Free Getting the Boot by Peggy Guthart Strauss Page A

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    Kelly plunked down a hefty sum for a detailed Vatican guide, thanked Luigi for the umpteenth time, and trotted off toward the bus stop. She had always enjoyed making art more than looking at it. Museums were exhausting; there was always more information than she could process. But today, if only to please Andrea, she was determined to soak up as much culture as possible.
    Kelly was lucky in one respect; thanks to Luigi’s VIP treatment, she made it to the special entrance and got through security with just over an hour remaining. The first gallery alone made Kelly’s head spin; the popes lived like royalty, and every inch of this place seemed to be covered in intricate gilding, lush tapestries, and marble. The other visitors milled around at a snail’s pace, plugged into their audio guides, shuffling from one masterpiece to the next. Kelly weaved through them like a Vespa in traffic, trying not to mow down any innocent obstacles in her path.
    By twelve-thirty, she had made her way through a labyrinth of salons, and knew the difference between a fresco and a relief. It seemed that every famous episode in the Bible had been illustrated for the Catholic Church by one Renaissance luminary after another. Raphael, check. Caravaggio, check. Michelangelo, all over the place. Her head sweeping from side to side, Kelly made mental notes that she planned to write down as soon as she had the opportunity.
    The rest of her group finally came into view as she puffed her way into the Sistine Chapel. Andrea was whispering animatedly, sweeping her arms skyward to point out details in each of the elaborate panels that lined the ceiling. In the center, Kelly could see the renowned image of God creating Adam, their hands outstretched and fingers touching. Other visitors to the chapel casually circled Andrea, trying to overhear her commentary on the frescoes, some peering up at the ceiling through binoculars. When Andrea saw Kelly, she gave her an approving nod. “Glad you made it back.”
    Kelly tipped her head back until she got dizzy, listening to Andrea’s story of how the pope had asked Michelangelo, who considered himself a sculptor, to paint the chapel ceiling. Michelangelo worked day and night for four years, under constant pressure to finish the work, until his eyes went bad. She told them how, after the frescoes were completed, Pope Paul III had brought in another artist to paint clothing on some of the naked figures. It wasn’t until the 1990s, when the frescoes were cleaned and restored, that those clothes were removed, revealing Michelangelo’s work just as he created it.
    As they stepped out of the museum into the bright sunlight, Kelly could see how energized Andrea was. She beamed at the class, her eyes shining and her cheeks flushed.
    Steve met the group in front of the galleries to take over from Andrea for the rest of the day. “Okay, crew,” he said. “Let’s go explore an even more important Italian art form—lunch!”
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    When she returned to her room after dinner, Kelly got busy studying the book she had bought from Luigi. She was lying on the lumpy couch, browsing through its pages, when Sheela came stomping in.
    â€œGet your feet off the sofa. It’s not yours.”
    Kelly sat up quickly, brushing at the fabric with her book. “What bee flew up your butt? Are you pissed off that I missed the museums today? I caught up, and I’m gonna read this book from cover to cover. Andrea will hardly be able to tell that I wasn’t there with you guys. And what do you care, anyway?”
    â€œAre you serious?” Sheela threw her bag over the back of her desk chair and began emptying it noisily. Despite her friend’s foul mood, Kelly had to suppress a smile; Sheela crammed more junk into her bag than could fit into the average one-bedroom apartment.
    Sheela put her face up close to Kelly’s, her dark eyes throwing off sparks. “Dr.