Levi: Isabella—can we chat? Need your thoughts on something.
It’s fairly innocuous in the grand scheme of things. He was always asking for my thoughts throughout our decade-long friendship whether it was on the best way to organize a clothing drive after a wildfire or whether or not Father John Misty’s latest album was as good as his last. But we are not friends anymore. And I am not going to let Levi Cross pretend otherwise.
I delete the message and block his number.
Chapter Nine
Hot. I need tolook hot as hell, I type into my translator app. The helpful sales manager has patiently waited while I stumble through the language barrier. Most people in La Musa speak at least some English, but she seems to know zero. Which is fine. I’m the one who’s a foreigner, but it’s been over a month in and so far, my Italian language skills consist solely of the phrases my language learning app teaches me and random idioms from Vincenzo. And I haven’t yet gotten to the level where I learn how to ask the shopkeeper where she keeps the sluttiest lingerie.
Benito’s been avoiding me since our late-night rendezvous a week ago. He leaves for work early in the morning before I wake up and returns well after dinner. While I’ve been enjoying being Anita’s de facto child in his absence, I’m annoyed too. The idea that he regrets our almost. . . whatever moment, makes me regret it too. My original instincts to avoid anything more than cordiality with Benitowere right. I need to focus on being unattached and unemotional.
I point at a skimpy nightie with lace trim. “More?” I ask the shopkeeper. When I was last in La Musa, me and the other girls used to come into this shop just to admire the pretty intimates, but when you’re 19 you don’t really need lingerie to seduce a guy. I guess you never reallyneedit, but if I’m going to get the confidence to finally go for it with Giac, I’m going to have to know I look good under my clothes.
We find an understanding between my shoddy Italian and her exaggerated pantomiming, and I go into the fitting room to try on several pieces. First, an all-black lace bodysuit with cutouts on the boobs and between my legs. It looked elegant on the hanger, but on my short torso, I look like a kid wearing a worn-out swimsuit. Next, a red matching lace bra and thong. The bra looks good, but the thong is made of so little fabric, there’d be nothing to suck in my love handles underneath my dress. A bright blue teddy looks like the sorority girl version of a Violet Beauregarde costume. A silky green negligee makes me look like I’m one of Santa’s helpers. And a pink corset makes it seem like I’m trying to seduce a viscount.
I put my regular clothes back on and exit the fitting room. In the main store area, I see Valeria chatting with the salesclerk. I try to quickly put my items back before she notices me but I’m not fast enough. “Izzy!” she says, waving.
I shove everything onto one hook as she walks over to me. “Valeria, hi.”
She speaks in Italian to the other woman, and I hear my name. The woman smiles at me. “Izzy,” Valeria says, “this is Francesca.”
I wave at her shyly. “Piacere.”
“We were just discussing the town news, have you heard?” she asks. I shake my head. Valeria continues, “Apparently there’s a big project in the works to completely change La Musa.” She shakes her head disapprovingly. My heart sinks. Benito must be going through with his father’s ideas. “If it happens, several of our existing businesses will have to close.”
“Wait, really?” I ask.
Valeria nods. “Well, our leases would end, as the company doing the work owns the buildings. Some of these leases are 50 years old or more.” Valeria sighs. “We could move, but where would we move to? It’s not like there’s other space available.”
I say a quick prayer of thanksgiving that I did not sleep with Benito the other night. If what Valeria is saying is true, my original assessment of him is correct and he super sucks. It doesn’t matter that I’ve seen his softer side—I’ve been blinded by horniness before. “The wine shop would have to close?”
Valeria sighs again. “It seems like it, yes. And the worst part is, whether intentional or not, the development affects mostly the women-owned businesses in town.”
My gut boils. Sexist. Benito is also sexist. “That’s completely unfair,” I say.
“Completely,” Valeria agrees.
“Is there anything we can do?” I ask.
“That’s what Francesca and I were just discussing,” Valeria says. “Us two and the other women affected are gathering at Bar Musa later this week to figure out a game plan.”
My brain sparks. It’s a familiar feeling, like when I learned the girls’ soccer team at Fairfax High had to practice on the baseball fields, which don’t even get watered in the off-season. It’s like I hear an injustice happening, and my body’s natural response is to spring into action. I take a deep breath. I need to stay out of this. It doesn’t involve me. “Maybe I can help,” my mouth spits out despite my brain’s insistence on staying neutral.
Valeria perks up. “Oh, Izzy, you’re too kind. I will let you know if there’s something you can do.”
“No, seriously,” I say. My larynx and pharynx and vocal cords are apparently on a separate mission from my consciousness. “I have. . . experience in community organizing, and I could really help.”
Valeria lights up. “We could use someone with experience. Definitely come, then,” she says.
She gives me the details and we say our goodbyes. I pull the matching red set off the rack and pay for it. Giac will just have to deal with my love handles.
I take the initiative and invite Giac to dinner when I see him at thecaffetteriathe next morning. He excitedly says yes, and suggests we meet up that night at Ristorante Claudio. When I walk in wearing a loose but low-cut black maxi dress, my red set underneath, I remember it’s one of the few trulyupscale places in La Musa. White tablecloths, dim lighting, and live, inoffensive jazz greet us as we walk in. It’s also uncharacteristically packed, and Giac must have an in with the staff, because we’re quickly ushered to the last free table in the center of the restaurant.
A bottle of wine and an order ofarancinequickly arrive at the table. “They like you here, Giac,” I say.
Giac shrugs it off. “I’ve been here a lot over the years. Best carbonara in all of Italy right here if you can believe it.”
“I’m a vegetarian, so that’s a no for me. What else is good?” I ask, trying to discern from the menu what is and is not meat free.
