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I’m at the door when my phone rings. I am surprised to see ‘Gianni’ on the display. I listen to the ringtones urging me to pick up. I watch the device, oscillating from ignoring the nagging sounds and vibrations to hitting the OK button. I could pretend I haven’t heard it. What do I say? How should I be? Come on, Olivia! I finally succumb to the phone’s demand. Taking a deep breath, I say hello. At the other end of the line, Gianni says hello. Then there’s a big pause.
“Hi, um, it’s me, Gianni. I hope this isn’t a bad time.”
“Well. Yes. It is. But I am interrupted now, so go ahead. How can I help?”
“I’m leaving for Italy in a couple of days, and I would very much like to see you before I go. Without my nosey daughter, this time.” He laughs. “But I know you are focused on preparing for your exhibition, so please, if you want to make it another time, perhaps? Or when I come back to New York, next time?”
I am lost for words. I don’t know what to say. His laughter disarms me. Then, I remember he is not my boss anymore.
“Gosh. Gianni. That would be great. I, um, I’m free right now, if that suits? I need a break and I was just going out for a walk.”
“Oh, that’s perfect. I can come now. Where do you suggest?” he asks as I leave my building. “I’m on the street where we met for coffee.”
“Okay. That is close by. I guess I’ll see you soon.”
When I turn the corner Gianni is right there. He doesn’t see me straight off which gives me time for sneaky appraisal as I approach. He has his back to me and is looking the other way. His broad shoulders and tall frame are so attractive in the long woolen coat that he casually wears, as only an Italian can. I study the back of his head where the curls of his hair cover the coat collar. I want to run my hands through that hair and smother that neck with kisses. I duck behind a tree to calm myself.
“Hi!” I say finally, after counting to ten. “This is unexpected.” My heart pounds in my chest.
“Is it?” Gianni seems unsure of himself. He searches my face for an answer. We stand on the street facing each other. Traffic screeches and rumbles. Pedestrians pass on all sides.
“Yes. Gianni. It is a total surprise. What’s going on?”
“I’ve been thinking.”
“Oh yeah. What about?”
“About us… I mean, us when we met in Firenze. I just remember it being…” his face lights up. “…magic.”
I gulp and breathe deeply. “It was a long time ago,” I manage to say in an attempt at being sensible.
“Yes. But we… how you say? We clicked, didn’t we? Connected.” Gianni’s eyes search mine. They are soft and warm, and I melt under his gaze. “I have never met anyone like you, Libby. Not before or since. And yes, it was a long time ago.” He steps closer. “But we are the same, aren’t we? Basically, people don’t change.” He looks down at the ground. “That is what I believe.”
Street sounds blur into the background and mingle with my breathing. “I believe that too,” I say quietly, sensing that I am not the only one who is sensitive and vulnerable. “Come on. Let’s go to the park.” We start walking, in step, side by side. After a few paces, I ask the question that has burned in my heart all this time.
“So, I have to ask. What happened? My last night. In Firenze. Gianni, you didn’t show up. So, what happened?”
“I was in hospital.”
“What?” I stop mid-step.
“Yeah. I was unconscious and…” Gianni starts laughing, but it’s manic and sardonic, lacking in mirth. “I busted my knee taking a goal. My team won the game but that was the end of my career.”
“Oh my!” My hands fly up to cover my mouth. “Gianni. That’s terrible. Oh. That’s so terrible.” All this time I have tagged him as a gigolo. It was the only way I could explain why he hadn’t shown up. The truth was, at once, a relief and a massive shock. “Let’s go get a drink.”
We cross the road to a bar close by. The enormous emotional punch to my solar plexus almost floored me. Gianni couldn’t meet me on my last day in Italy because he was in hospital. I’m out of breath, feeling weak. Gianni and I stand side by side at the bar. Negroni? Negroni.
We find a secluded booth seat away from the lunchtime crowd. We don’t speak again until our drinks arrive. There’s so much to take in. There’s so much to say. But neither of us can speak.
“Saluti. Cheers.” I lift my glass and take a sip. A Negroni is a little strong for the time of day, but hey. This is not a normal day. My days weren’t normal anymore.
“Saluti, Libby.” Gianni sips from his glass, then he says, “When I woke up, I knew you had gone. I had no way of finding you.”
“So, I was waiting for you on the damn bridge, and you were in hospital with a busted knee.” Shock, not humor, causes a nervous laugh to explode from my lips. “Gosh! Sorry. I’m…”
“Yes. I was unconscious because of the pain.” Gianni reaches down to rub his knee. “And afterward, I was pretty messed up for a while.”
“And all that time I thought you…” I feel embarrassed to admit my conclusion. “I thought I was just another girl who you had met on the bridge.”
