Chapter 16: Sympathizing Shelter
"I can't believe he would do this to you. After everything you've given him, two beautiful children. Is he out of his damn mind?!"
I shuffled on the wet sand near the side of the small road, looking out over the late afternoon sea behind me, while holding the aged pay phone to my ear and a Kleenex to my nose. My sister was probably the wrong person to call, since she'd been through this before with Robert. She was biased. She wanted to immediately categorize Mort with every man who'd ever robbed a woman of happiness by cheating. I didn't want to do that yet.
"Honey, what are you doing to do? Where are you going to stay?"
I sniffled into the tissue, breathed deep and then sighed.
"I don't know. I just started driving towards Naples, I'm almost there."
"Do you want me to find you a hotel room online from here? I can check you in."
"No, Sydney. Don't."
"You have to find a place to stay the night."
I let the tears fall into a fresh tissue and jangled the keys of the car for distraction, trying to think of something to do, somewhere to go until I could clear my head enough to go back and check to see if they'd ever made it to the bed together too.
The thought made me hit my fist on the phone booth as I startled myself into deeper tears.
"Roxanne…"
I heard my sister's motherly tone and caught myself with strength again, beating off the pain.
"I'm fine. I think I'm going to drive around for a while. I can find a place when I get there."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure." I wiped my nose as she began to go off on a rant again.
"I never thought I'd get a phone call like this from you, about him. They are all the same."
I wanted to tell her, No, Mort isn't like other men, he loves me. But what the hell did I know at that point? I'd spent all day giving myself to him, picking out names for our new baby, being fun, painting him, making love to him until I was too sore to go on, and then he turned around and let Italy's answer to Angelina Jolie walk in and ruin it all, for a simple fuck.
"Syd, don't tell anyone about this okay. I need to deal with it."
Her sigh told me she hadn't planned on keeping the secret, but that she would regrettably anyway.
"I won't. But you shouldn't just give in to it either. You need to find that little whore and--"
"Yeah, yeah," I cut her off, not in any mood to hear her plan for revenge. It was too early for that kind of thinking. I needed to find answers first, reasons. "I'll figure it all out."
"Call me as soon as you get settled in a room, okay?"
"I will. Thanks."
I thought I heard her crying for me, but I wasn't sure. Sydney cried for me more than I cared to know I think, always worried, always terrified the sky was going to fall on me. Like a big sister, like the mother I never got to have growing up.
"I love you and take care of yourself, and that baby."
"That's all I'm doing. Promise."
"Good, I'll talk to you later."
I agreed and hung up the phone. The coins fell into the belly of the old beast as I opened the door and walked out into the road, heading back for the car. I must have blown my nose and wiped my eyes dry a half dozen times before finally turning the Ferrari on with a rumble, shifting the radio as high as it would go, rolling down the windows for the fresh air I knew I needed, and driving off in the direction of the Napoli coastline again.
Following the salt air and road signs into the city, I had to ask myself, as the songs on the radio shifted from one to the next, why do sad songs have to play consecutively, without sympathy, whenever bad things happen in life? What the hell is the deal with that?
I tried my best to get away from it, but it wasn't happening. The harder I forced the button on my iPod to change, to find something happy and worthwhile mood wise, the more it demeaned me and headed for the saddest of the sad, the most depressing of the letdown songs in this world. Every one that struck me was about infidelity. How does a radio know how to do that?
The Eagles, Lyin' Eyes…Carrie Underwood, Before He Cheats…Justin Timberlake, Cry Me a River…Marvin Gaye, I Heard it Through the Grapevine…
"Not you too, Marvin. Thanks a lot." I slammed the player down onto the floor and opted for complete silence. It felt terrible, of course, utter quiet always does, but at least I only had to be reminded of what I'd fallen victim to with my own fresh memories.
The inner city buildings whirled by in a hazy, early evening grey that I didn't recognize from our last trip here, and it only made me cry more. Thinking about that day we'd spent, on opposite sides of the same block, keeping secrets from one another for the first time in five years. It made no sense.
I wanted to go and have a seat at that restaurant, maybe in the same chair as Catalina, feel what she felt, try to imagine what she saw in my husband that day, what made her kiss him and touch him so sensually, what called her to him despite having easily seen his wedding ring, I'm sure. How does a woman do that? How can we as a sex and species be so apt to hunt down things that don't belong to us? Why do pretty girls like her have to prey on apparently weak husbands?
I hated not knowing, but thankfully, didn't have to think about it too much longer. The tiny cobblestone road curved off from the high buildings and hit the deep afternoon light of the day again, just as the shining front end of the car moved in the direction of the Naples port. Something was taking me there, subconsciously maybe, beckoning me to where the colorful sailboats and fishing boats were lined up one by one.
In the back of my mind, I knew exactly what and who it was.
After parking the car along the edge of the street near the docks, I sat alone with the engine cut, crying out what little I had left in me and searching back and forth for the ivory green paint on that old wooden schooner I remembered. All of the masts and hulls and bows seemed to mesh together after a while of staring, and I ended up wiping my nose and eyes dry, grabbing my bag and then beginning to walk down the pier.
A few men smiled at me, obviously noticing my puffy eyes and sniffling, but I went on, hunting for the clover shaded boat among the hundreds of other colors. Luckily, it didn't take long for me to be right, and I could see it anchored and tied at the far end of the boardwalk. Roux had told me a few days ago, after he'd rescued me and sailed me back to the Positano beach that he usually docked in Naples overnight, since he often slept in the gallery during the winter.
"Hot days an' cold nights. Ave' to bunk with me art. Keeps the thieves out."
I smiled thinking about his words and blew my nose once more as I slowly traveled down the wooden dock toward his boat. It wasn't long at all, before I saw him, shuffling around at the stern with a large net, tossing it into the water and completely oblivious to me. I stepped down onto the plank leading into his boat and stood idly nearby, but far enough to have to call out to him on the other side as he lifted up the net again from the water.
"Catch anything?"
He was startled and flipped his face back at me, struggling to get the weighted net inside the boat. I felt bad for scaring him, but he grinned that same way as always, from the corner of his mouth.
"Come ere' and see, lassie."
I accepted the invitation and moved to his side, splattered with a spray of salt water as I assisted in helping him lug the huge, crab infested net over the side of the boat and onto the wood deck. They tried to escape and snap at the bare toes in my sandals and I shrieked as he laughed.
"Feisty little guys, eh?"
I smiled, finding my breath again. "How do you catch so many of them here at the docks?"
"Best place t' catch em'. It's where they like t' hide."
He tore open the net and began to toss them one by one into two large buckets of ice water. I watched for a few minutes from a safe distance, but eventually, he looked up and nodded for me to join in.
"Could use th' help."
"Oh," I felt stupid and rude. "I'm sorry."
He chuckled low as I knelt down in my dress and attempted to lift the crabs up one by one, avoiding all of their agitated and still snapping claws.
"So wot' brings ye all the way out ere' this time o' day?"
He threw what looked like the king of his catch into the bucket and the water splashed on us both, as we laughed. I thought of how best to answer him. I guess I could come out and tell him exactly why I had ended up there, on his boat, at sunset, alone again.
"It's a long story."
"Not an excuse, cause I love long stories."
"It's boring too and self-consumed."
"Self-consumed of wot', of ye? That could be a nice change to hear."
I stopped tossing the crabs for a moment to stand tall and eye him as he continued to bend over and reach for them one at a time. Finally, I asked him what he meant by that, and he stood high too, playing with a baby crab as he looked directly down at me, smirking.
"I spend all day consumed in me own problems. Might be nice t' hear someone else's." He nearly had his thumb snapped off by the crab and he grunted and threw it into the smaller bucket as I giggled. "So let's ear' it, then."
"How much time do you have? Really? I don't want to interrupt."
"Well, I was about t' quit for th' day before ye showed. Then eat dinner. Wouldn't happen t' like shrimp alfredo, would ye?"
I smiled a little at his childish excitement with the question.
"I've never had it."
"Oh," he sighed, pitying me and rubbing his stomach as though he'd been hit, "Yer in for a treat. I'll cook an' you," he wiped his dirtied, sweaty brow with his sleeve and finished, "Get t' talk."
I nodded, "Deal."
But before I could stare into his eyes for longer than a single, glorious second or two, one of the smaller crabs nipped at the tip of my toe and I jumped back with a screech. Roux laughed and finished throwing the last of them into their prospective buckets of ice water, then took me by the hand and led me to the front end of the boat, where he had a nifty little outdoor kitchen all set up.
Centered about a wooden counter, there were stove burners, a small sink, and just about anything a single, gypsy man would need to cook for himself on a traveling spree. He noticed me limping on my bad leg still and gently lifted me, same as Mort had the day before, onto the workbench beside his cooking space.
He narrowed his eyes down toward my knee, examining the new bandage for a moment.
"Still urts' eh?"
"Yeah, it stings when I try to walk on it. But I think I'll be okay."
Roux smiled and softly brushed his hand over my bruised skin and whispered, "Good," before turning away and grabbing a handful of different things, including a bowl of iced shrimp, a searing pan, butter, dried pasta, and all kinds of seasonings and vegetables. I helped him sort through it and peeled the shrimp tails off one by one, as he reminded me of the deal we'd made.
"So… 'Once upon a time'…" he teased with a wild and low smirk.
"Once upon a time," I chided, "There was a foolish woman who believed a lying man."
He stopped chopping the tomatoes at this and looked directly at me, not saying a word.
"I should have seen it coming. Especially after he told me her name."
I looked away embarrassed and peeled through the shrimp. Roux was quiet for a few moments; probably waiting for me to speak again as he shuffled around with handfuls of chopped veggies, tossing them into the sizzling grease of the pan. From the corner of my eye, as I finished with the bowl of shrimp, I watched him stirring together all kinds of beans and peppers and tomato slices, the smell intoxicating me completely, making me feel strangely at home. And that's when he spoke softly to me, asking a question I hadn't expected.
"Wot's er' name?"
I eyed him curiously for a moment and then replied in an angered, jealous tone, "Catalina."
He sneered at it, caught my eye again fast and shook his head. I was confused until he said, "Predictable, ain't it? We men always want wot' appears most foreign t' us, most mysterious."
He continued to stir the contents of the pan as I sat focused on his point, the one I felt coming.
"Let me ask ye something bout' this gal. Is she dark, with brooding eyes an' flirting sort o' hands?"
His second inquiry baffled the hell out of me, since he'd basically just described the woman I'd seen in the café toying all over Mort, and the same one who was ripping his belt from him in the kitchen at the villa earlier. It scared me that Roux had pinpointed her so well. Did he know something?
I nodded, sighed and fixed my dress a little, crossing my legs nervously on the bench.
"She's a lot more beautiful than I am. I know why he was suckered into her."
"Nah, ow' can that be possible? More beautiful than ye?"
I could tell he was flattering me and I smiled briefly, but couldn't let myself believe him.
"It's easier done than you think. She's young, and sexy, and not pregnant."
He raised his brow at me and tossed the pasta into a new boiling pot, "Funny. I think that's wot' makes ye sexier than all th' other women round here."
"You're sweet, but you don't know how American men can think sometimes."
"Sure I do, same as Italian men, an' same as th' luckiest of Irish bastards. We're all th' same love."
"You sound like my sister."
"Smart lass," he grinned, stirring the noodles and handing me a glass of lemon tea. "Like ye. I'm sure your husband knows as much. Maybe e' just lost is' way, happens t' the best of us."
I felt like he was speaking from personal experience, of either his own or of having a woman who did to him, what Mort had done to me. I couldn't tell exactly, but it sure seemed as if he sympathized well with both sides of the issue. As if he'd seen the end result of something like my problem directly, and was both warning me and helping to heal me.
"What do I do?"
"Well, wot' did ye do?"
"I ran."
"Did e' try to stop you?"
I nodded silently and sipped at the tea, peering over the glass at his understanding eyes.
"That's good then. Shows e' regrets it."
"But he shouldn't have anything to regret. Not after the perfect day we spent together. I should be all he needs, I thought I was. He said I was."
I could feel myself getting worked up, the tears were welling back into my eyes and Roux placed his hand calmly on my cheek to soothe my nerves. I won't lie, it worked wonders.
"Then you are. Sometimes as humans, we slip through the cracks we make ourselves. Seems t' happens in the best o' marriages."
"But why? How?"
"I don't know. Fear maybe. Being 'fraid that it's too perfect, too right." He moved his hand away but left it resting on my knee, stroking his thumb over my skin lightly. "Maybe e' felt like something else was going t' happen, so he let the limit test him. Intuitively speaking o' course."
"Catalina is a gorgeous limit, alright. Talk about luck."
Roux laughed a little and moved a strand of hair out of my eyes.
"If I had t' guess, I'd say he's nowhere near this Catalina girl right now." His eyes shifted when mine did and he looked solemnly, seriously into them, drowning me with the fiery black amber of his. "He's probably sitting alone, punishing himself over the guilt, missing ye…"
"Good," I replied quickly, uncaring although I knew I did. "And he's going to stay that way."
Roux didn't say anything else after that, he let me sulk over it as he finished cooking the pasta, adding in the shrimp and pepper sauce, and setting everything up on a small, candle and lantern lit table in the middle of the boat deck. Then he returned and carried me across to a chair, settling me down as he sat close by, incredibly close, temptingly close I might well add.
It made me feel safe though and warm and happy again, which was something I didn't think I could feel so soon after everything I'd seen and been through that afternoon. As the sun sank down completely and left the Naples stars twinkling in the sapphire sky over us, as the delicious pasta and shrimp he'd made slid into my starving belly and filled me up with warmth, and as Roux looked at me from time to time, grinning like a romantic sort of fool and leaning ever closer with the furthering conversation and laughter, I didn't even think once about Mort or what he'd done.
It was pointless, to waste my energy sorting out the logistics of what he'd done with or to or on or under that girl. Fine, he wanted to test limits like Roux said, okay, whatever, cool. He needed to see that things could be worse than they already were at times, with the running and hiding, great. He was scared, like me, and took it out on my trust for him, that's brilliant.
Whichever the reasoning behind it, I was over deliberating and worrying. I was lost in Roux's soothing stories about fishing, and painting, and traveling. He consumed me with every bit of his gentle exterior when he lifted an old Gibson guitar from a nearby chair and began to strum on it lightly, eyeing me between notes and lyrics as he sang.
He winked and I smiled, leaning closer, "You paint, you travel, you save lives, you cook and play guitar…is there anything you can't do?"
He laughed low and kept playing but answered with, "Plenty. I can't play th' bongos."
"Well, that's forgiven, because you play this beautifully."
"And ye listen beautifully," he returned with a teasing grin, scooting nearer with the guitar, his chair, and his heavenly breath on my lips and nose.
"I really want t' kiss you, Roxanne."
With a shy turn of my head in another direction, I giggled, not expecting him to say such a thing.
"See wot' I mean. We're a selfish brood o' creatures, th' lot of us."
"Then I guess I'm selfish too," I whispered softly, turning my face up at his again, "Because I want you to kiss me."
"Ye don't mean it. Not after everything that's happened. You still love him, yer husband."
I nodded, not thinking of fighting the truth. "I do. But everything's gone sideways, Roux. Just like you said."
He smiled gently and stopped playing to reach out and hold my chin in his hand.
"Nothing makes sense anymore."
"An' kissing me will set th' planets back in orbit, will it?"
I sighed at his teasing and shook my head, "I don't know. But I hate to keep not knowing."
"Alright then." He patiently sat up higher, moving his guitar away and pulling me all the more closer to him, cradling my legs on his lap and holding my face in his hands calmly, smiling down. "Tell me when you start to know something, eh?"
I nodded innocently and watched with wide eyes as he lowered his face and his mouth down to mine, brushing his lips across, breathing me in instead of tasting me right off the bat. The faint hairs of his mustache tickled my chin and upper lip, like when Mort kissed me, but different, more foreign, more mysterious, like Roux had said of Catalina. Was Roux my Catalina?
I couldn't let myself think about it, not when I suddenly felt the pressure of his warm mouth cover mine, holding it captive as his wet lips pulled at my bottom one, sensually. I felt myself kissing him back, my hands moving of their own accord to hold onto his shoulders and pull him down harder into me. And he succumbed to it, letting me lead him with the course of action I wanted.
My lips parted for him and I could feel his warm breath enter my mouth long before his tongue did, waiting for mine to search his out, waiting for me to make all of the silent judgment calls. He was letting me test my own limits. He was teaching and proving the point of our earlier conversation so that I would understand why Mort had most likely done what he did.
Isn't he? I thought, when the tips of our tongues danced wildly around one another, putting an end to fair breathing or thinking or analyzing. I kissed Roux and he kissed me back when I asked for it, quietly, again and again, never letting go, never wanting to let go of something that felt this good, after all the bad I'd seen to lead me right into his arms.
I knew I wanted to let myself fall into him, willingly. And I knew I wanted to let him heal me tonight.
Whatever that meant anymore.
