host and respected member of the Cinque Terre community¸ he was starting to look better with each passing hour. What’s more, he hadn’t made any effort to hide his resentment of Jonathan from Iowa. The nerve of Jonathan, asking me to spend the night, did he really expect me to jump at the chance. Had it been just the two of us, perhaps I would’ve considered his offer. But given the choice between him and Lorenzo, and unless I wanted to take my virginity to the grave, I had to start somewhere, with someone, and Lorenzo seemed like the better choice, however temporary.
Had Margo been around , she would’ve told me to seize the moment. So I did, after two sleepless hours, or at least made the effort. I pushed myself out of bed and slipped into the robe that now felt like it belonged to me. I padded barefoot into the dimly lit lounge area before reaching the kitchen, half-way expecting to find Lorenzo waiting with a bottle of wine and two goblets. And was more than a little relieved not to find him there. Not to be deterred I helped myself to a bottle of bianco from the fridge, poured a substantial amount into a single goblet, and carried it out to the balcony. After sitting down, I sipped the wine and sipped some more, all the while releasing my mind to the cool breeze of the salty sea and the distant scene of bright lights. To wherever Lorenzo had taken himself and for whatever action he was not getting here with me. Not that I had encouraged him or that he’d encouraged me, other than those two kisses earlier in the evening. Two ordinary people, two pairs of lips joined for two brief moments. No exchange of tongue or saliva, no words of endearment. How very un-extraordinary.
Having drunk all but a few drops of wine, I turned the raised goblet on its side, and let those remaining trickle down my throat. In another hour or so Monterosso would shut down for the night. The remaining villagers would trickle home, the tourists back to their hotel rooms. Bravo to those daring enough to seize the moment, to make passionate love all night long, perhaps to the music of Andrea Bocelli. I, on the other hand, would be fast asleep. All night long, just like every other night of my so-called adult life.
***
If the bathroom had been equipped with a shower, I’d have taken a long one, so cold my body would’ve begged me to stop. Instead, I splashed cold water from the hand bowl’s faucet onto my face, again and again until my fingers turned into ten withered digits. I crawled back in bed, pulled the sheet up around my neck, and sent my fingers to the warmth of my armpits. Shivers passed through my body while I willed myself to fall asleep, a tried-and-true remedy that had worked in the past but still refused to cooperate on this night. At some point I heard movement in the apartment and figured Lorenzo had returned. I got out of bed, opened the door a few inches, and saw his hunched form in the kitchen, standing in the light coming from the opened fridge. I closed the door, intent on hurrying back to bed, if only I hadn’t stumbled over a pair of shoes scattered on the floor. Great, just what I needed: fresh bruises on top of those from the motorboat fiasco.
Take two: I now limped back to bed, again pulled the cover up to my neck.
A knock on the door made my heart pound in my ear.
“Yes?” I called out , surprising myself with the calmness in my voice.
“Are you all right, Elena?”
“I was … yes, fine, thank you.”
“ Permesso to enter,” he said.
I cleared my throat, enough to squeak out another yes before pulling the sheet over my head. In a matter of seconds, I sensed Lorenzo beside the bed.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked.
“Just a little shaky,” I mumbled from under the sheet. “It must be the night air.”
I popped my head out. There stood Lorenzo, still wearing his street clothes, the fly of his trousers a few inches away.
Whatever I might’ve be en feeling slipped away, along
Had Margo been around , she would’ve told me to seize the moment. So I did, after two sleepless hours, or at least made the effort. I pushed myself out of bed and slipped into the robe that now felt like it belonged to me. I padded barefoot into the dimly lit lounge area before reaching the kitchen, half-way expecting to find Lorenzo waiting with a bottle of wine and two goblets. And was more than a little relieved not to find him there. Not to be deterred I helped myself to a bottle of bianco from the fridge, poured a substantial amount into a single goblet, and carried it out to the balcony. After sitting down, I sipped the wine and sipped some more, all the while releasing my mind to the cool breeze of the salty sea and the distant scene of bright lights. To wherever Lorenzo had taken himself and for whatever action he was not getting here with me. Not that I had encouraged him or that he’d encouraged me, other than those two kisses earlier in the evening. Two ordinary people, two pairs of lips joined for two brief moments. No exchange of tongue or saliva, no words of endearment. How very un-extraordinary.
Having drunk all but a few drops of wine, I turned the raised goblet on its side, and let those remaining trickle down my throat. In another hour or so Monterosso would shut down for the night. The remaining villagers would trickle home, the tourists back to their hotel rooms. Bravo to those daring enough to seize the moment, to make passionate love all night long, perhaps to the music of Andrea Bocelli. I, on the other hand, would be fast asleep. All night long, just like every other night of my so-called adult life.
***
If the bathroom had been equipped with a shower, I’d have taken a long one, so cold my body would’ve begged me to stop. Instead, I splashed cold water from the hand bowl’s faucet onto my face, again and again until my fingers turned into ten withered digits. I crawled back in bed, pulled the sheet up around my neck, and sent my fingers to the warmth of my armpits. Shivers passed through my body while I willed myself to fall asleep, a tried-and-true remedy that had worked in the past but still refused to cooperate on this night. At some point I heard movement in the apartment and figured Lorenzo had returned. I got out of bed, opened the door a few inches, and saw his hunched form in the kitchen, standing in the light coming from the opened fridge. I closed the door, intent on hurrying back to bed, if only I hadn’t stumbled over a pair of shoes scattered on the floor. Great, just what I needed: fresh bruises on top of those from the motorboat fiasco.
Take two: I now limped back to bed, again pulled the cover up to my neck.
A knock on the door made my heart pound in my ear.
“Yes?” I called out , surprising myself with the calmness in my voice.
“Are you all right, Elena?”
“I was … yes, fine, thank you.”
“ Permesso to enter,” he said.
I cleared my throat, enough to squeak out another yes before pulling the sheet over my head. In a matter of seconds, I sensed Lorenzo beside the bed.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked.
“Just a little shaky,” I mumbled from under the sheet. “It must be the night air.”
I popped my head out. There stood Lorenzo, still wearing his street clothes, the fly of his trousers a few inches away.
Whatever I might’ve be en feeling slipped away, along
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