Champagne Deception Page 2

  Switching on her computer, she conducted a quick internet search and was shocked to find Lorenzo’s handsome face smiling back at her as he stood next to a cherry red Vespa in the heart of Milan’s fashion district. Long and lanky as a college kid, Lorenzo had gained about thirty pounds of pure muscle. Other than for the weight gain, he looked exactly as he had in college: friendly, open, and unassumingly sexy. She clicked on the photo and was redirected to his professional website titled Fiatti Clay Designs.

  “He became a sculptor!” Coretta exclaimed, surfing through photos of impressive, life-size art installations in bronze. He had come a long way since their pottery class where the biggest project of the semester was a glazed ashtray.

  Coretta scrolled down to the bottom of the page where his contact information stared at her enticingly. Jonathan didn’t like her to have male friends, and she wasn’t sure if she should open the flood gates of communication between her and Lorenzo. Even in college, Lorenzo had possessed a deeply philosophical soul, engaging in animated discussions about love and art---the two most important elements of life according to Coretta. If she contacted him, even from a platonic perspective, she would be inviting a man into her life whom she had pined over every night of her semester in Milan. But Lorenzo was probably married now anyway, and he hadn’t even flirted when he had a girlfriend, so he certainly wouldn’t flirt if he had a wife, right? Against her better judgment, Coretta clicked on his email address and composed a brief message:

  Ciao, Lorenzo! I’m not sure if you will remember me. It’s Coretta Nicholas from Dr. Fiore’s pottery class. Congratulations on your sculpture studio! It’s amazing that you’re doing what you really love. I’m still painting…here are a few of my latest pieces…

  She attached three photographs of her paintings, including the one of the woman picking tulips that Stella Bishop had balked at. Sending the email off into cyberspace, she chewed on her nails anxiously, wondering what she had just started. Shutting down the computer and slipping into a cozy pair of pajamas, she convinced herself that Lorenzo probably wouldn’t answer her email. Probably wouldn’t even remember her…

  Chapter Two

  At dawn, over a cup of hot apple cider, Coretta sat down and checked her email. To her astonishment, Lorenzo had written her back and, judging by the size of the message, he had a lot to say. With a quickening pulse, she clicked on the message and read voraciously:

  Ciao, Coretta! Of course I remember you. How have you been? Where do you live now? You didn’t mention that. As you can see, I’m still in Milan and, yes, I’m very grateful to have my sculpture studio. Your paintings are gorgeous. The one of the woman gathering flowers is very subtle and evocative. Your work reminds me of the French Impressionists, so soft and beautiful. I guess you saw the link on my website that I’m looking to join forces with a painter? I think that could take my studio to the next level. Maybe you could come to Milan and we could discuss this opportunity?

  Coretta was perplexed. She hadn’t noticed any link on his website; her only purpose in sending the photos had been to share her work with a fellow artist. Revisiting the Fiatti Clay Designs website, she noticed the section labeled “Careers.” Apparently, Lorenzo had posted an advertisement seeking a painter to merge his studio space with. In exchange, the painter would share a gallery with him where the duo would display a combination of their work.

  Coretta had never had a real studio before. All her paintings had been created in the confined space of her apartment with paintbrushes strewn everywhere and smocks draped over the furniture. She could be even more prolific with her art if she had a studio, not to mention the inspiring setting of a European city where so many artists before her had found a muse. And to be able to bounce her ideas off a fellow artist would ripen her creativity even more. Jonathan had no interest whatsoever in art; his entire life was dictated by dollar signs. Speaking of dollar signs, that would be the primary obstacle in accepting Lorenzo’s offer: renting a gallery in Milan. She couldn’t afford the rent in New York, and she certainly couldn’t afford it in what was arguably Italy’s most sophisticated city.

  The buzzer to her apartment sounded, startling her as cider spilled onto her pajamas. She traipsed over to the intercom and inquired, “Yes?”

  “It’s me, buzz me in,” Jonathan’s strident voice demanded.

  Reluctantly, she pressed the button to open the building’s front door. She hated when he came to her apartment this early in the morning---and with that harsh tone of voice. Clearly, he wasn’t happy that she had dismissed him last night without so much as a kiss. She swallowed as she heard the familiar thud of his footsteps in the stairwell. Opening the door on a beat of hesitation, she struggled to affix a smile to her face as he walked in.

  “I brought bagels,” he said gruffly, shoving a brown paper bag in her face.

  “Oh, thank you,” she murmured, grabbing a cinnamon raisin bagel and taking a nibble.

  “I wanted to see you before I go to work today, but you don’t look too happy to see me,” Jonathan observed, frowning as he ripped off a giant chunk of onion bagel and shoveled it into his mouth.

  With disdain, Coretta watched the stocky man eat. At one time, his body had been so attractive to her, but over the years the physical connection had faded. It wasn’t the length of time together that had made her lose desire for him; it was everything else. The surly manner in which he spoke to her, his cold disregard for her feelings and, most of all, his utter rejection of her art. As his meaty fingers slathered the bagel with cream cheese, Lorenzo’s message replayed in her mind. A studio space…and a gallery…in Milan…

  Impulsively, she said, “I know you’re not going to approve of what I’m about to tell you, but---“

  Loudly masticating the wad of bagel dough, he interrupted, “I don’t like the sound of this. What are you planning now, Pollyanna?”

  “Pollyanna?” She echoed, irritated.

  “Yeah, you’re as naïve as that character, and you know it. Go ahead, Coretta, make it fast. I have to be on Wall Street in an hour.”

  “I’m going to Milan,” she blurted out, unable to believe the words had just streamed from her lips. She had intended to tell Jonathan that she was perhaps going to Milan, just mulling it over, but amidst his steady flow of insults, she had decided definitively to investigate Lorenzo’s proposed collaboration.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” He shouted.

  “I want to explore opportunities for my art in Europe. I still have some, um, connections from when I studied in Milan, so I’m going to start there.” She failed to mention her one connection in Italy, her one male connection named Lorenzo Fiatti.

  “So what, you want me to take you on vacation there? We just went golfing in Myrtle Beach six months ago.” Jonathan shook his head in disgust, clearly not understanding the thrust of what she was telling him.

  “No, I’m not talking about a vacation. And you don’t have to come with me. I just want to take a---sabbatical from my life here in the city. I want to try something new. Honestly, I don’t know how long I’ll be in Italy. It could be for a while.” As Coretta spoke evasively, the fuzzy details were already becoming crystallized in her mind: she would be in Italy for as long as it took to finally succeed as a painter.

  “Yup, you’ve finally lost it. What’s that crazy story you told me once about that sculptor and his lover? The woman who ended up in an asylum? I think that’s where you’re headed, Coretta.”

  “Why don’t you read a book once in a while, Jonathan? Then you would know the whole story of Pierre Auguste Rodin and Camille Claudel, and I wouldn’t have to teach it to you like you’re a foolish little school boy!” Coretta shouted, completely outraged. “I don’t know if I’m angrier with you right now, or angrier with myself for staying with you this long! All you do is bring me down! You think you did such an amazing thing by bringing me a bag of bagels this morning? Give me a break! I need support from you, and I’m not talking about financial support! I’m talking about emotional support.”

  Jonathan scowled childishly at the word “emotional.” Looking at her through eyes that spewed furious blue fire, he yelled, “And I’m sick of being with a woman who lives in a fairy land! Get in touch with reality, Coretta. Put down the paintbrush and get into the real world. Your paintings are as ridiculous as you are.”

  Coretta stepped back, stunned. He had been needling her on a daily basis for as long as she could remember, but he had never been so blunt in his put-downs as he had been just now. Or had she just finally reached her limit and taken notice now? She wasn’t sure but, as she opened the door and gestured for him to leave, it felt like an out of body experience.

  “Please go,” she instructed in an unwavering voice that sounded foreign to her own ears. “You’ve made it abundantly clear how little you think of me. I can’t stay in this relationship anymore. We should have said goodbye years ago, and we both know it. The only thing holding us together is the history we share and the fact that we’re just used to each other. But those aren’t good reasons to stay together.”

  Jonathan gaped at her in disbelief. She had rarely spoken up for herself during the long course of their relationship, and she had never broken up with him before. “What the hell was in that sushi last night? You’re not acting like yourself!”

  “No, and that’s a good thing,” she replied quietly.

  “You really want to end this? And to think, I was getting ready to propose to you…” He trailed off suggestively.

  “Oh, don’t do that!” She shouted indignantly. “I’m not a dog, so don’t try to throw me a bone! You know that you had no intention of proposing. You’re just saying that to make me doubt myself. I’ve had it with you, Jonathan. Get out! I have a trip to plan.”


  Angrily, Jonathan fumbled for the doorknob, spearing her with a glare as he stormed out of her apartment. Numbly, Coretta listened to the familiar footsteps that had walked through her life for a full decade. The heavy footsteps were rapidly fading, leaving her in a curiously peaceful solitude. No tears stung her sparkling brown eyes. She had already wasted far too much time crying during their relationship. The well spring of emotion had dried up, and she felt strangely invigorated as she gazed out from the tenth floor window. Jonathan’s chubby body blended with the throngs of people surrounding him on the Manhattan sidewalk until he was a meaningless silhouette on the concrete.

  Leaving the window and returning to her now cool mug of cider, Coretta composed an email to Lorenzo, telling him that she would be flying into Milan on Saturday. Today was Thursday, which gave her scantly 48 hours to gather her belongings and prepare for the first overseas trip she had taken since that long ago semester abroad.

  *****

  Hours later, Coretta was wrapping and sealing two dozen of her paintings to be shipped ahead to a storage center in Milan where she had already rented a compartment. The bitter memory of Jonathan’s exit from her apartment---and her life---was far from her thoughts as she stuffed a suitcase full of spring attire. Italy was warm and sunny in April. She wouldn’t need the scarves and jackets that New York still required in early spring.

  Taking a break from her packing, she checked her email, unreasonably excited to see that Lorenzo had sent a brief but welcoming reply. Perfetto! Send me your flight itinerary, and I’ll pick you up at the airport. I’m looking forward to catching up and talking about opportunities for our art. See you Saturday!

  After sending him the flight information, she switched off her computer, feeling as jittery as though she were about to take a rocket flight to the moon. She couldn’t afford this trip, as Jonathan would have smugly reminded her if he were there. She had impetuously charged the plane ticket between two credit cards when she was already deeply in debt. And she had absolutely no back-up plan. If a working arrangement with Lorenzo did not come to fruition, she would return to New York as a failure. Covering her ears with her hands to drown out the self-defeating voices within, Coretta returned to her packing. As risky an enterprise as going to Italy on the spur of the moment was, it would be even riskier to stay in New York. Indeed, she could afford to lose her money, but she could never afford to lose her spirit.

  *****

  “Have you come to your senses yet?” Jonathan’s obnoxious voice inquired.

  Popping a stick of gum into her mouth and wheeling her suitcase over to a newsstand, Coretta replied distractedly, “What are you talking about, Jonathan?”

  “You know what I’m talking about. Us. I haven’t heard from you in two days, so I thought I would be the bigger person and get in touch.”

  Coretta rolled her eyes, grateful for the reaffirmation that leaving Jonathan had been a wise decision. “Well, thank you for calling,” she said diplomatically, “but I don’t think there’s anything left to talk about regarding us.”

  “Are you kidding me? You’re ready to just throw away the past ten years?” He spat out furiously as a jetliner swooped in for landing on a nearby runway. “What the hell is all that noise? Where are you?”

  “I’m at the airport,” she replied matter-of-factly.

  “Airport?!” He boomed. “Don’t tell me you’re actually going to Italy! You’re even dumber than I thought!”

  Coretta bit her lip to keep from issuing a nasty retort that would haunt her later on. Instead, she spoke levelly. “I have a plane to catch. I can’t stay on the phone anymore.”

  “You’ve finally lost your damn mind. I knew it would happen sooner or later. The only difference between you and the other crazy artists is that their work is actually worth something! Your work isn’t worth a penny in the unicorn universe you inhabit! You are really unbelievable. Go, try to make something of yourself, but don’t say I didn’t warn you---“

  Coretta pressed “end” on her cell phone and disconnected Jonathan before he could escalate his verbal assault. As she approached a bookshelf stacked with fiction paperbacks, she switched off her phone and stuffed it in the bottom of her purse. Snatching up a few magazines and a candy bar, Coretta shuffled over to the cash register as the sound system conveyed a final boarding call for her flight. She threw a few bills down on the counter and ran out of the store, furious with herself for letting Jonathan’s ill-timed phone call distract her. There was no way she could miss this flight and stay behind in New York. Not boarding this plane to Milan would be as dire as not inhaling oxygen.

  Arriving at the boarding gate with seconds to spare, Coretta whipped out her ticket and handed it to the flight attendant. “Enjoy your flight to Milan,” the young man offered amiably.

  “I think I will, thank you,” she replied on a breathless note.

  Stuffed inside her small seat in Coach Class, Coretta didn’t feel the least bit confined. When the plane took off a few minutes later, she gripped her seat with exhilaration, watching as the imposing New York skyline became cartoonishly small and no longer looked real.

  Throughout the flight, Coretta tried to contain her excitement but was unable to focus on any of the magazines she had bought or on the movie streaming on the tiny screen in front of her. All she could think of was Lorenzo Fiatti and how they would both react when they saw each other for the first time in ten years. They had been 22 year old kids when they last laid eyes on one another, or at least Lorenzo had been. Coretta had already gotten a bird’s eye view of how handsome and enticing Lorenzo had become in his thirties. But he hadn’t seen her photo. How would he react to the six inches she had cut off her hair since college? Her hair had once cascaded to her waist in Rapunzel-esque waves, but now it tumbled to her shoulders in fringed layers. And how about the new curves she had acquired? Ten years ago had also been ten pounds ago, and her once trim hips were now decidedly round.

  Interrupting her self-critical thoughts, the pilot announced jovially in Italian that the plane would be landing momentarily. Coretta glanced up in shock, hardly able to believe that the seven hour flight was already over. She wanted to freshen up, but the line to the restroom was already trailing down an entire aisle. Digging into her purse, she grabbed a tube of rosy lip gloss and applied it liberally to a pretty, Kewpie doll mouth. Sweeping some blush on her cheeks to make her complexion glow, she smiled into the compact mirror, rehearsing her facial expression for the moment she saw Lorenzo. Impulsively, she spritzed her neck and décolletage with a whiff of coconut body spray as the passenger next to her choked and shook his head angrily.

  “I’m sorry!” She muttered sheepishly, hoping that Lorenzo wouldn’t have a similar reaction to the bold scent.

  Struggling to catch her breath as she clamored off the plane, Coretta chided herself for being so nervous. Silently reminding herself of her professional reasons for coming to Milan, she pushed aside all ridiculous notions of a romance with Lorenzo. Their emails over the past few days, much like their college friendship, had been strictly platonic, and Coretta still had no idea whether he was married or involved with someone. And he had no idea that she had been fantasizing about his gorgeous smile and rigid muscles during the entire flight…

  Sailing through Customs and hustling over to the Baggage Claim area where they had agreed to meet, Coretta gulped down swelling nervousness and licked her lips. Fluffing up her dark hair with one hand, she painted a smile on her face in an effort to appear halfway normal rather than like the bumbling idiot she felt like inside. As she walked down the stairs to the whirling luggage machines, Coretta spotted Lorenzo immediately. From across the airport, their eyes locked magnetically. To her enormous horror, she felt her knees wobble and give way until she was on the verge of collapsing right there on the cold linoleum floor.

  Chapter Three

  Refusing to fall and make a fool of herself, Coretta mastered her nerves and sweetened her smile as Lorenzo walked over to her. Wearing a motorcycle helmet and carrying another one in his hand, he looked dangerous yet inviting. He was even taller than she remembered, and his green eyes shone like gems from across the room. Decorated in that dazzling white smile with dimples to boot, Lorenzo could not have looked more charming had he been dressed in a tuxedo and clasping a rose between his teeth.