When in Rome (20 page)

So no birthday party for me, then. Turning thirty years old is hard enough as it is. I’m so glad I don’t own a cell phone and changed the lock so my mother can’t drop in here unannounced anymore. She can’t reach me. I find myself perched on the couch, ready to consume an entire jar of Nutella, only to find that it expired two months ago. Oh well. If I get sick, no one will notice. They’ll find me months later, shriveled up like a mummy.

I decide to get up and go into Luca’s old room. I haven’t been in there in weeks. The air smells musty. I sit down on the mattress and gaze at the painting on the wall between our rooms. And what a painting it is. It’s huge. It takes up half the wall. I try to put myself in Luca’s shoes the night he came back for his laptop and saw it. Now I notice how awful it looks. Judith looks pissed, and Holofernes looks like a sacrificial lamb. Why did I portray the characters like that? Instead of bringing justice, Luca’s murder as Holofernes looks like a slaughter. What came over me? I wanted to paint the hatred that I was feeling. But maybe, despite all my efforts, I can’t actually hate him. The biggest problem, I realize, isn’t that I’m in love with him. People fall out of love every day, and it’ll happen to me sooner or later (I hope). Love is like a trendy dress that will look outdated in just a year or two. The problem is that I love him in a different kind of way, too. I feel an affection toward him—and affection is like a classic, timeless outfit. This affection is what is preventing me from forgetting about him. That’s the reason I painted Holofernes that way.

As I get up to leave his room, I notice that one of his desk drawers is slightly ajar, a white piece of paper sticking out of it. I open it to put the paper inside, and I freeze. It’s Luca’s entire novel, printed out in a stack in the drawer. He took his laptop with him but left a hard copy. Did he mean to do this, or was it an oversight? I don’t know, but I do know that my hands are trembling with excitement—I want to read it.

I lie down on my stomach on the bare mattress and dive through the pages. I read for hours on end, with no break. By the end, my eyes ache. I cross my arms and flop down on the bed, pondering it. I thought the main character was a little crazy, but she had a tragic past that made me cry as I read about it. I see pieces of myself in certain phrases that express her loneliness or reluctance to give her heart to another. When the love of her life is taken away from her, she turns into a ruthless, revenge-seeking assassin. Despite this, she’s the type of woman I’d like to have as a friend. The erotic scenes are dense and detailed, with lots of moans and groans, but at the same time, they’re incredibly . . . innocent. After fate crushes the heroine’s dreams, the sex scenes are different. I’m astonished. Luca understands the difference—Luca knows what love is. So he must have realized somewhere along the line that two bodies coming together in love can exude purity, even though the mechanics are the same?

Reading this makes me love him even more. He shouldn’t have let me see this side of him. Damn it, Luca. Trying to stop loving you is like trying to wrap my arms around the ocean.

NINETEEN

The play sells out for the next ten performances. The press gives it great reviews, especially after the authentic fainting on opening night. Next year, I hear, it’ll go on tour around Italy. Rocky is even interviewed by a local TV station. He’s wearing his scarf in the video clip, despite the heat of the day.

Today, however, is not warm at all. It doesn’t feel like June at all. The sky is menacing, the air humid, and thunder rumbles in the distance. Despite the bad weather, I head to the theater to meet up with everyone to debrief.

The gang’s almost all here, except for Franz, who left for Germany a few days ago. Even Romina’s here. She finally stopped throwing up and has the tiniest baby bump. Rose looks after her like she’s a precious child, escorting her everywhere and always keeping her within arm’s reach.

“They’re getting married in July,” she tells us. “In a church! No civil union for these two. I’m thrilled. I don’t know how long it’s been since a member of our family has gotten married, let alone in the church. Rocky is very happy.”

I think Rocky looks like he’s ready to skip town and rebuild his life somewhere else. But perhaps he’s just stressed because he has to eat real food now instead of his usual air-and-art diet. He says that he has a new project in mind: a reinterpretation of
Barefoot in the Park
by Neil Simon, set in a science-fiction future. I don’t even want to imagine what that’ll look like. He’s telling us about the underground bunker where the newlyweds will live after the apocalypse, when he suddenly turns to me, where I’m sitting next to Iriza.

“You’ll have to get busy finding those props,” he says.

Rose erupts with loud laughter. “Admit it! She did a wonderful job. Just the other night, you told me that she managed to find you the entire Barbie doll collection you wanted, with a very tight budget. Our Carlotta is very smart.”

Rocky looks like the announcer just declared a TKO, and he’s the one down for the count. He makes a noncommittal noise under his breath. “She did okay for a Calabrian.”

I guess I can’t really expect anything more than that.

As we’re chatting, the lights suddenly go out. A big clap of thunder shakes the foundation of the theater. My mind immediately jumps to the electric bill for the space—did we remember to pay it?—when I hear a buzz of voices in addition to the rain pounding on the roof. Soon after, a lit candle appears in the main aisle. I stand up, understanding it now. Today’s the day. I’m thirty years old. Lara and Giovanna both called me quickly this morning, apologizing for not being able to stop by. Now I realize it was all a ploy. I had no idea they were planning a surprise party!

They’re wheeling in, on a trolley, a three-layer cake covered in lavender icing and decorated with tiny sugar flowers. Millions of sparkling candles, or at least that’s what it looks like to me, sit on top. The lights come back on again to a round of lively applause. I find myself at the center of a whirlwind of kisses, hugs, greetings, pats on the back, and presents. This is not nearly as tragic as some of the parties my mother has organized in the past, but I have to admit I hoped I would be able to fly under the radar on this one. I’m very grateful, though. It’s always nice to know that you have real friends you can count on. Of course, Romina will still steal the show today because she’s pregnant, but I’m happy. At least I don’t have to pretend to be something I’m not, and no one will ask me about my job or whether I’m engaged yet. I blow out the candles and make a wish.

Giovanna comes over and whispers to me, “I’m sorry. I had to tell her. She bombarded me with phone calls.”

I don’t have enough time to figure out what she’s talking about before my mother’s shrill voice rings out. She makes her usual dramatic entrance, leaving more than a few people with their mouths agape. They must be wondering how this beautiful, elegant, tall woman could possibly have given birth to someone like me, who bears more resemblance to a monkey than to my own mother. Then they’ll get a look at Aunt Porzia right after and see our unquestionable similarities. A man is with them who I’ve never seen before in my life. He looks about forty, on the lanky side, and mustached. I hope this is not another Catello repeat.

“Darling!” my mother exclaims as she air-kisses me, so as not to mess up her hair and makeup. Aunt Porzia grabs me and pinches my cheeks. The man shakes my hand. His grip is enough to crush my bones.

“This is Oreste,” my mother gushes.

Oreste! The guy who sells panties! I had forgotten about him. I like him already, now that I know he’s not here to seduce me on my birthday. He brings my knuckles to his lips and gives them a light kiss. Then he hands me a package gift-wrapped with a black lacy ribbon.

“It’s a present for you!” my mother shrieks.

Apparently everyone else has nothing better to do than sit around and watch these events unfold. I unwrap the gift to find a thong that would make a prostitute blush.

“How subtle!” Rose blurts.

“What a chauvinistic, sexist gift,” Lara says. “It’s rather hideous, too. Not even a porn star would wear that.”

Lara’s comment doesn’t appear to bother my mother whatsoever.

“In order to keep a man, you have to give him something nice to look at,” she says. “You can’t walk around dressed like a man and expect him to stay loyal. That’s why husbands always run off with their secretaries!” She feigns innocence, even though she knows damn well that’s what happened to Lara. Just as Lara and my mother are about to face off and Iriza is trying to calm everyone down by offering slices of cake, the curtain separating the foyer of the theater moves with a swish. I glance up . . . and wish I hadn’t.

Erika and Luca are here together. Luca’s hair is so wet that it looks like there are pearls at the ends of his locks, and his presence causes quite a stir. I get up, feeling like I’ve just had thirty cups of coffee. My hands and eyelids are twitching. My mother forgets about Lara, choosing instead to flatter Luca and cast admiring glances upon her favorite daughter. I’ve been reduced to a pile of crap once more. I mean, come on! I can barely handle the idea of them sleeping together. Showing up together on my birthday is just too much. What are they doing here? Who invited them?

I grab my coat and purse and find myself in the lobby before I’ve said good-bye to anyone. So what is this? The wish I made when I blew out the candles just five minutes ago was that I could be calm again, that my pain would heal, and this is how the birthday fairy treats me?

It’s pouring outside. I don’t think I’ll have much luck getting a taxi. If I have to, I’ll walk home. I’d rather risk getting pneumonia than stay here and watch the couple of the year reap their congratulations. Maybe Iriza can give me a ride home. I turn to go ask her when I see my little sister in the doorway, giving me a wry look.

“Leaving so soon?” she asks. It’s not enough for her to take my man and share a laugh with him at my expense. She has to tease me, too. I nod but say nothing. “Why the long face, Carlotta? Isn’t it your birthday?”

I stay silent, fuming.

“Here she is, the insatiable Carlotta Lieti!” she suddenly blurts out. “What are you doing, running away? You can’t stand the idea that Erika, your mean, stupid sister, has something you want? Well, you know what? Rightly so. I have spent every moment of my twenty-five years wanting to be you. So now
you
can have a taste of what it feels like to be jealous of your sister.”

“What? What the hell are you talking about? Are you insane?” I sputter.

“What can’t you wrap your head around? That I brought this hot guy here with me, or that I said I wanted to be like you?”

“Obviously the latter. But it’s gotta be your usual trick. You pretend to compliment me, but you’re really trying to hurt me.”

“Of course! I’m not just an illiterate slut, I’m also a total bitch. Erika Lieti, the brainless beauty,” she snaps. “Did you ever think that maybe you were actually the wicked sister? Did you ever think that maybe I’ve always hated you because Dad likes you better? That maybe always having Mom and the aunts around might have been torture for me?”

“But—”

“You’ve always been too occupied with yourself, your books, Dad, and your fucking sarcasm to realize that the reason I left home when I was twenty was so I could get out from under your shadow! I needed to stop feeling so inferior to you. Your college degree, your feigned shyness, even your aversion to sex! I wish Dad would pay me half the attention he pays to you, even just for a second. I wanted to come get your advice before I lost my virginity all those years ago, but you looked at me like I was some bimbo . . . And now you have the nerve to criticize me for being with Luca? You really can’t stand the idea that he could have feelings for me? Why is that? Do you just not think I deserve to be happy?”

What. The. Fuck.

Of all the strange things to happen today, I never saw this one coming. Erika’s claim to envy
me
, the ugly sister with no boyfriend and no money, isn’t just a surprise. It’s an ambush. Is she serious? Or is this just her twisted way of getting me to stop hating her so she can feel better about taking Luca from me? I don’t understand what’s going on. Seeing her rage fueled by passion, sorrow, memories, and revenge . . . it hurts. And it angers me. At the same time that I want to just get out of here, I want to stay and work it out. The words catch in my throat. For a split second, I see her as she was when we were little, wearing Mom’s clothes, lipstick smeared on her face. The same little girl tagging along wherever I went, unable to pronounce my name correctly.

Her disdainful laughter brings me back to reality; she’s misinterpreted my silence. “Are you fresh out of your derisive little comments?”

I want to cry. All of the emotions of today, of yesterday, of the last thirty years crash together and surge up inside me. Instinctively, I take a step in her direction. I don’t know if I want to make peace, continue the war, or make a run for it. Erika steps back as if I’ve slapped her. A hungry tiger would look more sympathetic right now.

“Don’t you dare put on some pathetic little charade,” she whispers. “And don’t kid yourself. This isn’t over.”

And with that, she leaves the theater. My mouth hangs wide open. I sigh and shrug. This day has gone perfectly. I just found out my sister hates me even more than I thought she did, and for reasons that I’d never imagined.

I don’t want to think about the one problem left to deal with—Luca and Erika staying together. I want to go home and shove Pringles in my face. But apparently the bell signaling the second round has already rung, because Luca’s standing right where Erika just was.

“If you’re looking for your woman, she just left,” I tell him, shouldering my strawberry purse and trying to squeeze out the door.

“I’m looking for you,” he says, his voice flat and emotionless. He blocks me from leaving.

“I don’t know what you want, but I’m older now, and I need my rest. So I’m going to go home and try to forget about this awful birthday.”

He grabs my arm. “We need to talk first.”

“About what? Haven’t you already said everything? What other wonderful things could you possibly tell the person who was the worst sex you’ve ever had?” I struggle against his grip, but Luca doesn’t want to let me go. His eyes are burning with anger.

“What the hell is this, a sermon? Because you’re so perfect? Maybe you’ve forgotten that you were the one who threw me out of that seedy motel. And you didn’t exactly give my performance a rave review either! You’re the one who wanted to forget that it ever happened. I would have liked to talk to you about what happened between us, but you just shut me up and turned me away. You made me feel like shit.”

“
You
felt like shit?” I laugh. “I’ve got to be the hundredth girl you’ve slept with this year, at least.”

“You’re the most infuriating person I’ve ever met!” Luca fumes. “Just when I thought I knew you, it turns out I really didn’t.”

I escape him without replying and make it out the door. I’m drenched within three seconds of walking outside. But I don’t care. I’d rather celebrate my birthday by being a murdered hitchhiker than stay in there a minute longer. Something is holding me back, however. I wince when I see it’s Luca, also drenched from the rain. He’s holding my hand.

“I haven’t gotten laid in two months,” he says grimly.

“Please apologize to your penis for me,” I yell. “Will you let me go?”

“Go where? You’re not walking in this. I don’t have a car—I came here with your sister and she left. And we’re not going to find a taxi anytime soon.”

“I’m going to hitchhike, even if it kills me.”

What is he doing? Is he . . .
smiling
? There’s nothing to smile about. We’re out here soaked to our underwear.

“What the fuck are you laughing at?”

“I’m laughing at you, silly.”

“Has your impotence taken away your sanity?”

“That’s entirely likely. I haven’t felt sane in quite some time.”

I wish he wouldn’t look at me like that, like I’m some delicate feather. I wish he’d stop rubbing his thumb on my wrist. I wish he’d stop acting like it wasn’t a big deal to show up here with my sister. He drags me under the shelter of a balcony, where the rain drips instead of pours.

“Luca . . . I don’t understand what you want. You don’t need my permission to be in love with my sister.”

“I’m not in love with Erika.”

“Don’t lie. You’re always out together. And the flowers? You’ve never given flowers to anyone. I knew right away they had to be for her.”

“God, you’re incredibly obtuse,” Luca says. “First of all, Erika has been a pain in the ass. She’s always coming into the bar where I work, and she follows me around constantly. I tried to be nice to her just because she’s your sister. Secondly, I don’t want Erika. I don’t want her to be my girlfriend. I don’t even want to sleep with her. She’s too cold, always concerned with herself. She doesn’t think about other people. She’s like a statue. A beautiful one, yeah, but I only slept with her once. And third, the flowers weren’t for her. They were . . . not important.”