Date: Mon, 30 May 2005 07:01:59 -0400
From: SSch191950@aol.com
Subject: The Lizard, part 3, chapter 3

THE LIZARD, Part 3 -- Autunno --
by Stefan


comments are welcome



______________

3
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The quarter of the work- and craftsmen was situated in the old, so-called
Dante-quarter between the cathedral Santa Maria del Fiore, Santa Croce and
Palazzo Vecchio. Luca had always thought it gloomy with its narrow alleys
and the steeply rising, rejecting, smooth pietra serena
masonry. Alessandro's palace was just at the edge of this quarter, where in
ancient times the tower houses rose wall to wall - higher than any business
tower, higher than any clock tower. The remains of such a tower house still
stood not far from the small church where Beatrice - Dante's secret love -
had once married another. By the Florentines it was simply called the
Dante- casa and today houses his museum. And not far from that was the
house Michelangelo had once bought for his family, and that was also
remodeled as his museum with lots of his early works. Tourists sauntered
along, eyeing the houses, reading the stone plates inscribed with the parts
of Dante's Divina Commedia, or halted under a wrought-iron balcony, whose
flowerpots eked out a dried and miserable existence.

 Luca saw their unease. This place made even the brightest day seem
murky. Or romantic. It depended upon the point of the view. Today Luca
decided to think it romantic - and just the thing to put him into the times
of the early renaissance, when Masolino and Masaccio had used this path to
get to the church of Santa Croce. The rough cobble stoned pavement seemed
to be eternally wet. Moist and smooth, full of horse dung and trampled
straw, smeared with the remains of vegetables, urine- and sewage-puddles,
gathering in the gutter in the middle of it. Cats vanished into the houses'
entrance gates.

Rosso's sneezing catapulted him back into reality. "Here we are", he said,
turning into another street that was fortuneately bright. "Enzio Celli &
Figli" was painted over the doorway in large, old fashioned letters. Luca
followed his friend through the entrance, passing the saleroom where a
carrot-red-haired lad winked at Rosso, into the workshop of his uncle. It
wasn't exactly bright in there, and Luca could only make out the shadows of
all the bags and etuis, girdles and belts hanging from the ceiling or from
hooks that were spread along the walls. He breathed in deeply the good
scent of the leather. Rosso was doing the same beside him and smiled. "Zio,
this is Luca, you remember him?"

Enzio Celli turned upon his piano-stool and peered over his half moon
glasses. His grey hair stood on end over his forehead and his skin seemed
as tanned as the leather he was working. "Ah, ciao Luca. I haven't seen you
for a while. How are you doing?"

"Well, fine, Signore Celli. Um, I have a favour to ask. Would you be so
kind as to have a look at this?" He stretched out the book, still wrapped
in his handkerchief. "I've had a mishap with a cup of coffee. The problem
is, this is not my book and the owner will kill me if he sees it. You
understand?"

Enzio took the book and pulled back the cloth. He took in a sharp
breath. "Jesus Maria", he whispered. Luca thought it was because of the bad
condition of the leather binding. "This is very old, ragazzo. Where did you
get it from?"

"Well, as I said, it's from a friend." Luca eyed the book jealously at the
same time as eyeing Rosso's uncle who had stood up, searching for a
magnifying glass. He mumbled something while his narrow, bent nose almost
touched the diary. The nose went along each of the scars and cracks of the
old leather, including the nasty, dark coffee blotches and the swollen,
torn, dangling pieces. He sniffed at them. "Must be early fifteenth
century. By the Holy Face of Lucca - where did you get it from!?" Enzio's
voice had become eager.

"I know it's old, signore. Can you repair it?"

Enzio swayed his big head from side to side. "Might be difficult. But I'm
sure I can provide matching leather." His green eyes sparkled
knowingly. "We are in Florence, ragazzo. Everything should be possible
here." He turned to the book again. "And this here?" His long, slender
finger touched the ripped and partly blurred pages of the diary. "What are
we going to do with this? I'd like to show it to my brother who knows about
old paper." Enzio looked sharply at Rosso. "What are you doing here anyway?
Shouldn't you be in the paper shop?"

Rosso sneezed as answer. "Don't feel too well."

"Then march off to bed. What are you standing her for, polluting my
workshop with your bacteria, eh?"

Rosso pouted and this never missed its effect on his uncle. He smiled
mildly. "All right, ragazzi, up for a cappuccino? Antonio!" he shouted into
the shop. "Would you be so kind - three cappuccini? No, add one for you."

A muffled cry came from the front shop and shortly after they heard the
coffee machine gargling. Enzio took the book and placed it upon an ancient
looking table, not before putting a clear sheet of paper under it. "Let's
have a closer look", he said, but he was interrupted by a flock of loud
chatting Japanese in the saleroom. At least Luca recognized the funny
language as very Asian. Enzio hurried in and helped Antonio with the
tourists.

Rosso and Luca looked at each other. "So, this is Alessandro's book, and he
doesn't want to give it away. Well, why should he? I'm sure it's been in
the Gondi's family property for a long time, right?"

Luca nodded and fought with himself not to reveal to his friend its real
meaning. And what would happen, if he ever told the true story of the
unsolved riddle of Masaccio's whereabouts.

Antonio appeared with a tray of cups and biscuits upon the saucers. Luca
knew him as Rosso's cousin with the same red hair in different kind of
shades that all the Celli's had. He didn't listen to their family chatter -
interrupted by Rosso's sneezing and snorting. Instead of he tried to sort
his thoughts. Alessandro must be up by now and he wouldn't be pleased that
Luca had left him without their usual early morning dally. Involuntarily
Luca grinned.

"Now", Enzio had returned, taking his seat at the table again, inspecting
the brittle pages. "What ancient handwriting", he mumbled, slurping his
coffee. "Tried to decipher it?"

Luca hesitated for a brief moment. "Tried yes, but not successfully", he
lied. Perhaps Enzio wouldn't be able to read it. Again the older man pulled
out his magnifying glass and examined the letters. "Hm. Seems to be some
sort of a diary. Here's something about Budapest. That's Hungary, isn't it?
And here's the date: January 1429." He whistled through his teeth. "As I
said, early fifteenth century." He looked up. "Alright, Luca. Leave the
book to me and I'll see what I can do. You mustn't be afraid about the
leather. We'll find the matching colour, and I'll tan it until it looks
ancient. I promise. About the paper.... I'm not that sure. It's still a bit
damp. It needs a professional drying."

Luca looked worried. Could he leave the book here? Enzio smiled at him and
patted his arm. "You must trust me her, ragazzo."

Luca nodded finally. "Good. I'm very thankful. And... we'll talk about
money then. When shall I come back?"

"Money?" Enzio Celli's face had clouded over. "Do you want to insult me?
This is a challenge I've waited for too long."  Rosso and Antonio grinned.

"You return next week and I'll be able to tell you more, d'accordo?"


                       *


"Fine", Rosso said, when they were out of the shop. "What are we going to
do now? Have you heard from Tris? When does your workshop open again, by
the way?"

"Next Monday. The last thing I heard from Tris was that he was
alternatively trying to call his policeman or to see the call-boy again."

Rosso laughed. "My poor ass. There sleeping dogs awake, eh? Have you told
him to be careful? I mean, in all ways."

Luca nodded. "Sure. Hopefully he'll keep his senses when it comes to the
hot action." At the same moment he remembered that he and Sandro had
unprotected sex too lately and he swallowed dryly.


"Well, I'm off to the shop", Rosso said. "Call me if you have any
news. What will you do if Sandro wants to see the book?"

Luca shrugged. "I don't know, mate. Divert him the best I can."

Rosso grinned and gave him a smack on the shoulder. Wiping his nose he went
away and waved with his handkerchief.


Luca stood forlorn. He was very thankful for Rosso and his uncle, and
perhaps they would be able to repair the disaster. Although - of course
Sandro would notice. But then the damage would be repaired and he would
forgive him. After all it had brought something good. He had found the
missing pages and as far as he had understood Masolino's scribbling, the
secret was solved. What to do now? How could he tell Alessandro about it
without giving away the place where he had found out? Impossible.

Luca stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans jacket and walked
along, back to the narrow main street, seeing the queue that had already
been built by waiting tourists in front of Michelangelo's house. Aimlessly
he walked on, his head bent while his thoughts somersaulted without finding
a way out of his dilemma.

He drifted between the alleys and streets, then encircled the quadratic
bulk of Or San Michele - once a granary, later remodelled as church since
inside was a miracle-working picture of the Madonna. On all four sides the
best Artists of Florence had created statues of holy men, as commission
works of Florence's guilds.

Luca remained in front of Donatello's "Saint George", standing upright in
his niche in the wall, stubborn against wind and weather, holding his
shield protectively against his thighs. Had Maestro Donatello ever learnt
the truth about the whereabouts of his young contemporary Masaccio?
Masolino, by all means, had fled to Budapest - as the date said in his
diary.

Luca drew a wide circle through Via Lamberti, coming briefly to a halt in
front of the 'Tabasco Bar' and he remembered his first time there with
Sandro. Perhaps he should go out with Tristano again to take his mind off
things. In a couple of days Sandro would return to Pisa and if Luca could
survive the days until then without Sandro asking for his diary... A bit
more confident he moved on, bought vegetables and fruit in the next
alimentari and then crossed Piazza Signoria where people stood in groups,
being informed by their guides about the meaning of this central place in
dozens of languages.

For a while Luca watched the spectacle. Suddenly he looked at the place
from the point of a non-inhabitant: The huge fountain with the even larger
white and naked Neptune, surrounded by green, naked nymphs. To his right
was an open loggia with one of his favourite statues - naked Perseus,
holding the bloody head of Medusa high in the air - and beside him the
round buttocks of a Roman soldier, abducting a woman of the tribes of
Sabina.

 Luca stared at the white arse. Enticing. In front of him there was the
monster of Palazzo Vecchio - the town hall - growing high into the air,
brown and defiant and armed with battlements, guarded by the
"Melon-squeezer" to its right and Michelangelo's "David" to its
left. Naked, beautiful David, a bit dirty from pollution and rain, but
upright and ready to protect the Republic. No wonder Florence was a gay
metropolis, Luca thought grinning. Naked guys wherever you look....

He draw closer to the entrance of the Town Hall. A glass case had gained
his attention. Perhaps there was something important this time. No, just
marriage announcements. But wait...




                        "Alessandro di Ser Matteo di Gondi-Lucertola

                                                    and

                               Leonora di Francesca da Firenzuola

         announce their intention to enter into holy matrimony. The
festivities will take
        place in the Salone Cinquecento of Palazzo Vecchio on Sunday, 19th,
                                   10 o'clock sharp."



Luca blinked, frozen to the spot. This could only be a mistake. No, it
wasn't . There was only one guy with that name living in this town, as well
as there was only one Leonora. Leonora? Well, Leoni anyway. Sandro's uncle
Arrigo had been quick to arrange whatever it needed to separate his gay
nephew from his boy lover. Great. He bet that not even Sandro knew about
that. Probably he would be the first to bring the good news. Luca
grimaced. He couldn't think it funny. Not anymore. Sandro talked about a
quiet marriage with no witnesses other than the ones that were needed, and
now this great announcement for the whole of Florence to see. In exactly
five days his boyfriend would marry.

Luca crept the short way behind the town hall to Palazzo Gondi, passed
through the bronze door and remained in the yard where the date palm sadly
had dropped its fronds and the red Ferrari was waiting along with the
motorbike. He fought the urge to run away, jump into the car with
Alessandro, leaving Florence behind for good. But bravely he moved on into
the kitchen where he found his boyfriend, bent over the newspaper with a
cup of coffee between his fingers. "Hey", he said. "Had fun with Rosso?
What was so important for you to leave me alone in my cold bed, that you
favoured the redhead to me, eh?"

Luca placed his bags upon the kitchen table and unpacked them. "Nothing
important, really." He examined the zucchini and the fennel, the tomatoes
and the herbs. "I'm going to cook", he announced.

"Wow. A recipe from Tris?" Alessandro unpacked the other bag with Sicilian
lemons and oranges, figs and maroons. Then he wrapped his arms around Luca
and held him tight. "I panicked when you weren't beside me this
morning. Have you told Rosso about all the shit that's happened?"

"No. Nobody knows. Except the whole town."

"Huh?"

Luca freed himself from Sandro's embrace. "I've read your marriage
announcement at Palazzo Vecchio. Sunday at this time you'll be married. I
bet it's in your newspapers too."

Alessandro, suppressing his rising anger, sifted through the newspaper to
the final page where it was emblazoned with the letters: "The Prince of the
Lilies to marry." Silently he read the article and then turned, as white as
the wall. "I'll kill Arrigo."

"Well, that's what you wanted. That's your future, isn't it. Sooner or
later it doesn't matter. And if you should ask me again: no, I won't be the
witness to your marriage. You must look for someone else." Luca stepped
closer. "Do you really think you can make a dope of me in front of all
eyes?"

Alessandro flopped upon the chair and closed his eyes. What had he got
himself into?

Without another word he vanished to the phone in silence. Luca could hear
his clamor from in the kitchen. Angrily he chopped the basil and the
parsley, along with a clove of garlic and pine kernels. All the clamor
wouldn't help Alessandro, he thought. The step had been taken and there
would be no return. Luca was fed up anyway by Sandro's eternal
"yes-and-no-I-don't-know- I'm-not-sure-wait-a-while". Sandro never knew
what he wanted. He wanted the money one day, then he wanted freedom. And in
the end Arrigo's deceitfulness and Alessandro's greed had won. He had
stressed that he would do it for both of them. Fine. Luca wiped his hands
and chucked the towel into the sink. If he thought that Luca Montori would
be a slave in his hands, dying for a few pats and a weekly dinner that
Alessandro paid for, he was wrong. The Montori's weren't any less proud
than the Gondi's.

The sharp knife chopped the fennel and zucchini like butter. This meal
wouldn't be by all means as good as Tristano's but it would be all
right. The throw the tagliatelle into the boiling water and the vegetable
into hot olive oil. And surprisingly he experienced for the first time the
secret of cooking: your cloudy thoughts vanish and you relax and everything
has a solution. Luca smiled while he stirred the pasta with one hand and
the vegetables with the other. Sandro's screaming had stopped, but he still
could hear him talking. A minute later he came through the kitchen door
with a red face and furious eyes. Luca held out the cooking spoon with some
of the sauce he had made from the vegetables. Sandro stopped short, then he
tasted. The angry boiling in his blue eyes gradually vanished.

"You're right, gioia. Let's enjoy the meal. We can't change it anymore."

He pulled out some deep plates. "Will we survive the year?"

"You sound as if we won't see each other anymore", Luca said. His heart
pounded as he waited for an answer.

"Of course we will. Leoni will vanish to Fiesole, after the marriage. I'll
return to Pisa and continue my study."

"And when the baby is born, what then?"

Alessandro rolled a tagliatelle around his fork but said nothing. He didn't
know. He didn't want to think about it. His mind swirled from all the
things Arrigo had told him. About the marriage. What there was to arrange
before then: invitations, dinner, clothes. At least Alessandro could stop
him from arranging the second marriage in the church - probably with padre
Castruccio. Pah. He gobbled up the pasta and quenched his thirst with a
glass of wine he had pulled out of the fridge.

Luca ate silently and watched him. Alessandro's face was closed, hard and
unhappy. He knew there wasn't a way back from this. They left the empty
plates where they were and went upstairs to Alessandro's room where they
loved each other with a desperate passion.



               * * * * *


The next couple of days Luca was busy with helping Alessandro to sort out
his needs, the question of clothing and flowers and supported him when
Leoni came every day to ask for this and that. Arrigo had sent out
invitation cards to all of his business friends and to the families
involved. Anastasia had arrived from Fiesole and was staying at the Palazzo
Gondi to help the young men. She looked none too happy, but said nothing.

Sunday morning started as bright as a Spring's day. Luca had left
Alessandro in front of his mirror, trying on his black velvet-suit with the
lace jabot, and had gone home. He couldn't bear it anymore. No way would he
be among the other guests at Palazzo Vecchio. Instead he would accompany
his family to mass at Santa Croce.

Of course his family knew about the event, but had avoided the subject. But
when Clarissa saw her son miserably entering the hall, where they were
waiting for Dante to get ready, she couldn't bear it anymore. She pulled
Luca aside into the living room, shouted to her husband to go on, and
examined Luca from head to toe. He seemed to have matured over the weeks
when she hadn't seen too much of him. Still tanned from his holidays, his
face was full of sorrow and anger. The brown eyes had a new, determined
look, and astonished she realized: her youngest son had grown-up.

She took off her little black hat and put her handbag aside as she took
Luca's shoulders and pressed him to her breast. "Ten o'clock, right?" She
felt him nodding and then his body shaking from suppressed sobs. She patted
his back. "I'm not gonna tell you that we've seen this coming, gioia. That
we and them have nothing in common. That they will use you and throw you
away when it suits them."

She held him back and peered into his face. "I'm not going to tell you all
this because it don't have to be the truth. If he really likes you, there
will be a way out. Although...." she swayed her head. "I can't approve of
this strange arrangement. Alessandro doesn't love the girl, does he? So,
it's not fair. But she's having his baby..."

Luca freed himself. "It's not his. It's all a lie to outsmart the padres
from Santa Maria Novella, to get his inheritance. He has to marry and have
a son before the Gondi-inheritance will be his."

Clarissa's eyes widened. "That's the deal? Jesus Maria. That's
unbelievable. And the girl... does she know?"

"She does."

Clarissa sank into the armchair and made the sign of cross. That moment the
door opened and Giano peered into. "Are you coming?" Then his face lit up.

"Luca!" With quick steps he entered the living room and embraced his
brother. "I haven't seen you for so long." He looked into Luca's
face. "You've changed. And grown", he added grinning. Then his smile fell
when he remembered the day. He looked at his mother "You'll be late for
mass, Mamma. Go and I'll care for the piccolino."

Clarissa sighed. "All right, boys. I'll make your exxcuses at church." She
stroked Luca's hair as well as Giano's and left her sons alone.


Luca wanted to ask so many things. About Tino and their holidays in
Germany, but Giano was showering him with questions, until Luca gave in and
told him the whole story. He had to. He couldn't allow himself to lie to
his family. It was enough that he had to face his older brothers again and
doubtless their nasty comments about a fag going to be married.



                *


Alessandro stared at the pompous freschi. The whole, large room of the five
hundred was painted wall by wall with motives of Florence's victories over
Pisa and Siena. Vasari had done a good job, he thought, busy with not
listening to the notary's announcements - who was enthroned behind a
monster of table, dressed with a dark fur collar and a red velvet biretta -
and his unctuous litany about the importance of matrimony to
society. Instead he looked up to the gilt decorated ceiling with paintings,
glorifying Cosimo the first. Then he imagined the walls empty and the
gold-locked Leonardo da Vinci with his clean red cloak sketching the walls
with his version of the battleground of Anghiari while on the other wall
Michelangelo - gloomy with his black coat and stockings and his black, wild
shock of hair spread the cardboard and pinned it to the wall: his version
of the battle at Cascina.



Music sounded and Leoni entered the hall, solemnly guided by her father in
a grey suit and top hat, while Leoni was wearing a dream of ivory coloured
lace with a meter long train that some flower children carried and tried
excited to spread it out neatly.



Michelangelo was alone, absorbed in his painting, filling out the red
Sinope-sketches with his colours. Young, muscled soldiers gathering in
their camp at the park next to a small river where they had their early
morning bath when the signal started - deep sounds of horns, indicating the
battle was to start. Leonardo clambered his trestle with the help of his
servant Salai, trying out a new kind of fresco painting with glue mixed
with colour, until the disaster was perfect. The painting didn't want to
dry. Salai lit fires in huge cauldrons to hopefully dry the paint, but
instead of the unfinished fresco started flooding down the wall, destroying
bit by bit the horses and the soldiers entangled in their fights.



Leoni now stood beside him and smiled at him. Alessandro remained stern. He
had avoided looking at the faces behind him: Anastasia with black lace
covering her face. Arrigo with his wife and Emilio, the mayor, both in
black suits, a self-satisfied grin around their mouths; members of noble
families, Leoni's parents, and even Emilio Pucci next to his young
boyfriend - they had all gathered to watch his shame. Alessandro lifted his
head and slightly shook his brown locks.


"... by virtue of my duty and all rights transferred by the town of
Florence, I ask you, Alessandro..."

Alessandro answered with firm voice, not looking at Leoni who promised
herself a minute later. Smiling, her father put her hand into his while
Alessandro fingered the rings from his breast pocket. The rings Arrigo had
provided and paid for. Leoni's fingers trembled.



Leonardo was embittered and waited for Michelangelo's mockery. But the
Florentine was an Artist from head to toe and didn't think in the least to
mock his competitor. The hall remained empty without decoration because
Michelangelo gave up as well.




"You can kiss the bride."

Automatically Alessandro lifted Leoni's veil and pressed his lips upon
hers. Shouts of joy wrested from many throats and suddenly both were
encircled by people wanting to congratulate them. The signing of the papers
was a blur. In all the jumble Alessandro found himself opposite Emilio
Pucci who shook his hand, a regretful expression on his face. "I thought
you would be true to yourself; to who you are", he whispered.

Leoni at his side, Alessandro left the room, defeated as Leonardo had once
been.


Anastasia had prepared a room for Leoni. In no way did she want to lose
face by being shunted off by her husband to the Gondi's country house so
shortly after the marriage. She had to stay at the palazzo, at least for
one night. Somehow Alessandro survived the festivities, held in the
restaurant of a hotel. He drank too much and had to be driven home by
Arrigo.

Leoni pouted. "I want my wedding night", she said in her little-girl's
voice, but Alessandro laughed at her. "All you get is the bed Anastasia
made up for you. My room is locked." He raised his finger in front of
Leoni's nose. "For good. Capisce?"

Finally alone in his room he phoned Luca. He didn't answer. Alessandro
laughed to himself. What do you expect? To spend your wedding night in the
arms of your boyfriend?

When he lay naked between the sheets, his head swirling from the alcohol,
the dances, the laughing, the chattering, the best wishes, his mobile
played its melody. Quickly he grabbed it. "Luca!" he shouted. "Where have
you been?"

"Out with Giano. I had to tell him, sorry. I can't take it all by myself."

"That's all right. Will you come over?"

Silence on the other side. "I'll come."

Luca hurried through the deserted night-time streets and he had forbade his
mind to think. If he had done, he would never have gone. But now he ran up
the gloomy staircase where the dusty, red carpet muffled his footsteps and
opened the door to Alessandro's large room which was lit by uncountable
candles standing upon the table, the cupboards, even on the floor boards
tiny tea-light candles. He blinked. The door to the loggia was open and let
in a soft breeze; soft enough not to blow them out.

Alessandro waited in the shadows with nothing more on than his washed out
blue jeans, embracing his body like a second skin.

Luca's heart surged. Without thinking he dropped his shirt and kicked off
his shoes. The distance was short and yet he thought to cross a mile before
he could dig his fingers into Alessandro's locks. He felt cold like a
marble statue and so Luca rubbed Alessandro's arms and his fingers until
the blood started to pulsate again. "It's my wedding night", Alessandro
said with flat voice.

"Where is she?"

"Down in the guest's room." Alessandro stepped back. "Everyone was
there. Family, friends, acquaintances. Even Emilio. He was disappointed
with me."

"Emilio Pucci?"

"With his boyfriend." Alessandro approached him again, cupping Luca's face
between his palms and drew each line with his fingers. "Love me", he said
softly almost inaudible. "Tomorrow I'm off."

Luca wondered if Leoni would hear the cries in the night. The heavy
panting. The promises. She wouldn't of course. The walls were thick.


The candles were out when he lifted his lids in the morning, entangled with
Alessandro's limbs. He was lying half over his boyfriend's body, feeling
his naked butt and his own penis fit perfectly into the cleft. He was sore
and Alessandro had to be too, but still he felt the urge to continue and
never stop. May the morning never dawn.

He nibbled at Alessandro's ear and tickled his nose with his own hair. He
felt the heaving breast, the flat stomach and embraced his member with his
palm. It jerked and Alessandro's eye lids fluttered. He turned sleepily,
smiled and pressed his head against Lucas' hair. "Is it morning already?"
he moaned. "My ass is pulp."

Luca laughed his pearly laughter. "Mine too. Well, let's care for it, all
right?" He was about to crawl over Alessandro's body to step out of the
bed, but Alessandro held him. "Where are you going? I said my ass is pulp,
but not this." He guided Luca's hand over his abdomen into his hair and
further down. Luca grasped the rising penis and stroked his balls. Then,
climbing over Alessandro's body he devoured it whole, while at the same
time he felt grabbed by his thighs and his buttocks cupped. He sensed
Alessandro's warm breath; his tongue, licking his way into his hole and
back along his scrotum to his ball sack.

Luca tried not to bite into Alessandro's cock with sheer lust and instead
succumbed to the sensations and his own actions.

Later in the bathroom they cared for each other until they appeared washed,
combed and creamed at the kitchen table where Anastasia had already
prepared the breakfast. The smell of wafers reminded Luca of home. His
mother would worry. But he put the thought aside because Leoni appeared,
tired and with dark rings under her eyes. She stood rooted to the spot when
she saw Luca sitting next to her husband, sipping coffee and orange juice
and chewing at the wafers.

Alessandro gave her a "Good morning", but she hardly answered. Instead she
threw a sinister look at Anastasia who sat indifferently, eating like a
sparrow.

"You allow this, Anastasia?" she asked, taking a cup and pouring herself
coffee. Then she pulled out her box of cigarettes and lit one.

Alessandro took it from her mouth and stubbed it into the ashtray without
saying a word. Leoni looked flabbergasted.

"I'm not his mother, Leoni", Anastasia said firmly. "I'm just an employee
of the Gondi-house. But you shouldn't smoke, in this point Alessandro is
right." Leoni gasped for breath. "Fine. I'm going to live at the Villa at
Fiesole, so you better learn to fulfil my wishes, Anastasia. For instance
you can pack my things. Now."

Anastasia rose, but Alessandro held her arm. "Stay put and finish your
breakfast." And to Leoni he said sharply "If you ever dare to treat
Anastasia like a slave you've got a surprise coming. You will listen to her
and do what she says, capisce?"

"Pah", Leoni scoffed. "You have nothing to say about it. You fag. Sitting
at on wedding morning with your lover without any shame. And where's your
ring anyway?"  Alessandro's face was red and Luca saw that he wanted to
slap her face. But he restrained himself and said as calmly as possible
"Watch your mouth. And make sure you hold to your part of our
deal. Otherwise you'll see not a cent of the money."

Luca had stopped eating and searched for Anastasia's eyes. She winked at
him soothingly.


A few hours later Leoni stood ready to leave Florence with dozens of
suitcases and bags. Alessandro shoved her and Anastasia into a taxi. His
own suitcase stood beside his Ferrari.

He pressed a parcel into Luca's hands. "A little present for you so you'll
not to feel too lonely." Luca's protested but he hushed him with "Nothing
expensive, don't worry." He embraced his body and kissed him for a long
time. "See you next weekend, gioia. And take care of the diary. Have you
taken it to your home?"

Luca's heart pounded wildly. "Well, yes. But I'll bring it back here if you
want."

"Just make sure it's safe, all right?"

Luca nodded. Alessandro stepped into his car and drove through the entrance
gate. Luca remained alone with the lonely palm and the motorbike and the
whole large palazzo behind him. Then he remembered the parcel in his hand
and ripped off the paper. A Discman appeared in shiny silver surface and
matching ear phones. And a self burnt CD with all the favourite songs that
they had listened in the night.

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