wearing an earring; the other had a Che Guevara tattoo on his muscular biceps. “No. Lock them up. A night in jail will be good for them.”
The woman was waiting for me off to the side. She held her shoes in one hand.
“Broken heel,” she explained with a smile.
She was as tall as I was, even without her shoes. Then I noticed the wedding band and diamond ring on her left hand.
“You can’t walk around barefoot. Let me give you a ride,” I offered, pointing to my car. She smiled.
“I haven’t ridden in one of those in ages, but I remember it was fun.”
The patrolmen were watching me, and I could imagine what they were saying to each other.
“Where do you live?”
“In London, with my husband and two children,” she replied.
“Well, I can hardly take you all the way there. Where are you staying in Rome?”
She pointed to the Spanish Steps leading up to Santa Trinità dei Monti.
“I’m at the Hotel Hassler up there. But if you’re not in a hurry, I’d love a tour. This car is bound to make me feel like a kid again, and I see you can drive through the zones forbidden to common mortals.”
In the Duetto with the top down, we crossed the city. The golden domes of Rome’s many churches were lit by the setting sun. I drove slowly into the pedestrian area. Mine was the only vehicle. All around us were Romans and tourists heading out on a Saturday night. She asked me to show her Piazza Navona and do a loop around the Fountain of the Four Rivers, and I obliged her, to the surprise of the tourists.
“This is the car from The Graduate , isn’t it?” she asked me, while we were driving up toward Santa Trinità dei Monti.
“Yeah, the one Dustin Hoffman drives.”
“It suits you. You’re as good-looking as he is, but taller.”
It was dark by the time we got to her hotel.
“Thanks for rescuing my bag. And thanks for the tour,” she said, turning toward me.
I couldn’t tell whether she was teasing me or being serious.
“And I’m sorry about your gelato,” she continued. “If it weren’t impossible to park here in front I’d ask you to come in with me—the gelato at this hotel is exceptional.”
I put the top up and left the car directly under a sign that said no parking. all vehicles will be towed. On the windshield I left my own sign, one that clearly said, police. on duty.
The vanilla gelato came with strawberries and whipped cream, and champagne was delivered as she was taking a shower. She stepped out of the bathroom in her robe, and I opened the bottle.
“You won’t believe it, Michele, but this is the first time I’ve strayed in seven years of marriage. I’m a little nervous.”
“Let me take care of it. Just sit back and relax.”
She laughed as I slipped the robe off of her and lowered her naked body onto the bed. She laughed as I tied her wrists together with the belt from the robe. She laughed while I placed the sleep mask thoughtfully provided by the hotel over her eyes. She laughed some more as I spread the vanilla gelato, the whipped cream, and the strawberries on the most sensitive parts of her body.
Then I began to eat my dessert.
Sunday, July 18, 1982
I DIDN’T GO BACK TO see Teodori. I didn’t even phone him. After my ice cream treat, I dozed off between the hotel’s elegant sheets and slept like a baby.
I left early in the morning. The elegant lady was going off to Florence where she was to meet her husband, who was arriving from London. I had the impression she’d perhaps enjoyed things too much and gave her a wrong number so I wouldn’t have her in my hair again, then went back to my apartment in Garbatella where I went back to sleep.
The telephone woke me toward midday. I thought it would be Teodori and answered rudely in a sleepy voice. I’d taken a day off and didn’t want anyone being a pain in the ass.
“Michele, you sound awful. Rough night?”
It was my brother, Alberto. I’d completely forgotten about his invitation for lunch and an
The woman was waiting for me off to the side. She held her shoes in one hand.
“Broken heel,” she explained with a smile.
She was as tall as I was, even without her shoes. Then I noticed the wedding band and diamond ring on her left hand.
“You can’t walk around barefoot. Let me give you a ride,” I offered, pointing to my car. She smiled.
“I haven’t ridden in one of those in ages, but I remember it was fun.”
The patrolmen were watching me, and I could imagine what they were saying to each other.
“Where do you live?”
“In London, with my husband and two children,” she replied.
“Well, I can hardly take you all the way there. Where are you staying in Rome?”
She pointed to the Spanish Steps leading up to Santa Trinità dei Monti.
“I’m at the Hotel Hassler up there. But if you’re not in a hurry, I’d love a tour. This car is bound to make me feel like a kid again, and I see you can drive through the zones forbidden to common mortals.”
In the Duetto with the top down, we crossed the city. The golden domes of Rome’s many churches were lit by the setting sun. I drove slowly into the pedestrian area. Mine was the only vehicle. All around us were Romans and tourists heading out on a Saturday night. She asked me to show her Piazza Navona and do a loop around the Fountain of the Four Rivers, and I obliged her, to the surprise of the tourists.
“This is the car from The Graduate , isn’t it?” she asked me, while we were driving up toward Santa Trinità dei Monti.
“Yeah, the one Dustin Hoffman drives.”
“It suits you. You’re as good-looking as he is, but taller.”
It was dark by the time we got to her hotel.
“Thanks for rescuing my bag. And thanks for the tour,” she said, turning toward me.
I couldn’t tell whether she was teasing me or being serious.
“And I’m sorry about your gelato,” she continued. “If it weren’t impossible to park here in front I’d ask you to come in with me—the gelato at this hotel is exceptional.”
I put the top up and left the car directly under a sign that said no parking. all vehicles will be towed. On the windshield I left my own sign, one that clearly said, police. on duty.
The vanilla gelato came with strawberries and whipped cream, and champagne was delivered as she was taking a shower. She stepped out of the bathroom in her robe, and I opened the bottle.
“You won’t believe it, Michele, but this is the first time I’ve strayed in seven years of marriage. I’m a little nervous.”
“Let me take care of it. Just sit back and relax.”
She laughed as I slipped the robe off of her and lowered her naked body onto the bed. She laughed as I tied her wrists together with the belt from the robe. She laughed while I placed the sleep mask thoughtfully provided by the hotel over her eyes. She laughed some more as I spread the vanilla gelato, the whipped cream, and the strawberries on the most sensitive parts of her body.
Then I began to eat my dessert.
Sunday, July 18, 1982
I DIDN’T GO BACK TO see Teodori. I didn’t even phone him. After my ice cream treat, I dozed off between the hotel’s elegant sheets and slept like a baby.
I left early in the morning. The elegant lady was going off to Florence where she was to meet her husband, who was arriving from London. I had the impression she’d perhaps enjoyed things too much and gave her a wrong number so I wouldn’t have her in my hair again, then went back to my apartment in Garbatella where I went back to sleep.
The telephone woke me toward midday. I thought it would be Teodori and answered rudely in a sleepy voice. I’d taken a day off and didn’t want anyone being a pain in the ass.
“Michele, you sound awful. Rough night?”
It was my brother, Alberto. I’d completely forgotten about his invitation for lunch and an
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