The Devil Wears D&G

The Devil Wears D&G

"Mi scusi signore" I say in a loud voice. (Excuse me Sir) (Apparently, I talk to soft for Italians) “Si?”  (Yes)  replies the old Middle Eastern man. “Ma, have you seen my dignity, pride or ummm telecomander? I mumbled (But, have you seen my dignity, pride or telecomander, which is the Italian word for electric key, mine just so happens to operate the two gates to my house) “Huh?”  Middle Eastern man says as he cocks his head sideways and lifts his upper lip showing a toothless mouth. “la mia chiave Signore. (My key Sir) I reply desperately. “AHHHHH Si, si la tua chiave!,   Ieri or Oggi?” (Yes, yes your key was it yesterday or today) one tooth says. “Errrhhh Ieri, Si Ieri notte (yesterday, yes yesterday night) “No no Signora” as he explains in Italian that they sweep the road in the early morning. “Grazie” (thanks) I say in my American accent. “Prego” (welcome) one tooth says. I run off along the beach pathway searching for my telecommander….

    It all started Ieri, he said “Let’s meet, I need to get ready and I’ll pick you up in about twenty minutes”.  “Okay, Okay” I met him a week ago on the beach, he speaks English and I liked his red Ray Ban’s.

                                                                                               

   Heels on, make up and a cute outfit ready to go.  I have been out with the family I am living with and this is the first time I am going out with a new friend, butterflies flutter in my tummy. I’m off and the sound of click click on the cobble stone echoes through the outside of the house and down the street and into the small village. I walk to our meeting spot and wait in front of the bar/beach club where he works. The moon has started to show its face and the mountains that surround the sea turn from purple to dark blue. I wait for a few minutes and I wish I smoked cigarettes so I would have something to do with my hands; I fidget for a few more minutes until I hear someone call my name.

       He is on a black motorcycle and the engine blares, he is well dressed, fo hawk, cute, in all black and designer, my type and slightly artistic. I tilt my head and glare at him as an “Uh-Oh” goes through my mind. What will we talk about? Okay breath. He jumps off the moto and kisses me in the traditional Italian fashion. “Take my hand” he says and “let’s drink”.  “What do you want amore?” “How about a shot of vodka?” as he opens the door to the bar which is closed for the night; we are the only people around and I hear the waves crashing into the soft sand. “Well okay but, buon notte or goodnight” I say as I laugh. Cheers, Cin Cin, Salute! We cheers in both languages to a new friendship.

     “Shall we go?” he whispers softly in my ear and kisses me gently and unexpectedly on the lips, he tastes like lemon vodka and smells like Dove soap. “Your trouble”, I whisper back and put a hand to my mouth. “Trouble? Trouble what is this word trouble? I don’t know this” he states and has a wrinkled brow expression. “It's you” I tell him as he slips his hand in mine.

      We go outside and he straps a matching black helmet on me and tells me to hold on tight. I smile and think this is going to be fun. We go to a bar over looking the sea and mountains, it is situated on the side of the mountain and the furniture is under an Indian looking tent as people hold drinks and talk. Every restaurant and house has a large outside patio where people relax and take life slow in this small sea side village. He explains that this is my night and we can do what ever I want, Welcome to Italy!

      We have a seat after he salutes or says hello to multiple tables and he orders a bottle of white wine and a fresh fruit plate with honey and almonds. A cool breeze blows my hair across my face as we talk about what we want in the future as well as the past. He talks about studying at University in geology and working at the beach every day. He tells me how busy his life has been lately and this feels good. Philosophy my favorite topic to debate and understand weaves in and out of easy and light hearted conversation. He says he doesn’t believe in any thing he can not touch, and I state I only believe in things that I can not touch. I can image life as I desire, I believe in everything spiritual. He doesn’t. I am starting to think we are opposites but the same in so many ways. He may be the male version of me, as he tells me he only travels alone and loves an adventure.

     He asks me if I believe in love, it is a question that catches me off guard from such a prestigious man. “Well, I stammer and hesitate. Maybe.  He declares this as a “yes or no question” Yes, I do but not today I answer and hope he does not pry. I am not looking for that now, my past love is a little tricky and I feel slight exposed and open to a stranger. It is interesting how a simple question can bring out feelings to some one you hardly know. He tells me to explain and not worry about the language barrier he will do his best to understand, even though his English is fantastic and is not an issue. Well I would be married in exactly 4 days if I was in America I explain as he feeds me fresh fruit and pours me a new glass of wine. The fruit is so sweet and fresh, and mostly likely had been cut from the tree that morning or yesterday at the latest. The country side is filled with vineyards and orchards of fruit. The fruit and food is so good it makes me laugh out loud as he stares at me inquisitively. I think I am going to like it here, I think out loud.

       “Let’s go get Mojtos” he says we have already finished a bottle of wine and my body is tingling with simple pleasures. Ohhh lord, I may be a little drunk but why not I tell him as he holds my hand and leads me to the motorcycle which we parked in no particular parking space. He knows everyone around but it is a very small town of less than 3,000 inhabitants and he is a bartender, he is a devil in disguise for me. Nothing but trouble I think and say to his face again, he still doesn’t understand the word. As the drinks flow he starts talking about the many women that like him.

     Apparently he is a very eligible bachelor and a party organizer for the beach. He reminds me of an arrogant version of a friend in America. Wonderful I think to myself a play boy in Italy, just what I need.  He drinks his fresh Sicilian mojto with his pinky facing the stars while we sit under a white umbrella at a chic new bar. I gaze upward wondering about the constellations and what else is out there as he stares at me. The night sky shines a dark black blue with large diamonds twinkling above our heads, it is hard to tell where the sky line begins and the sea ends. The mountain side is full of villas and houses with their lights on and it resembles an ocean side version of a porcelain Christmas set. The sand replaces the snow. My head is cloudy now, and it is difficult to determine where my legs and arms start and his began.      

 He asks me if I like chocolate, of course I like chocolate I respond I like everything here. I no longer have a 100 pound frame and I am starting to get my appetite back. We ride on the motorcycle as he swerves in and out of back alleys at 2:00 am , I giggle. We forget our helmets and it doesn’t seem to matter. I don’t have a care in the world, my long blonde hair flying in the wind, wild and free. I think of a horse running wild in a field and how I resemble this animal; for a second I think we are airborne.

    

We stop at a small shop with no sign or indication of a name, it has no door but I smell the sweet scent of fresh baked bread. He tells me to stay on the bike as he jumps off and heads inside. He comes out five minutes later with two bags, "Chocolate croissants", he says, "the best in Sicily."  Good God, I think he is trouble and I would have never eaten a chocolate croissant before Italy. We do not have anything like the pastries in America.

We start swerving in and out of cars and alleys again while I giggle and swing my hair from side to side and put my hands in the air. He winks at me in the mirror; I smile and wrap my hands tighter around his small but muscular frame.

     We pull up to the beach front where we started hours earlier, and he asks me if I have his telecomander and keys. Huh? I say No, I do not have your keys, as he tells me he loses his keys all the time and he is digging deep in his pockets and turning his D&G jeans inside out. I start laughing because I can never find my keys either, we both start cracking up laughing and finally he finds them.

    

          We get back on the devilcycle, he knows exactly where I live. Thanks Italian mamma and papa: they are always looking out for me, if not literally at the time in the way of being a wealthy family. He drops me off and hands me my chocolate treat, he kisses my hand as he helps me off the bike. He asks me if I want to go to the end of the street to make out, I don’t think he gets it. I am never going out with you again runs through my mind. You’re a charming devil in D&G from toe to manbag.

     He speeds off and I am left at the front gate. I rummage through my purse looking for my damn telecomander to open the two private gates to my family (when I say my family I am referring to the family I am living with in Italy not my actual family) “Shit, I murmur…shiiittt; ohhh what is that?”  I spot the chocolate croissant at the bottom of my bag. I bite into it while kneeling on the ground with the contents of my bag spread on the sand filled driveway. Shiitt, but ummmm Oh Mio Dio, that’s the best freaking think I have ever had I say out loud to myself.

     Chocolate oozes out and it is still warm from the oven, flakes from the croissant are all over my lip gloss on the ground and chocolate is on my hands. Oh shit again, I am going to have to jump this gate and fence in skinny jeans and six inch heels. Here goes nothing, I pray no one sees me and the family is sleeping.

    

I say a silent prayer in Sanskrit. I hold the chocolate goodness in my hand as I put a foot on the gate and start to climb the enormous medal gate with iron spikes at the top for decoration. I stop mid way to take another bite and wonder if they have cameras, I wave and say ciao just in case…blop and safe perfect ten landing as I jump down. I take a pretend bow and give a gymnastic hand raise with one pastry filled hand and say thank you thank you to my pretend audience

     I take another bite, holly cow that is good. Your welcome Italy I say to the camera and give a chocolaty toothy grin. For a second I think about going back to look for the telecommander, no way and I head to the kitchen instead. Feeling like a guilty teenager taking a sip of mom’s booze. Guilty as charged. I wish they had one of those huge pastry machines in their kitchen, they look like they could catapult a small human from. I stand in the kitchen wondering how they could catapult a croissant to me from the shop to the house.

     I settle for a cookie and go back outside to the guest house tip toeing like a child. Shhhh,  I loose track of reality and time. And think of a lie of what happened to my telecomander… Well you see, what happen was, I was going for a run and it must have slipped out of my sports bar. Yes, of course and then a car hit it, that damn bastard was going way to fast.

      I pass out and wake up to my phone beeping the next morning. It’s the Devil in D&G he wants to see me again, “come to my beach today” “Va Bene, okay okay. I am not going I’ll make him sweat it out a little first. Prego Italia!