She was worried, she knew that he would be crazy and might inspire her to actions. She placed her plastic rain-bonnet into it's well worn, felt case. She would need to preserve her hair-do for at least four more days, until Venice. As she scanned the bookstore, she smelled the leather, wood and dust mixture. She scanned for her contact and moved through the store in cautious strides.
Aahhhh Venice, she mused. Her last trip there had been when she took that 'tumble' down the grand stairs of the Hotel di Venezia, near Piazza San Marco. Tumble. That's what she told the family back in New England. What would they say if they only knew? That Carnival di Venezia proved to scar her more than she planned. What would they say if they knew she was actually thwarting an enemy agent's nefarious plan for the breakfast buffet? What would they say if they knew that she sacrificed her world-class right hook with a shattered ulna so that tourists in t-shirts could safely eat fish? So that waiters could earn extra lira to go blow in a new karaoke bar that nite (singing without being on a gondola was refreshing). Her double life was secure in the fact that when she went down the stairs, toppling Mr. Nottienuff, the Negroni on her breathe would act as alibi and pain reliever. "The crazy American spinster was intoxicated when she tripped over her Manolos slamming that short businessman into the railing. " the bellhop mused.
Never, the family back home would never know.
She looked out the store front. His arrogance is a-typical she thought. The men in his family were headstrong and hellbent for a good time. Children may have slowed his brother and father down a bit, but this nephew hasn't been deterred by progeny yet. She remembered what made their relationship special, their appreciation of independence triumphing the stigma of loneliness. They were on their own, and flourishing around social conformity. Spinster and Spin Doctor? Maybe more like Spin and Martini from the the Mickey Mouse Club.
He was smoking a Marlboro light and wearing sunglasses in the early evening light. The light rain falling didn't bother him in the least. He would exhale small plumes in the fading amber hue with an occasional smoke ring aimed at some tourists. A pod of Japanese tourists were cornering him for directions. With a jaunty little jut of his jaw he inspected their maps and in his own personal blend of the Spanish and Italian languages, merrily sent them on their way. He felt his time in Florence had transformed him into a native. He had more of a strut than before, he laughed with a lion's roar which would scare flocks of pigeons and get them removed from early masses in town. What was she to do with him? Their time together made her want to confess the double life she had been leading. They had an amazing rapport and the laughs they'd shared had been some of the dearest in her life. But confessing at this stage would compromise global security and might even inspire him into some crazy action as well. She couldn't risk that. She had spearheaded the Orient Express operation just readying for implementation. The information stealing ring that had operated for years aboard the luxury railroad was going to be taken down, and hard by some of the toughest aunties in the business. Better to air on the side of caution and continue this lovely trip through Italy.
What to do with him? Probably feed him, as it had been hours since their lunch in the trattoria. The shellfish in the Mediterranean had made him crazy, that he almost ordered a second lunch. His zeal was inspiring and kept the old gal rolling. She completed her mission in the bookstore by delivering the disc to her Florentine operative. Next year she would engage in an operation so filled with action and adventure, JK Rowling will be inspired to add the scene to her next installment of "Harry Potter". For now she would need to keep him safe. She may even need to establish a new cover for him. She noted that the rain had stopped, and made her way out of the bookstore to place her arm in his.
"What's new, lover?"
"Playing with the tourists," he smirked. His breath was ripe with Altoids as he never wanted to offend her with his smoking. "Even in Europe I can't stop playing with the common folks heads. It gives me something to do I guess. Can you imagine if I actually taught kindergarten? I may as well open the Salvador Dali Dog Training Academy and Trattoria."
"I think you are amazing at all you do."
"Goosey, you never get tired of playing cheerleader, do you?"
"Never, ever, ever."
They walked across the Piazza, and rounded the Duomo. Catty cornered was a nice cafe, windows filled with pizza by the pound, pigs, sausages, cheeses and such. They sat and enjoyed their coffee watching the tourists push and shove their way in to the cathedral for photo op's and absolution.
Goosey tossed back her Sambuca. "What do you think all those people think when they look at us?"
"I really don't care what they think, Goose. I'm past living through other people's eyes. They can look all they want."
"No sweetie, what do you think they think when the see this old broad with this young, buck."
The nephew lit a cigarette, surveyed the crowd and let out a short smoke plume. "They probably are saying, 'That must be the Countess and the Pool boy,' ". He laughed heartily, scaring more pigeons.
She smiled and thought to herself, "Out of the mouths of babes". A cover, a conversational device and a con had been born. "The Countess and The Pool Boy, I think that might work." She noted the enemy agent making luscious cappuccino foam and decided that they would go dress for dinner at the hotel, all this work makes a girl hungry.
Labels: Countess and the Pool Boy, Goosey, Italia
