ever known.”

“Oh, Papa, I feel like the whole world is Italian today.”

“Just wait until I show you some of the museums here in Venice. You’ll feel even more so.”

“Can we go right after you have breakfast?”

“Yes …”

“Terrific …
Bella Venezia,
here we come.”

Catherine was just as excited as her daughter this morning, but for different reasons. She went off in a private launch to the Murano glass factory for a shopping spree. Catherine was never quite so happy as when she was shopping. After seeing her off, Dominic and Gina Maria walked the streets of Venice. By now, the city had become alive with activity.

“Well, Gina Maria, what do you think?”

“I think it’s super, Papa … I
think
the expression is, see Naples and die … but after seeing this, the quote should be … see Venice and live …
live.”
They both laughed.

As they wandered through the crooked street, then up the narrow steps between the rows of shops, Gina Maria became aware of something that had not occurred to her until this very moment. “Papa?” she asked, “how do people raise their children here?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I just realized, there are no trees … no flowers … no parks.”

“And you’re curious about that… okay, let’s take the motorboat and I’ll show you.”

“Can’t we take a gondola?”

“This evening … but now, we’ll go by water taxi, it’s faster.”

They got on at Pier One. Nothing went unobserved by Gina Maria. The Venetian housewives were on their way to market. With their string shopping bags, they stepped into the crowded water jitney and held on until they reached the pier they desired and disembarked. Finally, at Pier Nine, the boat stopped and Dominic helped Gina Maria down. Then the boat sped away as the two entered a stone foyer. The floor was slightly above sea level. Inside there was an inch or more of water that had slopped into the large hall. Unavoidably, Gina Maria’s shoes were wet as they ascended the enormous marble stairs to the second floor. And what she saw made her forget her shoes. At this moment, she was all eyes that saw the most magnificent allegorical art in Venice. Silently, she stood before each masterpiece in complete awe. It was only when she paused for a long moment before the painting of the crucifixion, she clasped her hands in exaltation. Slowly she said, shaking her head in wonder without looking at him, “Papa, how could any human produce this? It’s so beautiful, I could cry.”

“That’s why I wanted you to see this place. Now, let me answer the question about where people raise their children.”

Walking to the French doors, they walked out to a balcony. Below was a secluded courtyard where trees grew tall and flowers bloomed in profusion. Stone benches sat on the lush green lawn. Between the stone columns statues stood regally. “Now, does this satisfy your concern about parks?” he asked, laughing.

Smiling back, she answered, “Yes … I thought Venice was only narrow streets and canals … but the Venetians didn’t overlook a thing, did they?”

“That’s right. This palace once belonged to a nobleman. It now belongs to the city … to be used as a museum.”

“You mean this was someone’s home?”

“Yes … try to imagine, if you can, the first occupants who lived here when this was built at the height of Venetian glory.”