I was stumped.
I thought about it all day.
What to do?
Then it hit me.
Flowers.
This would be the first time I ever bought roses for a girl outside getting my mother a bouquet on Mother’s Day, and I was looking forward to stepping into the role of boyfriend tremendously. What fun. And so, I ventured out into passegiata, enjoying the bustle of people, my spirits lifted by the plan. I remembered vaguely a flower shop nearby a local “fast food” pasta outlet and found my instincts to be correct.
As I explained my mission to the friendly proprietress, I discovered that I was becoming quite good at conversational Italian by now. The woman was very impressed by my attempt at the language, kindly ignoring my rather large oversight of addressing her in the informal “tu” instead of the formal “Lei.”
The bouquet she presented me with was uncomfortable large, considering I assumed I had only paid the equivalent of twenty dollars worth of lire for it. It was not the kind of thing I could make invisible by tucking under my arm as I walked into the hotel, and I knew that the last thing Eileen would want is for me to broadcast to the rest of the students that I was buying her flowers. It would embarrass her. So I slipped my raincoat off and started to drape it over the bouquet. No. The coat would crush the flowers. The large set of red petals and long green stems wrapped in a clear plastic vase would have to remain visible. I decided all I had to do was walk casually as I approached the hotel and hope that nobody saw me.
As I walked past the Palazzo Pubblico down the sidestreet where the hotel rested, I found himself crossing paths with Drusilla and Adnan Elshenaway, who were headed out for a walk. Much to my mortification, Drusilla asked in a teasing, sing-song voice,
“Who are the flowers for, Marc?”
“Nobody,” I smiled as I walked past the two and continued up to the hotel entrance.
“I’m sure Eileen will love them,” Drusilla called back.
* * *
After I disappeared into the hotel, leaving Drusilla and Adnan alone to continue walking towards the Campo, Drusilla turned to Adnan and said, “Why don’t you think my boyfriend back home ever buys me flowers?” [Remember readers: Drusilla looks like Liv Tyler, if you need someone to picture.]
Adnan shrugged. “Bob? He’s a loser. That’s why he doesn’t buy you flowers.”
“I’ve been thinking of giving him the heave-ho lately,” Drusilla said. “He’s clingy and possessive and he clearly has decided that I’m some kind of mother replacement for him. He makes me feel like I’m on a lease 24/7, you know? Like I’m his to own and command at a given moment.”
“You wouldn’t be much of a feminist if you kept dating a guy like that,” Adnan observed.
Drusilla nodded decisively. “You said it. From now on, I take crap from no one. Least of all Bobby.”
“You’re in Italy,” Adnan said. “Love is in the air. Be reckless. Cheat on the loser.”
“I dunno,” Drusilla sighed. “It wouldn’t be nice. I should go back home and break up with him first. Then it would all be on the up-and-up if I went off with someone else.”
“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t be in Italy any more,” Adnan said. “And it would be too late for a romance in Italy.”
“Yeah.”
“What, are you married to the guy, or something? Go have a fling!” Adnan commanded. “You wouldn’t be much of a feminist if you didn’t cheat on him. Remember A Doll’s House? The Awakening? Lady Chatterly? Your favorite books!” [By the way, Adnan looks a little like Ajay Naidu from Office Space.]
“I like Anna Karenina better than all of those.”
Adnan spread his arms wide. “Well…”
“Yeah,” Drusilla shrugged. “You’re right.” She paused. “But I don’t want to dump him. I’m not ready to dump him. I may keep him yet. I just want to set some new ground rules when I get back. Like giving me some space.”
“Fair enough. But before you go back to him … while you’re here … do me a favor and have some sex with a hot Italian guy.”
“No sex. But I’ll make out with one for a good five hours. Maybe third base. Or a long lead off third...”
“Okay,” Adnan said. “Good enough.”
They fell silent for a full minute as they walked.
“I’d make out with you if you weren’t gay,” Drusilla concluded.
“Sorry,” Adnan said.
* * *
Whenever a problem preyed on Eileen Harris’ mind, she began to feel the tension build in her stomach. The greater the problem became, the tighter the knot in her stomach was pulled. By now, the nausea had risen to a crescendo, sapping her of all her strength, keeping her too dizzy to stand. For the past sixty-seven minutes she lay on her back diagonally across the double bed that she and Drusilla shared, pressing a damp white cloth to her forehead.
Marc, Marc, Marc. It was so wonderful when she was with him. He was so sweet and funny. He made a wonderful friend. So why did he have to go and ruin it by kissing her? Now everything was so complicated.
It wasn’t that Marc was a bad kisser. It wasn’t that she wasn’t attracted to him. He was fairly good-looking. But she couldn’t stop thinking, even when he held her in his arms last night, first outside the D’Uomo and then back here in the hotel room. She enjoyed making out with him tremendously, but she couldn’t stop her mind from racing through every possible ending to their relationship.
She lived near Buffalo and he lived six hours away in Richmond County. Six hours. After they graduated, would he have to drive six hours each weekend just to see her? And, for God’s sake, the boy was allergic to cats. How could she date anyone who couldn’t set foot in her house without breaking out in hives? Would he drive six hours to see her just to spend the entire visit talking to her on the front steps of her house? And where would he sleep? In a sleeping bag on the lawn under her apple tree? In a hotel? The hotel bills for the first month of their relationship alone would be enormous.
How could she allow herself to fall in love with him when the dynamics of their relationship would be so complicated? Besides, it was destined to end badly, of that she was certain. She had always vowed never to get married, never to have children, and that was what Marc wanted from her more than anything. If not now, then if their relationship really went somewhere…
Ridiculous. Patently absurd. The deck was stacked against them and Eileen was not much of a gambler to begin with. She liked to be in control. She liked to be prepared for every possible contingency, and there were too many variables. Her logical mind was on the verge of a short circuit.
She would have to talk to him about it. But what could she possibly say to him? He seemed so excited about this so-called relationship. Sean was just saying this morning that Marc was giddier than he had ever been during his entire schoolboy life. Would Marc even understand what she was talking about? For an intelligent person, he could behave very illogically, very melodramatically.
Well, hopefully Marc’s romantic streak will take a rest, she thought. I’m sure he noticed I gave him the cold shoulder on the bus ride home. That was a clear enough message that he’s pushing me too hard. He’d have to be an idiot not to realize that I need some space. If he keeps his distance from me for a few days, I’m sure our feelings for each other will die down and we’ll be able to go back to being just friends. That’s much easier. Much safer. It’s the only logical decision.
There was a timid knock on her bedroom door.
“Yes?” she groaned.
Marc poked his head in. “Can I come in?”
Eileen sighed and sat up. “Yes.”
“I noticed you weren’t yourself today, so I got you something to help make you feel better.” At that, Marc jumped dramatically into the room and, striking a heroic pose, presented her with a giant bouquet of roses. “Ta-da!”
Oh, shit.
Beaming, Marc handed her the bouquet. “Here you go.”
Eileen turned the bouquet over in her hands, staring at the vibrant red flowers. They were lovely. They also looked expensive.
I’m definitely going to throw up. Any second now. Puke all over the place.
“What do you think?” asked Marc, who was starting to look nervous.
“Very…nice. Pretty.” Eileen tried to smile, but it came out more like a frown. I think I’m gonna die. Dear God, I’m gonna die.
Marc shuffled from one foot to the other. “So, I was worried about you. I don’t like to see you looking so glum, you know. You’re very cool and you should be happy.”
“Thanks,” Eileen murmured. Go away, please. Go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away. I can’t take it anymore.
Marc looked like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. First he put them behind his back, then he put them in his pockets, then he dropped them at his side. “I hope I haven’t offended you by getting you these flowers.”
Eileen didn’t respond right away to that one, and the tension level in the room jumped four hundred percent. Marc, fully aware that he was losing ground with each passing second, tried to find the right words and failed.
“I know you don’t like it when I open doors for you and pull chairs out for you. I’m not really sure what the etiquette is these days for…you know…hanging out with…women who think old-fashioned stuff like flowers is repressive and all that jazz.”
“No, no,” Eileen said, too quickly to sound natural. “They’re fine.”
“So I got you flowers, because I figured it was what I was supposed to do, and I wanted to do it because I like you, but I hope that you’re not someone who reacts badly to flowers, you know? So if the gift is bad, then I’m sorry.”
“They’ll need water.” Eileen stood up and walked over to a large thermos of water on her bureau. She pulled the roses out of the clear plastic vase they were in and slipped them into the thermos.
“Do you need water?” Marc blurted out. “I mean, if you’re not well, I can ask Marcello to make you some tea. I can get you some cookies, or something. Or aspirin.”
Eileen smiled weakly at him and sat down again on the bed. I’m torturing him. I’m tearing him to pieces and all he did was buy me a present. Why am I doing this? Does he deserve this shit I’m giving him? Why can’t I smile at him? Why can’t I give him a real thank you for these lovely flowers? What the fuck is wrong with me, anyway?
“No, no aspirin,” she said. Damn, she thought. That was a mistake too. I should have given him a mission. Something to make him feel useful. Something to help him save face and give him a graceful escape from this horrible, stifling room.
Now sweat was gathering on Marc’s brow. “Well, I can see you still look a little sick, so I’ll let you get some rest.”
“No.” Eileen jumped to her feet and grabbed Marc by the wrist. “Wait.”
Marc was afraid to look her in the face. “Yes?”
There was a lump in Eileen’s throat that made it hard for her to speak. “I want to thank you. Really. Thank you for the flowers. I do like them. I really do. You look like you don’t believe that, and I don’t blame you, but I really like them.”
Marc looked at her, searching her eyes to see if she was telling the truth.
Then the thought, unbidden, jumped into Eileen’s mind. Kiss me again, Marc.
He saw the invitation in her eyes and brought his lips up to hers.
Marc and Eileen were rolling around on top of the bed covers, kissing each other amorously. With the pleasure came relief, for Marc knew he’d been granted an eleventh hour stay of execution and he was enjoying every moment of it. Terrified of doing anything to end this bliss, Marc fought the urge to try to take her clothes off, contenting himself with exploring the curves of her body through her clothes. The night before they had made out for minutes at a time, pausing a few times to rest, holding one another and stroking each other’s hair, before beginning again. He knew she had enjoyed it last night just as he had, and he expected that they would spend at least as much time together tonight.
He knew he was wrong when he felt her start to fight him. He couldn’t believe it. She was still fighting him. Why? If she didn’t want him to kiss her, then why didn’t she pull away the moment he tried to make a move? Why stop now? What was the problem?
He remembered what had happened last time they stopped kissing. She gave him the cold shoulder for nearly a day. What would happen if he stopped kissing her now? Would she ever let him kiss her again? He decided he would try to ignore her wriggling for as long as possible. Maybe if he could make his kisses and caresses all the more pleasing to her, focus all his energy on electrifying her senses, she wouldn’t break away from him. It was what he had been trying to do all along, but he redoubled his efforts, knowing that he only had a few moments to prove himself before her protests grew too great.
“We have to stop,” she whispered between kisses.
Jesus Christ. Marc stopped, burying his face in the covers.
“Can you - ?”
“Yes, yes,” Marc grumbled, rolling off of Eileen and sitting up on the bed. Eileen sat up and traced her fingers through her hair, combing the wild strands back into place. She has that long-suffering look back on her face. The one that made him feel like he was as pleasant to be around as an eighty-year-old longshoreman with roving hands and a massive erection. Well, he wasn’t about to let her tear his heart out for the third time in one day.
Marc stood up abruptly and shot Eileen an angry look. “Look, if I make you feel that uncomfortable, then I’ll stay out of your way.”
His fists balled at his side, he stalked across the room and stopped in front of the door. He looked at her again, waiting for her to stop him from leaving. She was staring glumly down at her own hands, folded on her lap.
“I’m tired of pushing you. I’m tired of being the bad guy.”
Eileen didn’t say a word.
“It’s your move now. If you want me, I’ll be upstairs.” Furious and humiliated, Marc tore open the bedroom door and strode outside, almost crashing into Joachim’s barrel chest.
“Marc, I wanted to –“
Marc continued past Joachim and head up the stairs to his room. “Not now, Joachim. Please.”
Does he want me to follow him? Eileen wondered. Or am I the last person he wants to see right now? No. He wants me to follow him.
Eileen started to stand up, but her nervous stomach replied with a nauseous lurch that dragged her back to her seat. No. She was in no condition to go chasing after him. He’d made her too upset. He’d done this to her, made her sick with worry. The bastard. If only she could lay down a little while, until the nausea passed, but her room seemed smaller now than it had been even a few minutes ago and now she was beginning to understand where the cliché “the walls felt like they were closing in” came from.
Decisively, she fought the sickness in her stommach and stood up, tossing on her long emerald coat and daring out of her room. She raced past a taciturn Joachim, who was loitering like a lost soul in the second-floor parlor, and proceeded down the spiral staircase to the main floor restaurant. Thankfully, there was no sign of Marc or any of her other enemies at the moment. No Sean. She couldn’t take any sniping at this particular moment. She had to get some air. She had to get to the D’Uomo. Maybe if she stood outside the church, a place she had found so inspiring in so many ways, the place where she and Marc had first kissed, she might know better what to do.
She crossed the Campo, navigating past several picnicking couples and groups of friends standing in ill-defined circles talking with one another in various and sundry languages. From what she understood of Italian, she overheard one bald man insisting that Savonarola was a great man and didn’t deserve being executed on the spot in the past, just missing the substance of his friend’s rebuttal.
Marc’s right. I’m being unreasonable. Why won’t I give him a chance to prove himself? What am I so afraid of? What if Marc and I can work something out? What if he’s willing to make the commute to see me each week? Maybe, for once, I can have a boyfriend who possesses some small degree of intelligence instead of having to settle for some of the terrible boys I went to grammar school with. Or is this what I’m afraid of? Have I been alone so long that I’m afraid to take the risk of being with someone?
Eileen was so consumed with self-doubt and self-reflection, psychological and romantic analysis of Marc’s motivation, and strategic planning of how their next meeting would go that she barely realized her feet had carried her to the D’Uomo until she came to a stop in front of the black-and-white striped giant. Once the sight of the mammoth structure sank in, Eileen felt the tears start to fill her eyes. She realized that she couldn’t think her way around this problem. She had to clear her thoughts and see what her heart told her. She had to pray. Before she could begin her invocation, she was distracted by the approach of a handsome Italian soldier.
“I hate to see someone so beautiful look so depressed,” said the young man.
Eileen rubbed the tears away from her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m not depressed,” she protested, ridiculously.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked, his noble brown eyes searching out hers.
Eileen laughed humorlessly. “I wish there were.”
“Is it your boyfriend?” the soldier asked without irony.
“He’s not my…,” Eileen began hastily, and then realized she might be lying. “Well he’s…it’s my…it’s…well, I suppose he’s something of…unless he just broke it off, or unless I did. I don’t know what he is. I don’t know what we are.”
“And that’s the problem?” said the man, as if he now understood the situation completely. “You do not know how you feel about him yet, and he’s run out of patience.”
“Yes, that’s it exactly,” Eileen confessed miserably.
“It’s too bad he’s felt the need to put so much pressure on you,” the man said sadly, pressing a hand on her shoulder. His touch was cool, but reassuring.
Eileen turned to look at the tall man. “It’s just all happening so fast. I didn’t expect anything like this to happen. The last time I came here with students they were all so insipid. I never expected to meet another student who affected me the way Marc does. It all came as a total surprise to me.”
“But that is a good thing,” the man smiled.
“Is it?”
“But of course. Surprise is the greatest gift life can give us. It keeps things exciting. It keeps us off balance. If we were able to predict everything that would happen to us before it happened, wouldn’t life be the most colossal bore?”
Eileen shifted her eyes sideways, avoiding the soldier’s searching gaze. “I don’t know.”
“Well, I love surprises. Take now, for instance. I’m on leave from my assignment for the next two days. I was just going out for a little while to enjoy the night. The last thing I expected to see was a woman as lovely and enchanting as you standing outside the D’Uomo looking for a friendly person to talk to. I didn’t expect any of this, but it’s a surprise, and it’s a wonderful one.”
Eileen felt herself starting to cry again and didn’t know why. “It’s a wonderful surprise?”
She didn’t expect the soldier to place his hand gently under her chin and lift her face slowly up to his. His deep-set eyes were filled with affection and concern. Eileen felt herself start to blush.
“A wonderful surprise,” he repeated, smiled a perfect white smile.
Eileen smiled back. “Thank you.”
* * *
It had been several days since Sean tinkered with the keyboards outside the music shop where he’d impressed the beautiful Italian babes. He’d grown weary of trying to recreate that success after several failed attempts, but he was sure this time he’d be able to draw a few hot chicks out of hiding. There was something in the air tonight. There was an atmosphere of change, as if everything was coming to a head, and he wanted to be a part of it. Besides, he needed something to do to amuse himself while his friend was fooling around with Eileen. (What a fucking bore that was.) And so, Sean decided to stop off in his room for some sheet music, totally unprepared for the sight that greeted him.
The bedroom was a yin-yang of chaos and order, with Marc’s half of the room the picture of destruction, and Sean’s half as perfectly pristine as he had left it. The bedcovers had been violently torn off Marc’s mattress and hurled into the corner of the room, leaving three empty suitcases in sole possession of the top of the bed. There was clothing hanging from the bedpost, the lamp, the front door, the closet, and the end table. Souvenir posters, postcards, and miniatures were scattered about the floor like spilled bits of candy. One randomly tossed shirt seemed to land at exactly the midpoint of the room, refusing to stray any farther over to Sean’s side for fear of being accused of invading Sean’s sanctuary and dirtying it up. It was as if a violent storm had briefly erupted in the bedroom, focusing its entire wrath on Marc’s possessions while maintaining just enough self-control to stop itself from succumbing to the temptation to vent its fury on Sean’s luggage as well.
In the midst of the wreckage sat Marc, his back turned against the side of his bed, his arms hugging his legs to his chest, his forehead resting on his knees. “Sorry about all that,” he muttered, his face still buried against his jeans. “Lost a bit of control there. Won’t happen again.”
“Oh, man.” Sean looked first at his side of the room, then at Marc’s and scratched his head. He tried to figure out what might have caused Marc to go on this strange rampage. It didn’t take long for him to strike on the right answer. “Eileen running hot and cold again?”
Marc looked up at the room, amazed at his own display of frustration. “Look at this place. It’s the work of a nut. I don’t do things like this normally. This is totally out of character for me. I’m going crazy, aren’t I?”
“I don’t blame you.” Sean walked over to his end table and opened the drawer, rummaging through his music for songs to play.
“Like Baldrick, I had a cunning plan,” Marc said, smiling to himself over an inside joke. “It backfired. I tried to provoke Eileen into pursuing me and all it did was chase her farther way.”
“What happened?”
Marc chuckled. “Let’s put it this way. Me and Eileen aren’t speaking each other’s language. I’m talking feelings and living for the moment, and she’s talking ‘reason’ and planning for tomorrow. Talk about sense and sensibility! I feel like Dr. McCoy trying to make love to Mr. Spock’s more stoic twin sister.”
Sean pulled out the three pieces of sheet music he was most interested in and returned the others to the drawer. “Please stop with the Star Trek stuff so I can understand what you’re talking about.”
“I dunno. Maybe I’m the problem. Maybe I’m not handsome enough.”
“Nonsense,” Sean scolded. Suddenly worried about his sword, Sean peered under his bed and found it resting where he had left it, concealed within a large plastic poster tube. Impulsively, he scooped the tube out from its hiding place and decided that he’d be taking his sword out with him. In case any girls showed up to watch him play, he could always impress them further by showing off this lovely weapon.
“Is it?” Marc asked rhetorically. "Women have given me all kinds of 'reasons' they won't date me. I’m too religious. I’m not religious enough. I move too quickly. I'm too slow. I'm a member of the wrong political party. I don't like Friends and I should. Unless, of course, those are all rationalizations to explain away a lack of physical chemistry.... Unless, of course, those religious and political tensions are strong enough to defeat a genuine attraction... Unless … I don’t know! How is any of this supposed to make me feel good about myself?”
“Now, I can’t stand talk like that. That’s stupid stuff.” Sean adjusted his collar, noticing at that moment how hot it was. The weighty conversation was not the only thing making the room stuffy. It was a humid night out. He went over to the window to let a breeze in. He hand was on the lock, primed to open it, when he saw Eileen standing on the street below talking to an Italian paratrooper. Although Sean couldn’t hear what Eileen and the soldier were saying to one another, their body language spoke volumes. Friends didn’t stand as close together as they were standing.
Uh-oh, Sean thought.
“Maybe I’m just boring and sexless,” Marc thought aloud, trying to sound as if he were analyzing himself dispassionately, from afar, but each word was soaked in tortured emotion. “I’ve always known it. That’s why I hate reading books like Madame Bovary and The Awakening and Women in Love. I’m the bad guy in all of them: the boring, nerdy bourgeois husband who the wife tosses over for the dumb handsome guy with the enormous ... sex appeal.”
Sean had a moment of hope when the soldier grabbed for Eileen’s waist and she pulled away, pointing towards the hotel. Sean couldn’t tell if she was objecting to the advance because she wanted to be loyal to Marc or because she was afraid they’d get caught. Sean wondered if he should tell Marc what he was looking at. He didn’t relish the thought of being the one to break the news, but he certainly didn’t want to be the one to withhold it.
“Unfortunately, it’s kind of hard to be an English major and not read four thousand books about why adultery is the greatest thing since sliced bread,” Marc rambled on. “Being a middle class nerd myself, these books sure don’t make me feel good about my prospects keeping my prospective girlfriend happy and sexually satisfied, that’s for sure. They’ve got me convinced the only way I can make a sexy, independent women wet is to toss her in a swimming pool.”
The soldier grabbed Eileen again, seizing her roughly in his arms and kissing her passionately. All her prospects ended in that moment and her body melted against the paratrooper’s.
Marc uncurled himself from his fetal position and pulled his protesting body off the floor. He was already becoming more himself again. It seemed that wrecking the room and complaining to Sean had the therapeutic effect needed to return him slowly to his old self. “But that kind of talk is ridiculous, isn’t it? It’s defeatist. I should just be happy that I had the time with her that I did. She is very beautiful after all.”
And a very enthusiastic kisser, Sean thought, watching Eileen and the paratrooper continue exchanging lusty kisses. “Um, Marcus?”
“Yeah?” Marc walked casually over to the window, curious to know what Sean was staring at.
Sean held up a hand to stop Marc from going any closer to the window. “I don’t know if you want to see it, but Eileen’s outside making out with some Italian guy.”
“What are you talking about?” Marc frowned and brushed past Sean to see for himself. He looked down just long enough to identify Eileen and get a good glimpse of the man’s face. Then he retreated from the window as if it reeked of skunk spray.
“You’re right. I really didn’t want to see that.” Marc’s expression told Sean that the recovery his friend had been on the verge of making had just come to a crashing end.
“Come on, man,” Sean said, frustration now filling his usually deadpan voice. “Don’t get depressed. Get angry. Women get depressed about stuff like this and blame themselves. Men get angry and blame other people. That’s what you should be doing. It’s her fault. It’s that fuckin’ paratrooper’s fault. It ain’t your fault.”
“I’m gonna go for a walk in a little while and get some air,” Marc announced. “I’ll wait until they’re gone first, of course.”
“Wanna go to that Irish pub?” Sean suggested eagerly. “I haven’t been there yet.”
“Nah,” Marc waved vaguely. “I figure I should just get some time alone.”
“You can’t be alone at a time like this. Come on. Come out with me and get blasted. You’ll feel better if you’re drunk.”
Marc sighed. “Maybe later. Maybe I’ll meet you there later.”
Sean shook his head slowly. “Okay. If that’s what you want. I’m going to tinker with the keyboards a bit. I’ll head over to ‘The Green Door’ around ten o’clock. We’ll meet there, okay?”
“Maybe,” Marc replied. “Maybe. You go out and have fun. Forget about me for now.”
* * *
Eileen slipped furtively into the hotel, casting her eyes about to see if anyone was about who might have caught her with Vittorio. She hadn’t intended to kiss the swarthy soldier, even though she had been attracted to him from the outset, because she didn’t want to do anything that would make her feel as if she’d done something unfair to Marc. She had dodged several of Vittorio’s advances, including his none-too-subtle invitations to go straight to bed, out of respect for Marc, but her resolve had broken down at the last possible instant in the worst possible location. Vittorio had pleaded for a goodnight kiss, and she could not turn him down, no matter how hard she tried.
Much to her dismay, Eileen discovered Drusilla and Adnan dining together at a table right by the entrance display window. Given that they were both staring at her with odd expressions on their faces, Eileen knew that they had seen everything. “Hello,” Eileen said bashfully.
“Hi,” Drusilla said.
Adnan remained silent.
“That was Vittorio,” Eileen explained.
“Looks like a handsome guy.” The coolness in Drusilla’s tone brought all the nausea that Vittorio had dispelled from Eileen’s stomach return in one great rush. She thinks I’m scum, thought Eileen. She thinks I’ve betrayed Marc. But how could she jump to that conclusion without hearing my side of the story?
Knowing that the longer she lingered in the restaurant the more panicked she’d become, Eileen left the couple behind and proceeded upstairs to her room. She wasn’t looking forward to it, but she knew she’d have to finish things with Marc, break it off cleanly so that she could pursue Vittorio without any feelings of guilt. Vittorio would only be able to receive her for the next two days before having to return to his post, but that would be enough. She had arranged to meet him in two hours before the D’Uomo and she hoped her conversation with Marc would be over before then. Vittorio had promised to write to her when she returned to America, so even though it would be a long distance relationship, and somewhat impractical, she was already planning to fight to keep in contact with him once she returned to America.
Her mind was still reeling from everything that had happened to her when she met Sean on the steps. He was clutching a large plastic tube in his left hand and had a folder of music pinned under his arm. She tried to squeeze past him with a mere, “hello,” but he blocked her with his arm.
“I just want to say, you really are a dumb slut, you know that?”
Eileen’s breath caught in her mouth and her eyes widened. “What?”
“You think that guy’s interested in anything more than just fucking you and dumping you out on the street?” Sean sneered. “There’s no difference between him and all the other horny Italian guys that have been muscling in on you and Drusilla all month. He’s only handsomer, that’s all.”
What, did the whole hotel see me with Vittorio? Are they all going to vilify me and stand in Marc’s corner? Am I going to get crucified for this one little mistake? "You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eileen shot back. “Now let me pass.”
“All Marc wanted to do was make you happy. And he would have. He’s a real gentleman, with a real interest in getting to know who you really are. This other guy doesn’t give a flying fuck about you. He won’t be buying you flowers, I can guarantee it. He ain’t the type. But you’re willing to ditch Marc for this gigolo. You’re a real moron, you know that?”
“You have no right to say those things to me!” Eileen yelled. “Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?”
Sean leaned forward, nearly touching his enraged face to Eileen’s. “Did I hurt your feelings? Good. I want to see you look crushed and miserable.”
Eileen grit her teeth together angrily. “You bastard.”
“What? Do I sound mean and heartless? Maybe it’s because I saw the look on Marc’s face when he found out about you and the soldier. It’s kind of hard to feel anything but disgust for you after seeing the consequences of your stupidity firsthand.”
“Consequences?” Hot tears flushed Eileen’s eyes. “He knows already? It just happened!”
“He knows.”
Eileen slumped against the wall, mortified that she couldn’t stop from crying in front of her antagonist.
Sean paused to look with satisfaction at her miserable expression. Then, scowling again, he walked down the rest of the stairs and headed outside to play his music.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, when Eileen knocked on Marc’s bedroom door, he wouldn’t answer. She tried for several minutes to get him to open up, but he was resolute.
Distressed, she left the hotel and took a long evening walk once again, speaking to no one as she went out into the night…
* * *
Downstairs, Drusilla was connected, long-distance, to her boyfriend, Bobby, via the phone in the lobby.
“Hi, Bobby. It’s Drusilla. I just wanted to let you know that I’ve decided that you’re too possessive and I need some time to find myself.”
Pause.
“No,” Drusilla said, “We’re not breaking up. I just want a hiatus. I just would like to see other people for a little while.”
Pause.
“You see, I’m in Italy and I’m planning on having a fling. Then, when I get home, we can talk about how you need to give me some more ‘me’ time and stop being all possessive.”
Pause.
“An example?” Drusilla asked incredulously. “You wire-tapped my dorm phone to make sure I wasn’t cheating on you.”
Pause.
“Dude! A friggin’ wire tap! What are you, 007 or something? No wait, he isn’t so insecure around women he wire taps their phones. He only wire-taps frickin’ enemies of the state and shit.”
Pause.
“Yeah, I found the wire tap alright. Last week.”
Pause.
“It’s too late to apologize. That wire tap pissed me off.”
Pause.
“It showed a lack of trust. I didn’t cheat on you before, but the wire tap is driving me to it. To make a point.”
Pause.
"No, the point is not that you were right not to trust me and right to put the wire tap."
Pause.
"Well, if you don't know what you did wrong, I can't tell you. I tell you what… take the wire tap off my dorm phone and I’ll be faithful to you from now on.”
Pause.
“After I get back from Italy, that is. I’m having a fling while I’m here. But if I get back and you behave, then you’ll have nothing to fear and you won’t feel like you have to spy on me any more.”
Pause.
“I’m not having this conversation. I’m just letting you know. Tonight and for the rest of the trip, I’m single. Just FYI.”
Pause.
"Well, if you must know, I do have my eye on someone already. I’ve found a nice Italian boy I intend to spend a lot of time making out with.”
Pause.
“No sex. Just a lot of smooching. Scout’s honor.”
Pause.
“Why am I telling you? So you can hire a private detective to follow us to make sure it is only just smooching and take photos so you can look over them with a spy glass to check and see if any penetration is going on.”
Pause.
“Yeah, and fuck you, too, Bob.”
Pause.
Adnan appeared behind Drusilla, "Tell him what you told me before about the 'long lead off of third base.' He'll like that."
“Talk to you later, Bob,” Drusilla said.
Drusilla hung up.
She smiled at Adnan. “I’ve decided to take your advice.”
“I can tell,” Adnan said. “Who’s the lucky Italian guy?”
“Well,” Drusilla smirked. “Technically he’s Italian-American.”
“Ah,” Adnan says. “Swooping in and saving our friend Marc from Eileen, are you?”
“Yep.”
“Something tells me he can use the company tonight,” Adnan said.
“Me, too,” Drusilla said. “I’m going upstairs. See you in the morning.”
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