Roman Crazy
Page 27
Her response was to fire some weird Italian gesture back at me that I’m pretty sure didn’t mean you’re welcome . . .
The phone call with my attorney didn’t exactly go as I had hoped. I had hoped, pie in the sky perhaps, but hoped nonetheless that once Daniel had some time to think about what had happened, what he had done, he would have come to the same decision I had, and agree that ending the marriage was the smartest thing we could do. In fact, I also thought once he had time to get used to the idea that he’d actually relish the idea of no longer being tied down, no longer having anyone to answer to, and he could troll through Boston with his pants down.
He’d committed adultery, not me. Theoretically, it seemed clear that he’d be thrilled to be out of this marriage and back onto the scene, free and clear, single and ready to mingle. But in reality, he wanted to make this difficult.
It was clear cut for me. It hadn’t been an easy decision and I still had so many conflicting feelings I felt like a yo-yo half the time, but I had to admit that once I stepped off that plane and arrived in Rome, I was seeing things much clearer. So I was letting my attorney fight the battle back home while I got to know Rome.
And frankly, I was enjoying the hell out of the freedom of owing nothing to anyone. I went where I wanted, I ate what I wanted, I drank what I wanted, and no one cared! I’d put on five pounds already, and no one had made any snarky comments! So if Daniel wanted to drag this out, so be it. I wasn’t in a rush to return to Boston.
Plus, and this was the part I had never expected, I had a job to start and vases to repair and a . . . life to live?
After I hung up with the lawyer, I took my time getting dressed. Nothing too fancy because, hello, old vases and plaster, but I didn’t want to look like a schlump, either.
Why are you so concerned about looking like a schlump?
Officially, it was because I was volunteering at my best friend’s workplace for a job that she had helped me get and I didn’t want to reflect badly on her.
Unofficially, oh please. There was one very particular reason to look good today. And he stood about six feet tall and rolled his eyes and his R’s when he was pissed at me. A pretty dress couldn’t hurt, could it?
Before I knew it the driver was knocking on my door and the flutter in my belly was on overdrive. I checked and rechecked my purse, tote, and my little lunch bag that Daisy had prepared and was out the door and into the Roman sunshine for my first day on the job.
The architectural firm that Daisy and Marcello worked for was in the San Lorenzo district. A mix of residential and commercial buildings, the neighborhood was grittier than some of the others I’d been in. Fewer fountains and more graffiti, but there was kind of a pulse, a creative buzz in the air. Being that it was near the university, fliers were stapled to every surface imaginable, announcing exhibits and gallery shows, concerts and readings, free classes for those wanting to bone up on their Chinese, and a get-together next week of the Transcendentalism through Pasta Society, where they’d be focusing on changing the political climate while mastering the art of ravioli.
It was a vibrant part of town, young and hip, and felt very of the moment. I could instantly see why an architectural firm that focused on green energy and restoration would have its offices here. Making my way to Daisy’s building on the corner, I headed inside and gave my name to the woman behind the reception desk. While I waited for Daisy to come down, I checked out the directory on the wall, astonished at how many people the firm employed. Daisy’s name was listed along with the other architects, and it thrilled me to see her name there. She had made her own way in this field, and risen to the top with extreme dedication and hard work.
Of course, I also felt a little thrill to see Marcello’s name. I marveled over how this enormous world had somehow become quite small, both of them working together across the ocean from me in Boston, not knowing these very important people knew each other, but had no idea I knew them both.
“There’s my girl!” Daisy was coming down the stairs, fresh as a . . . well. “Have you been waiting long?”
“Nope, just got here.” I spun around, taking in the spacious feel, the modern furnishings, the whole island of glam in a sea of semiseedy. “Very cool.”
“Come on, I’ll give you the five-cent tour before I show you the vase.” She walked me up to her office, passing aisles of cubicles artfully arranged into pods rather than long, boring rows. There were plants everywhere, a yoga studio in one corner, a guy on a balance ball in the other, and I spied at least four dogs hanging out with their owners while they worked at their desks.
It was what I imagined Google looked like. A smaller, Italian Google.
After making our way past some of the enclosed offices and conference rooms, she led me into her office.
“Corner?”
“Hell yes.” She preened, grabbing a bottle of sparkling water out of her little fridge and pouring us each a glass. “I’d say I’m doing okay.”
“Okay? This looks more like killing it.” Sinking into one of the plush leather chairs opposite her desk, I grinned. “Can I say something without sounding cheesy?”
“You can sure try.” Her eyes twinkled.
“I’m really proud of you.”
She looked surprised, but pleased. “Is this the part where I say aw shucks?”
“You can sure try.” I winked.
We avoided the fifth floor altogether. I didn’t know if Daisy was doing that for my benefit, Marcello’s, or both. Knowing her as well as I did, I decided it was for both.
The phone call with my attorney didn’t exactly go as I had hoped. I had hoped, pie in the sky perhaps, but hoped nonetheless that once Daniel had some time to think about what had happened, what he had done, he would have come to the same decision I had, and agree that ending the marriage was the smartest thing we could do. In fact, I also thought once he had time to get used to the idea that he’d actually relish the idea of no longer being tied down, no longer having anyone to answer to, and he could troll through Boston with his pants down.
He’d committed adultery, not me. Theoretically, it seemed clear that he’d be thrilled to be out of this marriage and back onto the scene, free and clear, single and ready to mingle. But in reality, he wanted to make this difficult.
It was clear cut for me. It hadn’t been an easy decision and I still had so many conflicting feelings I felt like a yo-yo half the time, but I had to admit that once I stepped off that plane and arrived in Rome, I was seeing things much clearer. So I was letting my attorney fight the battle back home while I got to know Rome.
And frankly, I was enjoying the hell out of the freedom of owing nothing to anyone. I went where I wanted, I ate what I wanted, I drank what I wanted, and no one cared! I’d put on five pounds already, and no one had made any snarky comments! So if Daniel wanted to drag this out, so be it. I wasn’t in a rush to return to Boston.
Plus, and this was the part I had never expected, I had a job to start and vases to repair and a . . . life to live?
After I hung up with the lawyer, I took my time getting dressed. Nothing too fancy because, hello, old vases and plaster, but I didn’t want to look like a schlump, either.
Why are you so concerned about looking like a schlump?
Officially, it was because I was volunteering at my best friend’s workplace for a job that she had helped me get and I didn’t want to reflect badly on her.
Unofficially, oh please. There was one very particular reason to look good today. And he stood about six feet tall and rolled his eyes and his R’s when he was pissed at me. A pretty dress couldn’t hurt, could it?
Before I knew it the driver was knocking on my door and the flutter in my belly was on overdrive. I checked and rechecked my purse, tote, and my little lunch bag that Daisy had prepared and was out the door and into the Roman sunshine for my first day on the job.
The architectural firm that Daisy and Marcello worked for was in the San Lorenzo district. A mix of residential and commercial buildings, the neighborhood was grittier than some of the others I’d been in. Fewer fountains and more graffiti, but there was kind of a pulse, a creative buzz in the air. Being that it was near the university, fliers were stapled to every surface imaginable, announcing exhibits and gallery shows, concerts and readings, free classes for those wanting to bone up on their Chinese, and a get-together next week of the Transcendentalism through Pasta Society, where they’d be focusing on changing the political climate while mastering the art of ravioli.
It was a vibrant part of town, young and hip, and felt very of the moment. I could instantly see why an architectural firm that focused on green energy and restoration would have its offices here. Making my way to Daisy’s building on the corner, I headed inside and gave my name to the woman behind the reception desk. While I waited for Daisy to come down, I checked out the directory on the wall, astonished at how many people the firm employed. Daisy’s name was listed along with the other architects, and it thrilled me to see her name there. She had made her own way in this field, and risen to the top with extreme dedication and hard work.
Of course, I also felt a little thrill to see Marcello’s name. I marveled over how this enormous world had somehow become quite small, both of them working together across the ocean from me in Boston, not knowing these very important people knew each other, but had no idea I knew them both.
“There’s my girl!” Daisy was coming down the stairs, fresh as a . . . well. “Have you been waiting long?”
“Nope, just got here.” I spun around, taking in the spacious feel, the modern furnishings, the whole island of glam in a sea of semiseedy. “Very cool.”
“Come on, I’ll give you the five-cent tour before I show you the vase.” She walked me up to her office, passing aisles of cubicles artfully arranged into pods rather than long, boring rows. There were plants everywhere, a yoga studio in one corner, a guy on a balance ball in the other, and I spied at least four dogs hanging out with their owners while they worked at their desks.
It was what I imagined Google looked like. A smaller, Italian Google.
After making our way past some of the enclosed offices and conference rooms, she led me into her office.
“Corner?”
“Hell yes.” She preened, grabbing a bottle of sparkling water out of her little fridge and pouring us each a glass. “I’d say I’m doing okay.”
“Okay? This looks more like killing it.” Sinking into one of the plush leather chairs opposite her desk, I grinned. “Can I say something without sounding cheesy?”
“You can sure try.” Her eyes twinkled.
“I’m really proud of you.”
She looked surprised, but pleased. “Is this the part where I say aw shucks?”
“You can sure try.” I winked.
We avoided the fifth floor altogether. I didn’t know if Daisy was doing that for my benefit, Marcello’s, or both. Knowing her as well as I did, I decided it was for both.
