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They appear to be portraits, I see as I move closer, black and white images depicting formal faces of mainly Italian immigrants from the late-nineteenth century. Apart from religion, I consider history as one of my great passions. The figure of a somewhat sad looking nun from the late 1900s catches my eye directly. My finger lingers on the Holy cross and even through the photo, I can feel how He sends His warmth. I cannot help but wonder if He’s giving me a message. Is He asking me to come join the convent back home in France? Or is He telling me to go crazy and figure out what my purpose on earth really is? I let out a long sigh before I reluctantly walk on, only stopping in front of the image of a street that’s completely filled with people and stalls with fruit and vegetables. “Mulberry Street”, is written on the bottom right. In the photo next to it, I see a park full of carriages with horses.
“There’s a museum not far away where they exhibit more work like this, if you’re interested. My family has donated a few old photographs of our ancestors when they arrived in New York. One of them was a nun, you know.” Prue had somehow managed to get changed into a black, silky jumpsuit and she hands me a glass of gin and tonic, her red painted lips curving into a soft smile.
“I don’t know if I want to be a nun,” I blurt, then quickly take a sip to mask the rush of shame from the words. My eyes are still fixed on the somber-looking woman in the picture, my mind a bit foggy. Or, perhaps it’s clearer and certainly processing things faster than my heart is. “Not anymore.” I turn my head to face Prue. “Maybe it’s the New York air, or maybe I’ve officially lost my mind. I don’t know what to blame it on yet.”
Prue pats my hand. “It’s okay not to know. The four of us have no clue what we’re doing, right? That’s the only sensible reason that made you girls fly across the Atlantic.” We both laugh and Prue squeezes my shoulder gently. “C’mon. Let’s go back to the others before they eat all the food. Luigi serves the best Parma ham.”
Monika looks up from her phone with a huff when we sit down at the table, which is, apart from our glasses, still empty. Prue gives me a knowing wink and Emma tries to read the message on Monika’s phone.
“You can’t read it anyway, it’s German.” She shows her the screen and Emma shrugs. “Did I mention Jonas, my…friend with benefits?” Monika asks.
“No?” Prue and Emma reply emphatically. “You never said you had a boyfriend,” Emma adds.
Monika shakes her head. “I don’t do boyfriends, I told you. I’m way too busy to be committed.” She turns her phone for the others to see a mannequin wearing a red, laced body. “This is the piece that made me win the awards last month. And that…” she zooms in on the guy who’s standing in the back, a fiery redhead with a wide smile on a pale face, “is Jonas.”
Prue whistles and Emma hums approvingly.
“Are you in love with him?” I ask, though my mind is filled with the image of a strong faced man with piercing blue eyes and full, plush lips.
“Hell no,” Monika sneers. “He’s too sweet, you know?” I don’t, but I nod anyway. It seems complicated. My mysterious seducer’s anything but sweet, right? Maybe a little bit. If he wasn’t such a jerk.
“What’s with the look on your face?” Monika’s charcoal eyes take me in with an intense look. “You’ve gone all dreamy. Is there a fellow out there for you, or is that against the rules of becoming a nun?”
I shake my head and laugh it off, but still feel my face flush. “No. Before going into the convent, you take a vow of chastity, which means you cannot get married or have a romantic relationship.” I involuntarily squeeze my thighs closed as the lingering image of his fingers bringing me to my orgasm suddenly teases me full-force. Monika just shrugs, but her intensive gaze doesn’t leave my face. I quickly take another sip of my drink, but before I can direct the conversation away from myself, Luigi comes with two full platters filled with cheeses, hams, bread, and olives.
Thank the Lord for this rescue.
“Dig in girls, this food is the bomb,” Prue gestures to no one in particular and she takes a big slice of ham and puts it into her mouth. She gives Luigi a “grazie”with a full mouth, and us a goofy smile. I copy her, I love meat. And hey, she hasn’t lied. The Parma ham is a true delight and nearly melts in my mouth, and the bread is fresh and warm. We eat for a moment in content silence, and apart from the occasional moan, this is probably the most silent we’ve been since this morning.
“So, have you ever had a boyfriend, Angélique? Sorry if I’m curious, but I really am. I mean, I’ve never met a woman who wants to be a nun.” Monika gives me a nearly apologetic smile as she hands me a peace offering. Bread with garlic sauce.
“I mean, I’ve had a few dates when I was at school, but nothing more,” I settle with.
“Nothing more?” Prue’s dark eyes go wide like saucers. “You really are like Mother Theresa?” Emma and Monika chuckle. “I don’t mean it like that, but damn girl. Men are not easy, I’ll give you that. But they can be, let’s say, entertaining?”
“Oh yeah?” Emma counters. “I wish that were true in my case.” Instead of going into detail, she turns to Monika. “What about Jonas? Does he know that he’s not the boyfriend? How does one know that you’re not the boyfriend? Or girlfriend, in our case?”
Monika shrugs. “Don’t know really. Although for us, I’ve called it anarrangementfrom day one. We enjoy it this way.”
“We, or you?” When Monika doesn’t reply straight away, Emma sighs. “I’m sorry girl, I didn’t mean to judge. It’s just…I’m seeing this police officer.”
“Shut up! Really?”
“Yup. And he’s kind of…I don’t know. He’s sweet. But he’s mean as well, if you catch my drift?”
“Does he tie you up with his handcuffs?” Monika hums. “I’ve always wanted to be cuffed by a sexy man in uniform. Definitely in my top three sex fantasies.”
“Oh, come on! You have one hell of a filthy mind,” Prue laughs.
“Well, it looks like dreams could come true,” I whisper-grin, as I gesture to the door.
“Oh boy.” We all turn our heads and watch at a group of four firemen making their way inside. Luigi, who’s drying glasses behind the bar, looks up and greets them in Italian with a loud voice.
“Oh. My. God.”
“Nowthat’ssomething.”
“So, Monika, you gonna go?” Prue sits back in her chair and takes another sip of her drink, a smug smile on her face. Before she can say anything, Emma abruptly pulls back her chair, nearly taking the table cloth with her in the process.
