The Sugarman Bootlegs by Robert Rodi

Author:Robert Rodi [Rodi, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-03-26T04:00:00+00:00

22

“I’VE BOOKED US at the Hotel La Fenice,” said Joanna. “I wanted something right on the Grand Canal, but my God the expense! The magazine wouldn’t go for it. Never mind, this is a charming little place; I went over last weekend and checked it out—weird how close everything in Europe is, Venice is just a short flight from Frankfurt, it’s like commuting—anyway it’s adorable, very old world. Right next to the La Fenice opera house, hence the name. Apparently it’s not their season, but even so they’ve got a few things going on in July: a ballet, and a recital by a singer named…hold on, I wrote it down…Barbara Frittoli. I don’t know if that means anything to you. I could get tickets, is my point.”

Paul rolled over in bed and tried to focus on his alarm clock. He had to blink a few times before he could discern the digital readout: 7:47. It was well past noon in Germany; either Joanna had forgotten the time difference or, more likely, her enthusiasm had persuaded her that a quarter to eight in the morning was a perfectly acceptable time to call. He sat up and rubbed his temples. “Uh-huh,” he said.

“You’re going to love Venice,” she continued. “I can’t wait to get back. It’s just a miracle, all that beauty just sitting out there, basically on stilts. And the food! I was just strolling around, checking out things we might do together, and there was a street vendor, and guess what he was selling?”

Paul furrowed his brow. “Dunno.”

“Go on guess. Here’s a hint: not pretzels.”

“I…Joanna, it’s early.”

“Sorry, right. Anyway, crayfish. He had hundreds of tiny crayfish, and he was just satueeing them right there in the street in this big, black pan, just a little oil and salt and pepper, and God, they were like candy. I bought a whole bagful. We’re definitely paying him a call when we’re there.”

“Joanna…”

“His cart is on wheels, so he might not be in the same place, but never mind, I’ve got his scent down, there’s no hiding him from me.”

“…Joanna…”

“I’ve also booked us a day trip to the lagoon islands. I didn’t have time to check them out, I was only in town for a few hours, but apparently you catch a vaporetto in Venice proper that takes you out to these smaller, more rustic islands where there are fewer tourists…”

“…Joanna, please…”

“…because the tourist thing? That’s the only drawback. Venice is great, it’s beautiful, but you look at the swarms of Americans and Germans and Japanese around you, and it’s, like, Where are the Italians? You start to think you’re in, I don’t know. Walt Disney’s Italyland, or something.”

“…Joanna…”

“Like at any minute someone’s going to come up to you in a character costume. Eighteenth Century period dress and a great big Casanova head made of papier-mâché and felt.”

“JOANNA!”

Silence. Then, “Honey? I call too early? I can never get the time difference down.”

“No, it’s fine. Just…did you have any dates in mind, specifically?” He threw back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

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