Read Online The Food of Love by Anthony Capella - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anthony Capella
Tags: Fiction, Literary, General, Humorous, Americans, Romance, Contemporary, Love Stories, Large Type Books, Italy, Cookery, Cooks, Cookbooks
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her passport minutely, turning it this way
and that.
‘Is there is a problem?’ Laura asked.
‘Si. The problem,’ he announced gravely, ‘is that you are so
much more beautiful than your photograph. I should like very
much to take you out to dinner.’
The third man said something rapidly in Italian. The first official translated. ‘Alessandro, he would like to take you out too. But
I asked you first.’
A very short nun pushed her way to the front of the booth and
started haranguing the men in a shrill voice. ‘Enjoy your stay,
Laura Patterson,’ the first official said, unperturbed, as he stamped her passport. ‘Prego? All three came smartly to attention and
saluted her as she walked away. The nun they waved through
without a second glance.
When Laura found the minibus that was to take her to where
she was staying, the girl with the small tattoo was already sitting in it, surrounded by a vast pile of luggage. It soon became apparent that this was Laura’s roommate, Judith. It also became clear that Judith’s interest in Michelangelo and Raphael was rather less than her interest in Versace, Prada and Valentino. She was majoring in Fashion Psychology but had almost been thrown out after a term:
her parents had insisted she go abroad in an effort to get her to concentrate on her work. ‘They wanted to get me away from my
boyfriend, mostly,’ Judith confided as they were driven at breakneck speed through the suburbs. ‘They seem to think I’ll calm
down if I’m not with him. He’s a vampire.’
‘What?’
he
You know. We drink each other’s blood.’ Judith dug into her
cleavage and retrieved a phial on a silver chain. ‘This is Jeff’s, and he’s got mine. Great farewell gift, huh?’
‘Right.’ Laura’s visions of discussing fifteenth-century painting techniques late into the night were evaporating rapidly.
After they had settled in - the letter had been right, by
American standards the apartment was minuscule - they set off to explore Rome, armed only with bottles of water and identical
copies of the Lonely Planet guidebook. It was hot, and both
women wore shorts. The reaction was extraordinary. Cars
sounded their horns like huntsmen sighting prey. Shopkeepers
standing in their doorways hissed at them like geese. Young men
on scooters - even those with girlfriends on the back, impossibly beautiful Italian girls with cascading black tresses and perfect burnt-umber skin - slowed down alongside them to call cUeh,
biondineV appreciatively, muttering rapid-fire suggestions.
‘Do you get the feeling we might be underdressed?’ Laura said
eventually.
They took to the subway, only to find themselves trapped in a
carriage with three beggars, a mother and her two tiny gypsy
daughters, who immediately surrounded them, clamouring for
money. Judith pressed a note into the smallest child’s hand. The money vanished and the child’s pestering redoubled.
‘No,’ Judith said firmly. ‘Finito. No more. Chiuso.” The beggars ignored her, pawing her eagerly with their outstretched hands. At the next stop a uniformed guard got into the carriage. The girls heaved a sigh of relief, then watched open-mouthed as the mother reached into the folds of her clothing and pulled out a fistful of money, which she brazenly handed to the guard before resuming
her harassment of the Americans unchecked. To cap it all, when
they finally got to the object of their journey, the Museo Vaticano, a nun picked them out of the line and sent them away for showing bare legs.
The next day had been Orientation Day. The first to stand up
to address the assembled students was Casey Novak, the president of the grandly titled Student Government. Casey smiled brightly
as she gave the assembled newbies the benefit of her own six
months’ experience. The food here was nice, if a little oily, but be careful what you ate - many restaurants had really gross stuff on the menu, like wild songbirds or veal.
and that.
‘Is there is a problem?’ Laura asked.
‘Si. The problem,’ he announced gravely, ‘is that you are so
much more beautiful than your photograph. I should like very
much to take you out to dinner.’
The third man said something rapidly in Italian. The first official translated. ‘Alessandro, he would like to take you out too. But
I asked you first.’
A very short nun pushed her way to the front of the booth and
started haranguing the men in a shrill voice. ‘Enjoy your stay,
Laura Patterson,’ the first official said, unperturbed, as he stamped her passport. ‘Prego? All three came smartly to attention and
saluted her as she walked away. The nun they waved through
without a second glance.
When Laura found the minibus that was to take her to where
she was staying, the girl with the small tattoo was already sitting in it, surrounded by a vast pile of luggage. It soon became apparent that this was Laura’s roommate, Judith. It also became clear that Judith’s interest in Michelangelo and Raphael was rather less than her interest in Versace, Prada and Valentino. She was majoring in Fashion Psychology but had almost been thrown out after a term:
her parents had insisted she go abroad in an effort to get her to concentrate on her work. ‘They wanted to get me away from my
boyfriend, mostly,’ Judith confided as they were driven at breakneck speed through the suburbs. ‘They seem to think I’ll calm
down if I’m not with him. He’s a vampire.’
‘What?’
he
You know. We drink each other’s blood.’ Judith dug into her
cleavage and retrieved a phial on a silver chain. ‘This is Jeff’s, and he’s got mine. Great farewell gift, huh?’
‘Right.’ Laura’s visions of discussing fifteenth-century painting techniques late into the night were evaporating rapidly.
After they had settled in - the letter had been right, by
American standards the apartment was minuscule - they set off to explore Rome, armed only with bottles of water and identical
copies of the Lonely Planet guidebook. It was hot, and both
women wore shorts. The reaction was extraordinary. Cars
sounded their horns like huntsmen sighting prey. Shopkeepers
standing in their doorways hissed at them like geese. Young men
on scooters - even those with girlfriends on the back, impossibly beautiful Italian girls with cascading black tresses and perfect burnt-umber skin - slowed down alongside them to call cUeh,
biondineV appreciatively, muttering rapid-fire suggestions.
‘Do you get the feeling we might be underdressed?’ Laura said
eventually.
They took to the subway, only to find themselves trapped in a
carriage with three beggars, a mother and her two tiny gypsy
daughters, who immediately surrounded them, clamouring for
money. Judith pressed a note into the smallest child’s hand. The money vanished and the child’s pestering redoubled.
‘No,’ Judith said firmly. ‘Finito. No more. Chiuso.” The beggars ignored her, pawing her eagerly with their outstretched hands. At the next stop a uniformed guard got into the carriage. The girls heaved a sigh of relief, then watched open-mouthed as the mother reached into the folds of her clothing and pulled out a fistful of money, which she brazenly handed to the guard before resuming
her harassment of the Americans unchecked. To cap it all, when
they finally got to the object of their journey, the Museo Vaticano, a nun picked them out of the line and sent them away for showing bare legs.
The next day had been Orientation Day. The first to stand up
to address the assembled students was Casey Novak, the president of the grandly titled Student Government. Casey smiled brightly
as she gave the assembled newbies the benefit of her own six
months’ experience. The food here was nice, if a little oily, but be careful what you ate - many restaurants had really gross stuff on the menu, like wild songbirds or veal.
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