Roman Crazy (3 page)

Daniel's deep intake of breath put a twisted smile on my face.

“Baby, don't do this,” he begged, turning the barstool so that I faced him. Baby. I'll baby him. Did he call her Baby, too? Who else was there? Or
is
there? Had I really been oblivious to it for all these years? What gift on the twisted ladder was I on? I thought back to the diamond studs he gave me on a random Tuesday a few years ago. Then the Louboutins that I came home to after a Junior League meeting.

Most recently, the Mercedes sedan that I woke up to in the driveway after his trip to Tahoe.

“Oh you slick son of a bitch,” I sneered, the phone still at my ear. Daisy was across the ocean, on pins and needles, so instead of
ending the conversation with
her,
I kept going, plucking the celery from my Bloody Mary and taking a big, loud bite off the end. “The secretary. Ha! Can you believe it? Cliché.” Looking him dead in the eye, I took another huge bite, this time showing my teeth.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Who would cheat on you? You're the wife that men want to nail on the side!” Daisy exclaimed, loud enough that Daniel heard.

“She doesn't mean anything, Avie,” he whispered. He focused on the shiny bar top, his finger absently swirling along the grain.

“Don't you dare call me that, Daniel,” I snapped, stabbing him with my celery, flicks of tomato juice spotting his pristine Bespoke shirt. “You lost the right to cute nicknames when you decided to stick your dick in your secretary.”

“Avery, watch your mouth,” he began, but the bartender—who'd been buffing the same glass for twenty minutes—slammed it down onto the bar, startling us both. She smiled at me, motioning me to continue. Daniel seemed surprised that anyone on the other side of the bar would have an opinion. I doubted she'd work here long after this.

“Whatever it was or is with her, I know that nothing he says will make me stay,” I said to Daisy, and ended the call with the promise to call her back after this dog-and-pony show to fill her in.

“You don't mean that,” he said, smiling. Taking my hand, he traced my palm seductively. Or what I imagine would have been seductively, in a different time, in a different place. “This is us. We're a team, remember?”

How could I forget? Choices were made, decisions were cemented, and paths were chosen. But no one said I had to stay running on that particular hamster wheel.

“We've been through the ringer, you and I. This was just a stumbling block.”

“How many?”

“Avery, don't do this. It doesn't matter.”

I waited. Waited for something in my belly to flare up. To make me truly consider continuing to live this life. Bitsy's jeweled, Lexused, Provenced life. It never came.

Scooting back the stool, I stood, rolled my shoulders, and simply stated, “You'll be hearing from my lawyer.”

But there wasn't anything simple about it. In those six words, I welcomed back a piece of
Old Avery
.

I was never big on marching. I gracefully glided most days. Today was not that day.

With every ounce of confidence I could muster, I strutted my high, tight, Burberry-wrapped ass right past the dinner crowd of couples that likely heard the whole argument. I was sure my next Junior League meeting would be full of whispers and side eyes.

I was out the front door and into the sunshine without a glance backward. As I slid into my penis-gifted Mercedes, however, I realized that without the strut, I didn't feel confident at all. The strut was for Bitsy, Daniel, and the rest of the country club set, and frankly, to get me out the door without making a fool of myself. But now, alone, wrapped in tan leather and walnut paneling . . .

I didn't have a clue what to do. My life was my marriage and everything that came with it. Take that away and what was left? I'd given up so much when I married Daniel Remington. If I wasn't Avery Remington, who the hell was I?

So I called Daisy back and asked her that very question.

“What am I going to do?” I asked. “Is hiring a hit man off the table?”

She sighed. “Bless your heart, but yes, it's way off the table. As much as I want to inflict pain upon Daniel, I don't know that it's the wisest move right now.”

“Then I repeat. What am I going to do?” I whispered, blotting my eye with a tissue from my purse. “I met with a divorce lawyer, Daisy, a fucking divorce lawyer! What is happening?”

“Do you want to divorce him?”

“What?”

“Do you want to divorce him?”

I sat there in my car, unable to answer the question. “I mean, I kind of have to, right?” I asked.

“You don't have to do anything, Avery. I'm certainly not going to tell you whether you
have to do
anything you don't really want to do.”

Even though she couldn't see me, I nodded.

“So I'll ask you again, kiddo, do you want to divorce him?” she asked quietly.

She couldn't see me, but I was still nodding. And then in the tiniest of whispers, I answered . . . “Yes.” I took a breath, then said it again, stronger this time. “Yes.”

“Okay then,” she answered.

I saw Bitsy leaving the front door, and I scrunched down so she couldn't see me. “But I can't be here knowing that everyone's talking. I don't want the sad looks or the
poor Avery
that will come with it.”

“Come here,” she said, no trace of jest in her voice. “Don't think. Just come here.”

There was running away from my problems, and then there was
running away.

“Maybe a week or two would do me some good,” I admitted, thinking about what I would miss if I just picked up and left the
country. I peeked over the steering wheel to see Bitsy getting into her own penis gift. The lawyer
could
wait a bit. It's not like Daniel was going to file. His balls were in my court after all.

“A week or two is nothing. Listen, it's the beginning of June and I have a spare room. And plus, I'm barely ever home anyway. You'd have the place to yourself. I know you'd love this city, and the weather is to die for! Think about it. You could eat great food, see beautiful buildings, visit museums. You could sketch.” From across the ocean, on another continent, I could hear my friend's excitement. “Come and spend the summer with me.”

“A summer in Rome?”

“Wasn't that a movie?”

“I don't think so, but—”

“Stop stalling. No buts. No overthinking, no stressing. Just do it. Go home, pack your things, and I'll call you back with flight info. I'll see what I can get that leaves ASAP so you don't chicken out on me.”

She hung up and I stared into the visor mirror. Touching the pearls at my neck, I frowned, not recognizing myself. Yes, I was put together, and yes, I
looked
the part, but I wasn't happy. Thinking about it, I couldn't remember the last time I was.

Nodding once in silent affirmation, I slammed the car into drive.

I was heading off to spend my second summer abroad.

R
OME IS A BEAUTIFUL CITY.
I'm pretty sure. I hoped one day to see it. Because right now, all I could see of it were the cobblestones below my feet, and the occasional look up to check a sign or a house number. Then back to the cobblestones, which appeared uneven because:

1. They likely were uneven.

2. Navigating cobblestones while wearing one stupidly high shoe and one recently lowered shoe was unwise at best.

Why did I wear heels on the plane? Ah yes, because I wanted to appear composed, polished, assured, perhaps even a bit worldly? But the heels that were cute while boarding the plane at Logan Airport had become very pretty torture devices by the time I landed in Rome. This was caused by both the saltiness of the airline meal and the amount of booze I'd consumed, which turned my cute feet into puffy pillows with toes. And now one of the heels was missing, after I'd stumbled on the Metro and left
part of my shoe behind like some kind of half-assed Cinderella leaving bits and pieces all over Rome.

How the hell far up this street was Daisy's apartment?

I stopped for a moment to roll my wrists out a bit, tired from dragging my rolling luggage. Something else not made for cobblestones. I tried to see them for what they were, small pieces of history laid down centuries ago by the ingenious Romans, determined to make their shining city on a hill a bastion of wealth and knowledge for the civilized world . . . they were not made, however, for rolly luggage.

I grabbed my bags, lowered my head, and started to rumble-roll again.

Eventually, I heard the pitter-patter of tiny feet, looked up through the pieces of greasy airplane hair that had fallen in front of my eyes, and saw the most beautiful sight I'd ever seen.

Daisy Miller, best friend and funny gal about town.

“Why the hell didn't you call me? I've been worried sick! You were supposed to call me when you landed!” she called out, her long legs hurrying expertly over the cobblestones toward me.

Show-off . . .

I barely recognized Daisy coming at me, thanks to a newly acquired shock of blond hair cut into a chic bob. She nearly bowled me over, squeezing and hugging me while laughing out loud, exclaiming how happy she was to see me and how glad she was I was finally there. I saw all of this in fuzzy black and white because behind her, in full Technicolor with a dreamy soft focus lens, were two gorgeous men. And they were scooping up my luggage?

I noticed that Daisy was instructing them on the luggage scooping, directing them back toward her apartment.

“My neighbors. I had a feeling you'd have a ton of bags,” she explained as I watched in a daze.

Pack mules. She'd brought stunning, golden-skinned, raven-haired pack mules.

As I stood unevenly on the uneven cobblestones, looking at my best friend glowing like a Lite-Brite, the weight of the crazy decision and the airplane cocktails and the crowded Metro and the heel break and the jet lag all caught up with me and poured out of me in sudden tears.

“I know it doesn't look like it,” I sniffed, “but I'm so glad to be here!”

“SO WHEN I HEARD
all those wheels rolling across the cobblestones, I knew that had to be you.”

“Oh that's nice,” I said, my voice still a little quivering and whiny post-Italian-Street-Side Breakdown. “You heard the sound of a stupid American rolling her stupid countless suitcases across the city and you thought, hey, I bet that's my best friend.” I blew my nose into my tissue and waited for her to disagree with me.

“Pretty much.” But her grin softened her statement.

Inside her apartment, I let my head fall back against the plush cushion, her enormous couch enveloping and cocooning me in the loveliest of ways. Feet propped up on a stack of pillows and beginning to slightly depuff, I let my tired eyes roam around her apartment, taking in the beautiful oak beams soaring overhead, the terra-cotta-tiled floor, the archways that seemed to curve and beckon from every corner. Pretty tables and occasional chairs spilled across the wide living room, haphazard and unmatching, yet somehow coming together in this sweet room
filled with bits and bobs of her travel-filled life. Warm sunlight poured through tall windows, one giant patch where the French doors were thrown open to the postage-stamp-size terrace with a promising view.

“Besides the cheating, the monster-in-law smackdown, and flying four thousand miles to escape Boston, anything else interesting going on?”

“That's not enough?” I asked.

She shrugged. “It's conversation. I'm trying to keep you coherent.”

“I see. Well, I was almost pickpocketed on the Metro. It's right out of a guidebook for American tourists! And the guy seemed so helpful, too, I nearly let myself get played.”

“So, nothing is missing?” Daisy said. “Please tell me you didn't have your passport in your pocket.”

“No, that's in my tote bag, and I've got copies packed into each suitcase.”

“Smart. A bit of an overkill, but smart.”

“Hey, I grew up on the mean streets of Wellesley,” I said, pretending to pop my collar.

“Ha! Something tells me that no one has ever called any street in Wellesley ‘mean.' Be grateful you've traveled a lot and know how not to be
that
tourist.”

I frowned. “Mr. Pickpocket did get my favorite lipstick, and a Starlight mint.” I patted down my other pockets, assuring myself once more that he hadn't gotten anything else.

“A Starlight mint huh?” she asked, and I rolled my eyes.

“I wanted to have fresh breath when I arrived.”

“I hear that,” she said. “There's so many hot men in this city, sometimes you just never know when you're going to fall on one of their mouths.”

I laughed, scrubbing my face with my hands and trying to will some energy into my body. “I'm not falling on anyone's mouth. What I need right now is a shower, and then a bed.”