Page 3 of Three Times You

“Me? No one, just a boy in love. I entered this house, more than nine years ago, I drank some of my own champagne, and I made love with my girlfriend. But I’m no thief, and I stole nothing from you. Oh, well, I did borrow two bathrobes…”

I remember how Babi and I played at dreaming up names to match the initials embroidered on those bathrobes, anAand anS. After running through a list of weird names, we opted for Amaryllis and Siegfried and left them lying on the rocks.

“Ah…so you know the truth, do you?”

“Yes, but you and I are the only ones who know it. And you’ve already sold me the house.”

Chapter 2

An anything but ordinary day, not long ago.

My secretary Giuliana follows me, as always, with the desk diary she uses to make notes of all our important appointments and deadlines.

“Let me remind you that you have an appointment in Prati, at the Network, to close the deal on your program, and then lunch with De Girolami.”

Seeing my puzzled expression, she helpfully adds, “The writer who works for Greek television.”

“Oh, right. Cancel it, please. We’ve got a better offer from a Polish network.”

“What should I say? He’s sure to ask.”

“Don’t say anything.” I wait for her to move to the next item.

“So, we’re done with lunch. What else for today?”

“Well, an appointment at Dear studios. Then at six p.m., you’re supposed to go to this art opening. It must be important because you told me to make sure you didn’t miss it.” Giuliana hands me the invitation, and I turn it over in my hands.Balthus at Villa Medici.

“Who sent this invitation?”

“It was delivered by hand, addressed to you.”

Typical art event meant for business networking. I draw a blank.

“I told you it was important? You’re certain?”

“Absolutely. I asked if I should make a note, and you said, ‘Yes, I can’t miss it.’”

I slip the invitation into my pocket and grab the black briefcase with my various format presentations for the Network meeting. “If you need anything, call my cell phone.”

Chapter 3

Villa Medici is imposing, elegantly and geometrically spare and beautiful, with its lovely Room of Birds and its enchanting, diamond-shaped gardens. Well-tended hedges guide my footsteps until I reach the front gate, where a hostess smiles and takes my ticket. I follow the line of well-dressed people down the red carpet, the soft music coming from first-rate speakers hidden in the greenery. Soon we’re inside, admiring the paintings. The first one is dated 1955:Nude Before a Mirror. Below that, the lender:Pierre Matisse Gallery. Then the artist’s name:Balthasar Klossowski de Rola, French painter, Polish born. Working as Balthus.I wander over to the window and gaze out at the dome of St. Peter’s Basilica. From behind, I hear someone say my name.

“Step…?”

That voice suddenly transforms everything that surrounds me, pulverizes my every iota of certainty, erases any and all thoughts. My mind is empty.

“Step?”

I must be dreaming.

“Step? Isn’t that you?”

So I wasn’t dreaming after all.

Chapter 4

Babi is behind me, waiting patiently, fingers knit around the handle of her Michael Kors purse, resting gently against her stomach. Her hair is shorter than in my faded memories, although her blue eyes are as intense as ever, her smile as lovely as it had always been. There we stand, in silence, staring at each other in this Medici villa. Behind me stretches out the immense panorama of all the roofs of Rome, and in front of me, Babi, bathed in the red sunlight I see reflected in her eyes and splashed across the vintage sideboard behind her. We’re alone in this room, with no one to interrupt this magical, special, unique moment.

---