The Gilder (25 page)

“And as you see, all these years later, she’s still dressing me.”

Marina realized they were following a route similar to the one they had taken on their first visit to Via Luna so many years ago, and decided to let go of her reservations. She was enjoying her time with Sarah, and it seemed only fitting that they revisit the old neighborhood together. When they passed the flea market, Marina glanced at Sarah’s left hand, but the strange ring she’d bought there and worn as a wedding band was gone.

“One man’s junk, another man’s treasure,” murmured Sarah, slowing her pace as they threaded their way through the stalls.

“Thomas used to say that about the things he found in the street,” Marina said without looking at Sarah. She had consciously been avoiding saying Thomas’s name for fear it might unleash some torrent of confessional language, a Tourette’s seizure of truth, but the joy she felt at being with Sarah again made her want to give something in return.

“Yes, he loved his nights of foraging. But I’ll tell you, I was glad to see that junk go. I can’t believe I lived with all his crap for as long as I did.”

Marina didn’t know if she was referring to something more than just his junk, but she’d never heard Sarah sound so bitter. Clearly more had changed than just her wardrobe. She stopped walking when Sarah wandered over to look in a window filled with costume jewelry, and watched as the Sarah on the sidewalk and the Sarah reflected in the glass tossed their hair in unison. She might have changed in many ways, ways that Marina couldn’t yet see, but the Sarah she had known and loved was still very much there, as was the luminescence that had so attracted her in the first place.

As they walked on, Sarah asked about her life, her work, and of course, Zoe. “I have to say that you send me the worst photos of Zoe. I still don’t really know what she looks like. Either she’s in a Halloween costume, or the picture is out of focus, or overexposed. I guess you didn’t learn as much from Thomas as I thought.”

The mention of Zoe and Thomas in the same breath caught Marina off guard, as did the reference to her ploy with the photographs. “I ... I guess I’ve just gotten sloppy.”

Just then, someone called to Sarah from a shop doorway, and when the conversation resumed, Marina changed the subject to Sarah’s sculpting.

Sarah’s face lit up and her gestures grew animated as she talked about her work. Again, it was Marcello (he changed his name to Marcell
a
after he grew breasts, Sarah offered as a sidebar) who had come to her rescue. In an attempt to draw her out of her melancholy, he began buying her art supplies, and for months they accumulated in piles around her apartment, until one day she picked up a piece of charcoal and began to draw.

“It was partly out of desperation to make him stop spending his money and partly because I couldn’t resist. Everything was so beautiful! The pastels and pencils. He even bought me wax crayons. And there was paper stacked up all over the place in every size and texture you can imagine.” Sarah sketched the invisible stacks with her hands. “It was all so luscious, irresistible. Thank God for Marcello! I don’t know what would have become of me.
Really,
I don’t.”

It wasn’t long before she was taking a sketchpad with her everywhere she went, then found herself spending more and more time sitting in the parks drawing the children. This soon led to drawing lessons at a small, private studio, until she felt ready to move on to sculpting, which was ultimately where she realized her full potential.

“I always knew that I wanted to sculpt. I think I told you that years ago. But I never dreamed it would take me so far, or that I’d end up with predominantly children as my subject. Maybe because I never had any of my own.” Then she smiled. “But now I have more children in my life than I know what to do with.”

Marina wasn’t sure if she meant real children, the ones she used as models, or the sculptures themselves. Either way, the reference to children made her insides squirm.

They crossed the boulevard and made their way over to Marina’s old neighborhood. The post office was still there, and the little department store, but the cheese shop had become an office supply store with all sorts of electronic gadgets in the window, and the wine shop was now a toy store. As they turned in under the archway that led to Via Luna, Marina glanced into the corner bar to see if there were any familiar faces, but nothing and no one looked the same.

Rounding the corner, she half expected to see her bike propped up against the wall where she’d left it. When she’d finally written Sarah to say she wasn’t coming back, that she was pregnant, she’d asked her to get rid of everything in her apartment except her tools, which she wanted Sauro to have.

“Did I ever thank you for dealing with all the stuff I left behind? I’m sorry, it never occurred to me how much I was asking. It must have been a pain to get rid of all that stuff.”

Sarah touched her arm. “I think you were probably overwhelmed with the pregnancy at the time. Besides, I asked Marcello to deal with it. I was too upset that you weren’t coming back. It made my head spin how quickly everything changed, first you left so suddenly, then you weren’t coming back.”

The exterior of the apartment looked the same, with the exception of the old painted door, which had been replaced by a new one with a natural stain. Marina was disappointed to see flowered curtains in the kitchen window that blocked the only view they might have had of the interior. No one seemed to be around. They were standing in the spot where she’d first met Marcello, but it wasn’t her first days there that Marina was thinking about; it was her final days.

Sarah had come to Marina’s the day before she left to help her pack for her trip home. The apartment had been in complete disarray, not because any packing was going on, but because Marina hadn’t picked up for days. It was all she could do to fulfill her obligations to Sauro. The rest of the time, if she wasn’t crying, she was sleeping. The kitchen sink was full of dishes, crumbs littered the table and floor, a sour smell filled the air, and in the living room, the bed was unmade and clothes were strewn across the floor. The only semblance of order was in her workshop. If Sarah noticed anything amiss, she didn’t comment. She knew Marina was upset about her father’s illness. Sarah’s visit put Marina into a panic, sure her friend would stumble upon some piece of incriminating evidence, something that might clue her in to Marina’s disgraceful state, but of course, there was nothing to find
.
Sarah had simply set about doing the dishes while Marina made an attempt to create order, if not in her mind, then in her living room.

Sarah’s help that day had turned out to be a blessing. Her tranquil demeanor had a calming effect on Marina, who was finally able to locate her passport and decide what she would need for a two-week trip home.

Now Sarah asked, “Do you remember your last morning here, before the cab arrived?”

Marina shook her head. “No, not really.”

“I came to say good-bye. I wasn’t going to. We’d said good-bye the night before. But something made me come again, and of course, now I’m glad I did. You cried and cried. I kept telling you that your father was going to be fine and that you’d be back in a flash.”

Marina nodded. Of course she remembered. Of course she’d cried—she was twenty-three and pregnant by her best friend’s husband.

Sarah looked up at the sky. “It’s strange how things turned out. It never occurred to me that you wouldn’t come back, that it would be the last time I’d see you.”

“I know. I thought I’d be back. Then ...” Marina’s voice trailed off.
Now! Tell her the truth now!

Sarah finished her thought. “Life happened.”

Marina hesitated, then replied, “Yes, life happened. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. And look how beautifully it turned out with Zoe and your gilding business.”

Marina shook her head, but Sarah had already turned and was heading back down the street. What better segue into telling Sarah the truth about why she hadn’t come back, and what better place than on the threshold of where it all began. But she’d only just found Sarah again—couldn’t she have just a little more time with her?

Marina took a sip of wine, lay back in the tub, and looked around the hotel bathroom, every inch of it, including the Kleenex box, clad in white marble. She studied the glass chandelier overhead and wondered if she could get away with such an elegant fixture in her bathroom at home. She slid a little farther into the delicious water. Her time with Sarah that afternoon had felt so familiar, as if they’d seen each other just the week before. She hadn’t imagined it would be so easy, so exhilarating. Certainly Sarah had changed, but for the better. She was now engaged with a much larger world than when she’d been married to Thomas, and she had the freedom to be whoever she wanted to be. She had a confidence that showed in the way she talked and carried herself, yet she’d managed to retain the soft hazy edges she’d always had. On their walk back to the center of town, Sarah told Marina a bit about her relationship with Sergio, who owned the gallery in Milan. It had been love at first sight on his part, and when Sarah balked at his attentions he’d waited patiently for Sarah to find her way back to love again. They took turns visiting each other, which seemed to work for them both. Sarah said she wasn’t interested in marriage but liked having someone somewhere in the world who cared about her. She asked Marina about her love life and was confounded when she had nothing to report.

“I can’t believe there’s no one, Marina. You’re a beautiful woman in the prime of her life!”

“I date. I’ve had a few relationships over the years.” Marina didn’t want to sound defensive, but she could hear it in her voice.

“You should move back here. The men would be lined up at your door.” When Marina just laughed, Sarah said, “I’m serious. You should be married, having babies. Don’t you think Zoe needs a father?”

Marina hated it when people started saying that Zoe needed a father, as if she was somehow lacking. Having a father wouldn’t make Zoe any more brilliant or beautiful than she already was.

“She has a father figure in Peter. He’s been around since she was a baby.”

“That’s your friend’s brother, right?”

Marina nodded. “Lydia’s brother.”

“Any prospects there?”

“Actually, Zoe would love that. But he and I have been friends forever and I’d hate to jeopardize that.”

Sarah had spent the rest of the walk grilling her about Peter and encouraging her to test the waters with him, and was so engrossed in the subject that she didn’t turn off at her street, and ended up walking Marina all the way back to her hotel.

Marina finished off her wine and let the water out of the tub. She’d never understood why people insisted on playing matchmaker, which in her experience never turned out well. Or why they got so excited when people “found each other.” Aside from Lydia and June, she hadn’t seen too many healthy relationships or even unions where both people were happy and fulfilled. Right now she’d be happy and fulfilled if she found an outfit to wear to the reception.

Forty-five minutes later, she was dressed and ready for her evening. Except for shoes. Her outfit, black wool pants and an ivory silk shirt, left her two choices for footwear: elegant black suede mules, which she loved and rarely had an opportunity to wear, or her black boots with the low heel and pointed toe. If she wore the mules, she’d have to take a taxi, since she was barely able to keep them on just walking across a room, and she wanted to walk to the reception at the Accademia. There was nothing she loved more than the early evening hours in this city, when housewives finished up their suppertime shopping, workmen stopped for a coffee or
aper-ativo
on their way home, and shopkeepers hauled in their wares from the sidewalks in front of their shops. She took one last look at herself in the mules, then kicked them off and pulled on the boots.

It was just as she remembered—the smell of exhaust, the hubbub of cars and pedestrians, buses disgorging people into the dusk—and for a moment, she tasted the bittersweetness she sometimes experienced watching people head home to warm hearths and loving arms. Perhaps Lydia was right, maybe she
should
be more open to having a relationship. And what if Zoe was right about Peter? Everyone seemed to know more about what was right for her these days than she did.

She made her way around the Duomo, craning her neck to take in every inch of its pink and green grandeur, its overwhelming mass still confounding her. She headed toward Piazza San Marco and found the entrance of the Accademia di Belle Arti, home to Michelangelo’s
David.
The guard at the door inspected her invitation, then directed her to the main gallery, where the reception was just getting under way. She wished Lydia could see this—people milling around, chatting, holding glasses of champagne under the youthful gaze of a giant, stark-naked man holding a slingshot. Lydia might not be into men, but she’d appreciate the humor in it. Marina spied Josh in a small cluster of people on the other side of the room and made her way over to him.

“There you are! How wonderful to see you, my dear.” Josh gave her a warm hug.

Marina smiled and squeezed him in return. The way he spoke made her want to belong to another era, one where women wore dresses during the day, handbags and shoes that matched, and didn’t consider themselves dressed without hats and gloves—a time when women knew what was expected of them.

“This is quite the setting you have for your cocktail party,” Marina said, looking around the room.

Josh chuckled and held up his glass in a toast. “It pays to know the right people.”

Josh stayed at her side for almost an hour, introducing her to other presenters and conference patrons, whose names she recognized from trade journals and many of whom seemed to know each other from other events or projects, and it made her realize how isolated she was in her work. She really must take Josh’s advice and get out more, go to other conferences. If it weren’t for him, she never would have been invited to this one. Once again she wondered if her presentation would make the grade. She’d be both devastated and embarrassed if she disappointed him. She imagined herself at the podium, terrified, mute, her mind blank. Panic uncoiled itself in her belly, and Marina excused herself to search for a bathroom. She could see the fatigue in her face as she reapplied her lipstick, and knew that if she didn’t get some sleep, her fears would get the better of her and self-doubt would overwhelm her.