A Semester Abroad (17 page)

I didn’t call Gaetano for three days. I spent the weekend with Olivia. We took the bus to the town of San Gimignano and admired their towers. It was a quiet sleepy town, smaller than Siena.

Gaetano didn’t come to the
unversità
that Monday, so I called him to see how he spent his
fine settimana
. He sounded sad when he spoke. But I tried to keep the conversation light. I told him that I spent the weekend with Olivia.

He asked me if I wanted to go to a Brazilian club in Florence.

“Sure, I’ll call Olivia. Why don’t you ask Dino?”

He hesitated. “You want them to come, too?”

“Of course,” I said. “This way, Dino can drive. How else would we get there?”

That wasn’t really it. I just didn’t want to be alone with him. I didn’t want to be held accountable. I had made my position clear. I just wanted to be friends. But I did feel like I had disappointed him. And I prayed that he just let it go. I wasn’t going to see Luigi again, and I didn’t want to explain to Gaetano why my fake boyfriend hadn’t been an issue.

I called Olivia as soon as I hung up the phone with Gaetano and asked her to come along.

“Yep,” she said. “By the way, tonight’s the night.”

Suzie was going to sleep with Kurt.

“Huge. Good thing he has his own apartment.”

“Yeah, it would be impossible to sneak him into this fortress.”

“Anyway, they want to go to a Brazilian dance club. Before that they want to go to the Mexican place you and Gaetano were talking about it. You know where it is?” I asked.

“Yeah, I pass it all the time.”

“Does that sound
bene
to you?”

“
Benessimo
. It’s a regular international evening with the international girls.”

I met Gaetano and Dino in a piazza north of Via Stalloreggi. Dino had a bright yellow Alfa Romeo that he was very proud of. I heard that he liked to drive it fast, but neither he nor Gaetano wore their seat belts. They laughed when I asked for help buckling into the seat in the back. Dino was honestly puzzled trying to find the seat belt.

“I’m not sure there is one back here,” Dino said to a convulsing Gaetano.

“There must be a buckle if there is this,” I said, holding up the strap, making due with the limited language. Dino reached into the backseat, close to my butt.

“
Bravo
!” Gaetano said and winked at Dino like Dino was going to get lucky.

“Must everything be about sex with you?” I asked.

“Yes, everything.” Then he changed to English to impress Dino and me. “Everything in my life–sex.”

“
Bravo
,” I said and rolled my eyes.

“
Faccia di cazzo
,” Gaetano said. Translated this phrase seemed to mean “dickhead,” but Gaetano convinced me it was a compliment.

“
Ecco
,” said Dino, when he finally located the buckle. “
Andiamo
.”

Gaetano was being cool about everything. I thought that it might turn out to be a good night.

Dino’s driving was worse than I expected. He tailgated every car in front of him. When the cars didn’t move out of the lane, he high-beamed them. He zipped in and out of lanes in a way that would have infuriated my driver’s ed teacher.

“Jesus,” I said, clutching the side of my door. Gaetano relayed it to Dino, who turned while driving to look at my hands. They both laughed at me, exaggerating expressions of fear. It was a nightmare.

“Um, Dino, can you please watch the road,” I said. They laughed even harder. There were several close calls where my stomach dipped up and down. I squinted to try to avoid all of our near misses. Gaetano turned in the seat every time. I heard his breathy laughter. With eyes closed, I shook my head at him and stuck out my tongue. He laughed even harder.

“Why are you sweating?” Olivia said when she came to the door.

“You should have seen the car ride. Is that restaurant far from here?”

“No, but I think the club is.”

The Mexican place was pretty close to where Olivia lived. I suggested that we walk, but Dino wanted to impress Olivia with his car. Luckily, this ride was quick.

“You have hardly seen the worst of it,” I said to Olivia.

The restaurant looked like every stereotypical Mexican restaurant in America. There were woven sombreros pinned to the walls and colorful tablecloths that looked like Mexican blankets. It was familiar to us, but the Italians thought this would be an authentic experience. For them, Mexican wasn’t something they ordered in; it was exotic. The food was standard Mexican fare, but the cheese was different from cheddar or jack. When we tried to order Mexican beer, the
cameriere
didn’t know what Corona was, so we drank Sol beer instead. It tasted almost the same.

At dinner Olivia remembered what day it was. The seventeenth of March. It was St. Patrick’s Day. Olivia explained the significance of St. Patrick’s Day in America, and I added, “It’s another excuse to drink.”

“Yeah,” said Olivia. “On St. Patrick’s Day, everyone is Irish.”

“Today, we Italians will be Irish also,” Dino said, smiling at Olivia. I wondered if there would be something between them more than the minor flirtation. Were all my friends destined to match up with Gaetano’s? Was this another part of his evil plan? I looked at him, narrowing my eyes. He was also looking at Olivia and Dino. Then he saw me looking at him.

“What a face!” He laughed. “What are you thinking with that face,
tesoro
?”

“Nothing. What are you thinking with
your
face?” He waited until Olivia and Dino looked at him to answer me. He did that a lot. When he thought he had something funny to say, he needed all eyes on him.

“
Senti.
We are Italians and Americans, who are Irish today in a Mexican restaurant. It’s strange, you think?”

We toasted this with a chin-chin. It occurred to me that that was a Chinese expression taken by the Italians to make a toast.

On the way to the club, they insisted on showing us the transvestite prostitutes of Firenze. They were tall and blonde, striding around in stilettos and skimpy outfits. They all had fake breasts that they took out and jiggled at the passing cars. This made Dino and Gaetano howl. In the backseat, Olivia and I got impatient.

“Okay, are we going to the club?” I asked.

“You don’t like the transvestites?” Dino asked.

“Are we supposed to like them?” Olivia asked back.

“It’s not like we’ve never seen transvestites before,” I said.

“I forgot you’re
americane
,” Gaetano said, mocking. There was the first hint of bitterness.

“Remember on St. Patrick’s Day, we’re supposed to drink,” I said.

“Excuse me, Gabriella, I also forgot that you go into convulsions if you don’t get a drink into your liver.” This was one of the times he successfully waited for everyone to listen, because everyone laughed at me, including me.

“So can we go to the club?” Olivia asked the front seat.

“
Andiamo
.” Gaetano said. He waved at the transvestites as we went by. They shook their bare fake chests in response.

The club was another giant warehouse but bigger than Tendenza, the club outside of Siena. There was a giant dance floor, a stage and several levels surrounding them with small tables. We climbed up a couple of levels. Dino and Gaetano wanted to get a table so they could have a good view of the Brazilian
spettacolo
that was set to come on at eleven. I liked that word,
spettacolo
. It seemed so much better than a show.

“You are beautiful tonight,” Gaetano said so that only I could hear.

“But not as good as the transvestites, right?”

“
Stronza
. I’d do better with a transvestite.”

“Probably,” I said to make him laugh. He didn’t.

We ordered Brazilian drinks–mojitos and cuba libres. We drank for a while.

Gaetano was being especially touchy-feely with me as Olivia and Dino flirted. I thought we already covered that. But maybe, now that he saw me with another Italian, he thought things had changed.

The
spettacolo
was a bit disappointing compared to what I had in mind. It wasn’t really a show at all, just scantily clad dancers who came out shaking all the parts of their bodies and blowing whistles. The rhythmic Brazilian drum livened the place up. In their seats, Dino and Gaetano shook like the dancers. Behind them, Olivia and I smiled at each other.

“Why are you laughing?” Gaetano asked me.

“I’m laughing at your dance. You’re dancing in the chair.”

“Do you want to dance?” he asked me, already starting to get up. I shrugged. “C’mon, let’s dance.”

On the dance floor, he pulled me close, too close. I stepped away from him, as far as I could against the crowd. I raised my arms and moved my hips, trying to go with the beat. He was staring at me.

“The dancers are better than the transvestites, too, no?” I yelled over the drums and whistles. I wanted him to look at the dancers, at their hips, not mine. I looked back up at Olivia laughing at whatever Dino was saying. All the people on the dance floor were just letting go. I wanted Gaetano to look anywhere but at me. I would have danced by myself.

He smiled a little at me. He still wouldn’t look away from me. He wouldn’t even joke with me. It was just the same look. He was pushed toward me. It wasn’t really him, it was the crowd, but he reached out to touch my waist. He grinded against me. I could feel him still staring at me. We could never be true friends. I was naive to think we could.

I stopped dancing.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m tired of dancing. Let’s have a drink.” He was still moving to the music, still looking at me the same way. I again tried to joke with him. “I am getting the shakes.”

Now he stopped dancing. Bodies around us still moved, jostling against us, swinging, oblivious. He didn’t smile at my joke. Instead, he reached out to me. He grabbed the top of my arm, so I had to look up at him. Then I looked away, beyond his hair. He pulled me closer, put his thumb to my lips and pressed hard.

“Gaetano,” I said.

“I just want to look at you like this.” He spoke quietly, but I heard him in spite of the music. There was desperation in his face. I realized I was wrong to even do this, to hang out with him, when I knew how he felt. None of this was fair to him. I liked having him as a friend, having someone to hang out with, but it wasn’t going to work with the way he felt.

I finally looked back up at him.

“Gaetano.” I tugged my arm away from him. “I am going back up.”

I walked away from him on the dance floor, back up the steps to the little tables. Dino and Olivia were talking with their faces close together. I regretted that I may be busting up the vibe between them, but thankfully, Gaetano was right behind me.

“We can sit here,” he said into my ear. There was a table not too close to Olivia and Dino.

“
Grazie
.” I don’t know why I said it. He hated when I thanked him. The waitress came. I ordered more drinks. Still trying to keep things afloat, I smiled over at Olivia to try and change the subject.

“I think it’s going well with Olivia and Dino.” He nodded. I couldn’t say more than I already had. I knew what it was to want someone and usually not much can dissuade it.

“I don’t know what to say to you. I don’t want to hurt you,” I said, linking verbs as I had just been taught to do in class. I was struck by the fact that even my social life was a language lesson. I said it again. “
Non voglio farti male
.”

“It is me,” he said. “I have been feeling strange lately. A little down.”

“Because of me?”

“Partly because of you. Partly because of me.”

“I’m sorry for my parts.”

“I miss the sweetness.”

“What sweetness?”

“Sometimes you are a bit cold to me.”

“I know. It’s true. I don’t want to be. But sometimes I feel that I have to be or you will get the wrong idea.”

“The idea that you don’t have a boyfriend.” He looked at me hard. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to be cruel. Maybe I deserved it for letting him see me with Luigi.

“Is this about what happened at the Le Colonial? I’m sorry you were upset. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“But you didn’t have a boyfriend then?”

“No, I wasn’t really thinking about anything then.” I felt all the mixed liquor but still wasn’t sure I wanted to fess up about the imaginary boyfriend. “It’s got nothing to do with my boyfriend, Gaetano. My boyfriend has nothing to do with us. You said you didn’t care that I wanted to be your friend. You said you liked spending time with me.”

“Would you be upset if I had a girlfriend?”

“Why do you ask me that? No, I wouldn’t be upset.”

“Why?” I inhaled before I answered. It was hard to know how to be delicate in Italian, if it was possible to say things better than I was able to say them.

“Because, Gaetano, I don’t want to be with you.”

He nodded, swallowing. I reached across the table to touch his hand. He pulled away, almost knocking his glass over, but he steadied it in time with his other hand.

“I don’t want to be with anyone. Not the boy in Le Colonial. That was just dumb. No one. Not now.” I wished I could make him understand. He didn’t say anything for a long time. He looked down to the dance floor, not really seeing it.