Page 81 of Two Chances With You

Chapter 28

Icatch up to Gin and take her by the hand. There is a night wind, a soft wind, an October wind. A few leaves on the ground, not much more.

“Where are you taking me now?” Gin asks.

“There’s still a dessert that we haven’t had yet.”

“Which means what?”

“Which means you.”

I turn up the volume on the car radio so that Gin can’t answer me, and I’m in luck. It’s Eros Ramazzotti. “Another girl like you, even if I invented her, she wouldn’t exist…it seems clear to me that…”

Gin smiles and shakes her head. I manage to take her hand and raise it to my mouth. I kiss it gently. It’s soft, it’s cool, it’s sweet smelling. And I kiss it again. Just lips. Amid her fingers. Rubbing, feeling, sliding, without braking, letting myself go, falling. I see her shut her eyes, let her head fall back on the headrest. Now, even her hair seems to have relaxed.

I turn her hand over, and I kiss her palm. It presses my face, gently, as I breathe into the lines on her palm. Lines of life, fortune, love. I breathe softly, ever so softly. She suddenly opens her eyes and looks at me. Her eyes seem different, as if crystalline, faintly fogged by a slight veil. Of happiness? I couldn’t say. They peer at me in the dim light. They seem to smile all on their own.

“Keep your eyes on the road,” she scolds me.

I obey, and a short while later, I turn right, down along the river, the waterfront boulevard, the Lungotevere, between the cars, passing everyone else, fast, with the music going and her hand in mine, moving every so often, invited to who knows what dance.

What could she be thinking? And what will be her answer? Yes, or no. It’s like a poker game. And she’s right there, across the table from me.

I look at her for a moment. Her eyes, faintly downcast, smile at me, sweet and amused. There’s nothing left to do but see her cards, ante up and show. It might be a yes. It might be a no. Is it too soon? There’s no time for these things, and after all, this isn’t a game of poker, thereisno ante.

“My head is starting to spin,” Gin says.

She smiles at me as she says it. Is it a minor justification, just in case anything happens? Or perhaps it’s a major justification if she already knows that somethingisn’tgoing to happen. I’m getting tied up in knots with these complex and complicated meanderings.

“My head’s spinning too.” That’s my simple answer. Very simply.

Gin squeezes my hand rather tightly and I, stupidly, take it as a sign. Or not. What the hell. I’ve had too much to drink.

A curve and then up the Aventine Hill. This car really runs beautifully. My brother is going to be so happy that I’ve recovered it for him. I can’t help but laugh.

She looks at me, I turn around, and I notice. “What’s wrong? What are you thinking about?”

Gin, her brow furrowed, Gin with her somewhat grim gaze, Gin worried. “Oh, nothing, just family matters.”

The Janiculum Hill. Botanical Garden. I screech to a halt, pull the handbrake, and get out.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“Nowhere special. Don’t worry, I’ll be right back.”

She locks the door, stretching out over the driver’s seat, safely closing herself in.

I look around. Nothing. Perfect, no one in sight. One, two, and…three. I climb over the gate, and I’m inside. I walk in silence. Faint perfumes, stronger perfumes, scents that verge on the pungent. Future colognes not yet extant. Distilled in small bottles, costly essences.

Here we are. Behold my prey. I choose it instinctively; I pluck it with care. I uproot it forcefully but without mistreating it.

Now you’re mine. Uno, due, tre steps and now I’m outside again. I look around. Nothing. Perfect, no one in sight.

I go back to the car. Gin sees me appear suddenly. She takes fright. Then she opens the door to let me in. “Where did you go? I was starting to get scared.”

So now I open my jacket, revealing my gift. Like a spinnaker catching a sudden gust of wind in open waters. And in an instant, its perfume floods the car. An exotic orchid. It appears as if by magic in my hands with a simple gesture, more the presentation of a prestidigitator than that of a clumsy flower thief.

“For you. From one flower to another, straight out of the Rome Botanical Garden.”

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