Marie was sure he never said a word about a motorcycle. He said, “I meet you at Piazza Bologna metro. We eat dinner, we drink a cup of coffee, we see what happens.”
Then her laptop battery died. She stuffed the computer back in her bag and left the Internet café. She walked the four blocks to her hotel wondering if she would be able to figure out how to make a telephone call. From the room, she dialed “0” for the reception desk.
“Can you help me make a local phone call, please?”
The voice on the other end belonged to the beautiful Russian girl. “Does the number begin with 33? That is a cell phone.”
She fished out the scrap of paper. “Yes, 33.”
“You have only to dial the number, but first I must set up the line. Give me one minute, please, and then you can make the call.”
She hung up the handset and mumbled a count to 45. She picked up the phone and dialed the number he had given her a few minutes into their chat session. The phone line made four long electronic buzzes. She started to wonder what an Italian busy signal might sound like. Then there was a loud click, and a husky voice said, “Pronto!”
“Alberto?”
“Marie?”
The line went dead. She put it back on the base. She picked it up again and couldn’t remember what the dial tone had sounded like a moment earlier. She dialed again. No answer.
“This just isn’t meant to be,” Marie said out loud. She stared out the windows at the minuscule balcony. She looked at her feet. She got up, took a quick shower, toweled dry, and dressed in an outfit her best friend back home described as her “ex-nun-gone-wild look.”
“If I don’t like the neighborhood, I’ll turn right around and come back to the hotel.” That’s what she might have explained to her mother, if her mother had been there.
She walked to Piazza Barberini and down into the metro station. Line A eastbound to the central train station, and then downstairs through the rush-hour crowd to Line B. The cars on the newer line were less crowded. She examined the route map. At the third stop, she exited the subway car and climbed the stairs to street level.
It was twilight, but there were plenty of people around, and the neighborhood looked okay. Graffiti everywhere, but the shops were opening up for the evening hours, and she felt safe in the pedestrian crowd.
He had mentioned Via 21 Aprile, so she looked for the plaque that marked the junction of that street with the circular piazza. She leaned against a patch of wall that looked reasonably clean.
“If he doesn’t show up in 20 minutes, I’m out of here.” She thought of the unsolicited advice that her older sister offered so generously. “You have to grab your share of power in any relationship. You should always meet a man on your terms.”
She studied the faces of the men who passed by on the broad sidewalk. That one was too young—she hoped. That one definitely had much fairer skin than the picture in Alberto’s profile. As she watched an old man in a blue uniform sweep cigarette butts to the curb, she wondered again if his profile was completely honest. Could he really look that good?
Just then, a motorcycle pulled to an abrupt stop at the curb in front of her. The rider dismounted. He stared in her direction as he removed his helmet. Curly black hair fell almost to his shoulders. He gave his head a quick shake and strode toward her.
She heard echoes of cautionary tales from childhood. “Don’t talk to strangers.” She looked at the bike and considered what her father would say if Alberto ever pulled up in front of her family home. In the half-second it took for him to reach her, she took in the brown bomber jacket, the khaki cargo pants, the earrings, and the tattoos on the backs of both hands. She wondered for another tenth of a second whether she ought to be afraid.
“Marie?”
“Alberto?”
She felt as if she were watching herself from a distance. He led her toward the motorcycle. She understood the gist of the instructions as he showed her how to strap on the spare helmet. “Come questo. E questo. Sì.” He helped her climb on to straddle the back of the seat. He settled himself between her legs, and they pulled out into the traffic flowing up the dark boulevard.
Note: The assignment was to write about “a leap of faith, a leap into the unknown, a leap forward.”
© 2008 Edward F. Gumnick
Fabulous – I know what this is, and you did a great job writing it. I love the bargaining she does, and you wrote it so you can tell she’s going for it no matter who shows up. All the caution is for the imaginary mother in her head, but she’s already decided she’s ignoring her mom’s advice when she leaves the hotel. Excellent job capturing a great spontaneous adventure.
Interesting…I didn’t intend to suggest that she would go for it no matter who showed up. I guess I didn’t know that about her!