Bella Fortuna (33 page)

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Authors: Rosanna Chiofalo

BOOK: Bella Fortuna
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“Yes, that's it. Proposition.”
“Never tell a woman, Stefano, that you have a proposal for her or she'll think it's a wedding proposal.”
“
Dio mio!
Is that what I suggested?”
“Yes. But you know, in America, when you also say to a woman that you have a proposition for her, that's often considered a suggestive comment.”
“Really?” Stefano narrows his gaze and is grinning from ear to ear. “What kind of a suggestive comment?”
“I think you know what I mean. I won't elaborate any further. So what was this ‘proposition' you have for me?”
“Why don't we trade tours for English lessons? I give you personal guided tours of whatever attraction you want to see in Venice, and in exchange, you help me with my English.”
“Your English is quite good, though, Stefano.”
“But it's not perfect, as you've noticed. I have made mistakes.”
“You just need to learn idioms better.”
“So, do we have a deal?”
“I'll have to give it some thought.”
“What is there to think about?”
“I don't make decisions hastily.”
“Okay, think about it. But I'm only giving you until the end of our tour today for you to decide.”
“Whatever.” But I'm laughing. “Let's go back inside the church. I'm ready for my tour.”
I walk ahead of Stefano, and again, I am giving my hips an extra sway, knowing full well Stefano is observing my every movement. I can't help myself. This man brings out another person in me. And all I know is that I'm having fun, just as Aldo and my sisters would want.
After the tour of Madonna dell'Orto, Stefano and I are famished, so we find the nearest
trattoria
. We share an appetizer plate of
prosciutto, mortadella,
and a sharp
provoletta
. Then we have octopus salad. I decide to quit after the salad, but Stefano orders
zuppa di mare
—a stew of squid, shrimp, cod, octopus, and scallops, which he insists I sample. We wash it all down with a bottle of Chianti.
Though the tour had consisted of just the two of us, Stefano had still treated it in a professional manner. I can tell he loves what he does and has a true appreciation for his country's architecture and art. I can't help feeling he's also trying to impress me with his vast knowledge. He seems more relaxed now that he's eating and having a glass of wine.
“Have you taken a gondola ride yet, Valentina?”
“No.”
“How many days have you been here now?”
“Four.”
“And you still have not been on a gondola? That's the first thing most tourists do upon reaching Venice.”
I shrug my shoulders. “I don't know. I guess I feel a little weird to take a gondola by myself. From what I've seen, they always have at least two passengers.”
“I will have to take you. How about tomorrow night?”
I'm torn. Sharing a gondola with Stefano seems too intimate, but I'm dying to ride one. The ambience of traversing the Grand Canal in a gondola will be different than in the
vaporetti
I've been taking.
“Okay. Why not?”
“We'll meet in front of the Basilica at eight o'clock?”
“That's fine.”
We spend the rest of our meal getting to know each other better, though Stefano is asking most of the questions. He asks me about my family, how had my father died, what it's like to be a seamstress of wedding dresses, and even my childhood. He leaves no stone unturned. I don't know how I manage to sit calmly under his penetrating gaze while I regale him with my life story. Waves of anxiety roll through my stomach, and I'm amazed I am able to eat the meal. But of course, the food is heavenly and not difficult at all to eat even with the sensations Stefano is setting off in me. When I finally am able to turn the tables and ask him about his childhood, I stare at his lush lips. They're the most exquisite lips I've ever seen on a man. They look full and soft. I imagine what it would be like to kiss them. Suddenly, an image of Stefano and me alone on a gondola flashes through my mind. In my fantasy, he's running his hand up the side of my thigh. I'm wearing a dress with no stockings. Our tongues are tangled together as our bodies throb for each other.
“Valentina?”
Stefano's question brings me out of my reverie.
“I'm sorry. I got distracted.”
“I was asking you if you wanted to order another bottle of wine.”
“Oh. No. That's fine. Thank you. I think I've had enough wine.”
Stefano smiles. He has a way of smiling in the most devilish way, which completely frazzles me. It's as if he can read my thoughts. I look away, knowing he is still staring at me.
We pay our bill and decide to walk around the streets of Cannaregio. Stefano stops when there's a point of interest and tells me about it. He isn't as serious as he'd been during the tour of the church. He makes several jokes. I hate to admit it, but I'm enjoying his company.
At four p.m., I decide to take the
vaporetto
back to my hotel at Castello.
“I'll accompany you.”
“That's not necessary, Stefano. Thank you, but I've already taken up enough of your time. And you tricked me by paying the waiter when I was in the restroom even though we'd agreed that I was going to pay for dinner.”
“Don't be mad, Valentina. It's just who I am. I can't help it. The day I let a woman pay anything for me is the day Stefano Lambrusca—”
“Is not a man. I know. You also said that the other day.”
I roll my eyes. Stefano laughs. I can't resist laughing, too.
“You know, it's not a torture being with you, Valentina.” Stefano's gaze is traveling the length of my body. “Not a torture at all.” His eyes travel back up and rest at my cleavage.
I don't know what to say to that. The silence doesn't seem to bother him, however, as he continues staring at me. The
vaporetto
is only a few feet away as it approaches the dock.
“Thank you again for the tours and dinner. I'll see you tomorrow night.”
“So you're not going to let me take you home?”
“I'm a big girl, Stefano. Maybe you can take me home after our gondola ride tomorrow night.”
Stefano's eyes twinkle. I suddenly realize what I'd said. I'm not going to let him escort me to the hotel now during the day, but I had just told him he could take me back to my room tomorrow night. He probably thinks he's going to get lucky. I mentally kick myself in the head over and over again.
“
Si, si.
It will be late. You will definitely need me to escort you then.
Allora, ci vederemo domani. Ciao, Valentina
.”
“Ciao.”
He waits on the dockside until the
vaporetto
is out of sight. I think it's rude to turn my back on him so I lean against the edge of the
vaporetto,
pretending I'm casually taking in the scenery as the vessel departs. He waves a few times to me, and I wave back. When I'm certain I am far enough away, I let myself smile deeply. There's just something about that man that makes me feel so good.
19
A Twist of Fate
A
fter Olivia had received the shock of her life when her first love Salvatore Corvo showed up alive and well in her shop, she'd been a wreck. Salvatore's niece Francesca had returned to the shop with the
espresso
to revive her uncle right after Olivia realized who he was. And Connie had joined them when she noticed the stranger lying on their couch. Olivia and Salvatore had exchanged knowing glances, indicating that nothing should be said in front of their relatives about their past relationship. Francesca rescheduled her appointment for the following Saturday so that she could bring her uncle home. Before they walked out of the shop, Salvatore had managed to whisper to Olivia,
“Ti chiamo.”
Olivia nodded, anxiously looking toward Connie to make sure she hadn't heard. But once Connie was satisfied that Salvatore was going to be fine, she'd returned to her client in the fitting room.
A few days passed before Salvatore called Olivia at the shop. Olivia felt slightly comforted by the fact that she wasn't the only one who was eager to get this discussion over with. She had so many questions for him and hadn't slept the previous night as memories from her time spent with Salvatore kept flashing through her mind.
After initially meeting at the Church of the Black Madonna in Tindari, Olivia and Salvatore had been inseparable. Olivia always considered their first encounter fateful because she had almost not joined her friends and the nuns that day for their weekly prayer group and hymn rehearsal. She'd woken up with a stomachache and just an overall uneasy feeling that she couldn't ascribe to anything. But not wanting to disappoint her friends, she'd pushed herself to join them. Often, Olivia had wondered what would have happened if she'd never gone to Tindari and had never met Salvatore. Would their paths still have crossed at some other time? And then after he mysteriously disappeared, she wondered all the more how her life would have been different had Salvatore Corvo never entered it to begin with. Certainly, she would've been spared the pain of losing her first love and wondering for years what had become of him.
“Ciao, Sera. Sono io. Salvatore.”
“Ciao.”
“Senti. Voglio spiegare tutto. Dov'é possiamo parlare.”
Olivia's mind raced as she tried to think of places where she and Salvatore could talk privately without anyone she knew seeing them. That was all she needed—for her neighbors to think she had a lover.
“Meet me in Manhattan at this address.”
Olivia gave him Raquel Sutton's address. She could trust Raquel with anything, and she knew her dear friend would not judge her or grill her with questions about Salvatore until Olivia was ready to offer the information.
As Olivia sat on the N train taking her into the city, she looked at her watch every five minutes. She was meeting Salvatore at one p.m. Raquel told Olivia she would not return until she received Olivia's call that she was done with her appointment. Her stomach cramped painfully. She should have told Salvatore to meet her in a public place. The thought of being alone with him and in Raquel's apartment began to not sit well with her. Her face flushed at the thought of what her daughters would think of her if they knew she was having this secret rendezvous. Nicola popped into her mind. He could probably see from heaven what she was up to.
“Forgive me, Nicola. Please, forgive me. You are the only man I truly loved.”
The subway screeched its brakes as it pulled into Lexington Avenue and 59th Street. Olivia got off the subway car and slowly made her way up the stairs. Her body felt more fatigued than usual. With every step she climbed her breathing became more labored, so that by the time she exited on to the street, her chest was heaving and she was gasping for air. Her heart started racing. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Fortunately, there was little humidity today, and the temperatures were unseasonably low for early July in New York City. The high temperature was supposed to hit only 73 today. After a few minutes, she felt better and made her way over to 1st Avenue and 62nd Street.
Whenever Olivia went to Raquel's apartment, she liked to imagine that she was the one living on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Though she had lived in Manhattan when she first came over from Italy, the Lower East Side paled in comparison to Raquel's affluent, exclusive neighborhood. Even the dogs looked rich by the way they carried themselves. Olivia loved watching all the different breeds of dogs traipsing their way through the streets alongside their owners.
Raquel had given Olivia a key to her apartment when she had found the lump in her breast. Olivia was free to use the apartment whenever Raquel was out of town, and she needed to rest before going back to Queens after one of her doctor's appointments. Olivia had never used the key, considering it a privilege she must only take advantage of in dire circumstances. And this meeting with Salvatore was certainly a dire situation.
She sighed as she reached Raquel's pre-war building. A man was exiting the building as Olivia was inserting the key into the front door. She gave him a nervous smile. Surely he'd know she wasn't one of the residents and would question why she had a key. But the man returned her smile and held the door open for her.
Olivia pushed the elevator button and waited for it to descend. She looked through the glass doors of the front entrance, seeing if Salvatore had arrived. The elevator reached the first floor. Olivia opened the door of the elevator and stepped inside, pushing the sixth-floor button. She felt again the constriction that had been in her chest when she exited the subway station. Gripping her black patent-leather purse tightly, she struggled to take a deep breath as she got off the elevator. Rounding the corridor where Raquel's apartment was situated, she almost screamed when she saw Salvatore leaning against the wall.
“Sei arrivato gia.”
“
Si, si
. I'm sorry. I was worried about being late and took an earlier train in from Long Island just in case there were problems with the train.”
“How long have you been waiting?”
“About fifteen minutes. Not too long. Don't worry.”
Olivia nodded her head, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. She looked for the gold key that was for the apartment and inserted it into the top lock of the door. Her hand was shaking. She hoped Salvatore hadn't noticed. After unlocking the top lock, she then unlocked the second lock and pushed the door open. Mr. Magoo, Raquel's dog, was waiting behind the door and gave a bark of delight when he saw Olivia. Raquel had assured Olivia that Mr. Magoo would not harass Salvatore. True to Raquel's word, Mr. Magoo only gave Salvatore a cursory sniff of his pants leg before returning his attention once again to Olivia.
She reached into her purse and took out a Ziploc bag containing Mr. Magoo's favorite
Palline di Limone
cookies. She held one out as Mr. Magoo quickly snatched it with his mouth and seemed to swallow it whole, waiting for the next one.
“Ha, ha! The dog knows good Italian baking.”
Olivia smiled. “Yes, my friend Raquel is very strict with Mr. Magoo's diet, but she lets me spoil him whenever I visit.”
Olivia put out two more cookies by Mr. Magoo's bowl and saved the rest for later. She didn't want the dog to eat too much at once and then get sick.
“Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Just a glass of water.
Grazie
.”
This was the first time Olivia had been alone in Raquel's apartment. She liked how it felt and again imagined that she owned this apartment. She knew where everything was from all the times she'd visited Raquel or had stayed overnight. Raquel always kept a pitcher of filtered water in her refrigerator. She poured two glasses of water for both Salvatore and herself. She then opened the produce drawer in the fridge and took out a small, sickly-looking lemon. She mentally shook her head. The produce in Manhattan was not of the same quality Olivia was accustomed to getting in the fruit stores of Astoria, but it would have to do. She cut two wedges and squeezed the juice into their water. She began to carry the glasses over when she spotted the Ziploc bag of
Palline di Limone
cookies she'd left on the kitchen counter to give to Mr. Magoo later. She paused and glanced at Salvatore. He was looking at the photos on Raquel's bookshelf. Olivia walked over to the kitchen cupboards and took out a small plate. She took a few of Mr. Magoo's cookies and placed them on the plate. Mr. Magoo looked up at Olivia as if he knew she was stealing from his stash of goodies.
“Don't worry. There are plenty left for you,” she whispered to Mr. Magoo.
She placed the plate of cookies on the coffee table.
“Ecco.”
Salvatore smiled, looking into Olivia's eyes, but she quickly glanced away. She sat down in the armchair opposite the couch Salvatore was now seating himself on.
He took a bite out of a cookie.
“Ahhh. The burst of lemon in these
biscotti
complements the lemon water.
Perfetto!
”
“
Grazie
. A shot of
limoncello
would have suited the cookies better.”
“
Vero,
but we must make do with what we have.”
Again, Salvatore caught Olivia's glance, and again, she darted her eyes away.
“So, Sera. Tell me about your life since we last saw each other.”
Olivia shrugged her shoulders. “I met Nicola, my husband. We got married, came over to America, and I had my three daughters. Nicola got cancer when my daughters were just teenagers. He died about a year after his diagnosis. My daughters and I own the wedding dress boutique.”
Salvatore looked grim.
“Mi dispiacio per tuo marito.”
“
Grazie.
It was very hard losing Nicola, especially on the girls, but we have managed through God's grace. He was a good man.”
“I'm sure he was. Your daughter, who was at the shop the other day, seemed like a very fine young woman. You and your husband did a wonderful job of raising her, and I'm sure your other daughters are just as wonderful.”
“
Grazie
. Francesca, your niece, seemed like a lovely woman, too. Losing both of her parents must have been so difficult for her. I can see how much she cares about you and respects you.”
Salvatore's eyes lit up at the mention of Francesca, and as he talked about her, his whole face became animated.
“She's like the child I never had. I am very blessed that I have her.”
Olivia nodded her head and smiled. She noticed Salvatore was lightly tapping his foot against the coffee table's leg. He was doing it softly so that no sound was made. She then realized she was swinging her leg, which was crossed over her other leg. At least she wasn't the only one with the jitters. The silence continued for another minute. Impatient, Olivia decided to just cut to what she'd been longing to know.
“So what happened to you all those years ago? I thought you were dead.”
Olivia couldn't resist saying the last sentence with sarcasm. Her notorious temper was beginning to flare.
Salvatore's face turned as white as Mr. Magoo's pristine furry coat. Squinting his eyes as if in pain, he stood up and walked over to the windows in Raquel's living room. He placed his arms behind his back, interlacing his hands. Pacing to and fro, Salvatore looked down at the Persian carpet that cloaked the hardwood floors, but Olivia was certain he wasn't noticing the intricate weave of the carpet.
“The story is very long, Sera.”
“We have time. My friend told me I could have her apartment for as long as I needed it. She won't be returning until I call her to tell her we're finished with our discussion.”
Salvatore nodded his head.
“The first thing I want you to know, Sera, is that I loved you very much. That summer we spent together was the best of my life. I swear to God, and I never swear to God.”
“Then why were you so set on going to Virginia? And don't tell me it was because of the work at the coal mines.”
“Sera, you know I was trying to make some money so that we could build a life together. I had nothing to offer you but the failing cotton farm I had inherited from my deceased father. As I told you back then, I just wanted to work a few months in Virginia to save money to buy a
trattoria
and a small house after we got married. You have to believe that.”
“It would be easier for me to believe that if you had come back and married me as you had promised to. But instead you disappeared. Since both of your parents were dead, and your sister was already living in America, I had no one to ask if they'd heard from you. Your friend Matteo told me you had an aunt who lived in Palermo, so one day I took the train out there to see if perhaps she knew something. But of course, she didn't. She said the two of you were never close.”

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