Roman Crazy (12 page)

I'd scratched out a few drawings with Daisy, but I wasn't thinking about what I was drawing; I'd just been doodling. Here, I was putting so much behind it my fingers froze around the pastel. Pressure was always something that I succumbed to too easily.

Along the square's border I saw a group of people setting up easels, stools, and canvases, and my heart began racing and my fingers started twitching. They were clearly an organized class. Could I join them? Soon . . . baby steps.

Once they were arranged, they sat and began painting the landscape just beyond the square.

I was lost within moments, watching them work. My fingers gripped the pastel, and with one stroke down the page, I smiled. From there it wasn't smooth sailing, but it was a start.

Before I realized it, I had lost thirty minutes. Shaking my head, I stood, stretching my limbs and knocking off the dust that had collected on my lap.

It wasn't my finest work, but I was damn proud of it. The colors of the apples were captured, the farmer's charming, weathered face and hands were rough, but I was cutting myself some slack. This was the first effort, but definitely not the last.

Tucking everything back into the bag, I wandered over to the group and eyed each canvas. They were good, but they all looked the same: a beautiful Roman landscape. The only varying details were how many flowers they used or the steadiness of their hands on the fine line details.

Except one. An older gentleman toward the end of the line hadn't filled his landscape with the traditional reds, oranges, and yellows of Tuscany. He had painted the night sky. It was rich and haunting with the navy-gray base and stunning charcoal accents. The only swipe of brightness came from a building with a single lit window. Inside, a sultry-shaped silhouette gazed out over Rome.

I watched him finish it before he packed up his things and walked away, leaving the painting on the easel.

“Sir?” I called out after him.

One of the painters tapped me on the shoulder. “He comes every week,” she explained in broken English. “He always leave them.” She gently picked up the painting and held it out to me. “You take.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, watching the others pack up their things.

“Yes, enjoy. You come next week, yes?” she said, pointing to the pastel chalk dust on my clothing. She smiled, pushing the canvas toward me. “Next week.”

With a parting wave, she disappeared into the crowd, leaving me with the painting.

I carried it home, staring at it most of the way.

“ARE YOU SURE WE'RE NOT
late? We're not going to be stuck eating leftovers or just dessert, right?”

“As if that would be so bad. Have you had an Italian dessert? And I don't mean those paltry knockoffs they serve in the States. Besides, I'm there once a week. Trust me.” Daisy laughed, handing me a small paper bag with bright red paper poking out of the top as we hurried down the street to dinner.

“What's this?”

“Tools to make life easier,” she explained, pulling the paper out to reveal a tiny book of maps and a common phrases book. “I saw the one in your backpack. It's a bit dated. This will help.”

“You didn't have to do this!” I exclaimed, flipping through the translations for something good. “
Grazie
.”

“Well, I did it so that I felt better about you wandering around the city by yourself,” she began, slipping her purse across her body. “Unless Marcello plans on wandering with you—”

This was a notion that sunk its teeth in and didn't let go. “I won't rule it out. Is that awful of me? I know I'll see him at your office, but . . . We could be friends.”

Daisy wrapped a thin, vibrantly colored scarf around her neck. “I'd think you were insane to
not
want to see and
do
him while you're here, but friends works, too.”

It was my turn to laugh. We took one last corner, then arrived at our restaurant.

Dozens of people, including families, were waiting on the sidewalk outside the strip of restaurants, chatting among themselves.

I checked my watch. “It's eight o'clock on a Tuesday, and these people are just starting dinner? What about getting ready for work and school the next day? My God, Daniel would be on the couch watching a game at this time.”

I sounded like a stick in the mud waiting for her AARP card to come in the mail.

“Have you heard from him?”

“If you call him sending me a text hearing from him,” I snipped, pulling out the phone to show her.

Avie, I need to know where you take my dry cleaning.

Daisy frowned and patted my hand. “Wine. We need wine.”

She knew the hostess, so we were whisked away within minutes, tucked away at one of the outdoor tables lit with small tea-light candles. I was beginning to realize my friend had this town wired. I'd checked out everyone else's table on the way in, looking to see what people were eating, and I may have inadvertently moaned out loud.

When the server arrived, Daisy waved off the menus and asked, “Do you mind if I order for us?”

“Go ahead.” I was about three seconds away from sprinkling fresh Parmesan on the table and gnawing off a corner.

“Excellent. We'll start with the
bufala
mozzarella with the warm plum tomatoes and basil pesto, and the baccalà croquettes. Then the black ink tagliolini with the shrimp and scallions, the oxtail ravioli, and after that we'll split the veal and polenta with the summer truffles.
Bene, grazie
.”

“How many people are joining us for dinner?” I laughed, breaking off a hunk of warm, crusty bread.

She laughed. “The portions aren't
that
big. Besides, everything is slowed down here. You sit, you drink, you laugh and drink some more—and above all else, you enjoy life. One night, dinner here lasted four and a half hours.”

I gave her a searching look, and she added, “There was a lot of wine.”

“While that sounds incredibly relaxing, I've got a phone call with my lawyer in the morning. I need to be sharp.”

“I think you
need
something sharp. Pointed at his balls.”

I shook my head, annoyed. “I just can't believe that the only contact I've had from him since I've been here has been about his shirts.”

“He's probably still laying into the secretary.” When I winced, she apologized. “Too soon? Sorry.”

“No, you're probably right. That's not even what's bothering me. Which seems insane, I know, but I think what I really hate about all of this is the lying. And if he was lying about this, who knows what else he was lying about. How many women? How many years has this been going on?”

She nodded, handing me another piece of bread.

I talked as I chewed. “And it's like, here's this guy, this guy you've known since you were nineteen, this guy you thought you knew better than anyone on the planet, and then poof. One day you find out he's got a secret life.”

“Well, his penis had a secret life.” Daisy groaned, and I laughed in spite of myself. I dabbed my eyes with the napkin, wondering if I could pass off my tears as ones of laughter. “I'm sorry I brought it up,” Daisy said, reaching across the table and patting my hand, not at all fooled.

I gave a watery sigh, then dabbed my eyes a final time. “I don't want to waste a beautiful Italian night or an incredible dinner with thoughts of him. Not now at least. After I talk to the lawyer, I'll need that wine.”

“Want to know what
is
exciting to talk about on a beautiful Italian night over an incredible dinner?”

“What?”

“Your first day of work!” She smiled big and goofy. “We finally moved all the vases to the studio. Are you excited?”

“I am. I so, so am. Tomorrow, after the lawyer wine, we're having celebratory vase wine.”

“Deal. Now tell me about that portrait you brought home.”

“Home?”

She shrugged. “It's where the art is.”

I explained the line of novice artists at the market; how they were all similar save for the one. “I just couldn't leave it to end up
in the trash. When she said for me to take it, I just did. I don't even really know why.”

Daisy examined me, the candlelight reflecting in her green eyes. “You have a new map now, and we'll get your phone set up with an international plan. Your next order of business is an art shop.” She held up her hand when I started to interrupt. “No excuses, Avery. If I knew what you needed I'd buy it myself, but I know how particular you are.”

“I'm not
that
particular,” I protested, smothering a smile. “Besides, I was trying to tell you that I went shopping today. You should have seen me when I got home, covered in pastel chalk, but I digress.”

She beamed, holding up her water glass. “I'm so proud of you.”

“Me, too. I have you to thank for the idea to come here.”

“To us,” we said, and clinked.

The server brought the first wave of food, along with a bottle of wine, compliments of the owner. Daisy was clearly a regular.

My eyes closed and I sighed dreamily when the mozzarella melted against my tongue; when the basil pesto hit my taste buds, I heard angels singing. “Jesu—Jesuit Christmas,” I choked, correcting myself when a woman at the next table raised her eyebrow in my direction. Right. Catholic town.

“Right? It's impossible to have a bad meal here. And you walk so much, you don't gain weight. It's like Disney World for foodies.”

By the time dessert was ordered, it was nearly ten o'clock and I had to unbutton my pants.

“You've had American-made tiramisu, right?” I nodded. “Order it here. You'll never look at it the same way again. Sinful doesn't even cut it.”

I ordered for us when she got a text and smiled broadly. I'd been so focused on Daniel, me, and seeing Marcello, that I hadn't asked Daisy about
her
life.

“Someone special?”

“Huh? Uh, no, this is work.” She was unconvincing.

The waiter returned with heaven on a plate. A shareable portion of tiramisu that he garnished with freshly shaved chocolate. “Doesn't seem like work,” I countered, dipping my fingertip into the creamy topping of the tiramisu.

She tried to hide her secretive smile, and failed miserably at it. “Oh it is. All work. All the time with him.”

“Details, please.”

She laughed, tossing her phone back into her purse. “Later. Right now, I need this chocolate to help me forget about spreadsheets and budgets.”

I
DIDN'T KNOW WHO WAS
more excited, me or Daisy, when I strolled out of the bedroom ready for my first day at work. I knew she was excited, because she had a healthy breakfast and not-so-healthy cappuccino ready for me, and immediately started chirping. “I know you have to talk to the lawyer this morning so I'm sending a car when you're ready. Hopefully tomorrow we can go in on the bus together, but today, you're on your own.”

“I'll be fine,” I told her as she sailed out the front door. “Thanks, Mom!”

Her response was to fire some weird Italian gesture back at me that I'm pretty sure didn't mean
you're welcome
 . . .

The phone call with my attorney didn't exactly go as I had hoped. I
had
hoped, pie in the sky perhaps, but hoped nonetheless that once Daniel had some time to think about what had happened, what he had done, he would have come to the same decision I had, and agree that ending the marriage was the smartest thing we could do. In fact, I also thought once he had time to get used to the idea that he'd actually relish the idea of
no longer being tied down, no longer having anyone to answer to, and he could troll through Boston with his pants down.

He'd committed adultery, not me. Theoretically, it seemed clear that he'd be thrilled to be out of this marriage and back onto the scene, free and clear, single and ready to mingle. But in reality, he wanted to make this difficult.

It was clear cut for me. It hadn't been an easy decision and I still had so many conflicting feelings I felt like a yo-yo half the time, but I had to admit that once I stepped off that plane and arrived in Rome, I was seeing things much clearer. So I was letting my attorney fight the battle back home while I got to know Rome.

And frankly, I was enjoying the hell out of the freedom of owing nothing to anyone. I went where I wanted, I ate what I wanted, I drank what I wanted, and no one cared! I'd put on five pounds already, and no one had made any snarky comments! So if Daniel wanted to drag this out, so be it. I wasn't in a rush to return to Boston.

Plus, and this was the part I had never expected, I had a job to start and vases to repair and a . . . life to live?

After I hung up with the lawyer, I took my time getting dressed. Nothing too fancy because, hello, old vases and plaster, but I didn't want to look like a schlump, either.