I am at Serena’s place at 10:30 sharp, after having taken Reggie for a two-mile walk all around our neighborhood. We didn’t go too far out of the way because many of Rome’s streets look alike and I didn’t want to get lost. So we went around blocks and backtracked and did laps of some blocks we’d already visited, but it’s good. We also beat the heat, which was good for Reggie. Now, he’s tucked up in the air-conditioned suite, probably curled up on the bed and snoozing, and I am ringing the bell outside Serena’s gate.
Her front door opens just as a large, black van pulls up behind me. Serena and her houseguests all file from the house and out the gate. We exchange hellos and good mornings as we all pile into the van, which I realize is basically a cab that fits all of us. Serena sits in the passenger seat and the rest of us cram in. I’m in the back row, sandwiched between Bethany and Sophie.
“This is gonna be so much fun,” Sophie informs me as we start driving to the place we’re supposed to meet our guide. “We go every time we visit Serena.”
“Yeah?” I ask. “How many times have you been here?”
Sophie looks across me to her mom, eyebrows raised in question.
Bethany furrows her brow as she thinks. “Three? Four?”
“Serena,” Sophie calls up to the front seat. “Are we gonna have Marina again?”
“I requested her,” Serena says. “So I hope so.”
“You’re gonna love Marina,” Sophie tells me. “She’s so freakin’ cool.”
I love her enthusiasm, and her excitement is contagious, and pretty soon, I’m looking more forward to this than I was earlier. The drive doesn’t take long, and in a blink, we’re turning into a parking lot surrounded by what seems to be a bunch of little shops. The driver hops out and opens the door, and we all spill out like clowns from a mini car.
Serena spins in a slow circle as she looks around. “I don’t see her yet.” She points to a red awning. “We’re meeting her there.” And without waiting, she walks in that direction.
“This is Trastevere, right?” Sophie asks as we fall in line behind Serena, who nods in answer to the question. Sophie puts the accent on the “ver.” One thing I’ve noticed in my slightly more than a week in Rome is that pretty much all Italian words are fun to say. They feel good in your mouth, I don’t know how else to describe it. I don’t speak one single word of Italian,but I could listen to it all day long. I find myself whisperingTrastevereto myself.
Serena sidles up to me with a pamphlet in her hand. “I don’t know why I have this,” she says. “I know this tour by heart.” She hands the pamphlet to me, then waves above us at the awning. “We start here, where we’ll have an appetizer of some sort. Marina mixes it up for us, since we’re regulars now. Then we’ll go here,” she points to the next name on the list, which says it’s a wine bar, “and have wine and probably cheese.” She continues down the list. “Then here for lunch and here for gelato.”
“Oh, my God, this sounds amazing,” I tell her. I try to offer her money for my ticket, and she makes apfftsound and waves me away. Listen, I have plenty of money. Some would consider me wealthy. But I don’t think my bank account would come close to Serena’s. Still, I insist, and still, she waves me off.
“Absolutely not,” she says firmly.
Bethany catches my eye. “Are you trying to pay for your ticket? Yeah, don’t bother. She’ll have none of it.” And she smiles at me like knowingly. “Been there, done that, about a million times.”
Serena smiles at me. She’s got one front tooth that’s slightly turned, giving her face a unique look. Today, her hair is piled on her head and she’s wearing white wide-leg pants and a flowy turquoise tank top. Her earrings are also white and turquoise, and they dangle close to her neck. She has her own sense of fashion, and I love that about her.
“Buongiorno!” comes a cheerful voice from behind me, and when I see Serena’s face light up, I turn to find the source.
“Marina!” Serena says and opens her arms to hug the woman. They’re like long lost friends, hugging and rocking back and forth as they do.
“How are you, my friend?” Marina asks, and her English is better than mine. Which is not surprising. One of my bigconcerns coming here was the language barrier since, as I said, I don’t speak a word of Italian. But I had nothing to be worried about. So many young Italians also speak English, Marina being a clear example.
“Let me introduce you,” Serena says. “Or reintroduce you.” There’s no need, as Marina remembers everybody’s name and says them as she shakes hands with each person.
“And this,” Serena says, “Is my new friend Lily.”
Marina meets my gaze. Her hand in mine is warm and soft, and she’s absolutely stunning, but in that unassuming way. Like she has no idea how fucking beautiful she is. Her eyes are dark, like the darkest roast of coffee imaginable. She’s in her mid-thirties, I’d say, with gorgeous hair, thick and nearly black, cascading over her shoulders like dark waves. Her brows are wide and precise, and I get the impression that she doesn’t miss much, that those eyes take everything in, like they are now. She’s taking me in, all of me, I can feel it.
“Lily,” she says. “So nice to meet you.”
“You as well. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
At that, her cheeks get a slight pink tint to them, and she glances at the others. “Don’t listen to their lies. I’m a nice person.”
The others laugh and I say, “Well, they’ve told me you’re going to feed me better than any other woman in my life.” I realize the double entendre too late, but she seems amused by it.
“Challenge accepted.” She’s still got my hand, and I’m not even mad about it. As if suddenly realizing it, she finally breaks eye contact and lets me go, and I feel every inch of her skin that touches mine as it slides away.
What the fuck?
She addresses the group, and I take a moment to clear my throat and try to reclaim my bearings, because this woman has thrown me completely off-balance mentally. My head feels alittle fuzzy, and when I shake myself back to the present, Marina is telling us about the restaurant we’re standing in front of, how it’s been here for more than fifty years, and how its specialty is what’s called a supplì.
