Abroad (17 page)

Tuesday, the second of October. I was on my way back from Arthur’s class, in my usual intellectually humbled state, wearing my boots over jeans and a jumper that I had purchased on a whim during an evening shop with Anna. (She had bargained it down to forty euros from ninety.) I scuttled down the alley steps, across the busy street and into our garden. The gate clanked behind me. As I neared the door, I saw that a figure was coming up from behind the cottage.

“Ciao,” he said.

He was a strong, short boy, a little heavy, with black curls and small dark eyes. Perhaps my age, perhaps a year older. He wore jeans and a leather jacket, unzipped. He had a Vespa helmet in his hand. As soon as he saw me, he smiled widely. His lips, for some reason, reminded me of salt.

Despite my flatmates’ warnings about the boys below, I’d never seen them. I could often hear their stabbing shouts of laughter through the floor. Male smells—sweat, fried food, the sharp, strong scent of marijuana—often drifted into our kitchen.

“You one of the new girls?” he asked in Italian.

“I guess.”

“You must be the pretty one.”

“That’s the other one, actually,” I said.

He laughed. “No. Well. You’re here now. And so am I. I’m Marcello. Where are you going?”

“Home,” I said.

He smiled and rocked back and forth on his feet.

“No you’re not. You’re coming for a coffee with me.”

“I can’t,” I said. “Really. I’ve got to be somewhere.”

The B4 was getting together in forty minutes at the Club.

“Where?”

“I’m meeting friends.”

“Aren’t we friends?”

I gave a small laugh and leaned against the gate.

“You like it here?” he asked. “In this house?”

“Of course,” I said. “It’s so cute.”

“Gia and Alessandra?”

“They’re lovely.”

“They’re okay,” he said. “They get pissy when we get loud.”

“Well, you are quite loud.”

“Oh-ho! The new girl is pissy, too.”

“I never said anything. Just that you make a lot of noise.”

“You know what else about Gia?”

“What?”

“She and my flatmate, they had a thing last winter. Alfonso. That’s why she never comes down.”

“So?”

“Right. Who cares? I’m just trying to gossip with you.”

“I don’t know anything.”

“Sure you do,” he said. “We’ll talk. You’re my new best friend.”

“Well, I’ve got to—”

“Come down Thursday night. We’re having a little party.”

“What time?”

“After ten.”

“Maybe.”

“Stop teasing, beautiful,” he said. “You’re driving me crazy.”

“Can I bring my friends?”

“It’s boring, the way you foreign girls always travel in herds. Like goats. Are you a goat?”

“It’s safer,” I said.

“Don’t bring them. I only want you to come. We’ll all be there. Alfonso, Ervin. Everyone. Come on.”

“All right,” I said. “I guess. I mean, I know you, you’re my neighbor.”

“Yes.” He nodded. “You know me. So we’ll see you?”

“Okay.”

A final smile raced across his face. Marcello kissed me on both cheeks, holding my arms a bit roughly. He smelled as if he had recently eaten something delicious. Then he slipped out the gate.

*   *   *

The next day, the sky turned black and wet. October squalls were coming from the south. I was so used to seeing Grifonia beaten by sun, the rain seemed an unexpected and highly unwelcome visitor.

“Apocalyptic,” Claire said, peering through the shut door of the terrace.

“Well. There’s no need to be dramatic.”

I’d been drinking too much, three nights in a row at the bars with the B4. My translation duties were getting irritatingly frequent, sometimes requiring conversations at three a.m. The night before, Jenny had led us to the Red Lion again and I ended up kissing a pudgy American out of nothing more than boredom. Now I was to meet the girls for a pizza to rehash it all, but the prospect of getting to the restaurant in the rain seemed a grim task. Meanwhile, our cozy cottage had shrunk drastically in the horrid weather. Gia and Alessandra had abandoned the place after snapping at each other all morning, and now Claire was pacing back and forth as if caged.

“Taz, what are you doing tonight?”

“Dinner out, if I manage it.”

“Can I come?”

She looked over at me, catching my obvious pause.

“I’m just so bored, and I don’t feel like eating alone.”

I closed my book, smoothing the cover with my fingers. I’d been dreading this moment. Compared with me and my highly organized semester that was paved and paid for by Enteria, Claire was a lone wolf. Her university’s program was sloppy and unstructured. She’d met a couple of older girls, but she rarely saw them. Sometimes she met them for one drink and then roamed about alone. She had never said she was envious of the B4, but until now I’d kept them away from her, for fear that she would ask to join.

“Sure,” I said. “Come with us. Come get a pizza.” I didn’t want to tell her about Jenny’s rule of no extra girls at B4 dinners.

“Great! Thanks. Let me just shower,” she said, disappearing into our tiny bathroom. When I heard a burst of water, I picked up my phone to call Anna.

“Allooooo?” I could hear music and laughter in the background.

“Hey.”

“Taz! Luka and I came to that horrid Malone’s place to pass this rain. But you know? It’s much nicer than I thought. We’re a little out of our heads. You should come.”

She sounded more cheerful than usual; since her godfather’s arrival in Grifonia, she had been acting almost happy.

“We have that art history paper due tomorrow. Doesn’t anyone in Enteria but me do any work?”

Anna laughed. “Not really. Except in Arthur’s class.”

“Listen, I have to bring my flatmate to dinner. Do you think Jenny will mind?”

“Yes,” she said. “Of course she’ll mind. Can’t you get out of it?”

“I can’t. Not without being a bitch.”

“This is the American flatmate?”

“Yes.”

There was a pause and a bout of murmuring, during which she conferred with Luka. “Okay. Text her. Jenny. Tell her you’re bringing your flatmate like she asked.”

“Asked?”

“The other night at the Club.”

“It’s not a fucking club!” Luka yelled into the phone. “It’s my fucking apartment!” Behind her some boys bellowed.

“Jenny
said
that she was curious to meet her. Just pretend you took her literally.”

“That’s sort of brilliant.”

“Text her and then turn your phone off.”

“Okay. Seven?”

“Seven. Though you’d both better have a drink first. Jenny can be prickly.”

“Oh, God. I don’t know if I’m up for this.”

“Up for what?”

I whirled around. The water was still running, but Claire was standing behind me, naked.

“The rain. I don’t know if I’m up for the rain,” I said, hanging up on Anna. “What are you doing? Where are your clothes?”

“I came out for my razor,” she said. “You’re not ready, are you?”

“No, no. I’m not going for a while. Take your time.”

She didn’t move, instead continuing to stare at me.

“Taz.”

“Hmmm?”

“You’re okay with me going, aren’t you? Because I can really stay home if you’re not into it.”

“Of course I want you,” I said. “Don’t be silly.”

“You’re not lying?”

Again, that stare. I felt a flip in my chest I was surprised to recognize as fear.

“Of course not.”

Seemingly satisfied, Claire padded back into the shower. I texted Jenny and turned off my phone as Anna had instructed, then poured myself a large glass of wine.

Yet the remorse was seeping in. The only thing my flatmate wanted was to meet new friends. Was I so stingy that I couldn’t share? And I knew about being lonely, didn’t I?

You see, that was the thing about Claire. I
knew
her. She and I wanted the same thing. Later, she was painted a hundred different ways: insane, sexy, volatile, brilliant, stupid, insatiable. But the Claire I knew was just a girl with the same simple desire I had—to be loved by as many people as possible.

“I’ll have a glass with you,” she said, coming out. I resisted the urge to advise her to change. She was wearing her ripped baggy jeans, which were stained with something yellow, and a large brown sweatshirt emblazoned with the word
RINGO
.

“Claire, you’re the only twenty-year-old in the world who is obsessed with the Beatles. Even the Brits are over it.”

“Oh, they’re pure genius. The lyrics!” She grabbed the guitar and strummed. “
She came in throoooough the bathroom window
…”

“Oh, God.”

“Protected?” She pointed at me.

“Protected by a silver spoon.”

“Right.” Claire strummed, the key a bit off. “
Didn’t anybody tell her?
”

“Didn’t anybody see.” I said it flatly.

Claire finally gave mercy and rested the guitar on the floor. “I could listen to that a million times.”

“And if you listen to ‘Revolution 9’ backwards…”

“Turn me on, dead man! Oh, I love that you know that.” She put her arm around me and squeezed. “Nobody
ever
knows that.”

Have you ever been close to a truly beautiful person? Experienced the sensory disorientation, the racing of the brain? Her shirts always too loose, her breasts free, her hair slipping into her eyes as she looked at you, full of questions.

“I have two boy cousins,” I said hurriedly. “They know all of that rubbish. I heard it’s actually true. I think they tried it on my dad’s old record player.”

“Hilarious,” Claire said, picking up my wine. “I think I heard it once, too, but I was super high.”

We were somewhat drunk by the time we got out of the house, huddled under my pink umbrella. As we tripped up the stairs to the square, she held on to my arm, laughing.

“Aren’t you glad we’re roommates?”

“Yes.” I tried to hold her upright. She stumbled again, embracing me.

“Oh, Taz. I just feel like everything here is … destiny. You know?”

“Yes.”

“Hug me back, Taz,” she commanded.

I patted her back weakly.

“I could totally kiss you right now, you know. In Italy, friends kiss.”

She drew back, peering at me with that challenging look she had. It was exactly like being dared by a small, naughty child.

“Do you want to?” she whispered.

“Well, I—”

“Oh, I’m starving.” She pulled away. “Where
is
this place?”

Even in the rain, there was a crowd waiting outside the door. Pizza Bella was the most popular pizzeria in the old town. We were in the habit of going often, as it was close to the Club. The space was cozy, at best. There were few tables, and always a long queue outside. Diners were not welcome to linger—the management wanted the customers to order pizza, eat, and get out. But when we went there, which was often, Luka would come early and bribe the management for a table. As usual, I was the last one to arrive.

As we walked into the place—bustling, bright, thick with the smell of baked bread and garlic and cooked cheese—I felt a surge of panic. Jenny was sitting at the far end of the room, whispering to Luka with a sour look on her face.

“Come on,” I said rather harshly, forging ahead through the clot of tables. Claire trailed behind me. I felt a wave of embarrassment and shame at bringing her.

“Hello!” Jenny said. To my relief, she looked pleased to see us. I looked at Luka and Anna, who smiled reassuringly. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Oh! This is—”

Jenny held up her hand to stop me.

“I got your text, but you didn’t respond to mine.”

“Sorry. Phone was off.”

“Hmmm. T’sall right.”

“This is Claire.”

Slowly, Jenny turned her head in my flatmate’s direction.

“Hi!” Anna said. Luka raised her hand in greeting.

“I didn’t know they sat tables before the whole party got here,” Claire said, glancing at the line outside. “This place is popular.”

“Well, Luka gave them enough to let us stay until tomorrow if we want.”

“Gave who what?” Claire asked, taking off her jacket.

“Never mind. So you’re Taz’s flatmate! We’ve heard so much about you. Have some wine.”

Jenny nodded at Anna, who poured Claire a glass. It was going to be all right, probably, I thought to myself. I leaned back in my chair, beginning to relax.

“Thanks.”

“So you’re doing an independent study?”

“Yes,” Claire said. She folded her arms and put her elbows on the table. For some reason it made her seem manly. I wondered if the others noticed.

“How do you like it?”

“I love it.”

Anna beamed generously. Luka drained her glass.

“But it’s hard to meet people.”

“That’s too bad.” Jenny gathered her heavy hair and put it over one shoulder. “It’s hard, of course, when people already have their friends. Hard to crack it.”

“I guess.” Claire smiled. That smile! Jenny turned away, as if the glare of it were too much to take.

“Of course, I have Taz.”

“Do you really?” Jenny raised her eyebrows.

“How do you guys like Enteria?”

“Fine, fine,” Jenny said, waving her hand, as if bored. “It’s brilliant. Other than the lack of decent men. We need to go to Rome or something.”

“Lack of men?” Claire looked around the restaurant, filled with men of all ages. “Seriously?”

“Real Italian men. With good taste and class. The Grifonians are complete roughnecks. Haven’t you noticed? It’s like the Liverpool of Italy.”

“Doesn’t stop you from shagging them,” Luka said.

“I want to meet an Italian gentleman. With a villa or something. Maybe from a political family.”

Claire looked over at me.

Just go with it
, I prayed.

“Wait until that thing at the castle,” Luka said.

“Castle?” Claire asked.

“She’s joking. So where are you from?”

“Butte.”

“No idea.”

“It’s in Montana. Near—”

“Ah, here’s the pizza,” Jenny said, abruptly cutting her off. “We ordered already.” The bedraggled waiter threw down the platter and ran away again. “I hope you eat meat? I know a lot of Americans don’t.”