The Gilder (11 page)

Still lucid enough to appreciate the discreet placement of his hands, Marina relaxed and let her eyes drift across the sky, where the first stars of the night were beginning to appear. After a moment, Amir whispered, “Later I will show you the full heavens.” She might have laughed had his tone not been so earnest, and for all she knew, it might have been a direct translation from the Prophet or some other exotic poet.

That night Marina dreamed about Sarah. They were picnicking in the olive grove when the grove changed into a river, in that inexplicable way things in dreams change from one form to another. At first they floated, holding hands and talking, but then the current became stronger and they had trouble keeping hold of each other. Marina was sucked under, but in the midst of her panic, she found that she could breathe underwater. She surfaced, calling to Sarah that it was all right to let go, that she, too, would be able to breathe. But the raging waters were too loud, and Sarah could not hear her. She called again and again as the water swept Sarah away.

Marina woke with a start and the overwhelming feeling that she had failed her friend somehow. Beside her, Amir snored softly, his lips pursed like a child’s, long dark lashes curled against his cheeks. He’d been a lovely lover, soft touch, soft voice, soft hands, and she’d happily floated by his side throughout the evening and into the night. She hadn’t realized how much tension and yearning Sarah’s titillating and confusing attentions had left her with. Amir had released it all, easily and effortlessly, and she hadn’t even had to ask for a condom. It simply appeared when it was supposed to. She wondered what Sarah was doing at that very moment. Was she snuggled up against Thomas? Had they made love in the night? She tried to envision this, but couldn’t. Usually she had an easy time imagining people in bed together, even unlikely couples where one was much taller or larger than the other. Not that she thought Thomas and Sarah were unlikely. Did she?

She hadn’t gone to the apartment with the intention of dressing up in Sarah’s clothes, but a flash of color from the closet had caught her eye, and she’d reached for the embroidered dress without thinking. She held it up, hugging it to her body, turning this way and that in front of the large mirror that leaned against the wall at the foot of Thomas and Sarah’s bed. Before she knew what she was doing, she was out of her clothes and stepping into the dress, her T-shirt and shorts crumpled on the floor.

She hummed to herself as she watered Sarah’s plants. She liked how the dress felt, how it floated around her, the celadon skirt creating a pocket of air that caressed her legs. Since her weekend with Amir, she’d felt deliciously carefree and somehow emboldened, otherwise she never would have tried on Sarah’s clothes without permission.

“There you go, you little green thing, drink up.” That was the last of the houseplants. Now for the geraniums on the terrace. She crossed the living room and was about to step through the French doors when she heard something that stopped her. The unmistakable scratch of a key finding its way into a lock. Before she could move, the front door swung open and Marcello stepped in, shutting it behind him, but when he saw her, he froze, and for a moment, the two of them stood like gunslingers, each eyeing the other.

“
Dio mio!
Marina!” Marcello clasped the envelopes he was carrying to his chest and let out a dramatic sigh.

Marina smiled apologetically, holding up the watering can.

“Sì, sì,”
he said, and held up the mail.

They chatted for a few moments about nothing of consequence but enough for him to compliment her on her Italian, all the while glancing at the dress. Before leaving, he arranged the mail on the desk, eyed her one more time, then departed with a small wave.

Marina wondered if he’d recognized Sarah’s dress. Of course he had. Would he tell on her? He was never anything other than sweet to Marina when their paths crossed, but she worried that he might tattle if he had any inclination toward disrupting her relationship with Sarah. After all, he’d been her closest friend before Marina showed up. Not long after Marina moved into Via Luna, the three of them had met for lunch, but the language barrier and the fact that Sarah turned out to be the only thing they had in common had made it awkward, and Sarah hadn’t suggested it again. She knew that he and Sarah still spent time together, but Sarah was forever saying that he felt neglected and she needed to spend more time with him.

Marina put away the watering can and walked into the bedroom. She stood in front of the mirror again, cocking her head to one side. The dress felt nice, but somehow it didn’t look quite right on her. The way it looked on Sarah, feminine and exotic, didn’t translate to her, any more than her mother’s clothes had when she was a little girl standing in front of the hall mirror, in lipstick and too-large high heels, trying to imagine the woman she would one day become. Her mother’s knack for understated elegance and bohemian chic was not a trait Marina seemed to have inherited, at least it hadn’t surfaced yet, so she relied on the trends, following the herd, playing it safe. No one would ever accuse her of making a statement in her Levi’s, Frye boots, and shapeless sweaters. She sighed at her image in the mirror, hoping that someday she’d find a style all her own and stop looking in other people’s closets for her identity.

CHAPTER 7

T
he summer heat seemed to go on forever, and by the time Sarah and Thomas returned in early September, it still showed no signs of letting up. Marina aired out their apartment and had a cold supper of antipasti, cheese, and salad waiting for them when they returned on the evening train from Siena. They seemed pleased to see her, and while they ate supper, Thomas regaled her with humorous anecdotes about their hosts and fellow houseguests. Sarah was reserved, presumably tired from the journey, and it wasn’t until Thomas had talked nonstop through most of dinner that Marina realized he and Sarah were not speaking to each other. After dinner Thomas went off to check on his studio and she finally had an opportunity to ask Sarah what was going on. Sarah told her how the contessa had swooped down in the middle of their vacation and carried Thomas off to Rome on the pretext of meeting some important client.

“That bitch didn’t even have the decency to apologize for interrupting our holiday.” She began to cry.

“What did you do? Did you ask him not to go?”

“I told Thomas not to bother coming back if he went with her. He told me I was acting like a fool, that there was nothing to worry about. That he had to go. It was business.”

“So he just went?”

Sarah nodded and sniffed. “He was gone for five days. He never called, and then when he came back, he acted as if nothing had happened. I don’t know what got into him. He hasn’t done anything like that in a long time.”

“What do you think is going on?” Marina hesitated. “Are they having an affair?”

“Nothing’s going on. It’s not like that. It’s just that it makes me so mad when he lets her do as she pleases, with no regard for me or my feelings.”

It seemed pretty clear to Marina that something was going on and probably had been for a long time, but Sarah seemed exhausted, so she let it go.

The glut of tourists continued along with the heat, and Marina decided to stay on at the leather stall working half days as long as she was needed. She and Sarah fell back into their pattern of spending the lunch and siesta hours together, most often at Marina’s apartment, since Sarah was still angry with Thomas and avoided him as much as possible. They taught themselves how to macramé, and when they tired of making jute and bead plant hangers, they read aloud to one another. Marina was enthralled with
The Agony and the Ecstasy
, following Michelangelo’s footsteps through the streets of Florence on a map she tacked to the kitchen wall. Sometimes, after too much wine with lunch, they lay head to foot on the bed and dozed, and while Marina was still unsure what to make of Sarah’s attentions, she had decided to stop overexamining Sarah’s motives, to relax and accept the friendship she offered.

One day, as they lay on the bed, they talked about trips around Italy they might take together. Marina wanted to experience some of the countryside, and Sarah said she’d love to see all the great sculpture she could, especially any of children.

“Florence is full of Donatello’s putti, and I adore them, but I’ve seen enough babies with wings to last me a lifetime, and most of the paintings you see around here have children in them who look like miniature adults.” Sarah waved her hand across the ceiling as if she were painting them herself. “I’d like to see someone do children who look like children.”

Sarah often talked about children in relation to art, but she never mentioned why she and Thomas didn’t have any of their own, and although Marina wondered about it, she sensed the topic was off-limits. Instead, she engaged Sarah in talking about which cities to visit in order of importance, but when she pressed her to make a definitive plan, Sarah balked. “I don’t think Thomas would like it if I went off without him.”

Marina poked Sarah’s shoulder with her foot. “So what! Doesn’t he go off with the contessa at the drop of a hat?”

“Yes, but if I went off, it would just make the situation worse.”

“What do you mean?”

Sarah paused before replying. “It would just give her more opportunity to be with him.”

Marina propped herself up on her elbows and looked at Sarah. “You can’t stay here and guard him. What about
your
dreams,
your
life?”

“My life is with Thomas.”

“But at what cost?” Marina knew she was pushing the point, but it made her crazy that Sarah allowed everything to be about Thomas. “What about your work? I saw your portfolio. You’re good.”

“That was years ago. Besides, one artist in the family is enough.”

Marina flopped back onto her back in a huff. “I suppose Thomas said that.”

Sarah sat up. “What is going on with you, Marina? And when did you see my portfolio?”

“When you were away, I found it on the bookshelf.” Marina stared at the ceiling, remembering the hands. “Your drawings are beautiful. Why did you stop?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Sarah flicked her hand dismissively. “Thomas’s career was taking off. He needed my help. Then ...” Sarah stopped.

“Then what?”

“Nothing. I just got over it.” She lifted her hair off her neck, tying it in a knot at the back of her head. “Look, Marina, you don’t know what it takes to be married. It’s a compromise.” She swung her legs off the bed and stood up, indicating the end of the conversation.

In the late afternoon, Marina always went faithfully to Sauro’s workshop, where he allowed her to help him prepare pieces for gilding and advised her on projects of her own, small frames and boxes that she bought inexpensively at the flea market and restored lovingly with thoughts of Christmas and her parents’ birthdays in mind.

Most nights she and Sarah had dinner together at Anita’s, and each night, Anita would ask for Thomas, only to be met with a shrug from Sarah.

“She thinks she’s being crafty,” said Sarah. “She’s only asking about Thomas to see if I’m still mad at him.”

Finally, Marina felt obliged to ask the question she’d been avoiding. She tore off a piece of crust and began to chew. The truth was she liked it that she had Sarah’s undivided attention and didn’t want to bring Thomas into their world, preferring to believe that he’d vanished, run off with the contessa, leaving the two of them to carry on happily on their own. But she was afraid that she might have been too critical of their marriage and wanted to at least appear supportive. “So, how
are
you feeling about Thomas?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m getting a little tired of all this avoidance. He creeps into bed at dawn and I scurry out of the house as soon as I hear him stirring in the morning.” Her earrings shivered as she shook her head. “It’s silly, and it never seems to get me anywhere. Thomas can out-stubborn me any day.”

Marina felt the flush of jealousy on her cheeks as she sensed Sarah slipping away from her, but she managed to keep her tone neutral. “So, what will you do?”

Sarah sipped her wine. “All I have to do is be home more, then everything will go back to the way it was.”

“Is that what you want? For things to go back the way they were?”

Sarah shrugged. “What choice do I have? Some things never change.”

But you could change things,
Marina thought as she looked down at the tangled mass of spaghetti on her plate and realized she’d lost her appetite.

The next day, Sarah did not appear at lunchtime, and Marina didn’t think too much of it until there was no sign of her at dinnertime either. She hadn’t expected Sarah to switch her affection back to Thomas quite so quickly, and to avoid further disappointment, didn’t go home at midday for the rest of the week.

On Saturday she found a note on her door.

Meet us for dinner at nine. Bring Amir if you like. S & T.