Page 17 of Three Times You

“I wouldn’t have called her,” I say.

“You never know.”

“‘Temptation is a woman’s weapon and a man’s excuse.’”

“H. L. Mencken. Nice quote. But Oscar Wilde said, ‘I can resist everything except temptation.’ I really like Oscar Wilde and I follow his advice,” Giorgio says.

So I reach into my pocket and pull out the scrap of paper and hand it to him. Giorgio tears it up and tosses it into a trash can nearby. “Trust me, boss. It’s best not to have that number.”

And so we bid each other farewell. Strange that he didn’t ask me where I was going for lunch.

Chapter 15

Papà answers the door with a broad smile on his face. “Stefano! How nice! I was afraid you wouldn’t make it! Come in, come in, Paolo’s already here.”

I walk into the living room and hand him a bottle wrapped in a trademarked wrapping paper that he instantly recognizes.

“Thanks, nothing better than Ferrari Perlé Nero spumante, but really, you shouldn’t have,” he says as he unwraps the bottle purchased from Bernabei, his favorite wine shop. “I’ll open it right away, seeing that it’s already chilled…”

I have to laugh. Oh, really, I shouldn’t have, but he immediately wanted to check and see what kind of bottle I’d brought. “Of course, Papà, that’s why I brought it.”

In the living room, I see my brother, Paolo, and his wife, Fabiola, little Fabio drawing something and the stroller a little farther on with baby Vittoria fast asleep.

“Ciao,” I say softlyas I step closer to the stroller.

“Oh, you can shout at the top of your lungs when she’s asleep. She never hears a thing. The only problem is when is she ever asleep?” And Paolo starts laughing.

Fabiola immediately upbraids him. “How would you even know? He never hears her. Goes on sleeping as if nothing had happened, after all Mamma Dearest can go ahead and get up…But now everything’s going to change, you understand that? This year things are going to go differently. Even if you have opened a brand-new office, I don’t give a damn. I want to be with Fabio and keep an eye on him at swimming lessons, basketball practice, English lessons, and then for his homework. So I’m going to have to start being well rested, which means getting my fair share of sleep.”

Paolo puts on a resigned expression, but he smiles. “I told her we could get a babysitter because I recognize that a mother’s work is overwhelming and exhausting…”

“Go on, make fun of me,” Fabiola scolds him.

“No, not at all, I’m deadly serious. But she wouldn’t do it.”

“Of course not. My children are going to grow up with me, not like some of the kids Fabio plays with who spend the whole blessed day with their nannies.” I look at Paolo. He really did need a woman like her. She’s making him grow up in so many different ways. What she wants is always plain and simple, and she never beats around the bush. You can butt heads with her, but you’ll never misunderstand her.

“Ciao, Uncle. Look what I did.” Fabio shows me a drawing.

“Very nice. But what is it?”

“How can you ask what it is? Are you kidding? It’s the serpent Kaa fromThe Jungle Book!”

“Of course. I was just pretending not to recognize him. You did a great job.”

“Ciao, Stefano. How are you?”

Kyra walks in. She’s Papà’s girlfriend, and it’s been going on for at least a year now. She’s Albanian and, more importantly, much younger than him. She must be about thirty. She’s pretty, tall, and a little chilly. I don’t like her much because she isn’t friendly, but I’ve stopped worrying about that sort of thing.

“Just fine, thanks. How about you?” I ask Kyra.

“I’m doing great. I made a meal on the fly. I hope you all like it.”

I’m tempted to ask her,Wait a second. Why did you do it on the fly? You invited us here a week ago, so what else were you doing all morning?But it doesn’t matter. What’s the difference? And I think about my mother. She’d have laughed at all these thoughts of mine and would have said, very simply,Oh, come on, whatever. It will all be okay.

So I go into the bathroom to wash my hands. There’s a white basket with short, muddy-brown hand towels, and there’s a bar of Ayurvedic soap. There are dried flowers in a smooth crystal vase and a small, framed painting by Paul Klee, or actually a lithograph. Everything seems impeccable. Kyra has completely renovated Papà’s home. Who knows how much she got him to spend, and yet what I see I don’t like. It smacks of the extraneous, fake, and gussied up. It seems like one of those display stores thrown together by some architect doing his first project and eager to prove that the minimalist style is ultrachic, but there’s no heart in this home. But my father is happy, and that’s enough for me, so we can both be happy, and after all, he’s the one who’s going to have to live here with Kyra.

I join them at the table, where Papà is pouring a glass of spumante, and Fabiola puts her hand in front of her glass.

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