Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Hi folks,
The following is my response to a challenge posted on Mickey's challenges list a while back. I posted it there but I also decided to slap it up here because, well, I love you guys....
The challenge was presented as follows:
--- In PretenderChallenges@y..., "maryeveparker" wrote: Hi - my thoughts for a new one - just include these facts ...
1. Sizilia (big Island in the very south of Italy, for everbody who isn't good in Geography)
2. classical concert
3. pregnancy
4. the name "Angelo"
5. bikini
6. simulation
7. loveletter
8. bottle of "Grappa" (Italian Schnaps) e.g. put into coffee
9. silk bed sheets
To which I humbly offer the following. (I believe you will find all the required elements contained herein... and then some!)
Disclaimer: The characters depicted herein are not mine. They are the property of Craig and Steve who, last I heard, had just traded them for a bag of magic beans. Anyway, I am only borrowing them for use in a minor trifle for which I have not, and will not ever, receive monetary compensation.
Warning: This one rates NC-17 for Jarod/Parker nookie (what else, it's me!).
A Further Warning: Please don't take this one too seriously, folks. It is utterly without plot.
La Dolce Vita
by Ginger
The Beach
Giardini Naxos
Sicily, Italy
Parker could feel several sets of eyes upon her but did not open hers. That was one heck of a bikini she had picked up in Naples, basic black, elegant in its simplicity. She smiled contentedly and sighed. Man, she deserved this.
She couldn't believe she had gotten away with it: finally losing it, blowing up at them, and announcing that she would be gone for a week, maybe two. Jarod wasn't going anywhere; he'd still be there to chase when she got back. If he hadn't disappeared by now, he wasn't going to, the annoying little shit.
"Scusa, Miss?"
Parker shaded her eyes with her hand and opened them to glance up at the young man standing beside her. YOWSA, she thought as her gaze traveled up his lean body to his face, which was none too shabby either. He had large dark eyes, that day's worth of razor stubble all the pretty young Italian boys seemed to sport, and wavy dark hair, almost to his shoulders. This has all the makings of first- rate "Penthouse Forum" she mused as she smiled up at him.
"Yes?" she drawled.
"For you," he said shyly as he crouched down to hand her an envelope.
Propping herself up in a manner she knew would thrust her breasts at him, Parker reached up and took the envelope while casting him a devilish look. She was having fun.
"From you?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No," he replied, blushing and looking at the ground. "I am the messenger," he tacked on in a whisper.
He was all of nineteen and parts of her could really USE a nineteen-year-old. She foisted herself up into a sitting position and inspected the envelope. It was blank. Parker looked at the boy again and, with a warm smile, inquired,
"What's your name?"
"Angelo... Signorina," he answered with a sweet smile, lowering his eyes.
Parker stiffened as she was reminded of all she had left behind her, albeit temporarily, then silently chided herself: Get a grip, girl; it's hardly an UNCOMMON Italian name.
"Will you tell me who this is from?"
"So sorry, Signorina, but I cannot."
"Please?" she entreated, slapping on the most demure expression she was capable of wearing.
"Scusa, Signorina, but I do not make myself clear. I cannot say because I do not know. This morning, early, I open up our little shop... me, my family, we have in the town, and I find this..." He motioned at the envelope. "With note saying to bring here to you at this hour. And a generous gift... most helpful to my family now... in our time of need... a miracle... from hands of Our Blessed Madonna." He crossed himself and kissed his thumb.
"Hardly," Parker remarked dryly as she straightened and dusted sand off her lap. "Grazie, Angelo," she offered wanly as she resignedly opened the envelope, the origin of which was now certain.
"Prego, Signorina," he replied with a nod before backing away from her deferentially and quietly disappearing.
With a heavy sigh, she slipped her fingers into the envelope to remove its contents. She didn't even try to conceal her disappointment. She had rather hoped for an invitation to a late night rendezvous with a mysterious admirer; what she got instead was another unsolicited communiqué from Rat Boy. Such was her lot in life. She speculated on the possible contents as she unfolded the sheets. Perhaps he'd unearthed another tawdry secret about her family and decided to use it to torment her, thereby ruining her first real holiday in years. Perhaps there was an Italian connection to the twisted little family saga, why not?
She glanced down at the sheets and frowned at the photocopy of what looked to be a rather old document, a handwritten letter, and personal in nature. Not surprisingly, albeit unfortunately, it was in Italian. If it were in Russian, or any of a number of Asian languages, she'd be golden. Years ago, Parker had taught herself enough Italian to get by, speaking and comprehending sufficiently to navigate train stations, order wine and a meal, negotiate while shopping, and tell a conquest to either put on a condom or fetch her a taxi. She very much doubted any of those phrases would be of use to her here.
"Shit," she grumbled as she stood. Her day at the beach was over. "I'll make you pay for this, Jarod!" she snarled under her breath.
* * * *
Lobby
Villa San Michele
Taormina, Sicily
Parker leaned conspiratorially across the reception desk and said, "Judy, I'll make it more than worth your while if you'll translate this for me."
Judy was a young, bright, well-educated English woman, and one of the current crop of British ex-pats occupying the area just as generations before them had done. After completing her degree at Cambridge she had, much to her parent's chagrin, abandoned a promising career in "The City" to live "La Dolce Vita" in Taormina, where she worked on and off in the tourist industry while publishing the occasional article in the travel magazines back home. She loved culture and history and sun and romance, all of which were available in abundance in the shadow of the fierce and beautiful Mt. Etna.
A couple nights earlier, Judy had wandered into the hotel bar after her shift to find Parker sitting alone and asked to join her. A quantity of "grappa" later, Judy had shared her life story with her chic American acquaintance. Parker had, in turn, fabricated one to share with her. It turned out to have been an evening well spent because, among other things, Parker had learned that Judy was a fluent speaker of Italian and, as a naturally gifted linguist, was well versed in most regional dialects.
"Happy to," the young woman chirped. "Any idea what it is?"
"By the looks of it, a letter, and not recent, but it isn't dated. How soon do you think you can have it for me?" Parker asked as she slid the four pages across the desk.
Glancing at them, Judy replied, "Doesn't look like much. I'll have it to you in a jiffy. I assume you'll be in your room, getting ready? I'll ring you when I've finished."
"Getting ready?" Parker asked, puzzled.
"Christ, I'd forget my head if it weren't bolted on! This was left for you earlier, the hottest ticket in town. How ever did you manage it?"
"Manage what?"
"A ticket for tonight's gala at the Greek amphitheatre, of course!" Judy replied as she slapped the ticket on the counter. "They use it for dramatic productions all the time but the local authorities only allow it to be used for one musical performance a year, my dear, and you're going to it."
"I am? I mean, I am. Oh, and I will be in my room. Thanks, Judy," she muttered distractedly as she turned away from the young woman and strolled slowly toward the elevator, pondering what the hell Wonderboy was up to.
* * * *
"Yes," Parker spoke into the receiver she propped between her head and shoulder as she used both hands to put a half-carat diamond stud earring in the other ear.
"It's me. Where did you get the letter?"
"It was hand delivered... via messenger."
"Well, then, I do believe you have an admirer in this town."
"Excuse me?" Parker uttered as she straightened her head and grasped the receiver with her hand.
"I've finished translating it."
"And?"
"I could use a cold shower."
"WHAT?"
"I'm due for my shift break. Why not join me in the bar? You'll have time for a cocktail before you leave."
"Okay, give me five, make that ten, minutes."
"See you then."
Parker strolled into the bar to find Judy sitting at a corner table with the sheets of paper in front of her. The young woman looked up at her American friend, who was decked out in a hot little black dress and sexy black sandals with ankle straps, and figured she had one hell of a night ahead of her.
"Your hair looks fabulous up like that. Could never quite pull it off myself," she remarked as Parker sat down across from her.
"Thanks," Parker replied, adding, "So what's the verdict?"
"It's a love letter! Not only that, I think it may be THE love letter! And it's a HOT one at that!" Judy explained excitedly.
"What on earth are you talking about?" Parker demanded in a low voice, ducking her head and glancing nervously around the room.
"I'm not the first Brit to run away from home, you know. D.H. Lawrence once lived in the area and, it's been said, based `Lady Chatterly's Lover' on a real-life love affair that took place here. Nobody knows on whom it was based, but rumor has it, he stumbled across a love letter hidden in a prayer book whilst paying a visit to the Chiesa Santa Caterina."
Parker stared blankly at her and Judy elucidated, "The Church of St. Catherine. Imagine, finding something like this IN A CHURCH of all places. Then again, it might make the perfect location for elicit lovers to exchange secret, passionate missives. I mean, who in their right mind would ever think to look THERE? My guess is that, for whatever reason, it never reached its intended destination and, therefore, found its way into our man D.H.'s hands. He read it, was inspired, and who wouldn't be by a letter like this, and `Lady Chatterly' was the result."
"St. Catherine," Parker whispered under her breath before asking of her acquaintance, "What makes you so sure THIS is THE letter?"
"I'm not SURE; it's just a hunch. It is a bit of a legend in these parts, particularly among the Brits: the anonymous letter that inspired Lawrence. And if he has, in fact, located it, then he's one clever sod, your fellow."
"He's not MY..." Parker started to protest, a bit too loudly, and could feel her face warm.
"Well my guess is he'd like to be," Judy commented with a chuckle. "But I'll leave you to draw your own conclusions." She slid the sheets across the table and instructed, "You'll find my translation on the back. Oh, by the way, the last paragraph is a map of sorts, or rather directions to a location. It seems our lover was arranging an assignation with the object of his affection."
Parker looked up as she grabbed the sheets and quickly folded them then inquired, "I know this a long shot, and the place may not even exist anymore, but you wouldn't happen to..."
"Know where it is?" Judy interrupted with a glimmer in her eye.
Judy was enjoying this immensely, if vicariously. It was just the type of absurdly romantic adventure that had driven her to Sicily in the first place and witnessing someone else experience it was almost as much fun as experiencing it oneself. Besides, something about the sharp, beautiful American woman seated across from her who, by all appearances seemed to have everything, suggested that she could really use an absurdly romantic adventure.
"As a matter a fact, I do," Judy said with a broad smile.
* * * *
Parker strolled languorously through the ancient streets of the city, reading Judy's translation of the letter as she made her way toward the amphitheatre. A light breeze tickled her skin, further stimulating her already tingling nerve endings. She was far from home, away from the prying eyes and unreasonable expectations of those she left behind, and Jarod was still pulling her strings, manipulating her. But it felt different this time; she felt different. She hadn't reacted with her usual infuriation or frustration; instead, she was finding his machinations strangely... enticing. What the hell was he doing and perhaps, more to the point, why was she enjoying it so much?
The letter was probably the single most sensual piece of writing she had ever read and she was tempted to stop and fan herself more than once along the way. It was written by a man who obviously felt passionate about its intended recipient and, in it, he proceeded to explain, in no uncertain terms, precisely what he planned to do to her the next time they were together. It closed with a gorgeous and very detailed description of a specific view of the sea as seen from a balcony. That was the passage Judy was convinced contained the key to where the rendezvous was to have taken place.
Parker became aware of more congestion around her and looked up to see that she had reached the Greek amphitheatre. Built in the Third Century B.C. and still standing, she mused, while the roof I had put on the house only five years ago leaks like a sieve.
People were beginning to line up at the entrance, so she proceeded in that direction herself. Once seated, she looked around and smiled. It really was a spectacular site. Glancing down at the program, which was printed only in Italian, she was able to discern that it was a benefit and that the performance would consist of a selection of classical pieces by Italian composers and would close with a scene from Puccini's "Turandot."
"Good evening, Signorina," crooned an elegantly deep, accented male voice.
She turned to see a distinguished looking older man, with a well manicured gray beard and beautiful clothing, taking the seat next to hers. She asked politely,
"Excuse me, but do I know you?"
"No, you do not, nor do I know you. But that should not stop us from enjoying a fine evening and beautiful music in this magical place. Do you not agree?
"Jarod sent you, didn't he?"
"Jarod? Who is this Jarod?"
"Oh, never mind," she muttered with a sigh and redirected her attention to the stage, as the concert was about to begin.
And it was lovely, the orchestra playing well into the evening. As night fell and the stars came out, the place did indeed have an air of magic about it, and Parker found herself enjoying the experience immensely. When it was time for the grand finale, the man beside her leaned in and inquired,
"The opera, do you know it?"
"No," she replied out of the corner of her mouth.
"Ah, so it is new to you!" He clasped his hands together. "And they are performing my favorite scene, from the second act. You see," he explained in a whisper as the performance commenced on stage. "The Prince Calaf has become smitten with the beautiful Princess Turandot, even though she possesses a cold heart. In order to win her, he must answer three riddles. If he fails, he will die. She has sent many to the grave before him but he is undeterred. He has, as you say, guts, does he not?"
"Hmmm," was her only reply as she folded her arms, her brow furrowing.
"Listen now, she poses her first question: What is born each night and dies each dawn? Ah, he gives his answer: hope. There, he has passed the first test. She looks a little nervous, no?" The man chuckled; Parker bristled.
"Now she asks: What flickers red and warm like a flame, yet is not fire? Blood, of course. Again he answers correctly!"
"Lucky him," she remarked sardonically.
"Ah, but here is the most important question of all: What is like ice but burns? Ah, look at his smile as he declares `Turandot!' And look at her face! Beautiful! Beautiful!" the man exclaimed, chuckling gleefully as the entire theatre erupted in applause.
"Splendid," Parker stated, rolling her eyes.
"Did you not enjoy the finale?"
"It's a fairy tale. And I suppose that in Act Three, the prince wins the princess's heart and everyone lives happily ever after."
"Yes," the man replied with a shrug, adding, "but only after the princess incites the mob to violence, orders torture, and compels one of her subjects to suicide."
"A woman after my own heart," Parker commented with a smirk.
* * * *
Speeding out from center of town in a taxi, Parker wondered what the hell she was doing. What if Judy were wrong and she wound up on the doorstep of strangers, Sid and Mindy Lipschitz of Great Neck, Long Island, celebrating their 25th wedding anniversary with a dream vacation?
Her stomach growled. She hadn't eaten dinner. In fact, she'd hardly eaten anything all day with everything hurtling somewhat beyond her control once she'd received the letter from Angelo. She sat back in her seat and sighed. He'd be there alright; the entire fucked up day had Monkeyboy's paw prints all over it.
When the taxi turned up the long driveway, Parker's eyes grew wide. Even in darkness, she could tell that the place was spectacular, perched high on a hill overlooking the city and the Mediterranean. The grounds were extensive but the villa itself seemed rather cozy. Pulling up to the entrance, the driver turned and asked,
"Shall I wait, Signorina?"
"Won't be necessary," she replied cordially as she handed him his fare and a generous tip. "Grazie."
"Prego... Prego... Grazie, Signorina," he muttered back at her as he glanced skeptically at the villa. Cabbies knew more than just about anyone about the comings and goings around town and he hadn't heard a word about its being rented for that week.
Parker stepped out of the taxi and walked gingerly up to the entrance. Hearing the taxi pull away behind her, she glanced at the doorbell and considered a moment before shrugging and trying the door, which opened. The moment she stepped inside, the odor hit her and she hummed with approval. Someone was cooking and it smelled wonderful.
She strode up the wide, airy hallway toward the back of the house where she had spotted large wooden and glass paned doors that opened to a balcony and flickering candlelight. Looking around as she passed, she observed that the place was elegantly beautiful, with its white washed walls and dark wood, not to mention the tasteful furnishings and artwork scattered about the place.
There was still no sign of life when she reached the doors to the balcony, except for the beautifully set table and the delicious smell wafting throughout the place. She could hear the sound of the gentle surf below and, with a smile, stepped outside and crossed over to stand at the wrought iron railing to gaze out into the nighttime horizon.
"Bellissima."
Parker dropped and shook her head at the sound of the familiar voice coming from behind her. She didn't turn around immediately but inquired in an even tone,
"May I assume you are referring to the view?"
"You may assume anything you like, Miss Parker."
She sniffed then turned to face him, crossing her arms. "You mind telling me what this is about?"
"About?" he repeated as he moved around the table to fill their wineglasses. "I don't know that it's about anything, in particular. Can't a man cook a woman dinner on a fine summer evening just for the heck of it?"
"Sure, a MAN can cook a WOMAN dinner anytime, but a renegade LAB RAT cooking dinner for the person charged with returning him to his cage is quite another story."
He chuckled and, motioning for her to take a seat at the table, replied, "That's not who we are here and you know it."
"Who we are here?" It was her turn to do the repeating as she strolled over to the table.
Parker eyed him warily as he offered her a seat and she took it. He looked very nice and smelled nice too. He was wearing a classy black v-neck and black slacks and had adopted that perfectly unshaven look from the Italian boys. He wore it well.
When he took his seat across from her, she continued, "So, this is some sort of twisted little simulation that you've decided to involve me in?" She cocked her head, considered a moment, and tacked on, "Or, perhaps it's a continuation of the one we began years ago."
She looked fiercely at him, her eyes issuing a silent challenge across the flickering candlelight. He smiled and said,
"On the contrary. Here we're just Jarod and Parker. It's back THERE that we are forced to play roles that are not of our own choosing." He then raised his glass and announced, "A toast. To living `La Dolce Vita.'"
Parker shifted in her seat and glared for a moment or two then curled her lips, lifted her glassed, and tapped it to his. The wine was perfect, of course.
"You must be starving. I'd better get dinner. Hope you like Fra Diàvolo!" Jarod chirped as he jumped up from the table.
She loved Fra Diàvolo. She hadn't even addressed the topic of the letter yet. It was going to be a long night. Parker took another sip of her wine then another then another. By the time Jarod reappeared with two salad plates and a basket of bread balanced on one arm, and a steaming bowl of pasta in the other hand, she had all but drained her glass.
"You're nearly empty," he remarked with a smirk as he set down his burden. He promptly refilled her glass.
"Trying to get me drunk, Wonderboy?" Okay, apparently we're flirting now, Parker thought to herself as she heard the words leave her lips.
He didn't respond, shooting her a playful look out of the corner of his eye as he arranged their meal on the table before retaking his seat across from her. And, thus, they commenced enjoying their dinner in companionable silence, which to anyone who knew the circumstances of their lives might have appeared extraordinary but didn't seem to faze either one of them.
Parker was having a hard time containing herself. Everything was just so good. The dish was full of succulent seafood and the sauce was richly spicy but not overpowering. In fact, the entire meal was prepared precisely to her liking. Jarod had mastered the art of Italian cooking. It was perfect.
His efforts in the kitchen were rewarded with the privilege of watching her enjoy the meal, the pleasure of it apparent in her expression, despite her best efforts to conceal it. Parker kept her eyes lowered most of the time but, occasionally, they would meet his and what he saw in them would make him tremble. All the passion he had always known she possessed, but which she had submerged for so long, appeared to be bubbling to the surface. After a while, Parker emitted a heavy sigh, sinking back in her chair and lifting her wine glass to take a sip before commenting,
"Compliments to the chef."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it."
"And while I'm complimenting you, I really must applaud your choice of messenger service."
She cast him a knowing glance and he shrugged, explaining, "Angelo and his family are good people who have suffered through some very hard times recently. His older brother was killed in a car accident last month, leaving behind a wife in the late stages of pregnancy. The baby is due any day now. As if that weren't enough, the family business has been struggling and he had negotiated a refinancing deal right before the accident. Unfortunately, nothing had been signed yet and, since the entire deal hinged on a local banker's confidence in his ability to run the business, the loan offer was, unfortunately, withdrawn after his death, leaving them in a rather tight spot."
"Angelo," Parker observed. "Nice touch."
"I thought so," Jarod replied. "But that's not why I chose him. I had already decided to help them..."
"Compliments of the Centre," she interrupted, raising an eyebrow.
Ignoring her remark, he continued, "And I knew I could trust him with the errand. He's such a shy, retiring young man. Someone else might have..."
"Hit on me," she said with a smirk. "You should have seen him; he was so cute. He's just a boy, really."
"I believe the sight of you in that black bikini may have been a bit too much for him. I wouldn't be surprised if he needed to lie down afterwards."
"Why, did you?" Parker quipped, not the least bit surprised to learn that Jarod had been watching her exchange with the young man. Of course he had.
"Oh, I had too much to do. All this..." He motioned around him. "The dinner, oh, and it was quite a trick getting a ticket to tonight's performance. Fortunately, Signore Festa was most generous."
"The man seated next to me," Parker stated with a sigh.
"Yes, a man of considerable influence in the area."
"And a real opera buff." She rolled her eyes.
"Didn't you like the finale?" Jarod asked in a deep, silky tone that sent an unanticipated shiver up her spine.
"Never been a fan of opera," she replied tersely then stood and strolled over to the railing to gaze out into the night. She wasn't quite ready to accept the reality of what was happening, to confront the choice that now lie before her. Besides it really was a spectacular view.
The following is my response to a challenge posted on Mickey's challenges list a while back. I posted it there but I also decided to slap it up here because, well, I love you guys....
The challenge was presented as follows:
--- In PretenderChallenges@y..., "maryeveparker" wrote: Hi - my thoughts for a new one - just include these facts ...
1. Sizilia (big Island in the very south of Italy, for everbody who isn't good in Geography)
2. classical concert
3. pregnancy
4. the name "Angelo"
5. bikini
6. simulation
7. loveletter
8. bottle of "Grappa" (Italian Schnaps) e.g. put into coffee
9. silk bed sheets
To which I humbly offer the following. (I believe you will find all the required elements contained herein... and then some!)
Disclaimer: The characters depicted herein are not mine. They are the property of Craig and Steve who, last I heard, had just traded them for a bag of magic beans. Anyway, I am only borrowing them for use in a minor trifle for which I have not, and will not ever, receive monetary compensation.
Warning: This one rates NC-17 for Jarod/Parker nookie (what else, it's me!).
A Further Warning: Please don't take this one too seriously, folks. It is utterly without plot.
La Dolce Vita
by Ginger
The Beach
Giardini Naxos
Sicily, Italy
Parker could feel several sets of eyes upon her but did not open hers. That was one heck of a bikini she had picked up in Naples, basic black, elegant in its simplicity. She smiled contentedly and sighed. Man, she deserved this.
She couldn't believe she had gotten away with it: finally losing it, blowing up at them, and announcing that she would be gone for a week, maybe two. Jarod wasn't going anywhere; he'd still be there to chase when she got back. If he hadn't disappeared by now, he wasn't going to, the annoying little shit.
"Scusa, Miss?"
Parker shaded her eyes with her hand and opened them to glance up at the young man standing beside her. YOWSA, she thought as her gaze traveled up his lean body to his face, which was none too shabby either. He had large dark eyes, that day's worth of razor stubble all the pretty young Italian boys seemed to sport, and wavy dark hair, almost to his shoulders. This has all the makings of first- rate "Penthouse Forum" she mused as she smiled up at him.
"Yes?" she drawled.
"For you," he said shyly as he crouched down to hand her an envelope.
Propping herself up in a manner she knew would thrust her breasts at him, Parker reached up and took the envelope while casting him a devilish look. She was having fun.
"From you?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No," he replied, blushing and looking at the ground. "I am the messenger," he tacked on in a whisper.
He was all of nineteen and parts of her could really USE a nineteen-year-old. She foisted herself up into a sitting position and inspected the envelope. It was blank. Parker looked at the boy again and, with a warm smile, inquired,
"What's your name?"
"Angelo... Signorina," he answered with a sweet smile, lowering his eyes.
Parker stiffened as she was reminded of all she had left behind her, albeit temporarily, then silently chided herself: Get a grip, girl; it's hardly an UNCOMMON Italian name.
"Will you tell me who this is from?"
"So sorry, Signorina, but I cannot."
"Please?" she entreated, slapping on the most demure expression she was capable of wearing.
"Scusa, Signorina, but I do not make myself clear. I cannot say because I do not know. This morning, early, I open up our little shop... me, my family, we have in the town, and I find this..." He motioned at the envelope. "With note saying to bring here to you at this hour. And a generous gift... most helpful to my family now... in our time of need... a miracle... from hands of Our Blessed Madonna." He crossed himself and kissed his thumb.
"Hardly," Parker remarked dryly as she straightened and dusted sand off her lap. "Grazie, Angelo," she offered wanly as she resignedly opened the envelope, the origin of which was now certain.
"Prego, Signorina," he replied with a nod before backing away from her deferentially and quietly disappearing.
With a heavy sigh, she slipped her fingers into the envelope to remove its contents. She didn't even try to conceal her disappointment. She had rather hoped for an invitation to a late night rendezvous with a mysterious admirer; what she got instead was another unsolicited communiqué from Rat Boy. Such was her lot in life. She speculated on the possible contents as she unfolded the sheets. Perhaps he'd unearthed another tawdry secret about her family and decided to use it to torment her, thereby ruining her first real holiday in years. Perhaps there was an Italian connection to the twisted little family saga, why not?
She glanced down at the sheets and frowned at the photocopy of what looked to be a rather old document, a handwritten letter, and personal in nature. Not surprisingly, albeit unfortunately, it was in Italian. If it were in Russian, or any of a number of Asian languages, she'd be golden. Years ago, Parker had taught herself enough Italian to get by, speaking and comprehending sufficiently to navigate train stations, order wine and a meal, negotiate while shopping, and tell a conquest to either put on a condom or fetch her a taxi. She very much doubted any of those phrases would be of use to her here.
"Shit," she grumbled as she stood. Her day at the beach was over. "I'll make you pay for this, Jarod!" she snarled under her breath.
* * * *
Lobby
Villa San Michele
Taormina, Sicily
Parker leaned conspiratorially across the reception desk and said, "Judy, I'll make it more than worth your while if you'll translate this for me."
Judy was a young, bright, well-educated English woman, and one of the current crop of British ex-pats occupying the area just as generations before them had done. After completing her degree at Cambridge she had, much to her parent's chagrin, abandoned a promising career in "The City" to live "La Dolce Vita" in Taormina, where she worked on and off in the tourist industry while publishing the occasional article in the travel magazines back home. She loved culture and history and sun and romance, all of which were available in abundance in the shadow of the fierce and beautiful Mt. Etna.
A couple nights earlier, Judy had wandered into the hotel bar after her shift to find Parker sitting alone and asked to join her. A quantity of "grappa" later, Judy had shared her life story with her chic American acquaintance. Parker had, in turn, fabricated one to share with her. It turned out to have been an evening well spent because, among other things, Parker had learned that Judy was a fluent speaker of Italian and, as a naturally gifted linguist, was well versed in most regional dialects.
"Happy to," the young woman chirped. "Any idea what it is?"
"By the looks of it, a letter, and not recent, but it isn't dated. How soon do you think you can have it for me?" Parker asked as she slid the four pages across the desk.
Glancing at them, Judy replied, "Doesn't look like much. I'll have it to you in a jiffy. I assume you'll be in your room, getting ready? I'll ring you when I've finished."
"Getting ready?" Parker asked, puzzled.
"Christ, I'd forget my head if it weren't bolted on! This was left for you earlier, the hottest ticket in town. How ever did you manage it?"
"Manage what?"
"A ticket for tonight's gala at the Greek amphitheatre, of course!" Judy replied as she slapped the ticket on the counter. "They use it for dramatic productions all the time but the local authorities only allow it to be used for one musical performance a year, my dear, and you're going to it."
"I am? I mean, I am. Oh, and I will be in my room. Thanks, Judy," she muttered distractedly as she turned away from the young woman and strolled slowly toward the elevator, pondering what the hell Wonderboy was up to.
* * * *
"Yes," Parker spoke into the receiver she propped between her head and shoulder as she used both hands to put a half-carat diamond stud earring in the other ear.
"It's me. Where did you get the letter?"
"It was hand delivered... via messenger."
"Well, then, I do believe you have an admirer in this town."
"Excuse me?" Parker uttered as she straightened her head and grasped the receiver with her hand.
"I've finished translating it."
"And?"
"I could use a cold shower."
"WHAT?"
"I'm due for my shift break. Why not join me in the bar? You'll have time for a cocktail before you leave."
"Okay, give me five, make that ten, minutes."
"See you then."
Parker strolled into the bar to find Judy sitting at a corner table with the sheets of paper in front of her. The young woman looked up at her American friend, who was decked out in a hot little black dress and sexy black sandals with ankle straps, and figured she had one hell of a night ahead of her.
"Your hair looks fabulous up like that. Could never quite pull it off myself," she remarked as Parker sat down across from her.
"Thanks," Parker replied, adding, "So what's the verdict?"
"It's a love letter! Not only that, I think it may be THE love letter! And it's a HOT one at that!" Judy explained excitedly.
"What on earth are you talking about?" Parker demanded in a low voice, ducking her head and glancing nervously around the room.
"I'm not the first Brit to run away from home, you know. D.H. Lawrence once lived in the area and, it's been said, based `Lady Chatterly's Lover' on a real-life love affair that took place here. Nobody knows on whom it was based, but rumor has it, he stumbled across a love letter hidden in a prayer book whilst paying a visit to the Chiesa Santa Caterina."
Parker stared blankly at her and Judy elucidated, "The Church of St. Catherine. Imagine, finding something like this IN A CHURCH of all places. Then again, it might make the perfect location for elicit lovers to exchange secret, passionate missives. I mean, who in their right mind would ever think to look THERE? My guess is that, for whatever reason, it never reached its intended destination and, therefore, found its way into our man D.H.'s hands. He read it, was inspired, and who wouldn't be by a letter like this, and `Lady Chatterly' was the result."
"St. Catherine," Parker whispered under her breath before asking of her acquaintance, "What makes you so sure THIS is THE letter?"
"I'm not SURE; it's just a hunch. It is a bit of a legend in these parts, particularly among the Brits: the anonymous letter that inspired Lawrence. And if he has, in fact, located it, then he's one clever sod, your fellow."
"He's not MY..." Parker started to protest, a bit too loudly, and could feel her face warm.
"Well my guess is he'd like to be," Judy commented with a chuckle. "But I'll leave you to draw your own conclusions." She slid the sheets across the table and instructed, "You'll find my translation on the back. Oh, by the way, the last paragraph is a map of sorts, or rather directions to a location. It seems our lover was arranging an assignation with the object of his affection."
Parker looked up as she grabbed the sheets and quickly folded them then inquired, "I know this a long shot, and the place may not even exist anymore, but you wouldn't happen to..."
"Know where it is?" Judy interrupted with a glimmer in her eye.
Judy was enjoying this immensely, if vicariously. It was just the type of absurdly romantic adventure that had driven her to Sicily in the first place and witnessing someone else experience it was almost as much fun as experiencing it oneself. Besides, something about the sharp, beautiful American woman seated across from her who, by all appearances seemed to have everything, suggested that she could really use an absurdly romantic adventure.
"As a matter a fact, I do," Judy said with a broad smile.
* * * *
Parker strolled languorously through the ancient streets of the city, reading Judy's translation of the letter as she made her way toward the amphitheatre. A light breeze tickled her skin, further stimulating her already tingling nerve endings. She was far from home, away from the prying eyes and unreasonable expectations of those she left behind, and Jarod was still pulling her strings, manipulating her. But it felt different this time; she felt different. She hadn't reacted with her usual infuriation or frustration; instead, she was finding his machinations strangely... enticing. What the hell was he doing and perhaps, more to the point, why was she enjoying it so much?
The letter was probably the single most sensual piece of writing she had ever read and she was tempted to stop and fan herself more than once along the way. It was written by a man who obviously felt passionate about its intended recipient and, in it, he proceeded to explain, in no uncertain terms, precisely what he planned to do to her the next time they were together. It closed with a gorgeous and very detailed description of a specific view of the sea as seen from a balcony. That was the passage Judy was convinced contained the key to where the rendezvous was to have taken place.
Parker became aware of more congestion around her and looked up to see that she had reached the Greek amphitheatre. Built in the Third Century B.C. and still standing, she mused, while the roof I had put on the house only five years ago leaks like a sieve.
People were beginning to line up at the entrance, so she proceeded in that direction herself. Once seated, she looked around and smiled. It really was a spectacular site. Glancing down at the program, which was printed only in Italian, she was able to discern that it was a benefit and that the performance would consist of a selection of classical pieces by Italian composers and would close with a scene from Puccini's "Turandot."
"Good evening, Signorina," crooned an elegantly deep, accented male voice.
She turned to see a distinguished looking older man, with a well manicured gray beard and beautiful clothing, taking the seat next to hers. She asked politely,
"Excuse me, but do I know you?"
"No, you do not, nor do I know you. But that should not stop us from enjoying a fine evening and beautiful music in this magical place. Do you not agree?
"Jarod sent you, didn't he?"
"Jarod? Who is this Jarod?"
"Oh, never mind," she muttered with a sigh and redirected her attention to the stage, as the concert was about to begin.
And it was lovely, the orchestra playing well into the evening. As night fell and the stars came out, the place did indeed have an air of magic about it, and Parker found herself enjoying the experience immensely. When it was time for the grand finale, the man beside her leaned in and inquired,
"The opera, do you know it?"
"No," she replied out of the corner of her mouth.
"Ah, so it is new to you!" He clasped his hands together. "And they are performing my favorite scene, from the second act. You see," he explained in a whisper as the performance commenced on stage. "The Prince Calaf has become smitten with the beautiful Princess Turandot, even though she possesses a cold heart. In order to win her, he must answer three riddles. If he fails, he will die. She has sent many to the grave before him but he is undeterred. He has, as you say, guts, does he not?"
"Hmmm," was her only reply as she folded her arms, her brow furrowing.
"Listen now, she poses her first question: What is born each night and dies each dawn? Ah, he gives his answer: hope. There, he has passed the first test. She looks a little nervous, no?" The man chuckled; Parker bristled.
"Now she asks: What flickers red and warm like a flame, yet is not fire? Blood, of course. Again he answers correctly!"
"Lucky him," she remarked sardonically.
"Ah, but here is the most important question of all: What is like ice but burns? Ah, look at his smile as he declares `Turandot!' And look at her face! Beautiful! Beautiful!" the man exclaimed, chuckling gleefully as the entire theatre erupted in applause.
"Splendid," Parker stated, rolling her eyes.
"Did you not enjoy the finale?"
"It's a fairy tale. And I suppose that in Act Three, the prince wins the princess's heart and everyone lives happily ever after."
"Yes," the man replied with a shrug, adding, "but only after the princess incites the mob to violence, orders torture, and compels one of her subjects to suicide."
"A woman after my own heart," Parker commented with a smirk.
* * * *
Speeding out from center of town in a taxi, Parker wondered what the hell she was doing. What if Judy were wrong and she wound up on the doorstep of strangers, Sid and Mindy Lipschitz of Great Neck, Long Island, celebrating their 25th wedding anniversary with a dream vacation?
Her stomach growled. She hadn't eaten dinner. In fact, she'd hardly eaten anything all day with everything hurtling somewhat beyond her control once she'd received the letter from Angelo. She sat back in her seat and sighed. He'd be there alright; the entire fucked up day had Monkeyboy's paw prints all over it.
When the taxi turned up the long driveway, Parker's eyes grew wide. Even in darkness, she could tell that the place was spectacular, perched high on a hill overlooking the city and the Mediterranean. The grounds were extensive but the villa itself seemed rather cozy. Pulling up to the entrance, the driver turned and asked,
"Shall I wait, Signorina?"
"Won't be necessary," she replied cordially as she handed him his fare and a generous tip. "Grazie."
"Prego... Prego... Grazie, Signorina," he muttered back at her as he glanced skeptically at the villa. Cabbies knew more than just about anyone about the comings and goings around town and he hadn't heard a word about its being rented for that week.
Parker stepped out of the taxi and walked gingerly up to the entrance. Hearing the taxi pull away behind her, she glanced at the doorbell and considered a moment before shrugging and trying the door, which opened. The moment she stepped inside, the odor hit her and she hummed with approval. Someone was cooking and it smelled wonderful.
She strode up the wide, airy hallway toward the back of the house where she had spotted large wooden and glass paned doors that opened to a balcony and flickering candlelight. Looking around as she passed, she observed that the place was elegantly beautiful, with its white washed walls and dark wood, not to mention the tasteful furnishings and artwork scattered about the place.
There was still no sign of life when she reached the doors to the balcony, except for the beautifully set table and the delicious smell wafting throughout the place. She could hear the sound of the gentle surf below and, with a smile, stepped outside and crossed over to stand at the wrought iron railing to gaze out into the nighttime horizon.
"Bellissima."
Parker dropped and shook her head at the sound of the familiar voice coming from behind her. She didn't turn around immediately but inquired in an even tone,
"May I assume you are referring to the view?"
"You may assume anything you like, Miss Parker."
She sniffed then turned to face him, crossing her arms. "You mind telling me what this is about?"
"About?" he repeated as he moved around the table to fill their wineglasses. "I don't know that it's about anything, in particular. Can't a man cook a woman dinner on a fine summer evening just for the heck of it?"
"Sure, a MAN can cook a WOMAN dinner anytime, but a renegade LAB RAT cooking dinner for the person charged with returning him to his cage is quite another story."
He chuckled and, motioning for her to take a seat at the table, replied, "That's not who we are here and you know it."
"Who we are here?" It was her turn to do the repeating as she strolled over to the table.
Parker eyed him warily as he offered her a seat and she took it. He looked very nice and smelled nice too. He was wearing a classy black v-neck and black slacks and had adopted that perfectly unshaven look from the Italian boys. He wore it well.
When he took his seat across from her, she continued, "So, this is some sort of twisted little simulation that you've decided to involve me in?" She cocked her head, considered a moment, and tacked on, "Or, perhaps it's a continuation of the one we began years ago."
She looked fiercely at him, her eyes issuing a silent challenge across the flickering candlelight. He smiled and said,
"On the contrary. Here we're just Jarod and Parker. It's back THERE that we are forced to play roles that are not of our own choosing." He then raised his glass and announced, "A toast. To living `La Dolce Vita.'"
Parker shifted in her seat and glared for a moment or two then curled her lips, lifted her glassed, and tapped it to his. The wine was perfect, of course.
"You must be starving. I'd better get dinner. Hope you like Fra Diàvolo!" Jarod chirped as he jumped up from the table.
She loved Fra Diàvolo. She hadn't even addressed the topic of the letter yet. It was going to be a long night. Parker took another sip of her wine then another then another. By the time Jarod reappeared with two salad plates and a basket of bread balanced on one arm, and a steaming bowl of pasta in the other hand, she had all but drained her glass.
"You're nearly empty," he remarked with a smirk as he set down his burden. He promptly refilled her glass.
"Trying to get me drunk, Wonderboy?" Okay, apparently we're flirting now, Parker thought to herself as she heard the words leave her lips.
He didn't respond, shooting her a playful look out of the corner of his eye as he arranged their meal on the table before retaking his seat across from her. And, thus, they commenced enjoying their dinner in companionable silence, which to anyone who knew the circumstances of their lives might have appeared extraordinary but didn't seem to faze either one of them.
Parker was having a hard time containing herself. Everything was just so good. The dish was full of succulent seafood and the sauce was richly spicy but not overpowering. In fact, the entire meal was prepared precisely to her liking. Jarod had mastered the art of Italian cooking. It was perfect.
His efforts in the kitchen were rewarded with the privilege of watching her enjoy the meal, the pleasure of it apparent in her expression, despite her best efforts to conceal it. Parker kept her eyes lowered most of the time but, occasionally, they would meet his and what he saw in them would make him tremble. All the passion he had always known she possessed, but which she had submerged for so long, appeared to be bubbling to the surface. After a while, Parker emitted a heavy sigh, sinking back in her chair and lifting her wine glass to take a sip before commenting,
"Compliments to the chef."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it."
"And while I'm complimenting you, I really must applaud your choice of messenger service."
She cast him a knowing glance and he shrugged, explaining, "Angelo and his family are good people who have suffered through some very hard times recently. His older brother was killed in a car accident last month, leaving behind a wife in the late stages of pregnancy. The baby is due any day now. As if that weren't enough, the family business has been struggling and he had negotiated a refinancing deal right before the accident. Unfortunately, nothing had been signed yet and, since the entire deal hinged on a local banker's confidence in his ability to run the business, the loan offer was, unfortunately, withdrawn after his death, leaving them in a rather tight spot."
"Angelo," Parker observed. "Nice touch."
"I thought so," Jarod replied. "But that's not why I chose him. I had already decided to help them..."
"Compliments of the Centre," she interrupted, raising an eyebrow.
Ignoring her remark, he continued, "And I knew I could trust him with the errand. He's such a shy, retiring young man. Someone else might have..."
"Hit on me," she said with a smirk. "You should have seen him; he was so cute. He's just a boy, really."
"I believe the sight of you in that black bikini may have been a bit too much for him. I wouldn't be surprised if he needed to lie down afterwards."
"Why, did you?" Parker quipped, not the least bit surprised to learn that Jarod had been watching her exchange with the young man. Of course he had.
"Oh, I had too much to do. All this..." He motioned around him. "The dinner, oh, and it was quite a trick getting a ticket to tonight's performance. Fortunately, Signore Festa was most generous."
"The man seated next to me," Parker stated with a sigh.
"Yes, a man of considerable influence in the area."
"And a real opera buff." She rolled her eyes.
"Didn't you like the finale?" Jarod asked in a deep, silky tone that sent an unanticipated shiver up her spine.
"Never been a fan of opera," she replied tersely then stood and strolled over to the railing to gaze out into the night. She wasn't quite ready to accept the reality of what was happening, to confront the choice that now lie before her. Besides it really was a spectacular view.
