Date: Wed, 25 May 2005 03:42:05 -0400
From: SSch191950@aol.com
Subject: The Lizard (part 3) chapter 2/8

THE LIZARD - part 3: Autunno
by Stefan


______________

2
______________


They met again at the bar of the Villa Kazar. Due to the cheerless weather
the fairground was closed and the music boomed inside the
discotheque. Sergio still had a bandage around his left forearm, but was
swinging it with considerable verve.

Tristano leaned against the metallic shimmering bar, watched him and caught
winks from other guys which he ignored the best he could. He saw a group of
boys, standing together as if they had got lost in a forest of sexual
offers and adventures. Exactly the same as Tristano felt, except that his
sex drive was over boarding. Tristano didn't recognize himself anymore. Sex
had played a minor role in his life so far, and that, what he had gotten of
it, wasn't exactly satisfying. He still gazed at the group of boys,
clutching the bottles with Campari-Mix, dressed up like upper class
hustlers, but not feeling comfortable about it. Frightened they eyed the
display of tattooed flesh and muscles, naked upper bodies, shirts crammed
into the pockets of too tight jeans, leaving no mistake about size and
sometimes hardness.

Tristano hardly noticed when someone leant beside him against the bar,
until a sexy voice said softly "Ciao, bello."

Tristano stared into large anthracite eyes that looked blankly at him.

"I thought you would call", Sergio said. "I did that for the first time in
my life." He screwed up one eye. "Giving out my private phone number I
mean. I thought the red-head had forgotten to give it to you."

"Huh? Why should I call you? To set a date? I don't think I need to pay for
sex." Tristano turned his body to him. "You left without a word. Do you
know how that feels?"

"What do you want? This here", Sergio embraced the whole discotheque with
his healthy arm, " is just body watching or a meat market as I used to
say. Built up muscles with pea brains. It's about who has the longest cock
and who beats the record of eleven ejaculations a night."

"Only eleven? Who's the record holder, a seventy year old man?" Tristano
mocked with a straight face.

Sergio looked nonplussed, then he laughed out loud. He turned to the bar
tender. "Two glasses of wine, please."

"Wine?" Tristano asked, but was pleased. He liked wine more than anything.

"It's the Villa Kazar and not any filthy pub", Sergio said. Tristano was
glad that he wasn't pissed at him about the way he had accused him of being
a call-boy.  Sergio clinked his glass with Tristano's. "You're lucky that I
didn't take my reward from your wallet. Or do you have other treasures?" He
grinned. "Don't pull such a face. I didn't want money because you're new to
the scene." Sergio ran his fingers through Tristano's hair. A tender touch
that Sergio stopped instantly. He looked around to see if anyone had caught
him.

"Are you on duty then?" Tristano asked.

"On duty? I'm always on duty. It's my profession."

Tristano's look fell to Sergio's arm. "Were you seriously hurt?" he asked.

"It's all right. Just fractured." A whiff of seriousness scurried over his
face. "That was completely shit. I hope they are all put into jail."

"Yeah", Tristano agreed, suddenly with a queasy feeling in his guts. What
if it happened again? What if they weren't safe anymore? He hoped that
Raniero had given all the names of the people involved.

Since there was playing a smooth melody, Sergio pulled Tristano by the
front of his shirt to the dance floor and started to turn to the music,
thigh to thigh and groin to groin, but still elegantly holding the wine
glass in one hand. With the other he kneaded Tristano's arse. "You weren't
anything like a rookie last night we met, bello", he cooed. "You've done it
before, right? Have you met the policeman again?" Sergio's eyes were
glowing. "I was pretty jealous, you know."

Tristano was taken aback and confused. Nonetheless he left himself to
Sergio's guidance and the swaying of his hips. His well-stuffed package
touched Tristano's from time to time. He thought it was all right to have a
hard-on. But still he thought Sergio would not be able to develop feelings
for someone who was just his fuck buddy. "What are you blabbering about?
First you used me and threw me away like a discarded slipper and now you're
jealous? Vito said that he had had you."

Sergio laughed, his head tucked in his neck. "You're right, mio bello. I
can't afford feelings of any kind. Vito's a real sex bomb, by the way. Can
I come to your place then?"

Tristano was shocked. "I don't have any money."

"Take it for free."

"Why?"

Sergio nibbled at his ear lobe. "For your innocence."




"What do you consider a sex bomb?" Tristano asked as Sergio was undressing
him slowly near the aquarium that was the only source of light in the flat,
except for the small lamp on his nightstand. But Sergio hadn't given him
time to prepare anything. He was all over him like a soft blowing
zephyr. "I thought you'd know. Haven't you fucked him?"

"He's on holiday. I've got only his phone number."

"What a pity", Sergio said indistinctly because he was sucking at
Tristano's slip-covered cock, soaking the white fabric until it was
translucent and Tristano's juice mingled with Sergio's saliva. "How... do
you ... mean that?" Tristano panted with wobbling legs, protecting his back
with the wardrobe.

"A pity for you..." Sergio muffled, sliding his palms over Tristano's
thighs up into the slip, cupping his arse cheeks. "A sex bomb is somebody
who can do it more often than eleven times a night." Now he pulled down the
pants and swallowed the cock in one, slow-motion action.

"Can you?" Tristano's eyes were tightly closed and he withstood the urge to
instantly squirt into Sergio's mouth. But he knew he couldn't hold on for
long. The friction was exquisite, as was the warmth and the wetness. And
Sergio was doing something with his hole; gyrating movements and a pressure
that kept him moaning. It was too late - Sergio had to swallow his load and
milked him like a farmer his cow until the last drop, finally licking the
slit and sucking gingerly at the crown. "Have I told you that I love sex?"
he said then, letting himself fall onto the carpet, pulling Tristano on top
of him. "It's your turn. The first of eleven."



It had been a hot night, when Tristano came to his senses again. It wasn't
anything like the night he had spent with Luca. That belonged to another
life and to another quality of feelings. Sergio was pure sex, and only
sex. And he didn't want to be paid - that was the best thing. When he awoke
around 11 in the morning, he was alone again. But there was a letter on the
night stand:

                                         "Ciao bello,

                 Thanks for the night. Next time you'll break the record.

                                             Sergio"


Was that a promise of a repeat or just the pure announcement that he would
have sex with another? Why did he always have to vanish before he was
awake? Why was there no breakfast together? Or a last cuddle?

Tristano stretched his body lazily and felt every muscle hurt, even those
he hadn't any idea that they existed. Again the room smelled of male sex
and the bedcovers smelled like him. He limped into the bathroom and turned
on the hot water. He wished he had a tub to bath his crunched body, but so
he had to made do with the stream of water, splashing upon his head,
washing away all the smell and streaks and stains, only the hickeys he
couldn't wash away.

The gloomy weather had made way for a brilliant late September summer's day
when Tristano stepped upon the small balcony, overlooking the street. It
was partially hidden by pine trees and allowed Tristano privacy. The block
opposite was close. He had dressed in fresh pants and nothing else, and
enjoyed the warmth of the low September sun. His cup of coffee in hand, he
leaned against the rail. Of course he understood Sergio as what he was: a
sex-maniac who had turned his hobby into profession so to speak. He had
laid no claim to any kind of feelings, or commitments. It was just
fun. Good. If Sergio never wanted money, Tristano could continue on until
all eternity. At least until he was able to reach Vito. Is Vittorio his
real name? he pondered. "The victorious", Tristano grinned to
himself. Perhaps he would finally be the winner of his heart. It was about
time he forgot about Luca. Despite the problems he had with Alessandro, he
didn't seem to be determined to end his relationship, but hold on with a
stamina very unusual for a guy his age. You could fall in love easily and
each time with refreshed emotions, that was clear enough to Tristano. But
was there more behind it? And what could that be? Anyway... he was thrilled
to see the development of the events. What would Alessandro decide? If Luca
would still be on his side then. And if not... Tristano looked into his
empty coffee cup. Perhaps he could win his heart.




                        * * * * *


If Alessandro expected a Fury coming to visit him at the Lizard-tower, he
was mistaken. Leoni was well-behaved, reluctant and deserved an Oscar for
her performance as best actress in a B-movie. At least she had taken up his
invitation - eagerly it seemed. She had refused the Ramazzotti-mix on the
rocks, and gave the excuse of the pregnancy. Alessandro followed an urgent
compulsion to laugh. As if the old Florentine families had ever followed
any rules. It was quite the opposite: they wrote the rules. And now Leoni
da Firenzuola would dance to his rules.

"Why can't we go upstairs to your room", Leoni whined, sitting
uncomfortably on the kitchen chair. "You could light a fire, it's getting
cool."

Alessandro shook his head. So that she would have it easier seducing him,
eh? His blue eyes studied her coolly. She was dressed in a loose dress as
if she had to hide a baby-belly. She looked so ridiculous and of course she
had put on this masquerade for the people on the streets to see: Leoni was
going to her groom, chaste and with downcast eyes. "Will you keep up this
charade?" he asked relaxed, sipping at his drink. "We both know very well
what you're playing. And for the good old days you should stop this and be
honest with me." He bent forward. "There never was a dally between us,
right? You can't be so stupid to make a guy think that he's fucked a girl
without having any memory of it. This baby is not mine. Whose is it?"

Leoni's first reaction was to deny. Then her brain kicked in and her green
eyes started to radiate. "All right, Alessandro Gondi. Let's end this
stupid game. I had hoped that you would fall in love with me again. But
tried as I could, you only have that Montori-boy on your mind. You've got
it bad, right? Amazing and surprising at the same time. As far as I know
you've never fallen in love. Well... whatever you do in the future, you'll
never learn the name of the baby's father."

Alessandro allowed himself the tiniest of a relieved breath. "Fine with
me. Keep your secrets to yourself. What is the deal with Arrigo exactly
then? Are you in need of money? I've heard your father's business isn't
working out very well." 'And he has almost squandered the inheritance in
Monte Carlo's gambling dens', he added bitchily in his mind.

Leoni's face was covered with frantic blotches from one second to the
next. "Who's told you that?", she hissed, but then give in. "OK. We are
broke. But you've got all the money, all the Gondi's money, earned over
five centuries." She looked him straight in the eyes. "You aren't alone
with your arrogant behaviour, Alessandro Gondi. I want my share. Arrigo
promised me."

Alessandro thought quickly about the consequences. It was about money,
nothing else. Arrigo spat upon the continuation of his family name. The
Gondi's would die out. Definitely. But the da Firenzuola's would live on.

"You know I've never wanted to marry", he started, emptying his glass. He
poured another Ramazzotti over the remaining ice cubes and squeezed a slice
of lemon into it. "So, what I'm going to do is strictly against my
principles, against my concept of life and against my plans I have with
Luca. Don't laugh", he said sharply and with eyes, so cold, Leoni
shuddered. She knew this stare very well. Not without good reason had the
Gondi's survived through all the centuries - until their ridiculous end at
the start of the 21st century. After all, their last offspring would rescue
the money. With her help. Even if it was just a fake.

"Why didn't you talk to me right from the start?" Alessandro asked. "Why
this fairytale opera?"

"It was all Arrigo's idea", she defended herself. "He knows I want
you. I've never stopped wanting you." She had found the strength to talk
calmly and in a reasonable manner. But inwardly everything was
screaming. "As long as there was a little chance you could voluntarily
marry me, without the pressure of your father's will - I took it. The
result might be ... bad and I have to put up with it. So... is it a deal?
The marriage can be held whenever you want."  Alessandro stared into the
brown liquid in his glass. The ice cubes clinked softly and melted slowly
away. Luca would know what a sacrifice he was making. A piece of paper, an
exchange of rings and a newborn baby. That was all that was needed to
become the richest man in town. Like in the ancient days. "Deal", he said
aloud. "With a few conditions."

Leoni looked expectantly at him.

"Everything remains as it is. We both stay in Pisa, continuing our
study. No one will get wind of it. When the baby's one year old we'll have
an unfortunate divorce."

"But...! Alessandro! I'm not a back stairs-relation! Soon everyone will see
about my condition, and what then?" She straightened her back. "No", she
said decidedly. "I want to live in your villa at Fiesole until the baby's
coming. Anastasia will be there for my help. D'accordo?"

Alessandro arched his brows. "All the better." She was out of the way and
he could continue as if nothing had happened. Arrigo had to prepare the
prior of the Dominican church that he was unfortunately losing all the
pretty money because the heir had thought twice and had turned into a
expectant young groom, caring for his wife.

Leoni and Alessandro measured each other with looks. They were equal, they
knew.


As soon as Leoni had left the palazzo Alessandro made his way to his
uncle's office where he sat bent over his books and controlled the proceeds
of his Tuscan villa and the leather factory. His face was pinched when his
nephew burst into his office, ignoring the secretary and throwing himself
into the leather chair opposite. "Listen, zio", he started. His eyes
weren't steady, but wandered everywhere, too troubled to fix his uncle
gaze. "We've made a deal, Leoni and I. We'll marry at the soonest date. I'm
going back to Pisa and she's staying at Fiesole. Mother won't mind, will
she?" A brief sneer appeared upon his face. "She's staying there until the
baby comes. It's your job to convince the monks that this baby is mine
because it isn't. You could have spared yourself all of this filthy little
drama. I'm not a boy you can't talk to, you know. We've always both been
fond of clear details. Right?"

Arrigo smelled the alcohol. Apparently Alessandro had drunk more than he
could take. "Congratulations, son. I had almost given up faith in Leoni's
abilities. D'accordo, let's play open: Leoni was despairing because you
didn't want to sleep with her. She gave you drugs, but that had the result
that you weren't able to do anything. Instead of being horny you were
sleeping like a log." He interrupted himself and grinned. "A pity for her."
The grin vanished and his forefinger pierced the air. " But I said that
you'll stay here with Leoni at Firenze and stop your study at Pisa. You
might remember we considered that at the very start of this drama", he said
sharply but Alessandro interrupted him. "No way, zio. This time you play by
my rules. I'm the one setting the conditions. And I say, it's Pisa and my
life with Luca Montori or you can forget about the money, capisce?"

Arrigo glared at him, black eyes brooding like a swampy hole. He chewed on
his tongue, then he had to admit defeat. He slowly lifted his hands and
grinned. "All right, all right. Whatever you want. Too bad the baby will
only be a bastard. Not that anyone needs to know. Now let's get to the next
part of our little deal. It will take me some effort to convince the
doctors that the baby's yours, right? Remember, the lawyers of the monks
aren't daft. Perhaps we can arrange a real baby for you and her. and the
house of the Gondi's. Just as proof for the lawyers... So, I guess it's
only fair if let's say 25 percent of the inheritance goes on me?" He closed
one eye and winked with the other.

"Whatever it takes." Alessandro rose and stretched out his hand. "Deal."

Arrigo shook his nephew's hand.


Alessandro went straight to the first bar, buying two bottles of
Ramazzotti. He was determined to lock himself in and get drunk. He was
pissed at himself; the coolness with which he had carried through all this
was just a mask. At home, he ran upstairs to his room under the roof and
threw himself in the wicker chair upon the open loggia. He opened the
bottle and poured the brown liquid over some ice cubes.

Had he sold out his convictions? Was it immoral, especially towards Leoni?
She had told him she would love him still, and wanted him back. That was
certainly her problem, not his. She had given him enough for that
matter. And what would happen if she lost the baby? Then they would have
married in vain and all the money would be lost.

Desperately he swallowed the schnapps and cursed his father. How on earth
had he come up with such a wacky idea? Could nobody stop it? Alessandro
crowed. It was indeed absurd. The obstinate minds of the Gondi's was
legendary. Not without reason had they held on in this town for so
long. Even longer than anyone else, except Leoni's family and the
Pucci's. And the Montori's naturally... Hadn't Luca told him once that his
family had been wool weavers and dyers, delivering to the court of the
Medici's and had received the family palazzo from the last Medici as thank
for loyal service? Alessandro nodded to himself and poured his second
glass.

But anyhow, he couldn't whitewash himself from the fact of having sold his
future and his soul for money. But who - facing such a hard decision -
would act differently? Even his sincere Luca had seen in the end that he
too would succumb to the lure of the money - probably. On further
consideration, Alessandro wasn't to lose anything since he still had his
boyfriend AND would get the money in the end. He just had to care for
Leoni. Anastasia and the villa in the hilly town of Fiesole was exactly the
right place for a too thin, pregnant woman. He grinned. Well done,
Alessandro. And poured out his third glass.

It was oppressively sultry on this September afternoon and not even up here
was a tiny breeze blowing. Alessandro plucked his shirt from his body and
sat only in his trousers. In a couple of days he had to say good bye to
Florence and Luca. Arrigo had tried to force him to stay here and give up
his study, but Arrigo had to realize in the end that this would be the most
stupid thing that he could do. Nobody would buy it, that Alessandro married
Leoni out of love if everyone saw him making out with Luca in public. On
the other hand - Alessandro poured out his fourth glass - who seriously
cared about someone playing on both teams. One would decide - in the end.

His mobile played a melody. Alessandro wanted to call Luca to tell him the
news, but he didn't feel anything like having a meaningful
talk. Nonetheless he answered with a slurring voice telling Luca that he
should come over.



"You was right, gioia", Alessandro blabbered drunkenly. "Leoni had given me
drugs. She hoped I would be horny as hell for her then, but the result was
I got tired and my memory was erased. Pah". He laughed.

Luca had put him onto the sofa to lie down, and taken away the almost empty
bottle of Ramazzotti. "Will you be a witness to my marriage? You promised
me to support every decision I'd make, remember?" He hiccuped and his eyes
fluttered.

Luca shook his head. So the inner swine had won, he thought sadly. For
money Alessandro had sold all his arrogance, his pride and perhaps his
love-life. Luca couldn't imagine how life would then be in reality, when
Sandro had a wife and a baby to care for. That was the most strangest thing
that he could envisage.

Alessandro snored softly. Luca sighed. He examined the room with his eyes,
then he stepped up to the bookcase and peered through its glass doors. He
pulled out some heavy volumes, telling of Florence's history, about the
history of art. He even found Giorgio Vasari's Compendium of Italian
artists and looked up the names of Brunelleschi, Donatello, Masolino and
Masaccio, skimming through their curriculum vitae. Recently those names had
become so familiar to him that he knew them almost like good
friends. Therefore he pulled out Masolino's diary from the drawer, where
Alessandro had put it in again. He hesitated, then he vanished downstairs
to the kitchen and returned in the elevator with a cup of hot coffee to sit
at the small table and absorbed himself again in a tale that had been told
575 years ago.



Budapest, Luglio 1429


"We were arguing about everything. Me and Tommaso and Giovanni - "Lo
Scheggia". His "splinter" seduced me every night, so that I do not know
anymore what is heads or tails. I could not resist. I had been corrupted to
the inner core. How can someone like me - a decent, pious man, be so
unstinting, so weak-willed so to succumb to his dirty needs? I could not
find an answer. How could I ever find a way out of this sick, lewd
relationship? Dear God, forgive me, I've visited brothels that exist only
for that purpose and might be able to guide a fallen man to the right way
back. I do not know. I had never felt the same - as there in Tommaso's
arms. Never so alive, never so wanted. Never so full of fire. Rome is
indeed a den of iniquity.

Tommaso's brother led us into special establishments where the man is
pleased by a man And I swear to God Almighty that I have seen more than one
time a red cardinal's robes sinking to the floor and catamites sucking
lecherously at the centre of their old bodies... You see, I dare to call
the things by their names. My feather pen trembles, but it trembles for
avidity. More than one time I let myself be seduced by experienced men's
hands; by mouths, promising Heaven rather than Hell. They were orgies to my
eyes: Tommaso and me and Giovanni and countless men and nobody knew who was
doing what with whom. I was drunk. I was blind. I was eternally hungry. I
was...

I knew Giovanni wanted his brother for himself. I was always in his way. It
was an unhealthy connection, obscene and incestuous.

 In Rome we painted by day and at night we surrendered to the most
unspeakable acts. The chapel of the Santa Catarina di Alessandria had been
a commission of work for me, but of course Tommaso had followed me, leaving
the unfinished Brancacci-chapel and Florence behind us. I had insisted it
was either us both - for the public master and pupil - or neither of us and
the priest of the church of San Clemente would have to look for another
painter. I knew very well that there was no one like my Tommaso. 'Masaccio'
- as they lovingly called him. To me they never referred to his big
stature, but to the greatness of his enormous talent, and the development
the Art of painting had made, thanks to him. I was not his master. I was
his pupil. In every direction. But Tommaso and Giovanni were made from the
same stuff. Fiery, merciless, extreme, all consuming, ruthless and infinite
... I have no word for it. Free perhaps. No, this is not the word. They
were filled with desire I could not ease. I was the buffer between
both. And one day I knew I would be only in their way.

It had been raining for a week and the chapel was damp and cold. We had a
constant fire on to dry the daily task of freschi we had worked
on. Giovanni came to bring food and wine to celebrate Tommaso's
birthday. It was the twenty-first of December and we could hear the Cloaca
Maxima gargling next to the chapel's walls - the great drainpipe built by
the ancient Romans that gathered and carried all the dirt and excrement and
rats and threw it into the soft-flowing Tiber. By this weeks rain the river
had gained an unknown depth and strength and was threatening the lower
banks where the poor had settled in their wooden, crooked houses, where the
mud never dried and each summer malaria diminished the count of wrecked
people. The popes never cared what happened to the former dazzling field of
Mars - the military build up place for Rome's troops. Today they enthroned
in their new palace at the Quirinale, guarded by nothing except the fickle
goodwill of Rome's inhabitants. Emperor Nero said "The best protection is
the love of my folk". Phoney. Poor, misguided fool.

I watched Giovanni's hand sneaking under Tommaso's painter's coat I knew
Tommaso was naked underneath, and saw the unmistakable movements I used to
know so well; I had been witness to it too many times. Giovanni looked
directly into my eyes, with his sneering, derisive expression, as if to
lure me and keep me apart, he certainly wanted his brother for himself. I
had drank the pure wine. Together with the fire's heat it was going to my
head, and my blood started to boil in my veins. It was not anything like
the heat of a forbidden desire - it was wrath. Despair. I saw Tommaso
resting his arms on the walls - the holy walls, we had covered with the
deeds of Santa Catharina, pushing out his buttocks. Giovanni hid the view
of it partly with his body and his unmistakable, ancient sexual
movements. Again he turned his head to look for me. Inviting eyes. "You can
take me from behind" he said.

The rush in my ears was deafening, until I realized it was not in my ears
but in reality. The Cloaca Maxima. Water streamed in breathtaking speed
through the canal, bringing sand and tree branches, washing away the
stone. The ground staggered.

In a last despairing movement I jumped upon Giovanni. With a soundless cry
my hands found his neck. I wanted to murder him. Tommaso was mine! My
pupil. My teacher. And then "




Luca forgot the cup in his hand. Again he was so involved that he had
forgotten time and place, but as he turned the page there was nothing, just
the little patches on the left side of the glue binding, that told him that
the diary had finished brutally, abruptly by the ripping out of the
pages. He startled when his mobile rang and a good splash of his coffee
spilled over the open book, on its last page, soaking the ancient leather
binding with its nasty grey-brown colour. Luca cried out loud, dropped the
cup and ran with the book into the bathroom where he hastily grabbed a
towel to wipe off the coffee. Too late. It had eaten deeply into the old,
brittle paper. The leather binding loosened and fell partly off from the
wooden book cover. He pressed the towel upon the scarred, well thumbed
leather and dabbed the pages that tore under his movements. Luca
cursed. Masolino's handwriting started to vanish in front of Luca's
eyes. Mad with despair he opened the cupboards and pulled out the fan. He
switched it on and waved the warm air stream over the paper, that got
instantly curled , but dried Masolino's letters. Completely devastated Luca
sank upon the toilet lid. He had to find a bookbinder and instantly before
Sandro would get wind of it!

He sneaked back to look at Alessandro, who snored happily. He would have a
fit if he saw what Luca had done to his biggest treasure. Completely
bewildered he sorted his thoughts. First he had to hide the book. No, first
he had to let it dry as best as he could, then he needed a book binder to
repair the soaked and torn leather, and perhaps a paper expert to care for
the diary as a whole. His father came to his mind. No, out of the
question. Rosso's uncle had a leather-shop. He didn't do books, but at
least he had knowledge about the material. Yes.

Thirdly he had to convince Alessandro that everything was in order. He
removed the towel he had wrapped around the book and saw the soaked, old,
tattered and well-thumbed binding, half falling off the book. He sighed. As
best as he could he hid it in the drawer half covered by Sandro's stuff. He
tiptoed to the sofa and shook Sandro's shoulder. "Do you want something to
eat?" he asked him. Alessandro woke up with a jolt, then he moaned.

"Geez, my head."

Luca nodded. "You have to tell me the story. I'm waiting. Instead of that,
you got tanked up."

Alessandro looked surprised. "That's a new tone." He sat upright and held
his head. Then everything flooded back. The blood and the memories. And
still the task to tell Luca the truth. His gaze fell upon the parquet and
the scattered cup. "What have you done here? Were you trying to wake me
up?"

Luca hid his blush by bending down and picking up the shards. Holy
shit. The brown liquid had soaked itself into the wood. Today wasn't his
day, he thought quivering, but managed to clean up the shards dumping them
in the bathroom's trash bin. "Sorry about that." He remembered all of a
sudden the cause of the drama and pulled out his mobile. Rosso's number
appeared. Good. The right man at the right time. "Water?" he asked, pulling
a bottle from the little fridge in the corner.

Thankful Alessandro opened it and drank thirstily.

"I assume you had plenty reason to get drunk", Luca said, and flashed his
eyes at him. "Before you started to snore you told me Leoni had given you
drugs and asked me if I'd be a witness to your marriage. Congratulations,
by the way."

"Ouch", Alessandro said. "That was harsh." He looked sheepishly. "I deserve
the reproach, don't I." He pulled Luca next to him upon the sofa. "I'm
sorry, gioia. But you must listen to me now very carefully. Promise?"

Luca didn't want to. He was still shaking from the accident that had
happened to him, and he sat on hot coals wanting to look for help for the
book. But how could he do it when Sandro was here?

"I need the short version, Sandro, I need to see Rosso urgently."

"Oh, you prefer the redhead to me?" Alessandro asked him playfully, but
Luca ignored it. He knew anyway what was to come.

"OK. You told me lately that you would support every decision of
mine. Today I had a talk with Leoni and she dropped all of her masks. She
told me though that she's still after me, but will agree to a
marriage. First to give the baby a decent name, second because Zio Arrigo
had promised her money when she got me to come around. Well, she did."

Luca's face was closed. Alessandro took his shoulders. "I'm doing it for
us. You'll never be poor again."

"I'm not poor."

"Sure you are. Think of all the things we can do together. Travel the
world! Eat caviar and drink champagne every day. You could have a car and a
new leather suit for every day made by Emilio Pucci. All I need to do is to
sign a paper. The rest Leoni has to care for. I hope she won't mess it up."

Luca stared at him with wide eyes. He didn't know what to say. Surely Leoni
had brought herself into this situation. But... "So, Leoni swears that you
never slept with her?"

Alessandro nodded.

At least that was a relief. "And... what do you want from me now? That I
jump for joy? Hooray, I'm going to be rich? What's to say that you'll want
to share your money with me? For how long?"

Alessandro's face lost its enthusiasm. "You don't agree, right?" he said,
suddenly listless.

"How can I? My boyfriend's going to get married."

"But you said you would support me. I relied on you. I trusted you that you
wouldn't mind."

"Yeah." Luca dropped his head. What would Giano say? Rosso. Tristano. His
parents. Dante and Marcello... Alessandro had made a laughing stock of Luca
Montori. But then... the people didn't know that Alessandro Gondi was
gay. Or they had just assumed it. It didn't matter in the long run. If Luca
wanted to keep Alessandro he had to put up with it. But did he want him
still? "You've never told me that you even like me", he said.

"But I've shown you." Alessandro laughed bitterly. "Nobody has ever told me
that they like ME."

"Leoni has."

Alessandro set aside the water bottle and looked seriously into Luca's
eyes. "I like you, Luca. I don't want to lose you."

Luca saw how hard it was for him to say something like that and he
swallowed dryly. "You do it just for me?"

"For us."

Luca felt strangely powerful. Alessandro had given in. He was
small. Remorseful. Regretful. He had said for the first time that he felt
something for Luca. And his eyes told him that it was the truth. Yet Luca
couldn't be happy. He was disappointed. Even though Sandro pulled him into
his lap, holding him tight - there was something broken. On the brink of
making a bond - there on the beach at Forte dei Marmi - it had loosened
again all too soon. The gap of their upbringing and status was too big -
for Luca insurmountable. Alessandro was too much the child of his family,
as much as he might deny it. Even though he might fight it as long as he
could - he would always be the last offspring of a noble Florentine house.

Luca stared at the last Gondi-Lucertola without really seeing
him. Alessandro's mouth moved but the words didn't reach Luca's ears. But
nonetheless he didn't want to give up. He liked Sandro too much. To see his
mask slowly friable to reveal a vulnerable, tender core was amazing.



In the morning he left Alessandro's bed and tiptoed to the drawer, opened
it soundlessly and pulled out the diary. The leather binding had dried but
was now crumbly and stiff; the brittle pages almost crumbled between his
fingers. Luca suppressed a heavy sigh. Cautiously he wrapped the book into
a handkerchief and placed it into his rucksack.

Alessandro didn't bat an eyelid when Luca sat beside the sleeping body. How
good he looked with his slightly crooked nose and the scar, dividing his
eyebrow. How innocent and gentle. Secretly he wished he wasn't so caught up
with Alessandro's personality. It would be easier then to break up. Luca
wasn't sure if he could take it: all the things to come if Alessandro
really wanted to hold his promise given to the family and Leoni. Luca
couldn't be sure. You could never be sure concerning a Gondi-Lucertola. The
quick and cold-blooded reactions to different circumstances had been a
requirement to survive. And this family carried way too much of it.

He wrote him a short note and left the house with his rucksack. On the
streets he dialed Rosso's number.

Luca breathed in the clean air on the whitewashed morning as the violet sky
hung wide and clear over the town - a blue cupola over the red-white cupola
of the cathedral. The tan coloured, steep clock tower of the Badia pierced
the glassy air. Masaccio's brother had had his workshop here, he
remembered. Following Palazzo Pazzi he crossed the small piazza, taking the
same path the author of the diary had taken almost six hundred years
ago. What amazed him the most was, that every little piece of history, each
stone and every work of art, was the same today. They were still there, in
a living museum. Hard to live in by all means, but in some ways
exciting. The typical Florentine took it for granted.

Luca encircled the knave of the cathedral, passed the Opificio, his working
place, and turned into a street with a block of flats from the 40's: ochre
coloured and flat roofed. Rosso was standing in front of the door,
obviously waiting for him.

"Where are the brothers?" Luca asked.

"Mother's taken them to the doc. They seemed to have caught a cold." Rosso
sneezed as proof.

"Oh dear. You've got it too."

Rosso waved off. "Tell me about the book." His green eyes flashed
feverish. He took Luca's arm and went with him into the nearest bar to buy
two tramezzini and two milk coffees.

Luca sighed. "You mustn't tell anyone about this, promise me that first."

Rosso rolled his eyes. "How can I help when I can't tell anyone. You've
messed up a book, so, what's the problem? Zio Enzio will repair it, don't
worry." He sneezed.

Luca still hesitated. "Well, the thing is. It's a very old book. Actually
it belongs in a museum, but Sandro doesn't want to give it away. It's his
treasure, you know." He hesitated. Would the painters Masaccio and Masolino
have any meaning to Rosso? He was sure they would. The art lessons of
school weren't that long ago. Slowly he pulled the book from his rucksack
and partly unwrapped it. "Oh", Rosso said, eyeing the torn leather. "What's
that?" Rosso pulled cautiously at a tiny tag, peering out from under the
part of the leather binding that was still intact. He pulled until he could
shove it to the back of the book where the binding was missing and looked
surprised at it. "There's something hidden here."

Luca's mouth was dry and he swallowed hard. Together they stared at the
brittle, blotched pages. They were lighter in colour than the others. If
they were what Luca was thinking they were, they had been hidden there for
centuries. "Does it belong to the book?" Rosso asked, sniffing, before he
pulled out a tissue and blew his nose.

Luca nodded. He didn't dare to touch the paper, nor to read it, even if his
mind screamed for it. This must be the last and final pages, Masolino - or
somebody else - had ripped them from the diary to hide them between wooden
book cover and leather binding. "Don't you want to read it?" Rosso was
already pulling at the paper pages until they fell upon the table top. They
were covered with Masolino's handwriting that Luca had become familiar
with. Quickly he skimmed through them while Rosso squinted his eyes in
effort to decipher the letters. So it was true... Masaccio had vanished
from the earth. And Luca now knew why. And where to. He knew more than
Alessandro.

"Sorry, I can't read this. What's it saying?"

"Long story. Can we go to your uncle?" Very cautiously Luca took the pages
with the tips of his fingers and put them between the other pages of the
diary.

----------------------
to be continued