Abroad (20 page)

I picked at my all-but-inedible eggplant.

“She’s a bit odd, isn’t she?” Jenny persisted, putting out her cigarette and taking the chair next to mine. She smelled of ashes and wine.

I shook my head, feeling the danger. “She’s fine.”

“Taz,” Anna said, “I hate to mention it, but I was just in your bathroom and noticed, in a clear plastic bag on the floor … well … a vibrator.”

“Oh God! It’s not mine!”

“You see?” Jenny said, leaning closer. “The roomie’s a sex maniac.”

“Nothing wrong with a vibrator,” Luka said. “Though Taz
did
say the American doesn’t know how to use the loo brush.”

Jenny swiveled her head at me. She put her hand on my arm, pressing a bit.

“Tell us.”

“I know I can be a prig about these things,” I stammered, remembering, with shame, talking about this when I was drunk with Luka at the movie. “But she doesn’t understand … with the loo…”

“Leaves crap in the toilet? She
doesn’t.
”

“It’s on the sides there…”

The girls burst into laughter. Part of me felt bad. But
I
was making them laugh. It wasn’t something that happened often.

“You
need
to tell her to use the brush. It’s your duty.”

“Your
doodie
!” I said.

Another round of delicious giggles.

“And does she Skype naked with that boyfriend she was talking about? I bet she does.”

“No.” We didn’t have wireless in the house, so Claire spent who knows how many euros a week Skyping with her “on hold” boyfriend from home at the Internet café around the corner. The place offered two computers from Maggie Thatcher’s time and a sad variety of panini. I doubted very much that naked Skyping could happen there, no matter how much the B4 wanted to imagine that it did.

“She’s bizarre, Taz. Face it. Your American loony.”

“I
like
her.”

“She’s too pretty,” Jenny said decisively, pouring herself more wine. There was a somewhat pained silence. Because that was it, wasn’t it? That would always be Claire’s exposed heel, the piece of flesh that, once the deed was done, everyone would rush to pierce. She was just too beautiful. It made everything somehow unbearable.

I looked around. The rest of us had begun to wither. I thought of Marcello, how he looked at Claire. How he was obviously deciding which of us to choose. How he hadn’t called since the party. It made my throat close, made my heart go dark.

Jenny cleared her throat, demanding loyalty.

“You know, maybe she does Skype naked,” I said, leaning over and filling my glass with Campari. “I wouldn’t be surprised. She is a bit strange.” The girls murmured appreciatively. Jenny patted my arm.

“Good girl,” Jenny whispered. Only then did she take her hand away.

*   *   *

We left for the weekend at noon the next day. I didn’t get to say goodbye to Claire—she’d been out until late, and then left in the morning. She left a note on my door that said,
Yo, T. Have fun storming the castle. Miss you already. xoxo, C.

My Italian flatmates hovered over me as I finished packing. Gia was impressed by the coming trip, but Alessandra was fretting.

“The house is owned by an Italian?”

“I think so. Or the wife is and the husband is British. Or something.”

“You
think
so? Whose house
is
this?”

“My professor’s friend.”

“You cannot go to a house if you don’t know who owns it,” Alessandra said, crossing her arms.

“Where is this place?” Gia asked.

“Gubbio.”

“Well, there are many foreigners in Gubbio,” Gia said.

“I think you should know where you are going,” Alessandra said.

“All right.”

“You write down the
name.
”

“All right.”

“Here.” Alessandra pointed to the refrigerator, which was crowded with messages.

“Yes. Oh, and speaking of safety…”

“Yes?”

“Marcello thinks we should lock the door.”

“Marcello?” Gia raised her eyebrows. “See what I told you, Alessandra. The fox already figured out how to get to the hen. Tell Marcello maybe those boys should lock their own door, keep the whores out.”

There was a honk out front as Luka pulled up in the car. I kissed Gia and Alessandra and dragged my suitcase—ridiculously over-packed—across the gravel to the gate. Anna was in the front seat.

“Where’s Jenny?”

“Running late. Too many potential wardrobe changes.”

“Ciao.”

I turned. Marcello had just come around the bend. He smiled lazily, and looked heavier than normal in a thick down coat.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To a party,” Luka said in English through the window. The girls were both leaning forward, looking Marcello up and down.

“What party?” Marcello switched to English, too.

“In a castle. No boys allowed,” Luka said.

“Your friend’s a liar, Devil,” he said in Italian. “When will you be back?”

“Oh … a couple of days.” I averted my eyes, wondering what the girls must think of him. Luka popped the boot of the car open, which was already stuffed with the other girls’ suitcases, along with extra bags of hair tools and wine.

“When you come back, I’ll take you on another tour.”

“A bar tour?”

“Of course.”

“Maybe,” I said.

“Or I can make you dinner.”

“Naples food.”

“Sure.”

“Just us?” I asked. “Or Claire, too?”

“Be nice, Devil,” he said, waving his finger at me.

“Let’s go, Taz,” Luka interrupted. “Jenny’ll throw a fit.”

I got into the car. Marcello was still standing there, watching, his gaze following us as we drove away.

“Who was that?” Luka asked.

“My neighbor.”

“He’s very sexy,” Anna said. “In a hearty way.”

“I like a big man,” Luka said. “Though he’s a bit Manchester-y. Drunken fights at the football game and all that.” We stopped in front of Jenny’s rooming house. As soon as she got into the car, the seating was rearranged, with her in the front next to Luka, while Anna and I were wedged in the back with a cooler.

“Oh, girls, I’m so excited. God, it’ll be nice to meet some good people.”

“I can’t promise good people,” Anna said. “It may be a bit of an academic crowd.”

“Even academics like a good time,” Jenny said. “And don’t tell me there’ll be no one worth meeting. It’s a castle, for God’s sake.”

“A
castello
,” Luka said. “And Jenny, no more worrying about Taz. She’s got a gorgeous.”

“Bring him out, for God’s sake.”

“He likes Claire, too,” I said.

“Oh, God.
Claire.
Better give it up. I’m sure she’s shagged him by now.”

“She said she wouldn’t.”

Jenny turned. “She
said
she wouldn’t? She actually had to say it?”

“It came up.”

“I bet it did. What were her words exactly?”

My face colored. “She said … I could have him if I wanted him.”

“You’ve got to be bloody kidding me. And you actually like this girl?”

“It’s true,” Anna said. “That doesn’t sound very good.”

“Forget her,” Jenny said. “It’s just as Luka said. We can never really be friends with Americans. It’s a different language.”

“Where’s the wine?” Luka said. “I put a cold bottle in a cooler by your feet.”

“Oh, Luka!” Anna’s voice was tinged with disapproval. “You always have a drink ready.”

“That’s the wonderful thing about drunkards,” Jenny said. “They’re so damn fun to drink with.” She poured the wine into glasses and passed them around. Luka grabbed the bottle from her hand.

“So, before we get there…,” Anna said, almost timidly. “I just want to reiterate, Arthur is my most important family friend. So if we can just…”

“Don’t worry, Anna,” Jenny said. “I promise we’ll behave. We’ve got manners, haven’t we, Luka?”

“Not me.” Luka took a long draw, then put the bottle in her lap.

Gubbio is generally a straight shot from Grifonia, but the road to our
castello
was a treacherous, winding drive. I looked out the window at the land. The harvested fields were brown and used. The hills and mountains rose up dramatically behind the flat plains, as if carved out on purpose. On top of almost every hill was an old fortress, castle, or tower, left over from the days when villages plundered one another for food, power, and God.

After a while, our chatter died down. Luka put on
Nashville Skyline.
As if consciously countering her father’s cheesy songs, she had excellent taste in music. The morning started out chilly and windy, but the sun had broken through with forgiving arms. I rolled down the window to let the air touch my cheeks and hair. I’ve already said this, but I must again—it’s these throw-away things that are extraordinary. A ride to Gubbio. I wonder if the other girls know that now. Because I can tell you with authority: there is no better place to be at twenty-one than in the backseat of a car, driving to a party in autumn.

Gubbio is a spectacular little town of polished stone with a fine cathedral. We didn’t stop, but looked at the structures in awe as they rose on our right from the bottom of the valley.

“We should probably see more sights,” Luka mumbled, finally breaking the peace. “You’d think we were a bunch of fucking ignorant mucks.”

“Keep up that classy talk,” Anna said. “My professor will love that.”

“Look, I grew up working class and I’m proud of it.”

“Not me,” Anna said. “I’m just letting you chauffeur me around.”

“Are you serious? So you’re finally bringing up the black thing, you has-been elitist snob?”

“Please, I wasn’t talking about
that
,” Anna said.

“You were.”

“Oh, go to hell.”

“I was hoping someone would.”

“What? Go to hell? Or bring up the black thing?”

“Girls, don’t be so middle class,” Jenny said. “
I’ll
bring up the black thing. Our club is diverse because
I
made it that way.”

“I suppose I’m happy,” Luka drawled. “Now that we’ve got a Jew. It used to be so stacked against me. Especially with three other white—”

“Shut
up
, Luka,” Jenny hissed.

I stiffened. “My mother is Sephardic, not that you even know what that means. And if you think I’m not proud of it—”

“Lovelies,” Jenny said. “We’re all friends. And we’re about to have this fabulous time together. Can we stop fighting?”

“I’m not fighting,” I said.

“No,” Jenny said, looking at herself in the rearview mirror. “That’s the wonderful thing about you, Taz. You never fight.”

“I don’t think—”

“Here’s the turnoff,” Luka said. “Can you see the house?”

“No.”

“I see a tower,” I said.

“A tower?”

“A spiked gate.”

“Holy…”

As soon as we pulled up to the front, it became clear that Professor Korloff had not exaggerated at all to Anna when he told her about where we’d be staying. The place was, indeed, a medieval castle. We were on top of a large green hill, fortified by our weekend’s lodging. The walls soared above us, gray and thick, with only slits allowing glimpses of light inside.

We got out of the car, looking up in quiet awe.

“What is this place?” I breathed.

“This would be a very impressive ancestral home,” Anna said. “An exceptionally grim-looking one. It was likely recently bought from some Italian count who needed bailing out and completely refurbished with ghastly fixtures.”

“Not too ghastly, I hope,” a voice said.

We turned to see a man, roughly my father’s age. He was tan and rangy, wearing fine chino pants and a close-fitting burgundy sweater. A camel-colored scarf was wound round his neck, lending him an air of delicacy, as if he needed to be tended. Yet his voice was strong and his eyes, from where I was standing, were almost a black color, like jet beads. When looking at him, I couldn’t help thinking of the crabs my sister and I caught on our infrequent childhood trips to the seashore.

“I’m Samuel.”

“Hello,” Anna said. She put out her hand. “I’m Anna Grafton. Is Arthur here yet?”

“Fabrizio’s just bringing him from the station now.”

“Ah.” We stood quietly, regarding one another. To everyone’s relief, less than a minute passed before we heard the welcome crackle of car wheels on gravel. Anna waved a bit frantically as the car made its way up the drive.

“The girls!” Professor Korloff cried, alighting from the sedan, followed by Pascal, looking carsick. “Samuel! Ladies!” He embraced the man in the camel scarf. “Where’s Elena?”

“Had an appointment in Lazio. There’s some sort of private auction. She feels horrible, but there were tables to buy.”

I was surprised to see a look of distress cross Professor Korloff’s face.

“And she knew I was coming? With students?”

“I’m certain I mentioned it. She feels horrible to miss you.” He gave the professor a hearty pat on the back.

“Well, let me introduce you. This is Anna, my goddaughter.”

“You’re wonderful for having us,” Anna said.

“You’re wonderful for coming,” Professor Korloff said abruptly. “All right. So. Samuel. This is Tabitha. This young man here is Pascal. And who are these fine additions?”

“This is Luka, and Jenny,” Anna said.

“Fabrizio,” Samuel barked without acknowledging them. In a moment, an old man, gnarled and stooping, emerged from the car. “Take the ladies’ things up first.”

“Should we help?” I asked, eyeing the old man as he began to unfold our bags from the trunk. Jenny rolled her eyes at me.

“Come,” Samuel said. He pressed a button and the black gate creaked open, revealing our first glimpse of the inside. Before us lay a velvety, obsessively trimmed lawn cut in a neat, large V by two white gravel paths that led to either side of the building. And what a building it was. A castle—a real, live castle—its medieval walls and towers shooting toward the sky. Ivy clambered up the lower walls, and from an upper turret, a curtain fluttered in and out in time with the wind. On either side of us, bordering the lawn, stretched two one-story buildings; one was the kitchen, in which I could see people dressed in uniforms moving back and forth in front of a stove, and the other appeared to be bedchambers. Through the arched gates, I could see expansive views of miles and miles of Umbrian countryside. Though not beautiful, exactly, it was the most imposing private house I’d ever seen.