Gongs
Nico
Nico stood outside Grand Hotel Castello Bella Vista and toyed with a coin in his jacket pocket. It had been two days since Heather announced they were coming here and he’d struggled to sleep since.
He’d only entered the hotel once before, on Gianfranco’s opening day. It had been a few months after Maria left him and Nico had felt glum, surrounded by all the gold balloon arches and champagne chilling in silver buckets.
A Glorious Escapehad just premiered in cinemas worldwide and Gianfranco had hired a multitude of singers and dancers to perform numbers from the film as he opened his hotel doors for the first time. He’d insisted that he’d seen Tim Vincenzo among the guests and Nico had scowled at the thought of the actor staring at Loretta again.
Nico was proud of his friend’s achievements, so he hated how his envy took over when Gianfranco gushed about his sauna and whirlpool baths, his massage tables and the fluffy white robes he’d personally sourced from Rome.
Nico’s mamma had vehemently opposed Gianfranco’s renovation, writing objection letters from her bed. She could see the building work from the window of her bedroom. “You must never ruin Splendido in this way, my son,” she’d said.
“I give you my promise,” he’d replied.
Nico’s thoughts were brought back to the present by Gianfranco dropping an arm around his shoulder. “I would love you to see my new spa,” his friend said. “In my humble expert opinion, it is the best in Bologna, maybe even the whole of Italy. I want your blessing more than anything.”
Nico battled with his conscience. He pictured himself closing his mamma’s curtains after she’d passed away. “Your hotel is truly magnificent,” he said. “No one would believe you used to kick a football around in the dirt with me. You are now a VIP.”
“The building is grand, not me. Inside, I’m the same small boy who wants to score lots of goals.” Gianfranco’s bulldog eyes grew watery. “I helped to collect your guests from the airport, and picked up the lost suitcase. I offer you advice on Splendido to support you, and my son worked on your website. Please do this one thing for me.”
Nico clicked his tongue. He looked up and saw that a castellation on the roof was missing. It assured him that not everything about the hotel was perfect. “Yes, I will look at the spa,” he said.
Gianfranco beamed and punched the top of Nico’s arm. The two men walked toward the revolving door together. “I saw you looking at my roof,” Gianfranco said. “Do not worry about it. My builders will repair it tomorrow.”
When Nico entered the hotel lobby, his eyes widened. Tiny silver specks glittered in the white marble floor and huge Murano glass chandeliers glistened overhead. Cream leather sofas were resplendent with gold cushions and a glamorous lady tinkled tunes on a piano. It all made Nico feel small and inadequate, reminding him again why Maria had left him.
“Tasteful bling,” Gianfranco whispered to him.
Guests floated around wearing handmade leather shoes and designer handbags. Others walked around sporting only white robes and slippers. Nico watched his own guests from the corner of his eye. Like him, they didn’t seem to fit in here.
Heather was taking the lead today, bounding about like she was in charge. Ginny reminded him of a small bird, twitchy and glancing around nervously. Eric’s walking boots left crumbles of dried mud on the floor that Gianfranco’s staff discreetly swept away with silver dustpans and brushes. Curtis’s eyes roamed everywhere. He squinted at the label on a cushion and dropped to his knees to examine a rug.
“Do you love my lobby?” Gianfranco asked Nico.
“It reminds me of theStarship Enterprise. Remember how you used to pretend to be Captain Kirk and I was Spock?”
Gianfranco choked back a tear. “There is no bigger compliment,” he said. “Thank you.”
They walked across the lobby and Nico frowned at a sign.
Massage Envy—Verona Room, Back Lobby Far Right
Breastfeeding and Feminism International Conference—Venice Suite, Far Left
“My workshops and conferences are very popular,” Gianfranco said. “You should consider hosting them, too.”
“What would I offer?” Nico shrugged.
“You could give cooking lessons, and Loretta could do photography or a fashion master class...”
“I think she has lost interest in Splendido, just as her mother did.”
“Don’t be too sure about that...”
Nico halted and stared at his friend. “What do you mean bythat?”
Gianfranco clamped his mouth shut. He hurriedly picked up a bowl of oranges off the counter of a bar, tipping them into a machine. Seconds later, fresh juice gushed out and he handed a glass to Nico. “No peeling or squeezing is necessary,” he mumbled.
