Susan Phillips - Breathing Room

“Snotty and sarcastic.”

Compared to New York’s glittering monuments to the past, the Guarnacci Etruscan Museum was unimpressive. The small lobby was shabby and a little gloomy, but as they began inspecting the contents of the glass cases on the ground floor, she saw a vast display of fascinating artifacts: weapons, jewelry, pots, amulets, and devotional objects. More impressive, however, was the museum’s extraordinary collection of alabaster funeral urns.

She remembered seeing a few urns prominently displayed at other museums, but here hundreds jostled for space in the old-fashioned glass cases. Designed to hold the ashes of the deceased, the rectangular urns varied from about the size of a rural mailbox to something closer to a toolbox. Many were topped by reclining figures-some female, some male. Mythological scenes, as well as depictions of everything from battles to banquets, were carved in relief on the sides.

“The Etruscans didn’t leave any literature,” Ren said when they finally climbed the stairs to the second floor, where they found even more urns crowded into the old-fashioned cases. “A lot of what we know about their daily lives comes from these reliefs.”

“They’re certainly more interesting than our modern cemetery markers.” Isabel stopped in front of a large urn with the figures of an elderly couple reclining on the top.

“The Urna degli Sposi,” Ren said. “One of the most famous urns in the world.”

Isabel gazed at the couple’s lined and wrinkled faces. “They look so real. If their clothes were different, they could have been a couple we passed on the street today.” The date indicated was 90 B.C. “She looks like she adored him. It must have been a happy marriage.”

“I’ve heard such things exist.”

“But not for you?” She tried to remember if she’d read whether he’d been married.

“Definitely not for me.”

“Ever tried it?”

“When I was twenty. A girl I grew up with. It lasted a year, and it was a disaster from the start. How about you?”

She shook her head. “I believe in marriage, but not for me.” Her breakup with Michael had forced her to face the truth. It hadn’t been time constraints that had kept her from planning their wedding; it had been her subconscious warning her that marriage wouldn’t be good for her, even with a better man than Michael had proved to be. She didn’t believe that all marriages were as chaotic as her parents’ had been, but marriage was disruptive by nature, and her life would be better without it.

They wandered into the next room, and she stopped so suddenly he bumped into her. “What’s that?”

He followed the direction of her eyes. “The museum’s prize.”

In the center of the room a single glass case held an extraordinary bronze statue of a young boy. The nude was about two feet tall but only a few inches wide.

“This is one of the most famous Etruscan artifacts in the world,” he said as they approached. “I was eighteen the last time I saw it, but I still remember it.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s called Shadow of the Evening. Ombra della Sera. You can see why.”

“Oh, yes.” The boy’s elongated form was reminiscent of a human shadow at the end of the day. “It looks so contemporary, like a piece of modern art.”

“It’s from the third century.”

There was little detail to the piece, adding to its modern aura. The bronze head with its short hair and sweet features might have appeared female if not for the small penis. The boy’s long, thin arms were clasped to his sides, and his legs had tiny bumps for knees. The feet, she noticed, were a bit large in comparison to the head.

“The fact that it’s a nude makes the statue unusual,” he said. “There’s not even a piece of jewelry to indicate status, which was important to the Etruscans. It’s probably a votive figure.”

“It’s extraordinary.”

“A farmer plowed it up in the nineteenth century and used it as a fireplace poker before someone finally recognized it for what it was.”

“Imagine a country where things like this can be plowed up.”

“Houses all over Tuscany have secret stashes of Etruscan and Roman artifacts hidden away in their cupboards. After a few glasses of grappa, the owners will usually pull them out if you ask.”

“Do you have a stash at the villa?”

“As far as I know, the artifacts my aunt collected are all out on display. Come up for dinner tomorrow night and I’ll show them to you.”

“Dinner? How about lunch?”

“Afraid I’ll turn into a vampire after dark?”

“You’ve been known to.”

He laughed. “I’ve had enough funeral urns for today. Let’s eat.”

She took one last look at Shadow of the Evening. Ren’s knowledge of history bothered her. She preferred her original impression of him as oversexed, self-absorbed, and only moderately intelligent. Still, two out of three wasn’t bad.

Half an hour later they were sipping Chianti at a sidewalk café. Drinking at lunch felt hedonistic, but then so did being with Lorenzo Gage. Not even the geek clothes and taped sunglasses could completely camouflage that decadent elegance.

She dredged one of her gnocchi through a sauce of olive oil, garlic, and fresh sage. “I’m going to gain ten pounds while I’m here.”

“You’ve got a great body. Don’t worry about it.” He devoured another of the razor clams he’d ordered.

“A great body? Hardly.”

“I’ve seen it, Fifi. I’m entitled to an opinion.”

“Would you stop bringing that up?”

“Relax, will you? It’s not like you killed someone.”

“Maybe I killed a little corner of my soul.”

“Spare me.”

His faint air of boredom grated on her. She set down her fork and leaned closer. “What I did violated everything I believe in. Sex is sacred, and I don’t like being a hypocrite.”

“God, it must be hard being you.”

“You’re going to say something smarmy, aren’t you?”

“Just making an observation about how tough it has to be to stay on that narrow path to perfection.”

“I’ve been taunted by bigger bullies than you, and I’m impervious. Life is precious. I don’t believe in drifting through it.”

“Well, charging through it doesn’t seem to be working right now, does it? From what I can see, you’re disgraced, broke, and unemployed.”

“And where has your live-life-for-the-moment philosophy gotten you? What have you contributed to the world that you’re proud of?”

“I’ve given people a few hours of entertainment. That’s enough.”

“But what do you care about?”

“Right now? Food, wine, and sex. The same things you do. And don’t even try to deny the sex. If it hadn’t been important, you wouldn’t have let me pick you up.”

“I was drunk, and that night didn’t have anything to do with sex. It was about confusion.”

“Bull. You weren’t that drunk. It was about sex.” He paused, cocked an eyebrow at her. “We’re about sex.”

She swallowed. “We’re not about sex.”

“Then what are we doing here right now?”

“We’ve just formed an odd sort of friendship, that’s all. Two Americans in a foreign country.”

“This isn’t a friendship. We don’t even like each other that much. What’s between us is sizzle.”

“Sizzle?”

“Yeah, sizzle.” He drew out the word until it sounded like a caress.

A little shiver passed through her, which made it a challenge to sound offended. “I don’t sizzle.”

“I noticed.”

Well, she’d left herself wide open for that one.

“But you want to.” He suddenly seemed very Italian. “And I’m prepared to help.”

“My eyes are misting from emotion.”

“I’m just saying that I’d like a second shot.”

“I’ll bet.”

“I don’t want blemishes on my employment record, and I didn’t do the job you hired me for.”

“I’ll settle for a refund.”

“Against company policy. We only give even exchanges.” He smiled. “So you’re not interested?”

“Not at all.”

“I thought honesty was basic to the Four Cornerstones.”

“You want honesty? All right. Admittedly you’re a great-looking man. Dazzling, actually. But only in that impossible, movie-star, fantasy way. And I outgrew movie-star fantasies when I was thirteen.”

“Is that how long you’ve had your sexual hang-ups?”

“I hope you’re done with lunch, because I am.” She tossed her napkin onto the table.

“And here I thought you were too evolved to get huffy.”

“You thought wrong.”

“All I’m proposing is that you stretch your boundaries a little. Your bio says you’re thirty-four. Don’t you think that’s a little old to carry around so much baggage?”

“I don’t have sexual hang-ups.”

The knowing arch of his brow made her uncomfortable. He stroked the corner of his mouth. “In the interest of serving another human being-a philosophy you should appreciate-I’m prepared to help you work through every one of those hang-ups.”

“Hold on. I’m trying to remember if I’ve ever had a more insulting offer. No. This is it.”

He smiled. “It’s not an insult, Fifi. You turn me on. There’s something about the combination of a great body, a first-class brain, and a snotty personality that does it for me.”

“I’m getting all misty again.”

“When we met in town yesterday, I had this fantasy of seeing you naked again, and-I hope I’m not being too explicit here-spread-eagled.” The slow smile that curled the edges of his mouth looked more boyish than evil. He was having a great time.

“Ahh…” She tried for sophistication-young Faye Dunaway-but he was definitely getting to her. This man was bottled sex, even when he was being outrageous. She’d always applauded people who were clear about their goals, so it seemed wiser to let the more rational Dr. Favor take over. “You’re proposing that we establish a sexual liaison.”

He stroked the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “What I’m proposing is that we spend every minute of every night for the next few weeks engaged in either foreplay, afterplay, or… play.” He lingered over the word, teasing it with his lips. “What I’m proposing is that all we talk about is sex. All we think about is sex. All we do is-”

“Are you making this up on the spot, or is it from a script?”

“Sex until you can’t walk and I can’t stand up straight.” His voice delivered a thousand volts of smolder. “Sex until we’re both screaming. Sex until every hang-up you have is gone and your only goal in life is to come.”

“My lucky day. Free smut.” She tilted her sunglasses higher on her nose. “Thanks for the invitation, but I think I’ll pass.”

His index finger made a leisurely journey around the rim of his wineglass, and his smile spoke of conquest. “I guess we’ll see about that, won’t we?”

Even Ren’s tough morning workout didn’t burn off his restless energy. He took a slug from the water bottle and gazed at the pile of brush Anna wanted moved away from the villa’s garden. She’d planned to ask her husband, Massimo, who supervised the vineyard, to do it, or her son, Giancarlo, but Ren needed activity, and he’d volunteered.

The day was hot, the Madonna-blue sky cloudless, but even as he fell into the rhythm of the task, he couldn’t shake off thoughts of Karli. If he’d tried harder to reach her, she might still be alive; but he’d always taken the easy way out. He’d been careless with women, careless with friendships, careless about everything except his work.

“I don’t want you around my children,” his father had said when Ren was twelve. Ren had retaliated by stealing the old man’s wallet.

Granted, he’d cleaned up his act in the past ten years, but old habits were hard to break, and he’d always have a sinner’s heart. Maybe that was why he felt so relaxed around Isabel. She wore her goodness like armor. She might feel vulnerable now, but she was tough as iron, so tough that even he couldn’t corrupt her.

He loaded up the wheelbarrow again and pushed it to the edge of the vineyard, where he emptied it into one of the empty metal drums used to burn brush. As he set it on fire, he gazed in the direction of the farmhouse. Where was she? A day had passed since they’d gone to Volterra, and she still didn’t have electricity, mainly because he hadn’t bothered to tell Anna to get it fixed. Hey, good deeds hadn’t gotten him where he was today, and this seemed the easiest way to get Ms. Perfect on his turf.

He wondered if she’d wear her hat when she finally came charging up the hill to confront him about her power problems, or if she’d let those curls she hated fly free. Stupid question. Nothing about Isabel Favor would ever fly free. She’d be buttoned up neat as a pin, looking capable and sophisticated, and she’d probably be waving a sheaf of legal papers that threatened to lock him up for life for being a slumlord. So where was she?