Rococo by Adriana Trigiani

Author:Adriana Trigiani
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781588364661
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2005-06-20T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

The Bernini of Bay Ridge

We locals accept the crowds of summer in our beachfront town without complaint. Main Street in OLOF is always busy during August. There’s a portable Italian ice cart that draws the crowd in the heat. The vendor parks it on the church plaza, where folks buy their ice and then sit on the church steps and eat it—our version of Italy’s La Passegiata. I wait inside the church until I absolutely need a cigarette. Everywhere I go, I’m bombarded with questions about renovating the church. I’m tired of explaining that I’m still in the research phase.

Christina waits in the sacristy at Our Lady of Fatima with her typed inventory of the church contents. I go outside and light a cigarette. Since this project began I’ve been smoking quite a lot, but I promise myself that as soon as the design is complete, I will quit. A good smoke is soothing, and for now I need it.

I see a town car from the city turning the corner onto our town square, and I wave. True to form, Eydie is right on time. The black town car pulls up to the curb, and Eydie jumps out of the backseat in her best ensemble yet: orange paisley stovepipe pants, pumpkin suede platform boots, a hot-pink blouse with flowing sleeves, and a wide-weave crocheted sleeveless bolero in orange, green, and white stripes. She is 1970.

“B!” She waves excitedly. The driver emerges from the front seat and joins Eydie at the back door of the car. It takes a moment, but Gian Angelo Ruttolo emerges with her help. He’s small, around five feet two, and trim. He’s dressed in black with a straw boater on his head, and when he turns his back to me, I see a long white braid down his back. I didn’t think hippies came in senior-citizen packages. As I hurry to meet them, he is eyeing the church up and down. “Nice stonework,” he murmurs before Eydie has even made the introductions.

“We’re honored to have you here,” I say as I shake his hand.

“Do you speak Italian?” he asks.

“Poco.” I make the sign for “little” with my thumb and forefinger.

He grimaces and pushes me out of the way. He climbs the steps, holding the brass banister.

“What’s his problem?” I whisper.

“He’s a handful. No patience,” Eydie whispers back.

We follow him into the church, where Christina greets him in Italian. He beams, kisses her on both cheeks, and caresses her hands warmly. Christina doesn’t seem to mind, even though she is a couple of inches taller than he. I never thought I’d see someone more petite than Christina, but here he is.

“Cominceremmo?” Gian Angelo turns and looks at me without letting go of Christina.

“Vorrebbe che io le mostrassi la chiesa?” Christina asks him.

“Vorrei che mi mostrasse tutto il mondo,” he says with a twinkle.

“Do you understand?” Eydie asks me.

I understand a come-on in any language. “He wants to show her the world,” I whisper to Eydie. “Is he here to help me or to get laid?”

“Both.

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