CHAPTER 4 (QUATRE) COFFEE AND PRADA
Prada. That was the single most alluring thing about him. Just a small red label on a grey ribbed knit wool hat. A design label that caused her to listen closely to the sound of his soft and melodic voice. Unassuming yet confident, not only did the sound of his voice intrigue her, but the "language" he spoke did as well. He spoke Italian, or rather the dialect, veneziano. Hearing the sweetness in his voice and harmonic words compelled her to look closer at his soft cashmere sweater, obviously expensive being so nicely finished, with his silk shirt collar standing up around his neck underneath it.
From wealth, Bella concluded, nothing wrong with that. Indeed everything was right about that. Wasn't it always right when a man had money? This one, probably late twenties or early thirties, was even better. He stood casually with half-grown beard, dark curly hair, blue eyes while wearing Prada.
Bella's short walk between San Marco and Rialto provided a wealth of art to enjoy and as she was doing so, she almost passed her destination. Near Campo San Leo, she always got confused by the turns and twists and bridges of this labyrinth. Where is this place anyway,she's asked herself. As usual, just as she asked it, she was no longer lost and walked right into it. The sweet smell of freshly baked croissants-brioche they called them in Venice-mingled with the pungent aroma of strong coffee. She ordered both as she glanced around the room and her eyes moved back to the Prada hat.
"Nice" she said aloud to herself but was nonetheless heard by others nearby, which was fine because, she learned already, if you want an Italian man to notice and admire you, then you make it obvious that you notice and admire him, preferably by staring directly at him. Better make eye contact when he sees you staring and hold the stare. Its like instant sex in a bottle.
Bella noticed a small group of young Italian men and considered moving closer to them near the fire, mostly to see if the young Prada man would follow her. So she did and he did. The wonderful ease of man watching and catching in Venice, thought Bella as the handsome stranger moved to her side. Her accumulated confidence cloud was disbursed and her daydream destroyed by his first words "I knew you were American." These harsh words that came from the mouth of the pretty Prada boy crushed her. How could this man know for sure she was American? Was it an insult?
Bella, dressed from head to toe in Italian threads, the latest fashion (not last year American) also possessed striking romanesque features, large deep-set green eyes, full-lips and the necessary Italian bump on the nose. Her venetian girlfriend had looked with disapproval at Bella's arrival attire and dragged her to the nearest boutique to re-outfit her forthwith. After exiting the boutique together, even her fashion-police girlfriend said to the wonderfully dressed Bella, "Everyone is staring at you. Sono geloso. (I am jealous). Who is dis woman?" Indeed Bella had comically did a double-take at herself in the store mirror when she thought oh I wish I could look so beautifully Italian like that.
The young man must've seen the look of horror in her eyes because he immediately corrected himself.
"Excuse my English, I think that was not correct. I mean to say I knew were THE American. The one I am to meet here today," he explained and tried not to emphasize the word "the" too much. He could not properly pronounced the "th" sound, a sound not found in the Italian language and this was probablythe reason he left it out in the first place.
Bella turned to him and she knew he knew what she was thinking: Was that a pick-up line? She was also thinking Oh I am definitely the American you are supposed to meet here today, you hot thing. She contemplated saying it for a second, but laughed, put her hand out to shake his and hopefully acknowledge that the attraction was mutual.
"Hello I am Bella Swan Mangott and I am the American. Thank you for meeting with me today." She couldn't help but see the twinkle in his eyes during a brief scan of her figure. She added in such a manner as to infer that his twinkling scan of her butt was to what she was responding, "I see that you are Italian."
"Venetian" he corrected, meaning not just any Italian nor any lowly Italian from another northern city. It was common knowledge Italians from the North thought they were superior to all others and Venetians were superior to all.
"Christian Grey. I was born here" he added, to make certain she knew. It meant he was better than even all other transplanted inhabitants because he was born in Venice.
Venice's mystique goes back ages, inspiring poets, composers, painters. The trite reason is the museum city seems to topple into a canal-filled lagoon-its antique houses, embellished with angels, gargoyles, birds, crucifixes, flowers and saints are also festooned with endless bas-reliefs and gilded-mosaics. All of its beauty reflects upon the water, which distinguishes it from of the world's other great cities. Even Amsterdam, with its Dutch reflective version of canals, pales next to her older "regal" watery sister, La Serenissima. Most any Italian will tell you "Venezia e piu bella," Venice is more beautiful. They mean "in all of Italy." Its "the top" as Edward used to say.
Ah Edward. In the way that Edward, also Venetian, was rough, bad, deceptive, Christian was clean, pristine, true and equally sexy.
"You must understand that I cannot give you much information on our investigation" then paused as if stumbling for the English word then finally said "you know, uh, that is happening current."
What Bella heard was "You must understand that I find you very attractive and of course you find me attractive too, so let's give each other an excuse to see each other again. Let's have many more meetings to discuss this, before I can tell you anything that will assist you in your search, whatever that may be."
"Oh I see," Bella replied in such a manner as he could guess what she was thinking, what she really heard.
Christian tried to hide his interest in the provocative way she said those three words but she saw a glimpse of it anyway.
"Oh so you see" he repeated in the same provocative way then added "yes that is right, you are a lawyer, you understand." Christian knew that Bella didn't understand at all. She didn't understand one bit. He would need to be very careful with this one for he could tell immediately that she not only was extremely clever but also inquisitive. Any hint that he didn't want her snooping around would only fuel her curiosity, curious of the case and also in him.
Christian sat in his room that morning, meticulously piecing together his seed pictures. It was at age five he developed this unique and sometimes bizarre fascination, s strange hobby, as he roamed the fields and gardens behind his grandfather's estate on Vignole island in the Venetian lagoon. There he plucked flowers and spilled fresh seeds into his sacks for future projects. By age fourteen he had amassed thousands of such seed scenes, made also of vegetable, fruit and flowers, which now stood collecting dust in his tiny boat garage. When his grandfather Vito was found dead on a beach near their home, presumed accidental, but Christian always thought murdered, he was left the family's large estate. This negated any need that Christian might ever need to work for the rest of his life. With no other purpose in life, his obsession grew. He found that creating seed pictures had much in common with dissection, like holding still hand, tweezing small areas and gluing and stitching others. Living alone encouraged his ability to create more often, but it did not fulfill his growing obsession with death that began with his grandfather's demise. The sadness, loneliness and heartbreak he felt, he couldn't reverse or understand.
Thus to his great satisfaction, at age sixteen, he was accepted into a prestigious Italian university, where he received an advanced degree in Anatomy. This fear of heartache led him to remain alone and live humans lost their appeal long ago as did companionship and love. Instead, he studied medicine and law and eventually these two degrees led to a position as a coroner, where he could not only dissect dead bodies, which he always did with the utmost care and respect, but also led to a brilliant career in criminal investigation, for he knew something about himself and those like him that very few knew or would ever knew. He knew what drove them.
"What can you tell me? asked Bella seeing something distant in his eyes, something dark.
"Not too much," he said blandly, "no more than you read in the paper. You read Italian, don't you, Ms Mangotti" he stated, not asking. "Impressive."
"I'm not great at it and call me Bella."
"Bella, I can tell you this, we are working very much on this case. It involves you not."
Now he was no longer interested in her sexually and she sensed it. He is hiding something that even his sex-drive won't allow out.
Until now, she decided.
"I don't think so," he said and interrupted her thoughts as if reading them.
"Christian" she said purposefully "I think you will find it does involve me although it may seem it does not."
His head tilted not understanding the paradox.
"Splain me," he mispronounced explain.
"I will explain it to you, but not now. When you bring information to me then I will bring information to you," she retorted, all business now too but managing to glance at him flirtatiously. She handed him her business card as she turned to leave abruptly. Damn, I'm good, she thought and also thought she heard him respond "Not as good as me," but when she looked he was drinking the rest of his coffee as she heard the words.
She left the bar and saw Edward huddling outside the window where he had apparently been spying on them.
He stepped in her way and asked in a brash tone, "What were you doing with that..." then he paused as if looking for an unflattering word or could even end the sentence there.
"...man," he finally blurted. Then added with disdain "You ..." and he paused again, this time for emphasis, "are a candle in the wind." With a wave of his head, he pulled away from her but didn't walk away.
To torture me, concluded Bella.
"What do you want me to answer?" she said as ambiguous as the English language could be.
"I don't understand you," he sneered.
"You don't understand me or my question?" she replied.
"I don't understand nah-ting," then he thought better "No, you don't understand nah-ting. Why you here?"
Bella wasn't sure how to answer the question. She wasn't sure why she was here. She would in no way let him know that she was a candle in the wind or that his comment stung. Bad.
Like magic, Christian appeared and nodded at Edward to leave. Edward didn't move an eyelash.
"I said move," Bella thought she heard Christian say but she didn't see his mouth move. Perhaps it was the strength of his look, his presence that said it. She wasn't sure. She also thought she heard Edward reply "She is mine. Get out of my way." Now Bella was very confused because she had often felt that she could read Edward's mind and he said she could and that he could read hers as well.
"Stop it," Edward said aloud to her. "Stop reading us."
"Shut up you fool," Christian told him. "Don't you have somewhere to go, Edward? Like work?" Christian said it in a tone that screamed "run along now poor boy."
Bella had seen fury like that in Edward eyes before, but she had never seen him keep it at bay nor obey another man's command, except his father's and then only with much argument and drama.
Yet he didn't argue except to say as he walked away "Watch yourself Bella."
"You might want to follow his advice," said Christian to her. Then he nodded and in sympathetic tone finished with "buona giornata."
This time Bella was sure he said as he left, "that man is danger to you" but his mouth didn't move again.
