Expiration Dating (4 page)

             
“What do they feed the men here?” I wondered. I held up my pinky, the Italian symbol for thin. “I feel uncomfortable in a society where I’m taller and heavier than most of the men.”

             
“The bigger problem is the old ladies,” Andrew said. “Four feet tall, and when it rains they hide under their umbrellas, oblivious to the fact the spokes are located conveniently at eye height.”

Andrew took a breath. “
I had to dodge about fifty umbrella wielding seniors this morning.”

W
e lapsed into silence with no apparent solution to Andrew’s dilemma.

             
“Do you like jokes?” I asked Andrew, at a loss for conversation. He looked surprised.

             
“Sure, hit me,” he said.

             
“What’s the difference between a black man and a medium pizza?” I asked. I tried to hide my snicker behind my made-in-heaven cappuccino.

“Are you laughi
ng?” he asked.

“I think it’s funny,” I said. “Guess.”

No matter how many times I tell my jokes, I still think I’m funny.

             
“I don’t appreciate racist jokes,” Andrew deadpanned.

             
“Come on, guess,” I wheedled, assuming he was kidding.

             
“Seriously, I don’t think they’re funny.” He glanced at me with an odd expression. I looked down at my shot glass before meeting his eyes. He
was
serious.

I
gathered up my things, bid my goodbyes, and told Megan it was nice to meet her. I smacked my hand to my head, stepping into the cool, outdoor temperature. I felt a gaze studying my back, and turned to discover Andrew’s eyes following my movements. I tried to cover up the hand-smack by running my fingers through my hair.

Turns out, my locks were secure
d in a ponytail.

“I give up
.” I mouthed through the window.

Chapter Six

             
I dropped my bags on the bed and waved to Maggie who was lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling. The wrapper from a chocolate bar littered her bed near the pillow. I raised my eyebrows in approval.
At least she’s human.

Kimberly
disappeared into the other room, giggling into the phone. I could only hope she was telling her Italian boyfriend to bring cute friends. I envied the way Kimberly interspersed her English dialogue with Italian phrases. I hoped I’d be able to talk like her by the end of the semester.

             
Not sure what to do with myself until dinner, I decided to look for a phone shop. I grabbed my purse and changed into tennis shoes, leaving a note on the counter for Kimberly. As I stepped outside, I zipped my sweatshirt up to the neck. The bright sunshine was deceptive from inside my cozy apartment. My mind wandered as I let the winding street guide me in its natural direction. I stopped often, admiring the handiwork of the display windows.

             
Hardware stores were palaces filled with pots, pans and kitchen supplies. Bread shops selling Focaccia dotted the streets, the olives, onions and cheeses crafting an enticing smell in the entryways. I passed a store that sold only stationary. Another advertised only ties. I stopped at a street vendor, examining a pair of socks etched with the word
Italia.
I handed over a few Euros and pocketed the socks; my mom would get a kick out of these.

             
I perused the jewelry vendor next door, my nose pulling me a few steps further to a shop labeled
Pane e Vita
, Bread and Life. I stared at the shiny bread, slick with fresh olive oil. I went to war with myself.

You don’t need it.
I took one grudging step away, though I couldn’t remove my eyes from racks of pizzas and breads.

How often are you in Italy?
What’re a few extra calories.

             
I pushed open the door and a bell tinkled, signaling my arrival. I approached the counter and ordered, handing over a few Euros in exchange for the precious bread.

             
“Vuoi un saccheto?” the lady behind the counter asked.

             
“Um…” I shook my head. I think she asked if I wanted a bag, in which case the answer was, no, I would rather get the delicious food into my mouth as quickly as possible. I wiped a bit of imaginary drool from the corner of my lips.

             
“Delicioso.” I smiled, sinking my teeth into the cloud-like substance.
Totally worth it.

             
I turned, chomping on a huge bite. I paused when I saw familiar faces sitting in the corner.

             
“Andrew,” I gurgled around my food.

             
He looked up. He’d been talking to his roommates and hadn’t noticed my presence; I mentally face-palmed.
Why didn’t I leave when I had the chance?

             
“Dana, what are you doing here?”

             
“Well, you see… I was just walking around and this…” I gestured to the half eaten chunk of bread. It suddenly looked less appealing. “I couldn’t resist.”

             
He gave a small chuckle. The ensuing silence was a bit awkward, as they had all finished eating. I wasn’t sure whether to bid my goodbyes or take a seat.

             
“Were you hungry again, too?” I cringed at the childishness of my question.

             
“No, no. I just met my roommates here. We were gonna head home together in a minute.”

             
I nodded my head. I felt like I moved in slow motion.

             
“Take a seat.” He patted the seat next to him, closest to the window.

             
“Okay,” I said. I set the bread on the table. “Anyone want some?”

             
Andrew and his roommates shook their heads. It was Muppet-Man and Cheeto-Boy with him. Thank god Cheeto was on the opposite side of the table. The bread fumes masked his scent. I was pretty sure he hadn’t changed his shirt yet, though.

             
“Dude, come on,” Cheeto said, resuming a conversation I hadn’t heard.

             
“I’m not sure I want to go this weekend, it’s kind of soon,” Andrew said.

             
“Man, it’s like two hundred Euros tops,” Muppet-Man cut in.

             
“Where are you going?” I asked.

             
Muppet-Man glanced in my direction. “We’re going to Amsterdam, only Andrew is being a pussy and doesn’t want to come.”

             
“It’s not that I don’t want to go.” Andrew shifted his eyes in my direction. “I just think it’s a lot of money to spend right away. I need figure out how much money I have to travel this semester before I start taking trips.”

             
I nodded. “Makes sense to me. Plus, you haven’t even seen Milan yet, why don’t you spend some time here?”

             
“It’s Amsterdam,” Cheeto said, as if that explained everything.

             
“Andrew, what about the event on Saturday at the D’uomo?” I raised my eyebrows. “I thought I’d asked you to come, and I was still hoping you’d be my date. But it sounds now like you’re traveling…”

Andrew looked at me,
a blend of confusion and optimism in his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s not Amsterdam.”

I thought I detected a slight wink.

“It’s got an open bar,
” I wheedled.

             
“I could do that.” Andrew said.

             
Cheeto slid his eyes towards me as if bewildered by the turn of events. “So, you’re not coming, man?”

             
“Sorry, I totally forgot I told Dana to go with her to this thing.” He rolled his eyes. “Next time?”

             
Cheeto seemed appeased. He was already looking towards the cart to order another piece of focaccia. Muppet-Man was a bit more skeptical.

             
“I’m gonna head out now,” I said. “Thanks a lot Andrew. I’m sorry I kept you from your friends this weekend - I owe ya one.”

             
I watched Muppet-Man’s shoulders relax. He believed me.

             
I stood at the same time as Cheeto, me heading for the door and him heading to the counter.

             
“I’ll be back,” Andrew said to Muppet. “I’m going to walk her out.”

             
I let the door fly open as Andrew followed me, accompanying me out of sight from the table.

             
“Hey, thanks,” he said.

             
“For what?”

             
“What you did in there.” Andrew shifted his feet, but looked into my eyes.

             
“No problem, they were assholes.”

             
“Still.”

             
I shrugged, hoisted my purse higher and started heading towards home.

             
“It’s really fine,” I said over my shoulder. “My parents don’t pay for everything, either.”

             
Andrew kept pace with me. “About that open bar.”

             
I patted his shoulder.

“Buy a bottle of Vodka.”

              Andrew laughed, his cheeks crinkling, his face handsome yet boyish. I couldn’t help but let a grin peek out. We came to a stop.

             
“I’ll let you get back to your friends, I’m going to head home,” I said.

             
Andrew nodded. I gave a small wave, his gaze following me as I walked away.

             
“I’ll do my good deed and save Beaker,” he said and turned towards the shop.

             
“What did you say?”

             
“It was a joke – Cesare smells bad, is all.”

             
“Beaker?” I asked.

             
“I just think Josh looks kind of like a Muppet.” He seemed a bit embarrassed. “It’s dumb.”

We each walked our separate ways.
I covered my mouth with a hand, an uncontrollable smile dominating my features. I wasn’t sure why, but I felt light hearted and happy; must be the beautiful day, not to mention the fact that I was in Italy. I enjoyed the sunshine on the walk home, the warmth of the rays offsetting the nippy breeze.

             
I climbed the stairs to my apartment and struggled with the lock, the Hogwarts style key less impressive when it didn’t work.

             
“Did you get your phone?” Kimberly asked as she opened the door.

             
“Dammit.”

Chapter Seven
             

A
t 11:44 p.m., Emilia, Kimberly and I raced to the metro. The last train left at midnight, and Kimberly had spent a long time perfecting the trek to the station from our apartment, ensuring our arrival would be neither too early, nor too late.

I gasped for air,
gimping down the street in heels made six blocks feel like a marathon. I clutched my purse as it slid from my grasp, pulling up my tights and dragging down my dress. We skidded down the stairs, making it onto the last train a second before the doors clanged shut.

I adjusted my sparkly dress as we situated ourselves in the uncomfortable plastic seats. My clothes were still
heaped on the bed,
grazie
to Emilia, but I’d managed to dig out a short number, showing off both my legs and my boobs. It didn’t look
too
skanky. Unless, of course, you compared it to Emilia’s sophisticated off-the-shoulder shirt or Kimberly’s modern jumpsuit, then maybe I could have toned down the sparkles a bit. But if you couldn’t wear glitz and glamour in Milan, where in the world could you?

Maggie
had elected to stay in and draw, or think, or whatever it was she did with her time. Laura had a long-term boyfriend whom she didn’t see very often, so she declined our invitation as well, in order to stay in with him.

I glanced at my roommates, “Hey, how are we supposed to do this for the next six months?”

“What’s that?” Emilia was painting her lips, and she spoke like she was at the dentist.

“I mean if clubs don’t open until midnight, and we have
ungodly
early classes…” I trailed off.

“You have an eight a.m. class three days a week.” Emilia clicked her compact shut.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” I said. “It’s strenuous.”

Emilia rolled her eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” I said. “No Italian wants to date a baggy-eyed American.”

Emilia opened her mouth to retort but was interrupted.

             
“Fermata Garibaldi – doors open on the riiiiiiiiight,” a faceless voice over the speakers blared. If the
‘I’
sound had been any longer, I’d be worried the announcer would pass out from lack of oxygen.

             
“They couldn’t even get an American to do the announcements?” I stepped off the metro. We followed Kimberly for another half mile.

             
“Where are we going?” I asked, maneuvering along the cobblestone pathways. I ducked under a branch as we cut through a dense, tree lined path.

             
“We … are … almost there,” Kimberly grunted. Apparently all her dancing last semester hadn’t quite gotten her in shape. Sure enough, a few minutes later I felt, before I heard, the ground rumbling from the beat of the club.

             
“Weird place for a club,” Emilia said.

             
“Discoteca.” Kimberly was panting.

             
“Disco- what? We are going to a disco?” I stopped walking immediately. My disco days were long gone. Actually, they’d never existed.

             
“Discoteca, Italian for club.” Kimberly trudged on. I bet if she’d stopped moving, she’d never get started again. We arrived and saw a bunch of Italians surging towards an entrance in a scraggly line. Another non-strength of Italians; they really couldn’t form a line. It was more like a heap of people all pushing in a similar direction. We were let through security after buying our entry tickets, which thankfully included two drinks with the purchase, and took our coats off while surveying the scene.

             
“Shall we?” Kimberly asked, bee-lining for the bar. We pushed through a crowded throng, the scent of sweat mixed with cologne shrouded the dance floor and lights pulsed from colored lenses on the ceiling. I followed and tried to imitate her speech.

             
“Un invisibile,” she purred, pronouncing it in-vees-eee-bl-ay.

             
“I’ll have an invisible,” I said using the English pronunciation. The bartender looked confused. I pointed heatedly at Kimberly’s drink and he nodded in understanding.

             
“Invisibile,” he cooed. It sounded like a melody in a love song. He invited me to stick around, and taught me to pronounce a few of the drink names in Italian. This was what I called an education. The bartender winked at me.

             
“Will you dance?” he gestured to himself. “After. I finish soon.”

I nodded, smiling. I sized him up
. Frederico, I think he said. No, Roberto? Regardless, he was taller than me and had some muscles. It was a much better start than anything else I’d seen so far.

             
“Si,” I said, gleefully using my limited Italian. I turned back with my drink and found Emilia and Kimberly on the dance floor. They’d seen the whole exchange.

             
“You are a woman on a mission!” Emilia said. Her standards were
obviously
much higher than a lowly bartender. It was my theory that she just didn’t smile enough. It’s difficult to attract a man when you have a serious expression tattooed on your face.

             
“Careful with that,” Kimberly warned, gesturing to my half-empty glass. “These drinks are surprisingly strong. They’re called invisibile’s for a reason. The alcohol’s disappeared.”

I laughed her off,
rolling my eyes and reminding her that this wasn’t my first rodeo. None of us were driving anywhere, so we might as well have a little fun.

             
I downed my drink, and began to dance. Emilia and Kimberly looked at my empty glass in alarm.

             
“I’m not very good at sipping.” I shrugged. “Fact.”

             
Emilia and Kimberly continued to sip, making googly eyes at me, trying to make their point, while I got down to a remix of Grease. I pranced to the middle of the floor and did some serious booty shaking. I danced with a few Italian men, one who was extremely good looking, but who was also hitting on every girl in the joint. He tried to stick his tongue down my throat, and unfortunately I was drunk enough to let it sort of happen.
Stupid invisible alcohol!
It was the absolute worst kiss of my life; my face was sucked off by a slobbery vacuum. I decided to stick with dancing.

             
“Ciao, bellissima,” the bartender winked as Kimberly and I approached for drink Number Two. “What you want now?”

I looked to
Kimberly for advice. She leaned on the counter, exposing her voluptuous chest.

             
“Una sorpresa,” she grinned and looked at me. “I like surprises from guys that look like that.”

That was the nice thing about living in a country where the
citizens barely spoke English; you didn’t have to watch what you said because they wouldn’t understand anyway.

She retrieved the drinks and handed over our tickets. I
glanced over my shoulder as we walked away, flirting with my eyes at Roberto – Antonio? Though, it may have looked like I was having a seizure, since Kimberly asked if I was feeling alright. It took me all of thirty six seconds to polish off the next drink, and I let the plastic glass slip out of my fingers. As it hit the floor, I was already dancing. The people around me weren’t happy with the splashing ice cubes.

             
“Don’t look at me like that,” I said to someone standing behind me. I could sense their eyes on me. I turned for a closer inspection and found myself nose to nose with Andrew.

             
“Wow, you smell good,” I leaned in for a whiff. “American; it smells like home.”

I
smiled like the Cheshire Cat, swaying to the music.

             
“You wanna slow down there, champ?” Andrew reached out a hand to steady me.

             
“What, you don’t like these moves?” I stumbled around for a second, grabbing a pole for support.

             
“Come outside for a minute,” Andrew said. I did only because I had to pee, and couldn’t seem to find a bathroom. I told Andrew to hold tight for a second and ran off to the outer limits of the club, happy that this club seemed to have miles of outdoor property. I found a bush, took care of business, and tried to make my way back with dignity. The bouncer came up to me asking questions, and I swatted him away.
Forget dignity.

             
“You wanna dance?” I asked the bouncer. Being Italian, he didn’t understand what I was saying. That didn’t matter in my questionable state of mind, however. I laid into him, telling him something along the incoherent lines of it being inappropriate not to dance with a lady when she asks him. Mercifully, Andrew found me at that point and dragged me away to sit still for a minute.

             
“Having fun?” he asked.

             
“You betcha, babe,” I said. “Don’t worry, I don’t actually mean babe. It’s a saying.”

             
“No, it’s not,” he said. He peered down at his still full drink glass.

             
“Yes, it is,” I said. “It is a saying because otherwise I wouldn’t use it. I don’t just call people babe, and I definitely don’t want to date you, so why would I call you a babe?”

             
Andrew looked surprised at the turn the conversation had taken. “Who said I wanted to date you?”

I couldn’t come up with a response. Instead, I swayed to the music some more. After some time,
Andrew asked, “To satisfy my curiosity, why don’t you want to date me before I even asked?”

             
“Because you’re American,” I said, stating the obvious.

             
“…And? I don’t follow.”

             
“I didn’t come here to hang out with Americans. Italians only for me,” I explained as if talking to a five-year-old.

             
“Ah,” Andrew sat in thought. “That works for me.” Andrew stood and offered me his hands, “In that case, would you like to dance? As friends of course.”

             
I let out a small, unflattering shriek. The Italian bartender had appeared behind Andrew’s shoulder.

             
“Bella, we dance now.” His voice was sexy.

             
“Si, si, si, si, si!” I sang as the bartender nodded to Andrew.

             
“Ciao, Americano!” I shouted to Andrew as I left him standing outside. The Italian bartender and I danced closely for the rest of the evening. I was pleasantly surprised; he was a gentleman and didn’t try to kiss me (after I pushed him away once). I resisted leaving when Emilia and Kimberly pulled me to a cab.

             
“Dana, it’s 3:30 and we have to be at class in like, five hours,” Emilia pleaded. I made a disgruntled noise. “Give him your digits and let’s go.”

Since I still didn’t have a phone, he scribbled his name and number on a piece of paper.
It read ‘Giuseppe.’ I had been way off.

             
As we secured a cab, I looked out the window and saw Andrew and his housemates standing a ways off. They were staring intently at our cab. I waved, and Andrew turned away quickly, talking to Josh and Rob. Rob was his housemate from California, a real hipster dude that I had been introduced to at some point tonight.

             
“Do you and Andrew have a thing?” I asked Emilia.

             
“Absolutely not. What made you think that?” she asked.

             
“I just thought since you came here together and go to the same school, that maybe…”              “Oh no,” Emilia assured. “He just broke up with a girlfriend I think, to come here. And I had a boyfriend there.”

             
“Had?” I asked.

             
“He’s going to school in Louisiana, and he’s leaving Seattle while I’m abroad. I don’t know what we are now, but he won’t be there when I come back,” Emilia explained.

             
“I’m sorry.” I touched Emilia’s leg. Kimberly had been jabbering away in Italian to the taxi driver. Either hitting on him or giving instructions, I couldn’t be sure.

             
“It’s OK, what about you? Boyfriend?” she asked.

             
I recoiled instantly. “No, no way. I dated one guy in high school for three years and we broke up just as I was going to college. I’ve been single four years now, all throughout college, and I plan on keeping it that way. Well, except for the last guy I dated. I found him in bed two days before I came here with a horrible girl that has lousy hair, but that’s beside the point. We hadn’t dated for long, and we didn’t even have sex so it doesn’t count.”

             
“Ugh,” Emilia grunted. “Stay single, less complications.”