Italian King by Zoe Beth Geller
Juliet
On our way back to the university, we have to deal with the summers sea of tourists meandering everywhere. Sometimes the sidewalks are so packed that people take to the streets but it’s a recipe for disaster. The only time of year we don’t have to contend with crowds is December to February, when it’s rainy, windy, and can be frigid as fuck.
Ava and I happen to be walking too close to the street when I hear a motorcycle coming. The driver isn’t paying attention to how close he is, so I quickly yank her out of the way.
“Sheesh, Ava,” I scold her, “What the hell? You almost got hit.”
“Thanks, I guess I wasn’t paying attention,” she says, still shaking a bit from the close encounter.
“Well, I still don’t see how our drivers here are worse than what you get in New York like you said, but yeah, you need to be more careful.”
“Let’s stop at the little café by the university for a panini,” she suggests while waiting to cross the street in front of the school and making sure the cars stop before crossing over.
My stomach rumbles in agreement and I double check the traffic before we cross, taking her arm protectively. I notice some dark SUV type vehicles on the street and think of the mysterious man from the courtyard. I wonder if he drives one of those. He seemed powerful, maybe even secretive as he offered nothing about himself in our friendly encounter.
We place our food order at the counter and look around for a place to sit. It’s a tiny hole in the wall with limited seating so I eye the tables wondering who will leave first.
The walk here helped to get the blood flow back to my legs and feet. After sitting for an hour or two these feet are now sore from walking and ready for these wedge shoes to come off. I’d rather be home eating and walking around in my bare feet but food is typically better when someone else makes it.
“Oh, table,” I call out and make a beeline for the two-top that a couple has just vacated.
“Great!” Ava follows on my heels just as our order number is called.
“I got the table, you take care of the food.”
She carries the food to our table whereby I quickly grab my fresh off the press panini. Eagerly taking my first bite of the gold and crisp crust, I immediately regret it. It’s way too fucking hot and I open my mouth in an attempt to not burn my tongue. I should know better, but I’m so hungry, I’d kill anyone who tried to rip it out of my hands.
“You goof, you know it’s hot. Those panini machines are bitching,” she comments as she lifts hers to her lips and cautiously blows on it before taking a bite. “I have to tell you, your electrical appliances here are like gods, that, or the food is just fucking amazing.” She sinks her teeth into the meat and cheese with gusto.
“It’s our food, no preservatives, locally baked bread, no GMOs or whatever the hell they call them.”
“I’m so going to miss this.”
“Ava, you still have weeks here, don’t think about it. Just enjoy.”
I pop the top of my water bottle and drink to wash down the sandwich. My taste buds are loving this sandwich and my tummy is happy to be fed.
“I can’t wait to paint in my sketch. I think it came out nice.”
“It did, mine needs some work. I can’t wait for the anatomy class.” She gives me a naughty grin.
“Oh, I bet,” I chuckle. “It’s not such a big deal here, but yeah, the models are super-hot. Fine specimens.”
“I bet. Like I said, can’t wait!” She gives me an impish grin that turns me inside out.
We dump our trash and make the short walk to our dorm. The streets are busy, even though many local shops are closed for the few hours they take off in the afternoon. Shutter are being pulled down over shop’s frontage as we pass as the rollers make a rickety sound as the thin metal bumps and buckles as it roughly glides over the tracks like countless times before.
The shop keeper turns the sign to read ‘Chiuso’ and hurries away to enjoy his mid-afternoon break.
The cloudy sky suddenly turns dark, and raindrops begins to fall, taking me by surprise. I never carry an umbrella, but I can’t run home in these shoes either so I’m getting soaked.
“Ahh,” I yell out to no one in particular as the rain that started out as a few drops turns into a monsoon and Ava races ahead of me.
If not for the rain, I might not have noticed the two men hanging out on the sidewalk dressed in expensive black t-shirts that are heavier than most, and black pants with leather belts. Their arms are folded across their chests like they were waiting for someone until the rain forced them to take cover under a nearby awning.
I know what they are. The movie John Wick isn’t lost on me. Organized crime never sleeps. We don’t think much about it as locals, it becomes part of the background, but we all know the elements are constantly swirling around us. It’s part of the landscape and we know it’s living and breathing next to us every day. It’s not just the tourists who fall victim to the mafia’s sophisticated systems. Occasionally, we do too.
By the time I make it back to the dorms, my hair is dripping wet and hanging in strands over my face like mascara that isn’t waterproofed. God knows I can’t put apply mascara, even if my life depended on it, and it’s a good thing with this cloudburst going on.
My sundress is dripping on the old marble flooring that’s indestructible. The cold chill is making my nipples taut in my bra and the hair on my arms stand up. Gathering up my long dark hair, I wring out the excess water and watch it puddle at my feet in the entrance way.
“Whoo.” I take a breath and rub my arms.
“Come, you need a towel.” Ava starts walking down the hallway towards our room and I follow knowing that a hot shower is going to be a welcomed relief as soon as we get there.
I don’t think twice about the two men in the street I saw under the awning. It’s not like I would know the names or faces of any crime families in Italy. Who are they waiting for? I’ve had a weird vibe all day and wonder if I missed something, but nobody would be interested in me.
Ava unlocks our door, and we drop our wet bags on the floor whereby I immediately pull out my sketch pad, setting it on my desk and carefully opening the damp pages so they can dry.
Shoes fly off next. “Dibs on the shower.” I step out of my wet dress, leaving it on the now damp floor as I scamper to the tiny bathroom where I’ll warm up under the hot water. But not before I prance on my tiptoes as I wait for the hot water to make it through the old pipes.
I’m turned on and horny as hell as I step under the warm water at last. I’m wet between my legs -and it’s not from the rain. Horny and wet. I don’t think twice before I slide my hand down to my engorged lips and massage myself. I have a hand on my left breast as my right one finds my nub and those familiar feelings of desire wash over me like a waterfall, all-consuming as I tune out the world.
Except for Dante’s handsome face, his warm eyes and deep voice enhance my pleasure as I gasp when I come with little effort. It’s been so long since I’ve been laid that it’s nice to have something stiff inside me even if it was only my fingers. The release- a needed outlet for pent up sexual frustration from the last hookup I had that didn’t go anywhere.
I’m relaxed now with a warm glow as I dry my hair using a wall plug near my bed so Ava can have a turn in the bathroom. My hair is so long, blow drying takes forever. It wouldn’t take as long if I just gave in and cut it back to my shoulders, but I like it this way.
I pull on a pair of shorts with a few holes in them, shorter than Mama would approve of. I pull on a t-shirt with the university logo and put my hair in a ponytail before settling on my creaky bed to look at my picture.
Art always seems to be on my mind. When sketching, it’s all about getting the light just right and deciding what angle is best. Is it a portrait or a photojournalist approach?
Ava is back from her shower and chatting away with her family back home, providing a rhythmic back drop to the rain pelting the tiled roof. A clap of thunder makes her jump and rattles the tiny windows in our small room.
I stream an Italian opera channel to my earbuds and lie back on my twin bed. Placing my sketchbook on my lap, I pull colored charcoal from the box where I keep them stowed in slots to prevent them from breaking.
I draw a young couple kissing by the river and throw in some large trees for composition. Using the charcoals to fill in the white areas on my paper, I pay close attention to the colors needed to get the desired depth and reflection of the light.
I sink back into my pillows and rest my picture on my knees as I work with the powdery chalk that rubs off on my fingertips, blending it here and there to obtain the desired effect. I smile and softly murmur the words to the song I’m listening to. I notice another bolt of lightning and hear thunder outside but I’m safe, warm, and happy inside. I love the sound of storms and find it relaxing.
My phone clicks in my ear which means Mama is texting me. She’s wondering how I am and wants to come into the city to spend a day with me. She says Dad might come too, but if we’re doing anything other than dinner or a movie, he’ll stay home because watching women shop is torture to him. That last part makes me laugh.
I text her about my day, sending her a snapshot of my present project and let her know that I love her before she has to go make dinner. I ask her to give dad a hug for me before signing off.
I glance over at Ava, sitting on her bed with her legs crossed. She’s finished her call with her mother.
“How’s your picture?”
I flip it around to show her.
“You are wicked good,” she smiles, “you really have talent.”
“Thanks.”
The storm lets up by nightfall and we dash to the cafeteria for pizza. By the time we finish eating dinner, it’s turned into a beautiful summer evening, so we decide to grab a gelato around the corner for dessert.
Many tourists are gone by this time of night. Now, it’s just us and a few locals as we make our way to the gelateria. We ask for two scoops of lemon in a cup and eat it as we walk back to the dorms and I forget about the men dressed in black.