Love Is Strange (A Paranormal Romance) (41 page)

“You can’t do that. Because he is my fate. I belong to him, because he is the One I truly love.”

“You don’t love me, then?”

“Well,” said Farfalla slowly, “of course this
feels
like it’s love, and I feel very happy with you, but if you are not my One, then there must be some
other
kind of love. Not the love we have, but more like the love in grand operas.”

“That sure figures,” Gavin said. “I always knew that you were Italian, but I didn’t know you were
Italian.
Look, I don’t want some crazy stage diva in my life! No sobbing, screaming, snake-handing sorceress! My spouse should sort my socks!”

Farfalla blinked.

“I can’t believe I just said something so poetic,” said Gavin, pulling at his lower lip. “I never talk like that to anybody else but you. I’m growing by this experience. It really opens emotional doors.”

Farfalla said nothing.

“When I said that, that was just like my speech in Capri,” said Gavin. “I never make speeches like that! Not by myself. You see, that proves something. Even if I’m not the man of your fate — because I’m not like, this, rainbow fairy, romantic wimp you are destined to be with — well, whenever we’re together, we’ve got
one king-hell future.
That is the truth. Maybe you and I don’t exactly get along all the time, but we
can sure totally wreak havoc on other people.
When we are together, we can break clocks and turn this world right on its head.”

“It’s true that you can make a very strong speech when you want to,” said Farfalla. “I believe you. I am almost
forced
to believe you.”

“We should stay together, Farfalla. Not just for my sake, or your sake, but because — we have paranormal power. I have some insight, and you have some foresight, but when we’re together, we have
terrific power
. We should look after each other. It would be wrong for us to part, and look for other people to love us. That would be immoral and bad. Because you and I could easily make two innocent people very, very unhappy.”

“In other words,” said Farfalla, “I should sleep with you, even if you’re not the man I truly love.”

Gavin shrugged. “Yeah. I guess that’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

“Men are the worst.”

“Look, we’re both being stupid now, because we both know, in the future, we’re happy!” Gavin said. “I don’t want to stand here bickering with you! Time will prove me right, and in the meantime, I have a business meeting lined up today. I came here to Sao Paulo to work!”

“You’re working today?”

“Why not? You’re not supposed to be here, so of course I planned to work. I planned a meeting with one of my father’s associates. He’s some weird, old geezer from my dad’s days at Boeing — but I told him that I could meet him tonight. It’s a courtesy call on a family friend. I need to do it.”

“You want me to go with you?”

“You don’t have to. He’s speaks perfect English.”

“
You
have to go. You have to leave me. In the street like this.”

“Why is that my fault?
You
are supposed to be in Seattle! With your boyfriend, the Italian super-geek! I just made up this meeting with this Brazilian industrialist, so I’d have something to do here in the wrong side of the world! I mean, sure — there’s that big Futurist conference going on over in the Hotel Valor Econômico. But there’s no way I’m going over there.”

“I am coming with you,” said Farfalla, narrowing her eyes. “But later, boy, you have to come with
me
.”

“Okay. Sure. Great.”

“I came here to work, too. So I want to show you to old friends of mine. My special friends. In a special place.” Farfalla drew a breath. “Their world is not like the silly world of yours. They live in the favela. It’s poor. It’s violent. It’s dangerous.”

“Hey, witch-girl, I am totally cool with that. I’m keen to see more of this town. End of discussion.”

An armored limo was waiting for them at the Futurist hotel. The imposing car seemed to have been lurking there for quite some time. Gavin and Farfalla hurried into its padded, chamois-leather back seat.

“Please apologize to these local dudes, for us keeping them waiting,” said Gavin to Farfalla. “Tell them that we had a mix-up.”

Farfalla leaned forward and spoke in Portuguese through the cruel little grill-holes in the bulletproof glass. The driver and his associate, in their linen suits, sunglasses and Bluetooth earpieces, scarcely turned their close-cropped heads.

“Our new friends here are some kinda bruisers,” said Gavin, leaning back into the plush leather.

“There’s a lot of gangster kidnapping here in Sao Paulo,” said Farfalla darkly. “The favela gangsters steal rich people. Sometimes, they send people back without their ears or fingers.”

“I’m not real thrilled at our lack of interior door-handles.” Gavin examined the smoky, mirror-colored limo windows. “Well, at least we’ve got a lot of personal privacy inside here. And to judge by this endless traffic jam, we’ve got some time on our hands now.”

“Oh, that’s good! Now I can tell you the whole story of how I found the Cosmic Cupid,” said Farfalla happily. “It’s a really good story. I found him in Naples.”

“Okay,” said Gavin, steepling his fingers and leaning back in the seat. “Your big story about Cupid. It must be time for that. Let me have it.”

“Cupid was in a police evidence room.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“I’m skipping ahead now, to the end of my story.”

“That’s all right,” said Gavin kindly. “We both do a lot of that ‘skipping ahead’ business. We seem to do more of it every time we meet! I mean, I have a story, and you have a story, but when we’re both together in the same story, we kind of... bend narrative reality.”

“We do, don’t we?” She paused. “That must be confusing to some people.”

“We Futurists can’t help but be confusing, to the straights and the mundanes! The future, the past, all mixed up, because you can see it all at once… I’m kinda starting to enjoy this!” said Gavin. “It doesn’t bother me, it feels liberating! I’m starting to think that activity is very ‘us.’ No event ever happens to us when it should happen.”

Farfalla gnawed her thumbnail. “I’m still mad at you for that sex you had with me that happens in the future.”

“See, that’s just it! We can’t help that! I’m from the future, and you’re from the future! When we’re together, everything gets ten times more far-out.” He sighed contentedly. “So, then, it’s kind of nice that you and I have some quiet time together, before this aircraft-factory tour with my Dad’s old friend. Just tell me your own story, baby, about your cool, little, mystical divine statue! I promise that I’ll sop up every word.”

“My story of Cupid is an
important
story.”

“Sure, sure it is important! I told you you could tell it.”

“Well, the police had seized the Cosmic Cupid, because of the huge sex scandal in Naples,” said Farfalla. “I’m sure you heard all about
that
story. You remember, that gay Communist Party leader in Naples whose lover was a Brazilian transvestite.”

“Well, no. No, I never heard that strange story. I haven’t been keeping up with Italian regional developments. Even a Futurist only has so much room in his head.”

“You don’t know about that story? But,
everybody
has heard about that famous scandal!
Tutto il mondo
,
Dio Mio,
that scandal was huge!”

“All Italian sex scandals are huge. So, how did you get the statue away from the cops?”

“I bought it at a police auction. I had to buy the entire crate, because they sold it in lots. I had to buy the feather boas, the transvestite’s underwear, too.” Farfalla shuddered delicately. “The police thought the statue of Cupid was ugly. But Gavin, it isn’t ugly. It is precious.”

“It is ugly,” Gavin said. “But, it is also precious. It’s holy. It has a sacred precious ugliness. There should be some special word for that otherworldly quality It has. ‘Prugly,’ maybe.”

Farfalla laughed. “What a funny thing to say.
Perfetto.
Sometimes, you say just the right thing.”

Gavin shrugged.

“Gavin,
please
tell me my words. Please, just say them to me! I know you’re the One. I don’t want anyone else! I love you! Please do it.”

“Can’t do it,” Gavin said, gazing out the mirrored window. “I’m not magic, I can’t say magic.”

“You are torturing me! Please, I’m so tortured with doubt! You are hurting my heart! I want you to be my One. Please, just say it. I know you must know the words. Somehow. How could you not know what to say?”

“I told you that I would recite anything you wanted,” said Gavin. “It’s all your own stupid stubbornness, for not telling me.”

“But it’s not!” Farfalla wrung her hands in anguish. “It’s never just that! Why can’t you do it? You are killing me! I didn’t even get my Kiss! My story is ruined, you’ve destroyed my story...”

Gavin slid across the seat and kissed her.

“That’s not it! You already kissed me. In the bed. That was like a husband kissing a wife. That kind of kiss.”

“What do you know about ‘that kind of kiss’?” scoffed Gavin. “You’ve never been married yet.”

Farfalla said nothing.

“I love you, but I get tired of you always telling me how to behave,” said Gavin, scowling. “Why are you always the boss in our situation? What about
my
agenda? I told you that I loved you. I’m ready to marry you. In the future, I
did
marry you. You know that and so do I! There must be someone I can talk to about this, who’s not a complete, stubborn knot-head, like you. How about your parents? Can I talk to them, please?”

“My parents know nothing that matters.”

“Maybe you had better let me and your parents figure that out. I bet they can tell me how long you’ve been manifesting these episodes.”

“All right,” said Farfalla, pursing her lips. “Fine! Why not? My parents
deserve
that! My parents
deserve
to meet
you.
” She laughed. “You, you and my parents! I can only imagine!”

“Great. Now, we’re getting somewhere. We’ll blow through this little courtesy-call here in Sao Paulo, and then I’m gonna book myself a flight. Not you — you stay here in Brazil. You just stay right here, and sit tight. I’m flying to Ivrea and I’ll go tackle the nutty Communists in their den. I’m going to make an honest woman of you. Where do Mr. and Mrs. Corrado actually live?”

“My mother is a Corrado. My father is Mr. Menotti.”

“So how come you’re not ‘Farfalla Menotti’?”

“My parents never married. Because they are Communists. That was a matter of principle. They are philosophers. They are very principled people.”

Gavin considered this assertion. “That moral decision must have been kind of tough on you and your little brother.”

“
Tough?
” Farfalla shouted. “They made our lives hell! We suffered every day because of them! Every single day, we suffered because of the moral principles of Enrico Menotti! We had to scratch, suffer, and bleed so that he could be morally pure!”

“So, your dad is that kind of a tyrant, huh? I should have guessed that,” said Gavin. “Your dad’s a big Communist bully, am I right? He’s given you every kind of grief, for your whole life. Yeah, I’ve sure seen
that
stuff, around Italy. It’s all very macho, these men-of-respect in the family, always swaggering around... So, this punk-ass Red wouldn’t even properly marry your Mom... So typical! I guess he’s carrying on like he’s the great architect Enrico Menotti.”

“He is the architect Enrico Menotti.”

“Yeah, sure he is, but he’s not like the famous visionary ecologist architect Enrico Menotti.”

“Yes, that’s him. That’s my father.”

Gavin sighed. “Please don’t tell me that. There is just no way.”

Farfalla jammed both her hands into her hair. “Do you think another woman like me suffers from an Enrico Menotti? That is him! He is my father.”

“But... every green eco-freak in Seattle totally worships that guy! Enrico Menotti built, like geodesic houses out of dirt! And cardboard! He’s, like, wackier than Buckminster Fuller.”

“Oh, of course, yes, yes they all
talk
about my father. They never send us money! My father never made any patents for his work! He gave everything away, like a fool, like an idiot! My parents live in a dirty hut! They eat turnips.”

“Wow,” said Gavin. “I was so keen to go punch the lights out of your grumpy moron Dad, but this guy’s a famous international maestro! I’ll have to, like, really work on my Italian, to talk to a genius like him.”

“The ‘great maestro,’” scoffed Farfalla. “My father wears dirty rags. He has rubber shoes on his feet. Shoes cut out of truck tires.”

“So, that’s the great Enrico Menotti,” mused Gavin. “A saint! I don’t want to say I’m
intimidated
, but... well, I sure feel
impressed.
I feel
proud.
Good God, that explains everything to me. No wonder you’re the way you are.”

“You don’t understand! He’s very rigid in his policies! He doesn’t allow any compromise. He’s a 1970’s radical architect. Even, Ettore Sottsass was scared of my father. My father is impossible.”

“Yeah, Farfalla, that is totally you. That is just you to a T. You are just like your Dad. Exactly.” Gavin sighed. “I’m not even mad at you any more. I will never be mad at you again. Not that way. ‘To understand all is to forgive all.’”

“You understand
nothing!
You only
think
you understand.”

“Baby, you are underestimating me. I know I’m just some hick American moron, but I get it, all right. Seattle has a very keen design awareness. We’ve got museums full of that Ettore Sottsass, Memphis-style rubbish. Archizoom, Superstudio, Michele di Lucchi, do those Italian names ring a bell for you? Yeah, they do, they have to. In Italy, that stuff is just tableware made by hippie loons. In Seattle, we put that stuff into our vitrines and dust it off every day.”

Farfalla said nothing.