Previous Chapters : I | II | III | IV | V | VI
“Hug me please, Carla.”
I held Sam tightly while she sobbed into my sweatshirt. I could only imagine what her flight must have been like as a woman agonizing over her husband’s devastating departure.
The water taxi driver and my kitchen colleague carried Sam’s luggage from the small, light-colored wooden boat. I noticed its brilliant white trim, spotlessly clean windshield, and shiny steel deck fittings on a vessel that was impeccably polished and possessed a vibe, exposing the exceptional pride of its owner.
I took my friend’s hand and walked her to the side entrance of Bella’s Trattoria and upstairs into my apartment.
“I have wine.”
“Good, but I need hugs first, please.”
“How was the boat taxi?”
“Beautiful, but it was dark and I couldn’t see much.”
Sam didn’t want to let go of me. Perhaps this was the first time she’d properly expressed her grief. My best friend and former lover was in a sorry state, and it was up to me to help rebuild and repair what a departed husband had undone.
“We’re going for a run in the morning, babe. You can only have one glass and then we’re off to bed.”
“Okay. I didn’t bring running gear, though.”
“I have spares of everything.”
“Do I have to go? I’m jet-lagged.”
“If you want to get your husband out of your system, yes. If you’d rather mope around, feeling sorry for yourself, take the bottle to bed and sleep till the afternoon.”
“That’s a bit harsh, Carla.”
“But necessary, Sam.”
We stared each other down as though we were back in our shared room in college having a lovers' tiff. I smiled, then she did too, lightening the mood and realizing the irony of how quickly we’d slipped back to better days.
“Yes, okay. That’s true, but fuck, you’re so cruel sometimes.”
“Sorry.”
She disentangled herself from my arms looking much worse than when I’d left her in New York. Sam’s mascara hadn’t helped matters, dressing a face with a death mask that was already swollen by floods of tears, and a few sleepless nights.
I ushered her towards the bathroom, pointing at a pile of fluffy towels, and a basket filled with toiletries, issuing an instruction for her not to appear until she stopped looking like death warmed up.
It took Sam half an hour and a full tank of heated water. I hoped Bella and Luca didn’t want a late-night shower because they would have to wait.
It was worth the risk of incurring the ire of my boss because Sam looked much better when she emerged, wrapped in my bathrobe with a pair of slippers I hadn’t known were there.
“Whose are these?”
“I have no idea. Probably Bella’s mother. Wine?”
“Yes, please.”
“It’s a Pinot Grigio.”
“I don’t care, babe as long as it's more than 11%.”
“Do you want to talk about Paul?”
“There’s not much to say, really. I had time on the plane to decompress. I got a little drunk, then slept it off.”
“Is there no hope for reconciliation?”
“Not unless you’ve discovered a way to make men who want to suck cock, prefer a pussy.”
“Paul’s gay?”
“Yes, and I had no fucking idea.”
“Fuck. I did not see that coming.”
“The heart wants what the heart wants, Carla, but I still love him so much.”
“Are you angry?”
“Not as much as when I spoke to you on the phone. I’m devastated, though. I don’t want Paul to be unhappy, but I can’t see why my heart should get trampled because of his life’s journey.”
I saw tears welling inside her raw red-rimmed eyes and shifted myself closer along the couch so Sam could lean her head into my lap. As I played with her hair, twirling it around my finger to make a long curl, I saw my old college girlfriend appear in a face I’d once loved deeply.
“It’s not his fault then, really?”
“I don’t know. If it was another woman that he left me for I could be more angry. But this? He said we weren’t sexually compatible and I guess he’s right.”
“Sleep with me tonight, Sam.”
“Just as friends?”
“Friends forever babe.”
She woke at least twice, as I recalled the following morning. Each time she rose from a deep, troubled slumber, Sam sought the comfort of spooning into me, sobbing gently. By the morning she looked haggard, but I hauled my friend from our bed and forced her outside to follow me for a jog.
I wanted to cross Rialto Bridge and run through the old Venetian fish market that would close and be sluiced down before 9 a.m. She struggled but kept pace with my slower-than-usual jog and I was pleased to see her smile when taking in the inspirational sights.
Venice, early in the morning, is a very different scene from the one that captivates tourists later in the day. Local people dash, dodge, and weave, on business or personal errands, before the city network of pedestrian ways becomes choked. The city always has a presence that lifts the soul, sucking you in, and its authenticity is never more present than during the early period of every day.
The sun warmed my face and I felt positive pounding the pathways that ran alongside canals, into narrow shadowed lanes between buildings, over short bridges, and through the Piazza.
I smelled the fish market almost as I was upon it knowing the catch was fresh and would disappear in a fraction of the time it took to catch and land it. I led Sam through an archway, slowing to a walk between the seafood traders set up on either side of a line of pillars that ran down the center to the far end.
The ground was wet from its constant cleaning by laborers who sluiced the market paving slabs, sweeping any fish blood or guts into steel grating covering channels designed for their removal.
“Ciao Carla!”
I turned on my heels, almost falling backward against a pillar when I heard Luca. He smiled while struggling with a large wooden crate filled with ice and I guessed, some treats for our diners later.
We jogged over to greet him and he rested the load on a nearby trader's table. Luca offered his hand and winning smile to Sam. His respiration was labored and I figured he couldn’t be as fit as I thought him to be. His face seemed strained and both hands trembled from the load he’d carried a few yards.
“Ciao, Sam. Welcome to Italy and Bella’s Trattoria.”
“Thank you.”
She wasn’t sullen, but the level of disinterest Sam had in being engaged by Luca’s conversation was less than zero. I pointed to the fish as a distraction from her dismissive disposition.
“I don’t see any brisket.”
“Haha. You will select the best beef for us, Carla. I have great faith in my Sous Chef.”
We jogged away and returned to the Trattoria where Sam and I helped each other stretch off tired muscles, acting as each other’s leaning post.
The side entrance I used to reach my apartment when the Trattoria was shut slammed open and Bella, with menthol cigarettes in hand, marched out, ready to light up. She almost sprinted past me and Sam, barely shaking hands on the way through.
“You’re a nervous wreck. Is everything okay, Bella?”
“Ciao, ciao, I need a cigarette, sorry girls.”
“It’s okay. We saw Luca at the fish market just now.”
“He didn’t sleep here last night.”
“Oh.”
I saw a few dark, heavy sacks underneath Bella’s eyes and quickly realized she was of a similar demeanor to Sam. She relaxed only once the cigarette was sparked, and she’d dissipated clouds of smoke from three heavy draws by waving her hands before it wafted towards us.
“Can I have one, please?”
My eyes popped out on stalks, glaring at my friend. Sam gave up smoking years ago and had been very proud of that. She glanced at me with guilt writ large on her face while Bella, a cigarette half discharged from the packet ready to donate, eyeballed me, seeking permission.
“I am not my friend’s keeper.”
I held both hands up so Bella handed Sam a cigarette offering to light it from her own. They looked like a couple of conspiratorial kids who stole Mom's stash and wanted to puff the lot before getting caught.
Sam took a couple of drags, tipped the ash, and laughed. She stared at Bella with a growing, knowing smile.
“Does Carla know this is weed?”
“Nope, she just thinks I like menthol. The mint disguises my guilty pleasure.”
I planted both hands on my hips looking like an indignant bride whose groom’s father was drunk at the reception.
“What the fuck you guys.”
“Chill out, Carla. I have a good supply that cannot get me in any trouble. It takes the edge off… well, anything really. You should try it sometime. You’ll need it if you take another boyfriend.”
Sam nodded vigorously in agreement while inspecting the convincingly well-rolled cigarette with the reverence of a cannabis aficionado enjoying a joint. Bella removed a couple more from her packet, wrapped them in a handkerchief she rummaged out from a jeans pocket, and handed the treasure to my friend.
“It’s clean. Not a single tear on that one.”
“I can’t say the same for mine.”
“You have to move on. We can’t suffer in bad relationships. That’s not good for anyone.”
“Do you have the same problem, Bella?”
“Not anymore. My husband and I are moving on. He announced it yesterday before disappearing someplace.”
I stared towards the canal, praying that somewhere in the murky water was a genie that could transport me anywhere but here. Bella broke our awkward silence with a chuckle and a slight wave of her cigarette hand, as though she was dismissing her marriage as a bad joke.
“Bring Sam to the cafe. She can be useful instead of crying about a lost man. There are plenty more here. She can have anyone she likes including mine as long as she doesn’t mind sharing him with every slut in Venice.”
“Ciao Bella.”
Fuck, what a time to make your entry.
Luca sauntered around the corner and must have heard the trailing words of his wife’s comment. He bowed politely to her and then to us.
“What my wife means, is that we have mutually agreed to part ways. I will remain at Bella’s Trattoria as its head chef, but we will separate in love.”
“We did separate already, bastard.”
“Well, yes. I guess yesterday was the final straw, right?”
“Yes.”
If Bella had a knife I felt sure the Trattoria would be minus a head chef in a few short minutes.
I refrained from any comment, determined to stay on the periphery of the chasm into which both women and Luca had descended. Their chagrin made me even more determined to square my situation with Dave and make up for having thrown him out of my apartment. He and I would not reconcile but at least I could apologize for my poor behavior and move on.
Sam was delighted over the cafe when we strolled across the piazza. She rearranged the serving counter to match her Coffee Bean style back home while I hauled around tables and chairs outside. Bella didn’t seem to mind ceding control and sat on a barstool puffing more of her special blend mind relaxing weed looking like a Union Pacific steam locomotive circa the 1800s.
Once the cafe was set up for the day and while still vacant of customers, I poached eggs for everyone while Bella toasted her grandmother’s recipe wholemeal bread. Sam brewed our coffee topping off each brilliant porcelain white bowl with cream and a chocolate-sprinkled pattern, more expertly than Bella or I could.
“Love hearts for everyone here.”
“You are an expert, Sam.”
“I need this blend, Bella.”
“We have a fabulous coffee roaster. I’ll introduce you.”
When I sat down, fork raised and ready to invade my perfect poached pillows, footsteps approached from behind me preceding another welcome visitor. A loud voice shouted the hearty greeting and farewell common to all of Italy.
“Ciao ladies.”
“Ciao, Margarita.”
We all shuffled around, making room for Luca’s sister who beamed at her best friend, me, and then Sam, shaking everyone’s hand. An extra fork slid out from Sam’s apron pocket, surprising Bella.
“Always be ready. More so in New York. It’s a very exacting place where service is concerned.”
I had to admire Luca because he saw us all together from outside the Trattoria and strolled over completely relaxed. I guess he didn’t see himself as a wounded gazelle staggering across four starving lionesses but that bravado was doubtless the reason so many women swooned over him.
“Ciao beautiful ladies.”
He leaned off the back of his estranged wife’s chair looking for all the world like a man with no troubles while Bella scowled. When everyone ignored him awkwardly, he tapped me on the shoulder, whispering while the others continued talking.
“Can you come with me please, Carla? I’d like a word.”
Bella raised an eyebrow when we strolled off towards the Trattoria. Our early shift was still an hour away, I needed a shower and didn’t appreciate the suspicious optics Luca had created.
In the kitchen, I unrolled my knife bundle and began sharpening, while he checked the restaurant to make sure we were alone. By the time I realized it was a bad idea to play with knives given my mood, I’d already committed and couldn’t stop.
Luca leaped onto the butcher's block nearby, groaning in pain when he almost fell sideways.
“Is Sam okay?”
“She’ll be fine and really nothing for you to be concerned about.”
“I heard what my wife said about me. Sam is very beautiful bu-.”
He didn’t get to finish the sentence and it was unfortunate that I was working on my eight-inch chef's knife when Luca opened his mouth. I screamed with absolute fury and stabbed the butcher's block, right between my head chef’s legs.
My dad’s knife stood upright with its tip buried in the well-worn, hardwood, inches from my boss’s balls.
“Don’t finish that fucking sentence Luca or god forgive me, I’ll castrate you.”
Luca didn’t flinch. His smile remained as carefree as everything else about him. He stared down at my knife, then at me, and began laughing.
“Your father would definitely not approve of you using those beautiful knives in such a barbaric way. I’m proud you have the spirit of an Italian, less so when you wield your knife so poorly, Carla.”
“What? What the fuck do you want, Luca. Tell me, please?”
He plucked my knife from the wood, and inspected its blade and tip, seemingly pleased it had sustained no damage. When he passed it back to me handle first, tutting and sighing, I knew Dad would side with him.
“Next time I recommend that you use a cleaver. Less chance of damage to the wood and more likelihood of achieving your desired outcome. Eight-inch knife, Carla, really? It’s the most important blade you own.”
He wagged a finger at me as though the important factor was my choice of knife with which to attack him. Had I aimed poorly, Luca may not have been able to reproduce, or worse, I could have ended him by severing a femoral artery.
Nerves overtook me, and my hands shook with fear and rage. My lips trembled and I felt adrenaline course through my veins as my soul begged my body to take flight.
“You’ll destroy everything here. A perfect Trattoria laid waste by a man whore. What do you want from me?”
I felt a fabulous job and a new life with such great potential slipping through my fingers like sand in a desert. I bowed my head and felt a dull ache attack behind my eyes and into the back of my head. Sadness and anger swarmed through me and I couldn’t bear it.
“I need your help, Carla.”
I stared at him with utter incredulity and paused to think before I spoke. My breathing was shallow and I felt panicked. I’d never nearly eviscerated a man's tackle before, so I was outside my comfort zone with no clue how to react or behave.
“What do you mean?”
“With Bella. I need your help, please?”
“You must be fucking joking. You’ve destroyed any faith that woman might have in you by now.”
“I have never been unfaithful to my wife.”
“Fucking, what?”
“Yeah. I know what you think. I flirt and push a little too far, maybe. But, I don’t sleep with another, never. I swear on the lives of my parents.”
“Umm, you’re lying, right now.”
“Nope. The Sous Chef thing is all about them not being good enough. Flirting was the easiest way to get rid of useless staff that I never interviewed. One of them lasted only a few minutes. I asked her about the five mother sauces when I drove her from Marco Polo Airport and she hadn’t a clue. I’m not working with that kind of shit.”
Hmm, I can empathize with you on the sauces. Been there, done that.
“What about your disappearances?”
His face contorted while he choked and fought back tears. I saw deep conflict etched in his face and suddenly Luca looked much older than a man in his thirties. The boyish smile dissolved, replaced by a much less confident man and his shoulders dropped, wholly defeated.
“I can’t lose my Bella. I love my wife with all my heart and soul.”
“I don’t understand. You literally just told us all that you and she were done.”
“It’s for a good reason.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Luca. Spit it out. I have no time for games.”
“I have leukemia.”
I gawped at him in absolute disbelief and couldn’t find any words to respond. His expression seemed sincere, and I detected no attempt at deceit.
“I have never cheated on Bella and I won't, but I needed a ruse to have treatment every week without her knowing.”
“Are you serious? Can you prove all of this?”
“I’m booked in for each session at the clinic. The doctors can confirm it.”
“Why are you gone overnight?”
“Afterwards, I’m feeling so weak, so I sleep at the clinic. I can’t tell my wife because I don’t want her to worry. I can’t make love to her because the chemo has robbed me of that ability so-.”
“You lie to her instead?”
“Yes.”
My knees felt weak and I leaned against a stainless steel table. My face flushed and head swam as my body became overwhelmed by emotions.
“B-b-but? I don-”
“I can’t tell Margarita either. It would kill her.”
“Are you dying?”
“My final chemo on this round was last night. Some results will be known soon with a fuller prognosis in a few weeks.”
“You have to tell them both what’s going on.”
“I can’t.”
“You fucking have to, and sooner rather than later, or they won’t be able to deal with it if you die having hidden this.”
“I can’t. I won’t.”
My head snapped up and I felt unadulterated anger towards him. He slipped off the butcher's block and sidestepped me, glancing nervously at my knife roll.
“Stop being such a selfish bastard, Luca.”
“Why is that selfish? It suits Bella to believe I am sleeping around. I didn’t build that narrative. She got there all by herself.”
“Because you inferred it and set her up with endless secretive liaisons and suspicious behavior. Oh, god, I’d like to slap you right now.”
“Well, okay, that much is true. What should I do, Carla?”
“Your wife and sister have a right to join this fight with you. Hell, even your kitchen brigade should know. They will want to help you pull through this as well.”
“Do you think so?”
“Just in one service, I saw that they adore you. What kind of a leader are you that can’t see the truth?”
“The kind who is terrified.”
“You’ll lose Bella if you don’t tell her the truth. Your sister will never forgive you, and if you die, your legacy will be trashed.”
He looked at near collapse and I felt sympathy. It seemed the real Luca was a frightened and sensitive man who needed his wife but couldn’t bear the bad news he must deliver her.
“I’m going now because I must get ready for a shift. It’s not fair that you told me this bad news before sharing it with your family. Think about it, Luca. If I can help, I shall but please, for the love of god, tell your family including our kitchen brigade.”
I left him alone in the kitchen gently nodding his head, almost crying. There was no way I could rejoin the others who were laughing and joking outside the cafe because my mood was tempestuous and I might snap at anyone for little or no reason.
I showered and dressed for my shift, preparing a cafetiere of fresh blend coffee, lacing it with far too much sugar to counter the weakness in my knees. I’d known Bella and Luca for a few days, but their Trattoria, the brigade of chefs, and this apartment had already soothed years of my discontent.
I belong here.
My apartment door opened and a refreshed-looking Sam strolled in, smiling brightly where only an hour ago, sadness had loomed. She spotted me, noticed my demeanor, and sensed something was awry.
“Are you okay, babe?”
“Yeah, no problem. Luca wanted to go over the menu. Fancy coffee?”
“Always.”
She helped herself to the cafetiere, raising a disapproving eyebrow at the sugar bowl.
“Bella’s moving quickly.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it sounds to me as though she’s planning a night out and considering Tinder to get some quick therapy for a bad marriage.”
“Oh, fuck.”
“Why? Don’t you approve? Seems to me that Luca deserves it.”
“You don’t know that.”
I snapped and was sorry immediately. Sam would know there was a story, but it wasn’t mine to reveal.
“Oh sorry. Didn’t mean to offend you, hun.”
I felt sick to the pit of my stomach, knowing that if Luca didn’t move quickly, for sure he’d lose his wife forever, regardless of his truth or medical woes.
Next Chapter:
Want lessons in living? Read Kate Granger. Want lessons in business? Read Kate Granger. Want lessons in fine dining? Read Kate Granger. Want lessons in eroticism and love making? Read Kate Granger. In fact, read Kate Granger for lessons in anything.
Yet again Kate, a brilliant episode with a twist I’ll bet none of us saw coming.