The Tutor by Marilee Albert

Author:Marilee Albert
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rare Bird Books
Published: 2019-08-26T23:31:45+00:00

Part Three

The Tutor

Martin

“Rules for happiness: something to do, someone to love,

something to hope for.”

Immanuel Kant

ROME

August

So, here I am, Rome Redux. But even though I know I should feel awful about my life, I don’t. The minute I step off the plane at Fiumicino, it feels like home.

Although I’m lighthearted and full of loose devilish hope, in the back of my mind the ugly truths of my life swirl around like terrorists waiting for a weak moment to strike: I’m single, broke, far from my goals, and maybe just putting an ocean between my problems and me.

But running to Rome has its advantages.

Here, I can face these ugly truths surrounded by layers of history, warm Italians, and the best food in the world. Who could ever stay gloomy surround by Caravaggios, the Coliseum, and the Sistine Chapel, not to mention prosecco, carbonara, espresso, fresh mozzarella, and warm 4:00 a.m. cornetti? Nobody sane, that’s who.

Rome: The Sequel is not a bad idea at all.

I’ve created a narrative that makes my odd geographic boomerang palatable to everyone back home, as well as Olive and the other expats still hanging around: I’ve returned to work on my script about the pope. In short, I’ve come back to be inspired. The story is partly true; I’m still working on my story about the cab driver and the pope, and there’s no doubt I’ll benefit by another visit to the Vatican. But it’s not why I’m here.

I need to get away from Griffin, of course, but I could’ve achieved that by going to Los Angeles and settling down with a real job. I know it’s time to get serious but can’t bear the thought of returning to my hometown, no matter how pragmatic the choice.

The main reason I came back is to get work on The Lion. From what I know about being an expat here, all I have to do is show up and my chances are good. I haven’t shared this plan with a single person (not even my mom, which is out of character for me) because it seems calculating, and I’m not comfortable admitting that any part of my soul could be calculating.

I can barely admit it to myself.

•••

Before I left New York, I got in contact with Olive, hoping she’d be open to rooming again, but she doesn’t seem to want me in the apartment she’s renting near the Coliseum. She moved there a month after I left, when Perry’s landlord found out about the squatters and kicked everyone out (Greta was right, Ruggerio never paid a dime of our “rent” to the real landlord). I wonder if I did something as a roommate to bother her, but I don’t press it. Instead, I let her help me find a room in a “friend’s place” near Campo de’ Fiori. I’m not disappointed, as it’s the desired location of all expats. And I have enough money from the New York banker to tide me over for a few months while I sit in my new apartment, write, and figure out the rest of my life.

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