Free Love Is Strange (A Paranormal Romance) by Bruce Sterling

failed to see that.”
    Farfalla felt her defenses melt away. All four of her grandparents were still alive. And the thought of seeing any of them filled her with dread. Italy was full of miserable, old people. Italians under thirty were fleeing in every direction because of them. She really couldn’t stand the sight of her grandparents, and here was this guy who loved his grandmother so much that his heart was bleeding.
    She sensed — she knew — that every promise she made him meant future trouble for her. She should not reach out to this man, because he would reach back. And grip her with those strong, needy hands.
    Farfalla could help foreigners in Italy. That was how she lived. It was herself that she could never help. Because she was always a foreigner, and she always would be a foreigner, no matter where she stood. No matter what space, or what time.
    Gavin gave her a look of sudden concern. “Look, Farfalla — don’t let me make a lot of trouble for you, all right? I’ll try not to interfere with your regular gig at the Congress. I know that you came here to work.”
    Farfalla shrugged. “I am used to trouble.” She was in so much trouble already. More than he would ever know.
    “Your Signora Gervasi there might be a tad annoyed when she realizes that I pulled a fast one on her.”
    “Oh, I’ll take care of Signora Gervasi,” Farfalla promised, keeping her face neutral.
    “Officially you won’t get paid for eight weeks. I’m sorry, but the international money transfer part is just hopeless. So, I’ll just have to front you some cash to get you going.”
    “How much?” chirped Farfalla.
    Gavin winced. “Oh, Signora Gervasi was very clear about the necessary sums. Let’s have a word with the ATM.”
    Two minutes passed. Just one hundred twenty ticking seconds and everything changed. Farfalla’s outlook on Capri brightened like the sun.
    Because Farfalla had money. Legal money, a legal salary , even! A nice, thick wad of crisp, untouched bills, tucked in her purse next to the pathetically stolen bagels.
    Farfalla glanced up from the secret depths of her purse.
    An otherworldly blush had spread over the tourist island. Capri was a very different place for a girl with money. Capri was a romantic island. Seriously romantic. The shiny storefronts smiled at Farfalla, beckoning her, anxious to serve her, eager to please her.
    The guests at the Futurist Congress, the weirdos wandering the lobby and gabbling in English and Portuguese, they suddenly became nice, normal people. Not distant, scary, rich people. Her own people. She was not a grifter, a drifter, a gypsy, a loser. She belonged here. With him.
    “Oh, there you are, you two!” The professor had arrived. “Are you ready for a little adventure?”
    They took a cab across the island to Anacapri. The two Americans shared a lively interest in the Capri landscape, making a happy fuss about the most everyday things... postal boxes, awnings, doorways... Flowers that they found unusual. People in sunglasses who might be celebrities.
    The narrow streets of the town of Anacapri were full of bewildered tourists. They exited the cab, Gavin opened his map, and a Spanish couple instantly asked them for directions. Then a French kid also asked them for directions, and then, with comic unlikelihood, two Anacapri locals asked them for directions, to find the way inside their own tiny town.
    The locals insisted on poring over Gavin’s English-language map. They corrected it with Gavin’s mechanical pencil. Gavin was extremely patient about this silly ordeal. Gavin Tremaine was keen to adjust every detail.
    “Men and their maps,” the Professor confided, falling into step with Farfalla. “I would have just asked for directions.”
    “He’s not my husband, you know,” Farfalla told her.
    “Oh, I never make a fuss about that . Not here! We’re in Capri!”
    “No, I want to tell you, I just met that man. We are together now, but it’s just an