Free Woman on Top by Deborah Schwartz Page B

flew first class to Rome over the July 4 th weekend. Len would not travel any other way and once I was used to it, I understood why perfectly. When we landed, Len immediately called his voice mail at the office. There were always at least three or four messages from anxious clients waiting for his judgment, his expertise, Len made it clear to me that he was absolutely indispensable to them and that he wouldn’t have it otherwise.
    Len’s son, Peter, who was spending two weeks in Europe had left a message.
    “Hi Dad, just wanted to let you know I’m in Rome. The trip is just great. I’ll leave you a message about my next stop. Hope you’re good and not working too hard.”
    “You won’t believe it. Peter’s in Rome right now. I thought he would have left by now. He left a voice mail,” Len told me.
    “What does that mean for us?” I asked.
    I had not met Len’s children yet and he didn’t want them to know that I accompanied him to Europe. He had insisted that I tell my kids that I was traveling with a group but he didn’t have to know that I didn’t comply with his instructions. We scheduled the trip to coincide when Ben would be on a three-week bike trip in Vermont and Chloe a six-week teen tour out West.
    We arrived at our hotel, the opulent St. Regis Grand Hotel, and as we checked in Len let me know that the hotel provided butler service.
    “And what will this butler be available to do?”
    “Anything your heart desires. Other than what I do.”
    Len had secured reservations at La Pergola for our first dinner. The elegant, expensive restaurant with gorgeous views of Rome served food that rivaled anything we had tasted in New York.
    “This meal, this restaurant is dazzling. I don’t know what to say but thank you.”
    Len leaned back in his chair. His mind seemed to be constantly churning. And yet, at this moment, he looked truly relaxed. The wheels slowing down for one evening.
    As we lay in our enormous bed our first night, I kept thinking about the butler. Butler’s had simply never been within my reach or desire.
    “I can’t think of a single thing I would need the butler for. What a waste,” I said.
    “Believe me, there are plenty of people in this hotel directing the butlers to run around for whatever suits their fancy at any moment.”
    “At this moment? I don’t fancy anything the butler could do for me,” I said as I slowly pressed my naked body against Len’s.
    “Then it would be my pleasure to take care of your needs. I prefer the woman on top, only in bed of course. Climb on top of me Signorina. You don’t need a butler after all, do you?”
    Our days in Rome proved to be comical. While I marveled at the masterpieces by Michelangelo and Bernini in St. Peter’s, Len stood watch, an unlikely addition to the Swiss Guards, on the lookout for Peter. While I gawked at the Coliseum, Len, no less a Roman emperor in his own mind, gazed mightily over the crowds. Was his son walking where he, Len, would easily have ordered to have his enemies fed to the lions?
    “Let’s get out of Rome. I’m uncomfortable,” Len said the day before we were scheduled to depart.
    “I’ve never been to Florence. Of course.”
    That same day, Peter left another message,
    “Hi Dad, I am leaving Rome and on my way to London today. Amazing time in Rome. Speak to you soon.”
    We ate and drank our way through Tuscany. Len had hired both a driver and a guide but we sat in the back seat of the Mercedes and necked for hours. We ate al fresco in small villages, stuffing ourselves with linguine primavera and sloshing down the local Frascati. We saw little of the ride to Florence and only surfaced as we began to climb the hill to our beautiful hotel, the Villa San Michele, once a monastery designed by Michelangelo.
    The view of all of Florence from the balcony of the Villa was spectacular.
    “Thank you for showing this to me. Florence is everything I’ve imagined. And it makes me realize how much I’ve been