Burning The Map. Laura Caldwell
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maybe you have been, but you have never been there a notte, at night.”
It sounds mysterious, but I refuse to take the bait. “Fine,” I yell into the wind so he can hear. “Whatever you want.”
I tell myself I’m not interested, that I’m only accepting because if I want to see my friends while in Rome, they’re obviously going to be a package deal with Poster Boy and his crew.
Francesco pulls into the courtyard, and I climb off the scooter as elegantly as possible.
“I will call you early tomorrow evening,” he says, “and we will make arrangements to pick up you and your friends, sì?”
“Sì,” I reply.
He moves toward me, and I panic for a second, thinking he’s going to kiss me on the lips. Then I get a weird shot of hope that he is going to kiss me. Instead, he plants a soft, chaste kiss on each cheek, the Italian greeting, which is about as sexual to them as cleaning a closet. He smiles at me and gives the scooter another lame rev.
“Tomorrow,” he says, and putters away into the night.
3
I’m surprised to hear Lindsey and Kat clomping into the room only an hour or so after I crash, but I’m too tired to find out what brought them home so soon. The next morning I wake them at eight o’clock, determined to show them all of Rome within the next two days, since we’re planning on leaving tomorrow night for the Greek islands.
“It’s too early,” Kat moans, looking as stunning as the night before.
While my appearance always does a nosedive by the time I get up in the morning, Kat is blessed with long, black lashes and smooth skin that never blotches. Her perpetual good looks come in handy, especially on Sunday mornings at 7:00 a.m. when she starts a twelve-hour shift as an ICU nurse. She still goes out every Saturday night without fail, and she almost always picks someone up, but it never seems to affect her nursing. In fact, she’s won awards. She even gets flowers and cards from her patients and their families.
“Too bad,” I say to her now. “We’ve got lots to see.”
Lindsey groans and props herself up on her elbows. “You are not going to believe the shit those guys pulled last night.”
I immediately sit on the edge of her bed, ready for some of the good girl talk that’s been missing from my life. I’ve certainly had no interesting stories of my own. “What happened?”
“Apparently—” she shoots a mean look at Kat “—the boys’ idea of a Vatican tour was to drive by Saint Peter’s from a mile away and point at it.”
I cover my mouth, trying not to laugh.
“Don’t even,” she says, before she continues. “Then they just sped away, and when I asked Massimo where we’re going he tells me Monte something.”
“Monte Mario,” I tell her. It’s a nice neighborhood just outside the city limits. “And then what happened?”
“Well, it was obvious they were looking for an evening of Love American Style,” Lindsey says, again glaring at Kat, “which I guess I should have expected the way those two were making out at the table—but I really did think we were going to the Vatican. One minute we’re cruising along real slow, and Massimo’s being nice, telling me things about Rome. Then we pull up to a light, the two guys talk in Italian, and the next minute they floor the scooters and start flying down the street away from the Vatican.”
We both look at Kat, waiting for an explanation. The way she was tonguing Poster Boy at the table, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was groping him on the scooter.
Kat gives a guilty shrug. “Alesandro asked me if we wanted to have a beer at their apartment, and I said ‘sure,’ assuming he meant after the tour. But before we got anywhere Sin started arguing with Massimo at a stoplight.”
Lindsey snorts. “He made a comment about bringing me home the next day before work, and I didn’t appreciate the assumption.” She throws off her covers and starts going through her purse. “I thought those guys would be different, but they’re the same as the ones back home. I don’t have time to mother some post-college idiot into adulthood.”
“Oh my.” Kat rolls her eyes and waves off Lindsey’s speech. “That’s fine, but you jumped off the scooter and stalked away in the dark. I was worried about you.”
Sin turns around with a serious look, but after a second she gives a bashful kind of half laugh. “I guess the seven beers I had helped a bit.”
“We chased her,” Kat explains, laughing now, too, “and we had to talk her back onto Massimo’s scooter.”
“Yeah. By that time they wanted nothing but to get the hell away from us.” Sin slumps on Kat’s bed.
“And I was none too happy about it,” Kat says. “Alesandro was a hottie, and I came on this trip to have a good time, damn it.”
They’re giggling now, leaning against each other and looking like the best friends they are. I used to fit in that picture. “The Three Musketeers,” we used to call ourselves unoriginally.
“What happened with you?” Kat says. “Did Francesco make a move?”
“No, no. Perfect gentleman.” I tell them about his promise that the guys will pick us up that evening and take us somewhere off the beaten path. “So,” I tell Kat, “if they still want to do it, you’ll have another shot at Alesandro.”
“I hope they don’t,” Lindsey says. “I want absolutely nothing to do with Massimo.”
“Maybe they’ll have more friends,” I say, “or maybe they’ll take us someplace where there’s lots of people. It could be fun.”
Sin narrows her eyes a little. “You’re really selling tonight with these guys. You’re sure nothing happened with you and Francesco?”
“Of course not.”
“Don’t hold out on us,” Kat says.
“There’s nothing to hold.” I look at the two of them slumped on the bed, and I think, there’s nothing to tell about Francesco, not really, but there’s John, there’s my parents, there’s—
“All right. Well, I call the bathroom first.” Lindsey heads for the shower.
Kat groans and rolls off the bed. She moves to her suitcase and starts sorting through her clothes.
I sit there for a second, thinking that at least they didn’t refuse to go tonight. Because I want to see Francesco again more than I can admit.
All day we hike around Rome, making the requisite stops—Castel Sant’Angelo, Trevi Fountain, Piazza del Popolo, Sistine Chapel, and at least a dozen other churches. The majority of Rome’s treasures are religious, whether the cathedrals themselves or the baubles and sculptures collected inside. Although I consider myself a lapsed Catholic, I still find the interior of a church soothing. It’s like walking back into childhood, a world of orderly rules and schedules. I love the cool marble and the impossible, enormous quiet, despite the teeming city outside.
“Pete always wanted me to pretend I was a virgin,” Lindsey says, as we stand in front of a portrait of the Virgin Mary just inside the entrance to one church.
Kat and I burst out in giggles at the thought of cute, little Pete making such a request. We get shushed by a passing couple who might as well have the word tourist plastered on their heads what with the rain slickers tied around their waists and the five guidebooks they’re juggling.
“So why didn’t you?” Kat says in a whisper.
“What was I supposed to do? Get drunk and pretend I was in a dorm room?” Sin shakes her head. “I told him he was an asshole, but I think he was just trying to mix it up a bit, have some fun.” She shrugs and walks to a white