Massimo the Gorgeous and ask him to line up a couple of jitneys. It’s a little bit of a hike, but we could visit the old church in Sassari first. They have a patchwork cathedral from the thirteenth century. It’s Spanish and Gothic. Then we could have lunch in the square…”
“And they can drink a case of wine…”
Geri giggled at that. “Or two! Then they can sleep it off while we drive over to Nuoro to see the nuraghi and the local color.”
“Geri?”
“Yeah?”
“What are nuraghi?”
“Cone-shaped stacked-stone buildings from two thousand years ago. Maybe longer. Built by the Cretans. Hey, by the way, I heard about your grandmother. How’s she doing?”
“Well, she’s in the hospital, which is the best place for somebody with a broken hip. And I’m sure she’s got enough pain medication. My mother’s hysterical over the whole thing—thinks it was her fault. And actually, my grandmother blames her. So does my father. Families, right?”
The strangest look came over Geri’s face. “Is your grandmother your mother’s mother or your father’s mother?”
“Oh, she’s my mother’s mother. Why?”
“Just seems kind of unnecessary. Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so opinionated. I just hate finger-pointing, that’s all. I mean, unless your mother is diabolical or something…”
“No, don’t apologize. I’d love a sane adult opinion on this. My mom’s a pussycat. Connie Russo wouldn’t stomp a bug.”
“So she didn’t push her down the stairs or anything, right?”
“My mother? When I was little, my mother used to go to her room and cry all afternoon if she spanked my backside for being fresh or something. I didn’t cry. I was as defiant as I could be.”
“I’ll bet you gave your mother lip, all right.” Geri smiled and so did I.
“Yeah, I did.”
Geri looked me square in the face and spoke with deliberateness.“Then what’s the point of making her feel bad? And why is your father taking your grandmother’s side? You have to wonder.”
“I do wonder. My father has an odd personality sometimes. He’s wonderful and all, but I guess he thinks Nonna has no one but them—she lives with them—and he’s the man and all that. My grandmother? She’s just crabby and picky. Always has been. I feel sorry for my mom.”
“Well, then, just be sweet to her and as supportive as you can. Everybody needs somebody to stick up for them now and then.”
“You are absolutely right, Geri Post. Thanks for the inspiration. I have always just been my mom’s daughter and it’s time for me to take up her cause.”
“Well, congratulations, Grace Russo. You’ve just jumped another hurdle into womanhood!”
“I’ll see you later.”
Crossing the lobby, I saw Massimo and he waved me over.
“ Buona sera, Signore Floris, how was your day?”
“Ciao! Perfecto!” he said, and clasped his hands. “I just want to know from the big boss how the trip is going. Are your guests happy? Can we do anything for them? I just booked a return trip for two of the gentlemen. They are coming back in two weeks and bringing their nieces. Isn’t that a wonderful idea? I have to say that Americans are so generous…”
“Massimo?”
“What a country!”
“Massimo?”
“Sì?”
“I’ve got a hundred euros that says they aren’t nieces at all.”
Massimo covered his mouth in mock horror and widened his eyes. He whispered across the counter, “ Prego! Bella! What have I said?” Then he winked at me and we started to laugh.
“People are so stupid,” I said. “Don’t worry. Our suspicions go to the grave with me.”
“You wouldn’t believe what I see.”
“And you wouldn’t believe what I see either.”
Later that night after dinner, after drinks, after pleasant good nights and inquiries about my grandmother’s health (the story had traveled throughout the group), I found myself alone in my room, unable to sleep.
I had a sudden realization.
Sometimes young women just needed to
“And they can drink a case of wine…”
Geri giggled at that. “Or two! Then they can sleep it off while we drive over to Nuoro to see the nuraghi and the local color.”
“Geri?”
“Yeah?”
“What are nuraghi?”
“Cone-shaped stacked-stone buildings from two thousand years ago. Maybe longer. Built by the Cretans. Hey, by the way, I heard about your grandmother. How’s she doing?”
“Well, she’s in the hospital, which is the best place for somebody with a broken hip. And I’m sure she’s got enough pain medication. My mother’s hysterical over the whole thing—thinks it was her fault. And actually, my grandmother blames her. So does my father. Families, right?”
The strangest look came over Geri’s face. “Is your grandmother your mother’s mother or your father’s mother?”
“Oh, she’s my mother’s mother. Why?”
“Just seems kind of unnecessary. Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so opinionated. I just hate finger-pointing, that’s all. I mean, unless your mother is diabolical or something…”
“No, don’t apologize. I’d love a sane adult opinion on this. My mom’s a pussycat. Connie Russo wouldn’t stomp a bug.”
“So she didn’t push her down the stairs or anything, right?”
“My mother? When I was little, my mother used to go to her room and cry all afternoon if she spanked my backside for being fresh or something. I didn’t cry. I was as defiant as I could be.”
“I’ll bet you gave your mother lip, all right.” Geri smiled and so did I.
“Yeah, I did.”
Geri looked me square in the face and spoke with deliberateness.“Then what’s the point of making her feel bad? And why is your father taking your grandmother’s side? You have to wonder.”
“I do wonder. My father has an odd personality sometimes. He’s wonderful and all, but I guess he thinks Nonna has no one but them—she lives with them—and he’s the man and all that. My grandmother? She’s just crabby and picky. Always has been. I feel sorry for my mom.”
“Well, then, just be sweet to her and as supportive as you can. Everybody needs somebody to stick up for them now and then.”
“You are absolutely right, Geri Post. Thanks for the inspiration. I have always just been my mom’s daughter and it’s time for me to take up her cause.”
“Well, congratulations, Grace Russo. You’ve just jumped another hurdle into womanhood!”
“I’ll see you later.”
Crossing the lobby, I saw Massimo and he waved me over.
“ Buona sera, Signore Floris, how was your day?”
“Ciao! Perfecto!” he said, and clasped his hands. “I just want to know from the big boss how the trip is going. Are your guests happy? Can we do anything for them? I just booked a return trip for two of the gentlemen. They are coming back in two weeks and bringing their nieces. Isn’t that a wonderful idea? I have to say that Americans are so generous…”
“Massimo?”
“What a country!”
“Massimo?”
“Sì?”
“I’ve got a hundred euros that says they aren’t nieces at all.”
Massimo covered his mouth in mock horror and widened his eyes. He whispered across the counter, “ Prego! Bella! What have I said?” Then he winked at me and we started to laugh.
“People are so stupid,” I said. “Don’t worry. Our suspicions go to the grave with me.”
“You wouldn’t believe what I see.”
“And you wouldn’t believe what I see either.”
Later that night after dinner, after drinks, after pleasant good nights and inquiries about my grandmother’s health (the story had traveled throughout the group), I found myself alone in my room, unable to sleep.
I had a sudden realization.
Sometimes young women just needed to
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