Free Italy to Die For by Loretta Giacoletto

Distractions
     
    Whatever pain I’d been feeling ended with Margo’s phone call. As did any further concern for her current problem which we both knew would end as soon as one more crucial took its place. Problems, they separated us. Problems, they held us together.
    A pleasant scan of Monterosso from Lorenzo’s balcony showed a village already coming to life with shopkeepers setting out their wares again and the first wave of tourists seeking out what they perceived as early morning bargains. My watch indicated nine-thirty, plenty of time for exploring with Lorenzo before eating again. I was beginning to see in him the makings of a decent escort, despite the unfortunate nose and less than spectacular physique. Those minor irregularities were either less intrusive than when we first met or I’d grown more accustomed to them. Not that I was the model of perfection, not by a long shot as Margo would’ve said.
    Mustn’t think about Margo ; mustn’t let her get in the way.
    Back in the apartment Lorenzo had removed his apron and changed into a dress shirt, blue with its long sleeves rolled half way up to reveal a mass of dark hair covering his forearms. He smiled on learning I had decided to stay although I didn’t mention anything about extending my holiday longer than the original plan.
    Ed ging toward the door, he spoke as only a gentleman would. “I will wait for you downstairs, signorina … I mean, Elena, in case you desire to freshen up before we begin our tour.”
    Already this sort-of-date promised to surpass any remnant of my last real date, a disastrous set-up if ever there was. A touch above a fourth-class-low-brow with manners to match, ever so thoughtful with comments on the order of: “Better pee while you got the chance; don’t know when we’ll find a john cleaner than the one I just took an incredible whiz in.”
    ***
    Minutes later I was outside, navigating alongside Lorenzo, my arm hooked in his, not because I couldn’t have managed otherwise but because he’d engaged me in this simple act of courtesy, one that provided a sense of security, of belonging to someone if only for a day or so. We stopped at first one shop, then another, my only purchases a bra and two pairs of undies while Lorenzo waited outside, plus sandals and an over-priced pair of tan knit pants, matching top, and another outfit, clothes that would take me from morning to night without allowing a single wrinkle.
    Otherwise, I browsed without buying since the dollar was so weak against the euro and I was already out about three hundred hard-earned dollars. On the other hand, I had promised myself one special souvenir before going home and a certain pair of earrings kept calling my name. Holding the amber stones against one ear, I gazed into a round mirror sitting on the countertop.
    “Perfetto,” said the clerk, a younger-than-prettier-than-me who would’ve looked good with mud daubers hanging from her ears.
    “The stones make a nice contrast against your hair,” Lorenzo said.
    He was right and had this been Margo, she would’ve pulled out the plastic without asking the price but not me. Rash decisions weren’t part of my vocabulary.
    “Quanto costa?” I asked the clerk.
    “Tre cento,” she replied, as if to say it’s only money.
    I did a quick calculation in my head—four hundred forty dollars, far beyond my skimpy allotment. Hel-l-o, just like that the earrings lost their glitter. I returned them to the clerk. “Grazie, I’ll have to think about it.”
    “Do not think t oo long,” she said with a smile. “These are one of a kind.”
    “It would be a shame to leave them behind,” Lorenzo murmured.
    I responded with a quick move to the door. He managed to get there first and held it open for me. I stepped into the bright sun of noonday and shifted my sunglasses from atop my head to the bridge of my nose. A display of silk scarves caught my eye. I checked them out, compared the quality and price to the birthday