Page 23 of Three Times You

She smiles at me. “These days, stuff is really piling up. I get it and I’m sorry.”

I try to reassure her. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it later, or at the very worst, tomorrow.”

She gives me her hand. She squeezes mine tight and then she leans back against her seat and looks out the car window. Her father turns on the radio, and a song starts up, at random. It’s “The Blower’s Daughter,” by Damien Rice. Gin recognizes it, and now I’m the one who takes her hand. It’s the soundtrack to a film we’ve talked about a lot,Closer, about relationships, love, and betrayal.

After that film, I remember that she went into the bedroom and shut the door. I’d understood that she didn’t want to be disturbed for a while. There are movies that inevitably open old wounds, scars that hurt exactly like physical ones do when the weather changes.

That evening, her mood had changed. So I’d gone into the kitchen to make dinner, set the table with the glasses and silverware, and all the rest. I’d made noise to ensure she’d hear me. I’d rinsed the lettuce, chopped the tomatoes, and opened a can of tuna. I managed not to cut myself. I’d put on a pot of water to boil and tossed in two handfuls of coarse salt. I’d picked up the wooden spoon and given it a stir. I managed not to burn myself. I’d pulled out a small, shallow pan to sautéthe chopped onions and other fixings I might add. I’d turned over the Tetra Pak of diced tomatoes and patted it several times on the bottom. Then I’d opened it.

I’d opened a bottle of beer, and just as I was about to drink it, she came out of the bedroom. She was wearing nothing but one of my shirts. She was barefoot and had removed her makeup. Or perhaps tears had done the job for her. She definitely didn’t want me to know that, if it was indeed the case. Or maybe it was just easier for me to make that assumption.

“Do you want some?”

She’d grabbed the beer without even saying thanks, and she’d taken a long swig before speaking. “Swear to me right here and now that you’ll never see her again.”

“She’s married.”

“That’s not the right answer.”

“I swear to you.”

Then she took another swig of beer and hugged me tight. She just leaned on me, like that, in silence, with her face resting on my chest and her eyes wide open. I know that because I could see her reflection in the glass of the windowpane as darkness was falling.

“Take me out for a spin. Come on…”she’d suddenly said to me. “I’m drunk.”

So I took her in my arms. “Here, I’ll dress you.” And I enjoyed myself picking something out for her, rummaging through her armoire. I’d taken off her blouse, and she was just wearingpanties and a bra. And even though I felt a surge of desire, I knew that would be a mistake. So I’d slipped a T-shirt over her head, then a pair of short socks, and finally a pair of jeans. I’d put on a pair of running shoes, tying the laces carefully and lovingly, and then when she was about to go into the bathroom to put on her makeup, I’d stopped her, taking her by the hand.

“Just stay the way you are. You’re beautiful.”

“All you do is lie, Step. You’re a disaster. You’re no longer able to distinguish reality from make-believe.”

“I really like you like this. I’m no liar. I’ve always told you the truth about everything, for better or worse.”

“That’s true.”

We’d climbed onto the motorcycle and fled from the city, avoiding traffic and racing quickly out to the seashore. We’d stopped at Maccarese, at the first restaurant we found that was open, which turned out to belong to a chef who had a TV show. Strangely, the place was empty, and the proprietor had recognized me. We’d met and talked about the idea of doing a pilot, but nothing had come of it after all. I’d been smart enough to call him, explain what had happened, and tell him how sorry I was, and that I hoped there’d be some future opportunity to work together. He’d been happy to get the call, even if the news wasn’t the best.

“I’ve been to lots of meetings. And more than once, it hasn’t turned out well, like this one. But no one ever called me to tell me so, the way you’ve just done. Thanks.”

“Well, it seemed like the very least I could do.”

“No, you’ve got true grit, kid. You’ve got what it takes. Come see me any time you want, Filippone in Maccarese. Everyone knows me here.”

“Certainly, gladly.”

But I never thought about him again. Instead, that evening, we just happened upon him. He remembered me right away, and he greeted me with genuine warmth.

“Sorry, folks…I just opened the restaurant but there’s no one here this evening because I’d told everyone I wasn’t opening until next week…”Then he stepped closer to me and whispered, “I really wanted to come work. I was sick and tired of being at home. You understand what I’m saying, right?”

I’d nodded, and so he’d given us the table closest to the water and left us alone. That time it was all my doing, I thought to myself when Filippone came over to tell me that dinner was on the house.

The sound of the waves, the starry evening sky, the wine and the grilled fish had all calmed Gin down. She looked at me with that sweetness in her eyes that didn’t take long to look back over everything that had happened, to turn it into sadness, so I’d laughed and joked and distracted her, talking to her about this and that and more or less everything, and, in the end, I’d kissed her. Once we were back home, we made love, remaining wrapped in each other’s arms in that bed all night.

I pick up my phone, and I delete the text message. I don’t ever want to see Babi again. But as the last notes of Damien Rice vanish, I’m no longer all that certain.

Chapter 19

It isn’t long until we arrive at San Liberato. We drive up the steep road, and then we’re looking out at all of Lake Bracciano. The reflections of the sunset make the atmosphere warm and inviting. It’s as if everything all around, the vineyards, the trees, even the church, had been dipped in orange dye. The atmosphere is calm and untroubled, a place of great and idyllic tranquility.

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