Vittorio said to Lucy and got up from the table, picked up a box of wine and walked it out the back door. When he returned, it was time for farewell kisses and hugs.
“That was fantastic,” Lucy told Vittorio when they were back in his car driving down the narrow motor-way, her feet resting on the box of wine. “Thanks.”
“You are welcome,” he said with a little bow.
Lucy sat back in her seat and immediately fell asleep.
It didn’t take long before Vittorio made another stop.
This time he made his way through a tiny village to a farm where two ostriches stared at them from behind a tall wire fence and water buffalos poked their heads through wooden rails painted pure white, and a proud rooster spread its colorful head feathers in welcome.
“What now?” Lucy asked, all dreamy-eyed as Vittorio pulled the car up in front of a stone farmhouse. She was at once angry over another stop and fascinated by the farm surroundings.
“Garlic and mozzarella. The best! Wait ’til you taste the mozzarella. Fresh from early this morning. Sweet like mother’s milk,” he said and kissed his fingers again. This time Lucy smiled over at him as he made his way around the car to get her door. She waited, feeling a little woozy. She wanted to get mad because of the second delay, but all she could think of was the fresh mozzarella. The very thought of the creamy soft cheese made her mouth water in anticipation.
Inside the farmhouse, which turned out to be a busy restaurant, Lucy and Vittorio were greeted by a crusty middle-aged man with rough hands and a mustache that curled up at the ends. “Vittorio! Ciao! Come va?” the man asked as they hugged and kissed.
“Lucia, this is my cousin, Philippi.” Philippi turned and hugged and kissed Lucy as if they were old friends. His mustache tickled and she saw a sly sparkle in his bright blue eyes. She thought this was getting too weird, like some episode of The Sopranos. All she needed now was for James Gandolfini to walk out of the back room pointing a gun at Vittorio and she’d know this was one of her sleepwalking episodes.
But he didn’t.
Instead, she and Vittorio were escorted to a table next to a window with a view of the surrounding lush green hills. Black goats and white sheep grazed on the slopes, along with a few speckled cows.
Lucy wondered what it would be like to wake up every morning to see goats and cows out your back window instead of miles of beige stucco.
“Scusi, Lucia. I will return in a moment.”
“More wine?”
“Fresh garlic. Mozzarella.”
“You have a big family or something?”
“The biggest!”
Vittorio left her alone at the table. She refused to eat. Absolutely refused, except for maybe a small piece of fresh mozzarella, and a mushroom or two.
And maybe a vegetable and a chunk of bread.
But that was it.
“Just a taste,” she told the waitress.
Lucy tried to refuse the large plate of food the waitress brought over, until she saw what was on it—sliced tomatoes and fresh milky-white mozzarella drizzled with olive oil and herbs, grilled zucchini, mushrooms and eggplant. She couldn’t resist. A loaf of bread appeared, and a carafe of red wine.
She thought she would simply taste the mozzarella and leave the rest, but once the sweet, rich cheese hit her tastebuds the battle was over. She took another bite and another until once again, she couldn’t stop. She ate everything.
Meanwhile, she watched as Vittorio carried cartons of cheese out to the car.
When he joined her, Philippi appeared with two bowls of ravioli filled with goat’s milk ricotta and artichoke hearts, smothered in a thick red sauce.
Lucy cringed.
“I can’t eat anymore. I’m going to burst,” she told Vittorio.
“You have to taste the ricotta. It is like nowhere else in the world,” Vittorio said as he sliced open one of the round pillows of pasta revealing the soft cheese tucked inside. He poked one half of the pillow with his fork and held it up, cupping his other hand under the fork while the sauce dripped to his fingers.
“Come on,” he urged, with a tilt of his head. Lucy leaned in and wrapped her lips around the ravioli, slowly pulling back to let the warm pasta with the luscious sauce fall into her mouth. Sauce dripped from her lips and onto Vittorio’s fingers. He pulled his hand back and licked off the drops of sauce.
Lucy flushed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“What you think? Buono?” Vittorio sat back and watched as she ate, obviously enjoying the look of satisfaction on her face.
“Too good,” she whispered under her breath.
5
“I THINK I’m going to be sick,” Lucy said as Vittorio pulled her suitcase through the plush lobby of the Santa Maria hotel, a lavishly decked-out retreat with huge vases filled with fresh flowers, French gold-leafed tables and chairs. Red rugs with intricate colorful patterns running through thick fibers covered the brown-tiled floor, and marble pillars touched an ornate ceiling. A gigantic crystal chandelier hung right in the middle, shooting its rainbow of colors throughout the entire room.
The lobby was positively spectacular, and Lucy was positively mortified.
“What do you mean, sick?” he asked.
“I mean sick, like, I’m going to vomit. I have to get out of here,” she whispered.
“No. Wait. We find a toilet,” he said, but Lucy was on her way out the front door where she stopped to throw up…in front of the doorman…in front of a woman wearing a pink silk suit, and pink Christian Dior heels.
“Dio mio!” the woman yelled and took a step back. But it was too late. Lucy had let go with such a force that it splattered on the woman’s dress and on her shoes.
“I’m sorry,” Lucy murmured when it was all over, but the woman was so utterly disgusted she wouldn’t even look up. The doorman ordered Lucy to leave as he ushered the screaming woman inside the lobby, away from Lucy who was now on a wobbly retreat. Fortunately the Alfa Romeo was parked right in front of the hotel. Completely humiliated, she got into the car, grateful that Vittorio had left it open.
“Ah yes, that kind of sick,” Vittorio said. He returned her suitcase to the trunk and got in beside her. “You want I should get you some Briosci?”
“God! Can we just get out of here?” Lucy said as she slid down in her seat.
“But your room—”
Lucy looked at him, pleading. “I can’t go in there now. Not after I just puked my guts out on some lady’s shoes. And they were such pretty shoes.”
Vittorio started the car and pulled away from the hotel.
