Previous Chapters : I | II | III | IV
Hopping on and off a Venice water bus is a bit like navigating the old-style double-decker Routemaster busses circulating London. For a tenuous moment in time, your life is in the hands of a wily old ferryman who looks half drunk from the previous night.
Once he loosely ties up the vessel against rickety planks that pass for a jetty, take his hand, even though his motivation to help is sleazy. At least if you slip into the water, he’s coming with you. Trust me, it’s worth suffering a lewd moment to secure your safe landing.
Oh, and unless you like that sort of thing, when you hop off the boat, lean back and propel your ass forwards to avoid his stray hand helping you ashore.
Once ashore, Luca marched off in what I considered must be the wrong direction. I knew roughly where the city center was, but we seemed to head for a residential quarter on the outskirts.
After a ten-minute forced march, we halted outside a smart three-story boarding house amid other buildings of a similar size and of the sort you’d find using a backpackers app.
“I’m putting you into the guest rooms of my sister overnight. It would be bad to introduce you to Bella and your new accommodations when evening service just started.”
“Okay. That sounds reasonable.”
His sister, Margarita, was a sour-faced horror who practically threw a bedroom key at me while spitting something awful in their shared tongue at her brother. I stood beside the rowing siblings embarrassed for them, soon realizing Italians don’t mind arguing in public.
After a few minutes, I grew tired of their vitriol, leaving them to what seemed an ongoing familial feud. I headed upstairs and found my basic, yet comfortable and spotlessly clean bedroom.
After dropping my gear, and taking a shower, I left the quaint boarding house, checking first to confirm my key fit its front door. I heard feet shuffling behind me, turned around, and saw a slightly less furious-looking Margarita with her arms folded, staring at me like she was a sorority house mom.
“Where are you going?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I’m just curious.”
“Bye. Don’t wait up, honey.”
I can’t be bothered with toxic people, and neither will I play their power and influence games. I left Margarita seething at the front door when I turned away and strolled nonchalantly into a cool Venice evening with a cashmere shawl and a wicked grin.
A nearby taverna served snacks, including panini, so I copped a squat at the bar and ordered a mozzarella, tomato, and prosciutto ham combo with a small glass of Italian pilsner lager.
While I waited patiently, shifting my ass around a hard wooden bar stool that inaccurately mimicked the shape of a pair of buttocks, my phone vibrated, then again when ignored it and a third time.
I checked and noticed I'd received messages from Luca and Liam, deciding to deal with the boss first.
Ciao Carla.
Are you settled in okay? Sorry about my sister, she is a cow sometimes.
I’m fine. What time are we meeting tomorrow?
I’ll collect you at 7.30. Ciao, Carla.
Ciao, Luca.
I switched from work mode to pleasure, adjusting my attitude accordingly, intrigued by Liam.
Ciao Carla. Are you safe?
Ciao Liam, of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?
Just checking, is all. Do you miss me?
It was an odd question given that we’d only just met, but loneliness nagged restlessly at my psyche amid an otherwise happy disposition. I chose to welcome Liam’s cute, but unwarranted concerns.
I smiled at the bartender when he placed a glass of beer on a square cardboard mat emblazoned with the same beverage brand. He paused to admire a half-inch creamy head that sat perfectly atop the golden treasure with a dozen lines of fizz ascending from the bottom.
When he was satisfied his masterpiece was complete, the middle-aged man stared at me sliding my glass across an impeccably polished, ancient, solid wood counter. A place setting, my food, and some cutlery followed, enabling me to do battle with a beautiful crusty panini.
I have new friends, so please don’t worry about me.
Oh, already? I’m redundant now?
I snapped photographs of my food and beer, sending them to Liam with a row of emoji chuckles.
Are you being cute then? It must be from brushing off the salt you rolled around in at the kitchen.
I haven’t started in the kitchen yet. How are you?
Studying paintings with a beautiful Italian art expert.
Is that what you’re calling a hooker, these days?
Carla, you’re so naughty and cheeky.
Yes. It’s been said, but then, that’s why you’re pursuing me, right?
Partly, yes. Does this mean I haven’t been slid into the friend zone without realizing it?
You’re somewhere on the line in between.
I like being in the gray area. It’s where most fear treading.
Do you find the greatest rewards are there, Liam?
Goodnight, Carla.
Goodnight sweet Liam. Thank you for checking in on me.
I left a five euro tip and a mouthful of beer, unable to finish it because I felt bloated from the bread. Outside, the late evening was chillier than I expected, so my body celebrated the choice of a cashmere shawl mom gifted me a few years ago.
Everywhere looked different in the darkness, but I struck off, fairly sure I knew the way. A few hundred meters into my route home and a couple of turns later, I resorted to my phone and a trusted direction app.
The canal along which I strolled smelled. Not chokingly, but a rancid blend of stagnant water, sewage discharge from poorly managed pipes, and diesel spillage wasn’t pleasant.
I froze when sensing a presence nearby. My heart rate elevated, adrenaline flooded my body, and every muscle tensed, ready for a fight or to run. My hands went icy cold as my primal responses pumped more blood into my legs to aid my flight should that become necessary.
Shadows flickered in an alleyway in front, leading into mine, so I focused on that and the low throaty growl coming from a human form hidden.
“Get the fuck out here, whoever you are.”
Please.
A lit cigarette burned brightly. The smoker slunk further backward into the shadows and seemed in no hurry to reveal themselves. They took a long draw, almost blazing the cigarette end as if taunting me.
The shadow of a man moved and he emerged into my path. His butt flared when it tumbled through the air, arcing into the canal, flicked from between thumb and forefinger. He looked very spiteful and dangerous when he stepped forward, advancing on me.
“Don’t come anywhere near me.”
“It’s too late for that.”
As I staggered backward, horrified, the man leaped towards me with both arms outstretched, reaching for my neck. I froze in terror, and screamed loudly, then again when his unconscious body slumped to the floor at my feet.
Someone else strolled casually out of the shadows holding a tire iron as though it were a rolling pin.
“What the fuck, Margarita?”
“This is why I asked you where you were going.”
“Why? Who the hell is he?”
“Just a thief. An opportunist bastard looking to steal a purse and some jewelry.”
She kicked him solidly in the midriff and he groaned, half twisting on the concrete slabs, still only semi-conscious.
“Were you following me?”
“No. Santiago at the bar let me know you were coming back. I called him and two other nearby tavernas after you left to make sure you’d be safe.”
“Oh. I hadn’t, umm, sorry.”
“When he called me just now, I came searching for you and figured you’d use some dumb app that would fetch you by the most dangerous route.”
“I don’t know what to say, Margarita. Thank you.”
“Let’s go before this bastard wakes up.”
Margarita set off at a brisk pace and I jogged to keep alongside her. Knowing your way around a city at night is an indispensable safety factor that I’d ignored. It wouldn’t happen again.
“Do you always walk around at night with a tire iron under your jacket?”
“Only when I have to protect ignorant foreigners.”
I chased her in silence, hating myself for being rude earlier but despising her as much for being so caustic after having saved my life.
I’d mellowed by the time Margarita opened the door to her boarding rooms. I guessed she had relaxed as well, because I was invited into the patron's kitchen out back.
“Sit down and I’ll make us hot chocolate.”
“Yummy.”
She smiled generously and the toxic, argumentative woman I’d met earlier faded into the recesses of a face etched with compassion and kindness. I realized we were about the same age, making Margarita, Luca’s younger sibling.
“Venice is safer than most other European cities, but we’ve had a spate of muggings in the darker corners recently. A shitty economy will do that.”
“Look, Margarita. I’m sorry about earlier and should have realized why you asked me where I was going.”
“I’m sorry too, about how unwelcoming I was, but my brother infuriates me sometimes.”
I cradled a mug in both hands, using its warmth to push away the shock that still wreaked havoc on my nerves. A rich, creamy sweetness surged through my body, releasing dopamine that slowly returned me to my earlier, much calmer disposition.
I waited, knowing Margarita would explain her chagrin with Luca further without my prompting.
“He’s made you complicit in his adultery, Carla.”
“I guessed that. He’s with another woman right now, isn’t he?”
“Yes. Bella was expecting your arrival tonight and had everything ready to greet you. He’ll ask you to lie for him tomorrow, me as well.”
“You don’t approve of his behavior?”
“No, and not only because I love Bella but also, because I hate the way he behaves.”
I noticed tears well up in her eyes and realized Luca’s adultery was a real issue for his sister. I wrapped one arm around the sobbing woman’s shoulder, dragging her forehead onto mine.
“Are you and Bella good friends?”
“Since I was six years old and she was ten. I hate lying to her and now, you must become embroiled in that deceit, too.”
“Don’t worry about me. I know how to sidestep an asshole.”
We chattered for hours about our different childhoods, families, the anguishes of mobile phone ownership, and shared food recipes. I finally copied an authentic minestrone created by Margarita’s mother, and her’s before that.
Shortly after midnight, and having enjoyed a half glass of deep garnet-colored Barolo we parted company as friends. As I lay warm and glowing in bed assessing my first few days away from home, it felt nice to count a few new friendships that seemed to have meaning and a future.
My thoughts turned to my immediate ex-boyfriend who definitively didn’t have my back. Finally, just before I slipped into a dream, smiling, gorgeous Liam arrived to take me on a bike ride picnic in fields of golden corn.
I woke in the morning surprised by the moistness between my legs and a fluttering sensation in both swollen pussy lips. I reached down, pressed my clitoris, and realized I’d gone too far with Liam in the cornfield.
A downstairs door opened and a voice shouted upstairs.
“Carla, my brother is on his way over here. I must go to the market. I’ll see you soon. Ciao!”
“Ciao, Margarita. Thank you.”
When the front door slammed, my fingers pressed hard on the slick pearl at the top of my soaking-wet slit. My ass bucked like a bronco with a mere flick on my clitoris, but I stopped. I wanted to be fucked so badly, but I’m a stickler for being on time, so I removed the offending two fingers and snapped my head sideways in frustration to see the clock.
It was 7:02 am, and with less than half an hour, I had no time to pleasure myself, so I showered, turning the water temperature to freezing cold, hoping the aching need inside my pussy would dissipate quickly.
Fuck you and the picnic, Liam.
Outside the boarding rooms with my luggage stacked as a seat, my heady horny state nagged, consuming all cognitive function until I saw Luca stroll towards me.
Playing his infidelity over in my mind dissolved the hedonistic cloud preoccupying me.
“Ciao, Luca.”
“Ciao, Carla. Did you sleep well?”
“Like a baby.”
“I’ll take you to Trattoria Bella then.”
“I can’t wait.”
He stepped off sharply, halted abruptly, and spun around with a naughty boy expression.
Here it comes.
“If Bella asks, we stayed together with my sister last night.”
“Right, okay.”
I followed Luca through the early morning tourist traffic amid a roar of roller suitcase wheels coming from every direction. The city had an unofficial pedestrian protocol and I quickly became wary of moving out of the established lines of human beings that snaked into the distance.
I’d observed a few, less cautious travelers cause a pile-up between incoming and outgoing holidaymakers with their luggage when attempting an overtake.
Venice Hotel checking in and out is a type of organized chaos that you survive by staying in lane and keeping the guide leading you clearly in your sights. Do this, and you’ll eventually arrive at your chosen destination.
I didn’t arrive at all, because Luca must have forgotten me in between boisterous phone calls and precipitous arm waving. He slipped into a long line of Chinese tourists, accelerating hard to move past each one, dicing with established protocol.
Once he lost me, I slowed down, pulled out of my lane into a building alcove, and rested. When Luca didn’t return to collect me, I decided to take my time and find the way myself.
Despite Margarita’s advice, I used Google Maps and easily found Trattoria Bella. I entered my lane with a quick spurt, then slowed my pace to match others in front.
Following the map displayed on my phone after a twist, some turn, and a few dead ends, I found my way into a small quiet, mostly residential piazza, that backed onto one of the myriad canals crisscrossing Venice.
Trattoria Bella was nestled mid-terrace on the piazza side that caught the direct sun in the afternoon. The restaurant was freshly painted with bright red letters pronouncing the owner's name on an azure blue background. Its traditional, shaky wooden slatted tables and chairs were bundled into a neatly organized stack, weighed down by enough chains and padlocks to anchor a container ship.
Bella’s was closed, so I looked around the piazza and noticed a coffee shop opposite. The small cafe was empty but definitely open, so I stowed my luggage against the proprietor's wall and sat down in one of their wrought iron seats, shifting around until the chill of metal on my ass cheeks dispersed.
A woman emerged from inside, delivering the menu and a comfortable seat cushion for me. She was very attractive, framing a symmetrical face with long brunette curly locks halfway down her back and a winning smile.
“Ciao my dear.”
“Ciao.”
“People steal them if you leave cushions outside when it’s quiet. I find mine littered around the city, abandoned, usually scattered beside steps where tourists have used them for comfort.”
“Awful people.”
“Who, the tourists?”
“No, people who steal cushions… or anything else, really.”
“That’s why I open this cafe myself in the mornings. Even the staff pilfer far too much when they are left alone, but I can’t blame them because local price wars mean shit wages and a bad economy offers them few tips. What can I get you?”
“Cappuccino, please. Any idea what time the Trattoria opens?”
“It’s too early for Bella’s. They do lunchtime onwards, no breakfasts. We have some food here if you’d like.”
“Poached eggs on toast seem like a good idea.”
“Two poached eggs on their way.”
When she left me, the piazza was silenced and possessed of a local feel that hadn’t been trampled by the craven masses exploring Venice. There was a small bar in one corner, a cigarette kiosk next to it, Bella’s, and a coffee shop. The whole piazza was probably thirty meters across in either direction making an almost perfect square.
Three old trees were entwined in the center providing midday shade for a surrounding low wall that seemed handy to sit on. There were ornate steel benches arranged haphazardly through the square, each with a small brass plaque denoting to whom it was dedicated.
The sun danced and splashed its bright rays that extinguished cold shadows cast by the buildings surrounding Trattoria Bella’s little slice of paradise. I got the sun perfectly at my table, warming my heart and the bottle-white skin that could use a tan.
My eggs arrived with salt and pepper grinders for me to scatter seasoning across two plump white pillows set gently on golden, lightly buttered toast. The cappuccino smelled divine and I couldn’t wait to tuck in.
“Do you mind if I join you? I usually have a smoke and coffee around now before customers arrive.”
“Not at all. These eggs are perfect, by the way.”
“How would you know?”
She wasn’t rude, but her question was more pointed than the simple thank you I’d expected. My host lit a cigarette and whilst attempting to blow its smoke well away from me, I caught a minty whiff.
I eyed her while breaking open both eggs, making a tiny slit in each with a sharp steak knife, allowing their yolks to descend onto my toast like lava pouring from a volcano.
I sipped my cappuccino, recognizing immediately that it must be a bespoke roasted blend. She was toying with me, probably because the woman hadn’t had sex last night or was having her period, figuring a few games with a tourist might dull an otherwise irritable blade.
“You were away for eleven and a half minutes. It took one of those to boil the kettle, the eggs cooked in a pan for two more, and then, when the heat was turned off they bathed for eight minutes giving you time to knock up a delicious cappuccino and toast this delightful homemade, wholemeal bread.”
She looked surprised and I guessed from the wry smile, pleasantly so. She had no immediate retort, so I cut into my breakfast enjoying its sumptuous aroma, textures, and flavor.
When I looked up, she seemed to want an explanation.
“I timed you. The walk inside and back was around thirty seconds, give or take, which accounts for the missing time I never mentioned in my last assessment. As I said, these eggs are perfect. If they weren’t, I’d know.”
“Thank you.”
“What for?”
“Appreciating my effort.”
She was silent while I ate, averting her gaze to allow my privacy. I enjoy being in the company of others who don’t feel they need to flap their lips in constant conversation. We sat together, yet separated by our thoughts, as the early morning rising of a globally treasured city continued unabated.
When I placed the knife and fork together across an empty plate, I smiled expansively at her because the eggs really were great and that’s not terribly easy.
“That was excellent.”
“You’re a chef, then?”
“Yes, and I’m guessing you are, too.”
“I believe so, but sometimes my customers disagree.”
“They clearly don’t know good bread or eggs.”
“You don’t seem to be in much of a hurry and Bella was expecting a new Sous Chef last night. Would that be you?”
“Yes. I’m Carla.”
I reached out my hand and we shook. Her palm was warm and smooth and her grip conveyed confidence, as did the piercing blue eyes that locked mine in a laser beam stare.
Shit. His lie is already becoming a problem for me.
“I’m Maria. You can go around the back of the Trattoria any time. I’m sure they will welcome you there.”
“I’m waiting for Luca. I lost him somewhere in the crowd on the way here.”
“Ahh, Luca.”
A look of irritation flickered on her face. She dragged deeply on her third cigarette, and tilted her head and magnificent hair backward, before blowing perfect minted smoke rings skywards.
“You know Luca?”
“Of course, he works right across from me.”
She leaned forward, studying my face like a jealous mistress would. My heart rate lifted a few notches because I abhor keeping secrets and the one Margarita had bound me to was already burning inside.
Why the fuck should I lie for someone else?
As she stared into my soul, I waited for the interrogation of an incensed mistress and cursed the man who was practically shitting where he ate.
“Luca and I sleep together sometimes.”
“Oh.”
“Bella knows about us. Luca sleeps with others as well, too many I believe. Did you have him yet?”
I spat my coffee into the mug because I was unprepared for such directness.
“Fuck, no. What do you take me for?”
“Mostly they cannot resist him. The Sous Chef always falls in love with Luca. Some resist for a while, but if his beauty fails, his cooking opens their legs wide, eventually.”
“His cooking is that good?”
“Probably the best in Venice except for Bella’s.”
“I’ve come to the right place to learn, then.”
“If you can avoid fucking the boss's husband, yes.”
“I can do that for sure.”
“I look forward to seeing you around for a while longer then, Carla.”
“What’s the record for a sous chef leaving?”
“A few minutes after Bella first met one girl a year ago, she was heading back to the airport. She always knows if someone has fucked her husband.”
“Well, I didn’t touch him.”
She left and brought a fresh cappuccino about five minutes later, refusing to take payment for anything I’d had. I watched Maria set out the front cafe seating area with absolute precision, serving its first few customers comprised of local people rushing to work wanting a double shot espresso, to a few tourists who were exploring off the beaten track.
“Hey! Ciao, Carla!”
Luca was exasperated when he shouted and waved at me from the other end of the piazza. He was still yelling into his phone while pointing for me to meet him at the Trattoria.
“You got lost, Carla!”
“Yes, I’m sorry about that.”
There was little value in pointing out his fault for my geographical embarrassment because I figured Luca wasn’t the sort of man who could own his shit.
When he opened the door to Bella’s, I fell in love immediately. An antique, highly polished light oak parquet floor seemed too expensive for shoes, so I slipped mine off, sliding in sock soles. Luca stared at me as though I were mad but walked back outside to continue arguing with someone, leaving me in the most beautiful restaurant I’d ever seen.
Three wooden beamed archways, five meters apart separated me from the end of the dining room.
Deep mahogany paneled walls rose to a brilliantly white painted ceiling. I touched the wood, feeling, then seeing the history of a fabulous city ingrained within.
Wooden bench seats with deep cushions formed six booths on either side of a central wall that reached shoulder height, ensuring privacy for all diners, right, or left of it.
At the far end of the dining room was a massive wall of wine bottles with their corks aimed at me like artillery. The collection was encased in glass with doors at both ends for servers to walk inside and make selections.
The aisles that ran either side of the wide central booth lane, separated them from larger rectangular tables nestled in alcoves between the arches. Each single table could be configured for groups, seating up to eight diners.
Luca had strolled back inside the restaurant and, from his expression, I could tell he was equally enamored by his workplace. He shrugged, smiled, and stroked a wooden chair lovingly.
“Wow, Luca. Ninety-six covers.”
“Yes. That’s impressive. We can do another twenty outside, too.”
“That’s a lot of prep, cooking, and service.”
“I have a twelve-person kitchen brigade.”
“And I’m the Sous Chef here?”
“Yes, you are. Do you like Trattoria Bella, my dear?”
I twirled around in socks on a floor that made me a ballerina and saw Maria standing at the door, smiling and spectating my good fortune.
“I love it. I’m in love with this place, Luca.”
Maria stepped inside, picking up my shoes on the way. She strolled across to me and handed them over. When she turned to Luca, he moved a few strands of hair off her face before kissing his lover on the lips.
I felt awkward, even more so when Lothario head chef of Trattoria Bella held Maria close. I grimaced and felt angered by the brazen nature of their tryst in Bella’s home and passion.
“Good morning Luca.”
“Hello, Bella Maria, my sweetheart.”
Next Chapter:
There’s the Kate we know and love. The one with her characteristic quality descriptive talent, the one with sparkling dialogue and the one who puts a twist in the tail of the tale. Bravo yet again Kate.