From Humble Beginnings (Joe Steel) (18 page)

And as I do, I come home. 

“Oh, Christ.”

Not the nicest thing to say after a rather pleasant morning and an even better night, but what better curse to mutter when Clordina has just walked into the café that Juliet and I happen to be using? 

Clordina, the over-enthusiastic translator, who met Cass and myself at the airport.  

Clordina, the woman, who has repeatedly phoned me, trying to offer her services and who I’ve repeatedly fended off.  

And not only that, but she’s dressed to kill.   Pencil skirt, split at the side, plastered to every curve; a wide leather belt cupping her hips and displaying their slim narrowness as well as a shirt that is tucked in at the waist and has a neckline shooting down to her bellybutton.  

Maybe the latter is an exaggeration, but it sure looks like it.   God Almighty, she’s dressed like a high class prostitute but then, I think she is.   Her sashay is decidedly seductive and while it’s not impossible for her to choose this café when Juliet and I just happen to be sitting in it… considering the town’s size, it’s a slight coincidence.  

As is the fact that I’m her target and she’s heading towards me with the speed of a Mach 5 missile!  

“What’s wrong?” Juliet asks, turning around to figure out what I’m gawking at over her shoulder.  

Hoping to diffuse the situation before it can explode in my face; I wonder how a perfectly decent morning could turn so sour and so bloody quickly.  

I’m really starting to hate Italy.  

“Now, bear in mind, I haven’t had time to breathe over these last few weeks; never mind start anything with anyone.   Also, please remember, I switched translators.  Monica is the company lawyer and translator over here. Not a woman called Clordina.”

She’s looking at me like I’ve grown two heads, but I ignore the look and steel myself for whatever Clordina is about to throw at me.  Because at the moment, that’s bound to be far worse.   Or should I say, the fallout will be far worse!  

Like a singular elephant stampeding in a straight line through the chaotic rows and columns of tables and chairs in the small square we’re frequenting, she makes her charge.   Eventually arriving at our table, completely ignoring Juliet to pour herself over me.  

Literally.  

It’s like having tar poured over you.   She clings and she won’t frigging stop.  

“Joe!” she cries and bends down directly in front of me to do one of two things.   Firstly, to display her rather ample cleavage and to give me a direct shot of what is admittedly, nubile loveliness.   Secondly, to dose me with air kisses.   Although, these can’t be called air kisses because there is no
air
between us.   Her lips squelch against my cheeks and I know I’ll have two red marks from her lipstick covering my cheeks.  

Could this be anymore farcical? 

“Hello, Clordina,” I mutter as coolly as I’m able.   I make no move to stand in greeting.   Even though it feels very rude and completely against the chivalrous laws Bernard taught me when I was promoted into the executive league and off the factory floor, I remain in my seat, relaxed and with Juliet’s hand in my own.  With the other, I use my napkin to rub at the wax coating my cheeks.   

At Clordina’s behaviour, Juliet tried to pull her hand from mine but I retained the grip.   I relax it now somewhat but squeeze to apologize for the earlier tightness of my clasp.   I don’t have to look at her to know she’s radiating tension; something that was undoubtedly Clordina’s intention.  

The only question is why? 

Why would she want to cause trouble for me? 

That thought requires further study but not now, when I’m in the middle of a situation like this.   I need all my wits about me! 

I’ve a potential catfight on my hands; and while a few months ago, the idea might have been amusing, it’s the last thing I want now.  

Especially after last night.  

Damn Clordina and her shitty timing.  

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” she asks with a pout and a strategic positioning of her body, one that has her breasts juggling like two ripe melons and the curve of her hip jutting out.  

It was a strange pose; almost like the female version of a cockerel strutting around the yard.  

A few months back, when I was with Sandra, a friend was invited to the mix.  Sandra and Rose were… well, they mock-fought in front of me.   It was actually rather arousing if a little staged for my benefit, but what red-blooded male wouldn’t appreciate such a gesture?   The catfight had been both comical as well as a turn-on.  

Now, I seriously can’t be arsed with it.  

The idea that I’ve turned into a one-woman man is incomprehensible at this stage.   No man likes to feel the freedom of his bachelorhood slipping away, but with Juliet, the prospect isn’t too terrifying.  

God help me; I can’t believe I actually admitted that to myself! 

“This is my fiancée, Juliet.”

“Your fiancée?”  For a moment, I can tell I’ve shocked her silly and then, Clordina manages to compose herself enough to create a single, perfect, gleaming teardrop.   “How could you do this to me?” she cries with typical Italian gusto; as well as volume! Hands flailing all over the place, arms waving about, shoulders shrugging with passionate intensity.  “You bastard, I thought we had something together!”

For a minute, I freeze.   Literally freeze.  

Questions stream through my brain and terror has me tensing as though I’ve been through an electric shock. 

How could my rejections be misconstrued?   And if they weren’t, why is she pretending?   

And what will Juliet be thinking at this stranger’s words? 

Who will she believe? 

And then, I awaken from my fear-riddled stupor.   Why?   Because Juliet snorts.   Honest to God snorts with laughter.  

The sound breaks through my frozen stasis and I turn to Juliet, hopelessly relieved to see that her mirth is genuine and not in any way practiced or posed.  

“Nice try, Clordina,” Juliet murmurs in a supremely cool voice, as though this woman hadn’t just accused me of sleeping with her behind Jules’ back.  

“What do you mean, ‘Nice try’?  This bastard promised me the moon and the stars!  Don’t you care?”

A gurgling torrent of Italian floods out of her mouth and Juliet stands and in the coldest tone I’ve ever heard her use, and in Italian as fluent as Clordina’s, makes some kind of reply that has the other woman huffing, turning on her spiked heel and taking off for parts unknown.  

As Juliet took a seat, I scowl at the woman’s retreating back.  “Christ, I’m sorry about that, Jules.  I’ve only met the bloody woman a few times!”

“Don’t worry, Joe.   I know she was lying.”

“You do? How?” I’m relieved, but confused.  

“The moon and the stars aren’t in your repertoire.”

The sadness in her voice has me blinking.   She sounds sorry about that.   Down.   “Do you want it to be?”

“There’s no point in my wanting something unless it’s freely given.”

“For you, it could be.”

She frowns at me.   “Why me?”

“I don’t know.   You’re different.   You always have been.” That’s nothing less than the truth.  She’s my opposite and I mean that in both a positive way and a negative. 

“Look, if this is about last night…” she breaks off with a sigh.  

“What?   That I took your virginity?  No.  It’s not about that.” I don’t have to utter the word virginity, but it still has a thrill shooting through me.  This woman is mine.  No one else’s and if I have my way that is something that will never change. 

Another terrifying thought, but I’m getting used to them. 

“Oh.” Will I ever understand women?   She sounds disappointed! 

“Oh, what?”

A shrug.  “I don’t’ know.”

“Helpful, Jules,” I retort easily.   What a time for her to go shy on me!   “Look, you don’t have to say yes, because of last night, but I meant it, when I said that to Clordina.   Fiancée.   I’d like you to be.”

“You want me to marry you?”

The disbelieving note has me rolling my eyes.   “Why do you sound like I’ve just admitted I’m an alien?”

“Because you’re not the marrying kind, Joe.  I know that, you know that. Everyone does.”

“Then why did you sleep with me?”

“Because I wanted to and because I want you.”

“Not enough to marry me?”

“Enough to marry you,” she confirms.   “But only if you want this for yourself and outside pressures aren’t pushing you into this.”

“Why should it?  I’d have thought you would know me better than that, Juliet.   Christ, I do what I want and when.   Not even your father can tell me what to do outside of the office.   And even then, I argue my point if I believe he’s wrong. 

“So, is that a yes?”

“It’s a maybe.”

“Okay.   Dependent upon what?   I know you’re young, probably too young to get married, but we can wait.   We don’t have to leap into this.”

“I was going to say that, but for different reasons.  I know what I want, Joe.  I won’t lie.  I’ve wanted you ever since I turned sixteen and you attended my birthday party with that bitch you were dating.” She sees my scowl and rolls her eyes. 
"
Typical.  You can’t even remember her.  She was called Cindy of all things and God, I was so jealous of her.” She shakes her head and looks down at the dregs of the coffee in her cup.  Her mouth purses, as though she’s forcing herself into silence.  Silence permeates the air for a good two minutes, before she clears her throat and continues, 
"
So, yeah, I’ve wanted you for a long time.  But I’m not sure about you and why you want me.”

It was strange to be having this conversation in the middle of Bergamo.   I hadn’t expected to blurt out such a lie to Clordina, but then I hadn’t expected to see her at all.   My plans had been to go into the office later than usual after having b
runch with my girlfriend.   Well, there have to be some perks to being the boss! 

Instead, I find myself inadvertently proposing and not feeling too floored by the prospect of being tied to Juliet. 

Who was it that said, ‘A second marriage is the triumph of hope over experience’?  I don’t know, but it’s the truth.  

And if I’m being pessimistic, there’s always divorce.   And she won’t be able to take me to the cleaners; because she’ll be the richer spouse. 

As a kid, the idea of marrying the boss’ daughter might solely have been about the money.   Now, it’s about something far more terrifying.  

Love. 

And even though I feel it, and feel it in such a concentration that I’ve never before experienced, I still can’t utter the words to her.   Not without feeling like a dick, at any rate.   Maybe that’s what she’s waiting for?  A declaration of my feelings alongside the proposal? 

Even knowing that might be the source of her hesitation; I can’t say a damned thing.

After her revelation, I want to. Badly. I want to tell her that I saw her, for the first time, when she was seventeen.   She’d stormed past my office, pissed off about something and intent on arguing with her father until the situation was rectified. 

Even now, I can see her in my mind’s eye.  Midnight black hair streaming behind her as she strode down the passageway to her father’s office.  Cheekbones pronounced with the tension she radiated with the fury throttling her.  Pert breasts were displayed to the max in a camisole top and her arse, in a pair of tight denims. 

I’d felt like a pervert; only reassured by knowing she was, in the eyes of the law, an adult.  But even so, my self-disgust had wormed its way deep.  Making it so the only way I could communicate with her, all these years later, was like a battle on the playground. 

My immaturity pisses me off.  But even so, that self-disgust and fear that she’ll think me perverted holds my tongue. 

“Who was she, anyway?” Juliet asks, changing the subject at my lack of speech.   Her eyes are fixed on the table, studying the false wood grain with way more attention than was required. 

Feeling guilty, I sigh and squeeze her fingers, trying to convey the way I feel and knowing that I’ve completely failed.  “We’ll talk about this later and in a more suitable place. I can’t believe I brought any of this up in the middle of the square.”

The square was surrounded by cafés and a hodge podge of different styled tables and chairs that enabled the patron of each café’s eyes to differentiate between the establishments. 

We’ve already attracted enough attention with Clordina barging through the square, right bang in the middle so as to cause as much fuss as well as screeching at the top of her voice that I made her some kind of promise. 

When she made no bones about continuing with such a subject, merely cocks a brow as though my answer won’t do, I concede defeat and answer her question. 

“Apparently, she was a part of the airport-collection service.   Bloody funny business that.  We arrived and there was Clordina for me and the chauffeur seemed to be for Cass.”