Chapter 8: Take Me There
Naples Capodichino Airport, Italy
December 26th – 6:30 am
"Siete sulla festa? Desiderate un automobile?"
Automobile…I know I heard automobile. I turned to look at Mort who was as confused as I was.
"Do you speak English, sir?"
The man sort of laughed at him with a scoff, then nodded wistfully.
"Americans, eh? Let me a-guess...la honeymoon?"
We laughed together then and shook our heads at him.
"No, no. Just a vacation."
It was a good lie and I showed my appreciation by wrapping my arms around Mort as he stood trying to negotiate the kind of car we could get of what was left.
"We have Toyota, sir."
We both quietly agreed to disagree.
"Mercedes?"
"No, please, anything but that."
Mort laughed at me and leaned over the counter further, trying to play the 'suave American in foreign lands' gig. I have to admit, he was pretty damn good.
"Do you have anything a little cooler, a little faster? Something more…Italian?"
The man looked between us with a coy grin, one that made his mustache twitch a little. I smiled as he began punching in keys on his computer left and right, his eyes peeled to the screen enthusiastically. And when he came across something of worth, his gaze shot up and he chuckled at us proudly.
"I have a-something here, what you're looking for," he turned the screen toward us, "Yes? You like, sir?"
We were both stunned at the photo of the car before us, and it only took a single moment to register to us what it was, as we both looked at each other with stammering smiles. We weren't spenders, we weren't big on wasting money as I'd tried to thoroughly explain to my father, but something about that car, something about where we were now, something about being on the edge of something terrifying made us agree to it.
A second later there was a set of keys being held up between us by the man.
"You taka-a Ferrari…Signor and Signora Americano?"
I bit my lip and Mort grabbed the keys then tossed his credit card down to the counter without another thought.
"Oh yeah, signore. We're taking."
Somewhere on the Amalfi coast…
The 1962, fire-apple red, Ferrari Lusso Berlinetta Coupe was cool, sure. But the ride didn't last very long.
At the first narrow shoulder he could find on the coastal road from the airport, Mort pulled over. He jammed that poor old car into park, slid his hands from the wheel and had them all over me within seconds. I laughed out, moaned out with giggling because I hadn't expected it. Whatever had come over him was something I wasn't sure how to react to, not when I had left so much, thousands of miles away.
And yet the more buttons he unhooked, the faster I threw my inhibitions to the Italian breeze blowing in through the windows of the car and followed him into the back leather seat half undressed. It wasn't a big car at all, no more space in the back than an American sports car from the 60's, and this was proven by the puzzling blend we had to find ourselves in just to comfortably fit our bodies together the right way.
"Couldn't wait until we found a hotel?"
"Are you kidding? What's the fun of a vacation…" he somehow tore the hook of my bra with his teeth, "…if you can't vacate your life and do crazy shit?"
I sighed and ran my hands through his wild hair.
"This isn't a vacation, remember?"
"Well whatever it is, it's got me hot and bothered for my wife. I need you now…"
I pulled his white shirt from his head, letting my hands wander over the beads of sweat across his chest and back. He seemed to only grow more desperate at the touch and tugged at my jeans until they were in a pile on the floor with his. The only thing separating us was lace and cotton boxers, and like it or not, it was going to be what separated us for a while longer.
As he ground his stiff boxers into my opened thighs and nibbled at my neck, I tossed my head back onto the seat, just in time to see a set of eyes poking out from underneath of an old fedora from the driver's window of the car. I gasped as the man tapped on the glass a few times and shouted something foreign.
"Mort, stop…stop…look."
"State ostruendo la strada! Smetta di avere sesso sulla strada!"
Mort's face turned from my neck, his sex crazed hair half blocking his eyes as he glanced over his shoulder at the man and started laughing at him. The Italian man outside wasn't satisfied and kept throwing his hands and body around with shouting until we shuffled to get dressed again.
"Good job, Casanova."
He pulled his jeans back and on and smirked at me from under his hair.
"Don't worry. I'm nowhere near done with you yet."
I just rolled my eyes and jumped back into the front seat, waiting for him to get situated behind the wheel again. The man banged on the window of the car as he rolled it down to apologize.
"Che cosa state facendo, voi imbrogliate? Non potete ostruire la strada, Americano!"
"Yeah, yeah, si, si signor. We were just having fun, man. We were…" Mort paused, glanced back at me, smiled oddly and then looked back up at the man out of the window, "…we're on our honeymoon, signor. Scusa, sorry."
As Mort turned the car on again, the older, tired man began to slowly smile down at us, especially at me. His eyes softened and he held his hand inside of the vehicle for a shake.
"No, scusa mi. Un honeymoon è un aspetto differente effettivamente! Wonderful!"
We couldn't understand how that one word here, made such a difference. But I laughed as Mort shook the man's hand, began pulling away and even waved him off at his beaten old Mercedes that was nearly tumbling into the ocean because of us. We were halfway back down the road to what I assumed was nowhere really, when I reached over and snatched the firm bulge hiding in the right side of his jeans. He growled and nearly ran off the road.
"Honeymoon? Now we're on our honeymoon, Mr. Rainey?"
He smiled wildly at me and moved one hand from the wheel to cover mine on his lap, trying to subdue what I was worsening in him for a while longer.
"We don't even have a place to stay yet. We have to find a hotel somewhere."
Again, all he did was smile, this time crookedly as he looked at me with a spark in his eye. I knew that look. I'd always known that look.
"What did you do?"
Somewhere in a village called Positano….
"Keep your eyes covered, don't open them."
"I'm not! Just tell me where we're going…"
I heard him laugh as the car skidded up what felt like another ramp, but built from crumbling stone. There were sounds of people and wind and water outside of windows, but I couldn't figure out where we might be, or be heading. So it was frustrating to say the least, sitting there beside him, my head nearly in my lap to keep from peeking, and my stomach churning from lack of sleep and the movement of the car.
"We're almost there I think."
"Well hurry up before I puke."
"Now that would be a story to take home. 'Oh yeah…it was beautiful and safe and Roxanne puked all over a vintage Ferrari…'"
I moved one hand away from my eyes to reach over and smack him in the leg, to which he chuckled out and I returned my palm to my wearied face, praying it would end soon. And thankfully, only brief seconds later, it did.
Mort eased the car into park, shifted around beside me for a minute and then jumped out and shut the driver's side door. I lifted my head, hands still covering my face and waited until I heard the door beside me open. He whispered something I didn't hear and then moved one of his hands over both of mine and carefully picked me up out of the car. I felt my feet land on a stone walk, just like I'd imagined, and stepped lightly as he walked me back around the car with my eyes still blinded.
"This is like déjà vu…"
He sighed humorously and held my waist as he turned me a little in another direction.
"You ready?"
"No," I mumbled back nervously.
"Well too bad. Open your eyes and look."
I shook my head and he did the honors instead of removing my hands from my face. It all happened very slowly, like in a movie, like it had the time before at the island cottage. I saw trees and the brightest flowers and crème staccato beyond his hands. I saw a tiled walk, and arched windows of stained glass, and I could hear the ocean as if I were standing in the middle of it. And that's when I heard his voice in my ear.
"How did I do this time?"
I wanted to laugh, thinking it was a joke. The villa he'd picked, the one he must have found the same way as before, sneakily, on his laptop in the airport when I wasn't paying attention, was like something out of a vacation catalog. It was like one of those Italian coastal villas you see on TV or read about in books, not something you'd expect to be standing in front of, with a husband who had already paid for its rental.
"Say something."
Oh sure honey, let me just find the words that are stuck in the back of my throat and impossible to speak. I stood there still, holding onto his arms like they were life support to keep me from fainting, analyzing the sheer beauty of the building itself, not wanting to tear my eyes away for a second. But eventually, when I didn't say anything and made him nervous enough, he reached for my hand and pulled me off in the other direction.
"Come with me."
I did, but only because there was no choice. I certainly wouldn't be able to walk on my own at this point. He walked me up the steps of the grand entranceway, unlocked the thick wooden arch that was the front door, and then dragged me all through the house, never stopping to worry about the furniture or paintings inside. I caught a glimpse or two of the stunning décor, but none of it mattered, not when we made it to the balcony of the first floor.
"You think the driveway is beautiful. Try this, babe."
My heels hit the soft blue stone behind him as I ran into his back, just glancing over his shoulders at the immense and matching blue I could see. Mort reached around and pulled my waist back into his hands, planting my feet in front of him instead, where he could steady my balance with his chin resting atop my head and his arms tight as we both looked out onto the same unreal view.
Spread like a painting between two plunging mountains, was nothing but the Mediterranean. Crystal indigo against a purple sunlit sky, and all of it reflecting off of the brightly colored roofs of the stacked villas and markets scattered upwards on the rocky hills. And there we were, right at the center of it, facing towards a horizon that was too far to reach and still felt close enough to swim in.
A scratchy record player was crooning somewhere nearby, allowing an Italian chorus to sprinkle out across the entire village. Everywhere people were busy, in the shops far below, running about on the distant beach, groups of women chattering in a close courtyard and men casting nets and boats out into the endless blue.
"We're standing in Villa Bellissimo…"
His Italian accent tickled in my ear and I smiled.
"Bellissimo. That's pretty."
Mort's fingers on my waist lifted away enough of my shirt to run softly against my skin, as he moved down to kiss the nape of my neck.
"It is. But I know something prettier."
Before I could let a tear roll from my eye, I shifted in his arms and leaned against the rail, looking up at him.
"I don't know how you manage to pull this stuff off without me knowing."
He just beamed proudly and kissed my nose.
"And as much as I don't want to think about why we're even here," his eyes turned down sadly when mine did and he nuzzled my face a little, "I'm glad we are. All by you're doing."
"I told you five years ago I'd keep you safe. I'll always keep you safe."
I nodded the sadness away and smiled into his cheek with a soft peck.
"I know that, and thank you."
He didn't say 'you're welcome', instead he took my face in his hands and kissed smoothly. I'd never known anything that could make me weaker, faster than his lips, especially in situations like these. I guess it had become a part of us, the running, the dodging trouble and mayhem. But I have to admit that it was fun, and it was probably fun because I whenever I had to run, it was with him.
His fingers brushed my cheeks as our mouths slowly parted.
"You look so tired," he whispered, "Why don't you go lie down?"
I shook my head, not ready to leave the view or him behind for sleep. But alas, fatherly Mort reared his commanding head.
"I am under strict orders from 'Midwife Jane' to take care of you and the baby." He rubbed my stomach through my shirt and I laughed, "Please, go take a nap. I'll worry about the bags and dinner."
I sighed, then yawned a little to prove his point and then kissed him once more before wandering back inside to find a bed. Of course, this would have been easier said than done if there weren't three different bedrooms to choose from, each of them as equally comfortable looking as the last. I finally just settled on the room with the best view, crashed onto the bed with my face slightly turned out of the large wooden doors leading to the balcony and the sea, and calmed myself into rest.
A million things tumbled around inside of my head; thoughts, images, memories, all of them leading up to where we were now. But above all else, I found myself thinking about that very first one.
"Mine is Roxanne Hayden."
"Roxanne? Like the song…"
"Yeah, because you're like the 6 millionth person to point that out."
In my mind I thought of the song. It had been a while since I'd actually heard it, although Mort still loved to tease me about it relentlessly.
'Roxanne…you don't have to put on the red light…Roxanne.'
"So, what's yours?"
"My what?"
"Oops, I mean, your name."
"Mort Rainey."
"Rainey…? Like the writer?"
"Yeah, but he's not half as cool of a guy as that song you're named after."
Before I fell asleep in tears, I begged my memory to differ that statement.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
(Mort)
I got the bags out of the car. I met the locals next door, and thanked a higher power that they spoke English, mostly because I was tired of having to round up what little Italian I knew. I unpacked some of our stuff and did a rundown of the kitchen, which had some food but not much. I would have to take a serious run of the market down the street.
Before I left, I made sure every door, window and crack in the wall was padlocked and secure, and then I went upstairs to check on Roxanne. It had been almost an hour by the time I found her in the last room on the right of the long hallway. The door was open and the late afternoon sun covered the blue stucco walls and brown tiles. And then there she was, curled up in the middle of the large bed, shoes still on and her hair a mess in her face.
'Ready to make a run for it, just in case…only my girl,' I thought to myself as went and sat beside her.
She flinched a little under my touch as I brushed the hair out of her eyes and pulled each of her Converse sneakers off and threw them to the floor. Her hand reached out to take mine, her eyes still shut but her mind conscious of my being there, and I smiled.
"I'm going to the market for some food, okay?"
She nodded against the pillow and tucked my hand to her heart, like a teddy bear. But I pulled her cell phone out of my back pocket and traded my hand for it in her palm.
"Hey, promise me you'll call me if anything happens."
Again, just a faint nod. So I leaned down and kissed her forehead before tucking her legs under the blankets and leaving the room and the villa locked up safely. The walk to the market stands wasn't very long, and it gave me the chance to get a better feel for these insane roads, barely wide enough to fit two cars between buildings. The locals were as friendly as the ones next door, although most of them spoke in their native tongue and confused me thoroughly. I'd always wanted to come to Italy, to a little village like this, hideaway for a while and maybe right something different for a change, but I never had. Now, the one time I made it, it was to avoid danger in my own country and to save my own wife from being a victim to something I couldn't understand.
I didn't really want to understand either.
My thoughts were interrupted when a man shouted out at me from a vegetable cart, holding out the ripest tomatoes I'd ever seen before and smiling wide.
"Pomodoros, signore?"
I walked over and nodded, figuring I could cook from scratch since I was well past my peanut butter and Wonder bread days. All thanks to domestic family life I suppose.
"How a-many you wanting?"
Oh thank God, more English. I smiled and said, "A dozen should work. I also need some parsley and spinach."
He agreed profusely and began filling baskets with all of the things I pointed out to him, one ingredient after the other. He then gave me the reference of his buddy Antonio down the road who had all kinds of fresh flours and pastas, to which I thanked him and followed the directions, finding the small shop only minutes later.
I stumbled in with my baskets and caught the eye of a tiny man behind a stack of shelves.
"Ciao, signore. Dovete comprare la pasta?"
"Pasta, si."
I smiled at him as he showed off all sorts of different sizes and shapes and textures for what he'd made fresh that day. I assumed just go with a little bit of each he had and he nodded quickly and began wrapping them up. While I waited for him to work out the price, I wandered around his little shop, sniffing at some homemade candles in front window.
"Le candele sono per la vendita anche, signore."
I didn't understand what he'd shouted, but I nodded and dropped the cinnamon scented one again. From out of the window, across the street, I saw a stall that was covered in the most beautiful fresh sunflowers. I knew I would have to stop there too on my way back up the road.
"Quattordici euro, signor."
Turning back to the old fashioned register and the old fashioned Italian man, I had to think about it for a minute before I pulled the fourteen euro, plus a bit more for gratitude's sake from my wallet. Luckily I had converted quite a bit of cash in the airport earlier that day.
He was gracious over the tip and the sale and patted me on the back as he walked around and handed the bag of pasta, leading me to the doorway of his shop.
"Grazie, signor Americano!"
I guess Americans are rare here…everyone just loves to remind that I am one…I chuckled and waved him off before turning down the road again, towards the sunflower cart. I was amazed by these flowers, truly. They didn't grow that beautiful in the States, not so large or yellow or anything. And I knew a woman twice as beautiful as they were, somewhere up the hill that would die at the sight.
A wild and pudgy woman walked around to greet me with anxious, thick hands and a smile.
"Ciao, ciao uomo bello."
I looked at her funny as she pulled me down to her height and planted two messy kisses on my cheeks. Someone behind me giggled at the greeting and when the woman let me stand again, I glanced back to see a young woman peering over the flowers on the other side of the stall. She didn't say anything and the older, shorter, and much less attractive woman pulled me around, pointing to her best flowers on the cart.
"Desiderate comprare i fiori per qualcuno speciale? La vostra ragazza bella, no? Your girl?"
"Yes, for my girl. She loves sunflowers."
The woman understood perfectly and began tugging at the long stemmed yellow flowers. I could feel the young woman's eyes on me still and turned to catch her staring a few feet away, her lips pursed in some sort of interest and her dark hair half covering her face in what I took as embarrassment.
"Hello," I finally said kindly.
"Ciao."
Her whisper was almost familiar, as if she knew something more. And a second later, I knew what that something was.
"You look…" she began, "…like someone I've seen."
Her accent was sweetened by her innocence I think, but I tried not to pay it attention and smiled.
"Do I?"
"Si. Aren't you a writer? Americano?"
Wonderful. I can't escape it even in a foreign village. "Yes. My name is Mort Rainey."
I held out a hand to her and she shook graciously with a laugh.
"Yes. Mr. Rainey. You write the uh…" she paused, thinking a little before speaking again, "…what you Americans call, la horror? La mistero, mystery?"
"That's right, I do. Have you read them?"
"Some yes. They are good, bene'!"
She used a very traditional Italian signal for emphasis and kissed her fingers together. It made me chuckle.
"Thank you."
"Prego," she grinned again shyly, just in time for the older woman to come at me with a wrapped armful of sunflowers.
I tore my eyes from the girl for a moment to get my wallet out, "How much? Quanto?"
The woman just chuckled and patted my cheek.
"No pay. Gratuito, for your wife."
I guess she saw my ring, so I just thanked her immensely and turned with the flowers. I nodded goodbye to the girl as when I was only a few short feet back up the road again, I heard the same old woman shout out, "Fretta in su con quei fiori, Catalina!"
And then I turned back to see the young woman obeying the order of what must have been her mother, or probably grandmother. Catalina caught my eye one more time and smiled again, in a strange way, a curious way, and I gave another brief nod before returning to the house with my arms full.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
"She's okay, mom. I've had her sleeping most of the afternoon. She was really tired."
"Good honey, make sure she gets enough rest. It will help reduce the morning sickness."
"Really?" I asked as I stirred some fresh parsley into the boiling pot of tomato sauce on the stove. "I didn't know that."
"Yes. It's a trick I learned when I was pregnant with you. Which is probably why you're the calm one of you and your brother."
I laughed a little and tasted the sauce. "How is Sam? Did he make it back okay after the hospital?"
"He's perfectly fine. They got in just a few hours ago. Doctor stitched his leg up wonderfully."
"That's good. Make sure you tell him I'm really sorry about all this."
I heard her sigh into the phone, probably shaking her head. "There's nothing to apologize for. Everyone is alright, and none of this is your fault."
"I know but still--"
"Still nothing. You just focus on keeping Roxanne safe. We've got everything else under control here."
"How are the kids? Are they around? Let me talk to them."
"They're having lots of fun already. Max is right here, hold on."
I moved the pot of spaghetti to the sink and strained it as the steam rose in my face. A second later, I heard Max.
"Daddy?!" It nearly broke my heart to hear him so happy.
"Hey little man. What are you up to?"
"Pop is letting me play with the trains. Your trains, daddy."
I smiled and leaned on the counter, thinking about the boxes and boxes of old trains me and my dad and Sam had put together all those years ago. I was glad the dust was coming off of them finally.
"That's good. Gram says you're having fun."
"Yep. Yep. Yep."
His chanting made me laugh and then I said, "Is your sister around? Let me say hi to Maddie."
"Okay." I could heard a shuffle on the other line, and then a shift of the phone in clumsy little hands.
"Daddy?"
There she was; my perfect little angel. Like the voice of heaven from a thousand miles away.
"Madeline, sweetie. How you doing?"
"Good."
She was the shy one, like me. Max and Sam were the wild beasts.
"Are you having a good time at Gram and Pop's?"
"A huh."
I stood dishing out pasta onto plates, with sauce and chicken.
"How's Ollie? Is he having fun?"
I hear a short laugh come from her, "Yes. He likes the big buildings." And so, daddy makes headway.
"Oh yeah? Did you see the princess carriages yet, with the horses?"
"Grammy showed them to me. She said we can ride one tomorrow."
"That's great, sweetheart. I'm glad you're having fun. Mommy and I will be there really soon, I promise."
She cried a little but then stopped to ask innocently, "Where did you go?"
"Oh Maddie…" I said in the most enchanted tone possible, "We're all the way on the other side of the world. Honey, you wouldn't believe it. Mommy and I flew all the way to Italy. Do you know where Italy is?"
"With the spaghetti?"
I laughed and carried the two plates of spaghetti I'd made out onto the back, vine covered veranda of the villa, where the table was already set with candles, bread, wine and the sunflowers I'd bought.
"That's right, the spaghetti. You should get Gram to show you Italy on a map, so you can see just where we are. Okay?"
"Okay."
"And if you need us, we can fly back and get you at anytime. Alright? I promise."
She agreed softly.
"I miss you and love you so much, Maddie Bug."
She giggled through her crying, "Miss you too."
"Can you put Gram back on for me, and tell your brother I love him too?"
"A huh."
And just like that, she was gone and I was talking to my mother again, plenty heartbroken for one day.
"They'll be okay. They've just never been away from you guys before."
"Yeah. I know. This is the best thing right now."
"It is. You made the best choice for your family and they are grateful."
"I hope so."
She assured me for a moment longer, before we let each other go and I hung up the phone. When I did though, I looked up at the archway to the staircase, thinking I would go wake up Roxanne, but instead, found her leaning on the iron rail already, watching me.
I swear she'd never looked more beautiful. Even with her hair a mess, her tired eyes, her wrinkled blue jeans and bare feet after a much needed nap, and the fading scars on her forehead and chin from the accident. She was the whole world and then a whole lot more.
"How did you sleep?"
"Okay."
She reminded me so much of Madeline, the innocence in tire and agony, the short response to a much heavier question. I walked over to her, took her sullen face in my hands and kissed her forehead.
"I hope you're hungry, Signora Rainey."
TRANSLATIONS
1. "You are here visiting? You want an automobile?"
2. "You're obstructing the road! Stop having sex on the road!"
3. "You're holding everything up? You cannot obstruct the road, Americans!"
4. "No, excuse me. A honeymoon is a different matter entirely! Wonderful!"
5. "Tomatoes, sir?"
6. "Hello, sir. Have you come to buy pasta?"
7. "The candles are also for sale, sir."
8. "Fourteen euro."
9. "Hello, beautiful man."
10. "You wish to buy flowers for someone special? Your beautiful girl, no?"
11. "Hurry up with those flowers, Catalina!"
