The Love Machine (39 page)

“I guess girls are closer to their mothers,” he said quietly.

“I don’t know, but I do know children are important. Mother knew that. I wish you felt the same way.”

“Well—happy Palm Springs and Merry Christmas.”

“Same to you. I guess you’ll wind up surrounded by blondes. But have a nice holiday, Robin.” She clicked the receiver.

He rubbed his head thoughtfully. The holiday season stretched ahead. The idea of the saucer special was beginning to take form in his mind, but he knew nothing could be accomplished until after the first of the year. Meanwhile there was Christmas to get through. He could go to Los Angeles and try to help Ike out of the doldrums, but the idea of sitting and rehashing Ike’s frustration over Amanda was depressing.

He called a model he had dated. She had gone to West Virginia for the holidays. He tried an airline hostess. Her plane was two hours late, but her roommate was available. He arranged to meet her at the Lancer bar. She was a nice-looking clean-cut kid. They had a few drinks together. He stuck to beer. He bought her a steak. She was ready to go home with him, but he dropped her back at her own apartment. He took a long walk, then he watched
The Late Show
and fell asleep. He awoke at four in the morning. He was damp with sweat and although he couldn’t remember, he was aware that he had had a nightmare. He lit a cigarette. Four in the morning; that meant it was ten o’clock in Rome. The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. He placed a call. The voice that answered was masculine and spoke in stilted English.

“Mrs. Stone, please,” Robin said.

“Please, she is still asleep. May I take the message?”

“Who is this?”

“May I in turn ask the same question?”

“I’m her son. Robin Stone. Now who the hell are you?”

“Oh.” The voice took on a tone of warmth. “I have heard
much about you. I am Sergio, an excellent friend of Mrs. Stone’s.”

“Well, look, excellent friend, I’m going to grab the first flight I can get for Rome. I want to spend Christmas with my mother. How is she feeling?”

“She is quite well, but she will feel even better when she hears this news.”

Robin kept his voice cold. If this was a sample of the charm these gigolo types dished out, no wonder so many women were taken in. This one was getting to him right through the phone. “Look, excellent friend, you can save me a cable if you reserve a room for me at the Excelsior.”

“I do not understand—”

“The Excelsior. It’s a big hotel on the Via Veneto.”

“I know the hotel well, but why should you stay there? Your mother has a very large
palazzo
, ten bedrooms. She would be most hurt if you did not stay with her.”

“Ten bedrooms!”

“It is a nice villa. Very restful for her.”

I’ll bet, Robin thought; plenty of freedom for little Sergio to have his boyfriends as house guests. But he remained silent.

Sergio said, “If you will wire the time of your flight, I will meet you.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“But it will be a pleasure.”

“Okay, chum, you really earn your keep, don’t you?”

“I am looking forward to our meeting.”

The plane landed at eleven at night, Rome time. Robin was suddenly grateful for the time difference. He could greet Kitty and go directly to sleep. In a way he wished he could stay at a hotel. The role of house guest wasn’t to his liking, even if it was his own mother’s home. After all, a
palazzo
in Rome with Sergio was a far cry from the rambling brownstone he and Lisa had shared with Kitty in Boston. And he was sure Sergio in no way resembled his father.

He saw the handsome young man in the skinny pants the moment he got off the plane. As Robin came through the gates, he rushed to him and tried to take his hand luggage.

Robin waved him off. “I’m not decrepit, junior.”

“My name is Sergio. May I call you Robin?”

“Why not?” They walked toward the baggage area. The boy was exceptionally handsome, better-looking than any movie star. Definitely light on his feet but he didn’t swish. And he had more than just the looks and accent going for him. His manner was right—eager and enthusiastic, yet not subservient. The son of a bitch acted like he actually was glad to meet him. And he was a whiz with the baggage—whatever it was that he was rattling in Italian sure as hell worked. Immigration stamped his passport; and while everyone else fought and tried to find their luggage, Sergio merely peeled off some lire, and within seconds a bent old porter came up with Robin’s bags and piled them into a long red Jaguar. Robin was silent as they sped along the modern highway that led into town.

“Nice car,” he finally said.

“It belongs to your mother.”

“I’m sure she speeds around in it every day,” he said acidly.

“No—I drive. She had a large chauffeur-driven Rolls, but in Rome such a large car in our traffic is not good. And the chauffeur—” Sergio rolled his eyes toward heaven. “He had arrangements with gas stations. He was making much money off your mother. Now I do the driving.”

“And you’ve found a cut-rate gas station, I’m sure.”

“Cut-rate?”

“Forget it, Sergio—how is my mother?”

“I think she is more well than she has been for a long time. And your arriving has made her so very happy. We are planning a big Christmas party in your honor. Your mother likes parties, and I think it is good for her, makes her dress nice. And when a woman dresses up and looks beautiful, she feels well.”

Robin sat back and watched Sergio navigate through the tiny squealing cars and jammed traffic in the center of the city. Gradually they eased their way into a less congested area and headed for the Appian Way. Sergio drove into an enormous tree-lined drive. Robin whistled. “Looks like Nero’s summer palace. What’s the rent on this place?”

“No rent,” Sergio said. “Kitty bought it. Very nice—yes?”

Kitty was waiting in the large marble entrance hall. Robin embraced her gently. She seemed smaller than he remembered, but her face was smooth and unlined. At first glance, standing there in the red velvet hostess pajamas, she looked to be about thirty. She led him into an enormous drawing room. The floors were pink marble and frescoes lined the high walls. Sergio disappeared, and Kitty led him to the couch. “Oh, Robin—it’s so good to see you.” He stared at her tenderly. Suddenly he was so damn glad she was his mother. He saw the age spots on the hands that contrasted so incongruously with the young unlined face. And yet, sitting here with him, she suddenly seemed like a little old woman. Her body seemed to collapse—even the smooth face looked old.

Then Sergio entered and he witnessed an amazing transformation. Kitty sat up. Her body seemed vibrant—she grew two inches, her smile was young—she
was
young as she accepted the glass of champagne Sergio offered.

“I made for you vodka martini on the ice,” Sergio said. “Kitty said this is what you drink. Is it made correct?”

Robin took a long swallow. It was incredible. The son of a bitch made a better martini than the bartender at Lancer’s. Sergio disappeared again and Kitty took both of Robin’s hands. “I’m a bit tired, but tomorrow we’ll catch up on everything. Oh, Sergio, you are sweet.” The boy had returned with a tray of cold lobster.

Robin dipped a piece into some sauce. He suddenly realized that he was hungry. Sergio had no end of talents. He stared at the young man, standing straight and erect near the fireplace, and wondered what made a boy who had everything going for him turn queer. If it was money he wanted, there had to be young Italian heiresses who would go for a guy with his looks. Why tie up with an older woman? Easy: an older woman was grateful for any small favors. Grateful enough to let him have an occasional boy on the side.

“You called just in time,” Kitty was saying. “We already had our plane tickets for Switzerland. I had promised Sergio ten days of skiing.”

Robin’s face showed his concern. “Why didn’t you tell me I was interrupting something?”

She waved her hand. “Oh, it didn’t matter one way or the other
to me. Heaven knows I don’t ski. Poor Sergio was the one who had looked forward to the trip. But it was his decision not to go. When I woke up, he announced that you were coming and that he had already canceled our reservation at the lodge.”

Robin looked at Sergio. The young man shrugged. “I think perhaps the air is too thin for Kitty anyhow. With her heart, maybe she should not go to the Alps.”

“Nonsense! The doctor said it was all right!” Kitty said. “But this is much nicer. We’re all together. And—has Sergio told you?—we’re going to have a big party Christmas day. I’m making a list. Of course many people will be away on holiday, but all the strays who are stuck in Rome will be here. And, Robin, you are going to stay until after New Year’s. After all, we gave up the Alps for you, so don’t dare run off.”

“But if I stay for a few days you could still go to Switzerland.”

“No. We’d never get reservations now. As it was, we had to make them months in advance. So now you have to stay.”

Kitty put down her glass. “Time for me to go to sleep.” Robin stood up but she waved her hand. “Now you finish your drink. It’s late for me, darling, but you’re still on American time, so you can’t be sleepy.” She kissed him lightly. Sergio came and took her arm and she looked at him gently. “He’s a nice boy, Robin. He’s made me very happy. He could be my son.” She turned to him suddenly. “How old are you, Robin?”

“I hit the big one last August.”

“Forty.” She smiled. “Suddenly that seems so young. But it isn’t young when a man hasn’t married.” Her eyes were questioning.

“I guess I can’t find anyone as attractive as you.”

She shook her head. “Don’t wait too long. Children are very important.”

“Sure,” he said hollowly. “That’s why you need Sergio. We’re a big comfort to you, Lisa and me.”

“Robin, a mother really loves her children only if she loves them enough to let go. I didn’t have children as annuities against loneliness in my old age. They were part of my youth—the wonderful thing I had with your father. Now they must have their youth and their children.” She sighed. “Those years—they are the
really happy ones of one’s life. I see that now as I look back. Don’t let it slip by you, Robin.” Then she left the room with Sergio at her side. He watched them disappear at the top of the stairs.

He poured himself a shot of straight vodka. He was tired but he wasn’t eager to go to bed. He had nothing to read … and this strange new sense of loneliness persisted. His glance went to the top of the winding stairs. Were Kitty and Sergio making love? He shivered. It was a mild night—but he was cold. He walked over to the fire. Maybe it was the goddam marble. He shivered again.

“I lit the fire in your room.”

He turned—Sergio was standing at the foot of the stairs.

“I didn’t hear you,” Robin said. “You sure pussyfoot around.”

“I intentionally wear rubber soles. Kitty often takes small unexpected naps. And I do not wish my footsteps to disturb her.”

Robin walked back to the couch. Sergio sat beside him. Robin moved away and looked at the young man. “Look, Sergio, let’s get this straight right from the start. Get your pleasure with my mother or with boys. Just don’t get any ideas about me.”

“Forty is late to be unmarried.”

Robin laughed without mirth. “Good thinking. But you’re off base. I dig girls, buddy—I dig them so much that I never intend to settle for just one.” The dark-brown liquid gaze of the man unsettled him. “Look, why aren’t you in bed with the glorious Kitty? That’s what you’re getting paid to do.”

“I am with her because I like her.”

“Yeah, I like her too. But I left her when I was your age, and she was a lot younger and prettier.”

Sergio smiled. “But she is
not
my mother. There is love between us—but not the kind you think. Your mother does not want sex, she wants affection, someone to be with her. I care for her. I will always be very good to her.”

“You do that, Sergy.” Robin’s voice was tight. He found himself reevaluating the boy. He no longer resented him. In a crazy kind of way he thought Kitty was lucky. He felt a surge of gratitude toward Sergio.

“Tell me about your work in the States,” Sergio said.

“There’s nothing to tell … I’m in news broadcasting.”

“Don’t you like it?”

Robin shrugged. “It will do—it’s a job.”

Robin poured himself some more vodka. The young man jumped up and brought him the ice bucket.

“Everyone has to have a job,” Robin said slowly.

“We are a Catholic country and there is no divorce. Poor people have bambinos. So they must have a job and work hard—even at jobs they do not like. But the man of affluence, he does not have just a job. He works at a business of his choosing. He enjoys life. All businesses and shops close every day from noon until three. A man of means enjoys life over here. At lunch he goes to his mistress. He has a long lunch—wine—he makes love. Then at night he goes to his wife, and he relaxes again. But you Americans—you take jobs you do not care about. Tell me, do you ever take wine with lunch?”