Love, Lucy by April Lindner
“I don’t know,” he replied to that last question.
“You don’t know?” Charlene frowned.
“I don’t believe in making plans,” he said, biting into an apricot.
“I’m so jealous you’ve been over here for a whole year,” Lucy said quickly, trying to create a distraction before Charlene could say something cutting. “If I tried that, my parents would flip out.”
“Mine aren’t exactly thrilled,” Jesse said. “But it’s my life.” He took a big swig of water, then offered the bottle to Lucy. “They wanted me to go to college, but I told them not to waste their money. They still don’t get it. Not everybody needs to go to school. There are other ways to learn about the world.”
“I guess Lucy told you her story already,” Charlene chimed in. “About how we came to be on this trip.”
Lucy shot Charlene a warning look. After hearing how Jesse had stood up to his parents, the last thing she wanted was for him to know she’d bargained away her future. “Oh, it’s no big deal.”
“It’s a very big deal,” Charlene said. “Lucy’s a talented actress.”
“Not really.” Lucy felt her cheeks tingle, a sure sign she was blushing. “You’ve never even seen me act.”
“She’s way too modest. My mom went to one of your plays, remember?”
Lucy didn’t, but she nodded anyway.
“She raved about you for weeks. This was a while back, before we were friends.” Charlene focused on Jesse again. “Lucy can sing, too.”
Lucy felt her face go an even deeper shade of red. She looked away, up into the shifting pine boughs, off into the distance—anywhere but at Jesse—as Charlene filled him in. Will he think I’m a sellout? Lucy wondered. Compared with him, maybe I am.
Jesse’s response set her at ease. “I’m sure you had your reasons,” he told Lucy, his voice soft, as though it were just the two of them on the blanket.
“I did.” Lucy’s voice trembled as she spoke.
“Of course she did,” Charlene said. “She knows college is going to be the best time of her life. Maybe that’s a cliché, but it’s true.”
“No.” Lucy’s voice rose. “That’s not why.”
“Why, then?” Charlene asked.
But Lucy didn’t want to say. That disastrous audition had been the most embarrassing moment of her life. Just as she’d stepped onstage, her father’s words—Odds are that Lucy will fail—had rushed back to her like a sucker punch, and the monologue she’d spent hours memorizing had vanished from her mind. She’d stumbled off the stage, embarrassed and miserable.
Lucy really didn’t want to tell Jesse any of this, but then again, she didn’t want him thinking she was some obedient little Goody Two-shoes. So she gave him the abridged version. “I had a bad audition. I froze.”
“A little stage fright’s normal.” He rubbed the palms of his hands on his knees. “Anyone who’s serious about performing gets it.”
“This was way more than a little stage fright.” Lucy dared a glance at him. “I don’t ever want to feel that way again.”
Jesse didn’t reply.
“Well, anyway,” Charlene said brightly, “that’s how we got to be here in Europe.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” Jesse said, and from the tone of his voice, Lucy knew he was talking to her, not Charlene.
“Me, too,” she said, hardly daring to meet his eyes.
Charlene’s voice broke in on their moment. “So, Jesse, are you going to play for us?”
“He’s eating,” Lucy protested, though Jesse had barely touched the bread and cheese he’d brought.
“I don’t mind.” He reached for his guitar. “I’ve been working on something.” He began to strum. “I haven’t finished the words yet.”
“It’s pretty,” Lucy told him, and she wasn’t just being polite. Though the tune was up-tempo, the chord progression was bittersweet. Lucy allowed herself a small shiver and thought how she would miss this moment when it was over.
Jesse smiled and kept playing.
Before long, though, Charlene interrupted him. “Doesn’t that look like Ellen?” She pointed up the path at a blond girl in a sunhat.
It took Lucy a few seconds to remember who Ellen was. “Oh. Yeah. I guess so.”
Charlene got to her feet and waved. “Ellen! Over here.”
Ellen waved back, hurrying in their direction. “Small world!” She looked from Charlene to Lucy to Jesse, an amused smile playing on her lips, and Lucy got the feeling that Charlene had invited Ellen to barge in on their picnic.
“Want to join us?” Charlene asked. “We’ve got enough food for a small army.”
“I’m on my way to the Pitti Palace to do some research,” Ellen said. “Have you guys made it there yet? I’ve got some extra passes.”
“That sounds fantastic,” Charlene said. “The heat out here is melting my brain. What do you say?” She looked expectantly at Lucy.
Heat or not, Lucy couldn’t think of anywhere she would rather be than on a blanket in the Boboli Gardens, listening to Jesse play his guitar. “You go with Ellen,” she said. “Have fun. I’ll see you back at the Bertolini.”
Was it Lucy’s imagination, or did Charlene look hurt? She was gone before Lucy could decide. And anyway, Lucy had other, happier things on her mind. She listened as Jesse played the rest of his song. Might he have been thinking of her as he wrote it? At just that moment, anything seemed possible.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a flash. When he tired of playing, Jesse stretched out on the blanket to take a nap and patted his taut stomach, inviting Lucy to use it as a pillow. Delighted, she took him up on the offer. She shut her eyes, lulled by the oceanic rhythm of his breath and by his scent, which, despite the heat, was clean and already familiar. Though she only meant to pretend to sleep, she must have dozed off. When Jesse stirred at last, she was surprised to find the sun lower in the sky.
Lucy sat up, and Jesse checked his wristwatch.
“I have to get back to the Bert,” he told her. “I’m supposed to work the front desk from four to ten.”
“That’s okay,” Lucy said, though she was sorry their day together had to end.
“Want to hang out tomorrow?” he asked. “I’m free after breakfast.”
Lucy hesitated. She could just imagine what Charlene would say. But Charlene had been in such a hurry to get away with Ellen; maybe she wouldn’t mind. “Okay.”
“We can go anywhere,” Jesse said. “What haven’t you seen?”
Lucy thought of her list of museums, monuments, and churches, more than she could ever get through in the little time she had left. Then a smile spread across her face. “Let’s go somewhere that isn’t in the guidebooks.”
“Ah,” Jesse said, thinking for a moment. “I have an idea.”
“You aren’t going to tell me where we’re going?”
Jesse shook his head, his dark eyes amused. “No,” he said. “I hope that’s okay.”
Lucy brushed a few stray pine needles from her T-shirt. The thought of having another day with Jesse, of his planning a surprise for her, made her happier than she cared to reveal. “Sure, it’s okay.” She tried to sound casual.
“Then it’s a date.”
VI
The next morning Lucy woke earlier than usual and pondered her drawer full of rumpled clothes. How nice it would be to have something brand-new to wear on her day out with Jesse. “A date,” he had called it, but had he really meant it?
Lucy finally settled on a periwinkle-blue tank top and the iolite earrings her father had given her as a sixteenth-birthday present. She put on mascara and fiddled with her hair for a long time, putting it up in a ponytail and then changing her mind and taking it down. Her curls—wild, but for once not out of control—tumbled around her shoulders. Not too bad, considering, Lucy thought as she checked her smile in the mirror one last time.
In a strange role reversal, Charlene was still in bed, asleep—or pretending to be—when Lu
Lucy set down her fork. “There are rules?”
“Rule number one is that you don’t abandon your friends just because some guy comes along.”
“He’s not just some guy.” Lucy’s cheeks grew hot.
“That’s two days in a row,” Charlene said.
“I didn’t abandon you today. You’re the one who took off.”
“Oh, please. I could tell you didn’t want me around.” Charlene speared a meatball with unnecessary force. “Admit you were glad when I left.”
“I was not,” Lucy lied. “Anyway, you can hang out with Ellen tomorrow.”
“She has another deadline,” Charlene said.
Lucy hesitated. “Or you could come out with me and Jesse.”
“No.” Charlene frowned down into her coffee. “You two want to be alone together. Just go.”
Though she’d gotten what she wanted, Lucy couldn’t help feeling bad. “It’s only one day,” she mumbled.
Charlene pushed her nearly untouched plate aside. “I’m full,” she said.
“Already?” Lucy asked, though her own appetite had pretty much disappeared as well.
After a long silence, Charlene spoke again. “I hope you haven’t made plans for Tuesday.”
Lucy looked blankly at her. It was easy to lose track of the days.
“The day after tomorrow?” Charlene said. “Our last day in Florence?”
“I haven’t,” Lucy said, a bit warily.
“Ellen wants to take us to Fiesole. It’s this hillside town out in the Tuscan countryside. She says it’s absolutely gorgeous. It will be our grand finale, before we leave for Rome.”
“Oh,” Lucy said, wondering what Jesse would be doing that day. She didn’t want to think about leaving Florence, or about flying home to Philadelphia on Sunday.
“Could you at least promise to come with us?” Charlene’s voice grew softer, more persuasive.
Feeling slightly guilty, Lucy gave her word. Now, too excited to eat breakfast, she killed time reading in Piazza Santa Maria Novella, trying not to think about grand finales and trains to Rome. At five minutes to ten, she wandered back to the Bertolini.
Jesse was waiting for her in the lobby, looking freshly scrubbed, his dark hair still damp. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” she said back.
He surprised her with a quick hug, as though they hadn’t just seen each other the day before. Lucy inhaled deeply, taking in his clean, delicious smell. Almond and mint, she decided. “I’ve been wondering all morning where you’re planning on taking me,” she said.
Without a word, Jesse ducked behind the front desk and emerged with two motorcycle helmets, one under each arm.
Lucy’s pulse sped up. She followed him out into the square, then down the street to a row of parked motorbikes. He walked up to a silver-blue scooter and pulled a set of keys from his pocket.
“A Vespa? Like in Roman Holiday?” Lucy was simultaneously thrilled and terrified. “Is it yours?”
“I wish,” Jesse said, straddling the seat. “It belongs to Nello, but it’s ours for the day.” He handed Lucy one of the helmets, strapped the other on, and backed the Vespa out into the street. A chorus of horns and what sounded like Italian curses immediately started up behind them. “Aren’t you going to get on?”
Lucy thought of what her mother would say, if only she knew. Lucy had never been on a Vespa before, and she wasn’t exactly a fan of high speed. “Is it safe?” A motorbike zipped past them on the narrow street, so close it blew her hair back.
“I’ll be careful,” Jesse promised, his voice muffled by his helmet. Lucy hesitated, then thought of Audrey Hepburn zipping around Rome with Gregory Peck. She pulled on her helmet and slung a leg over the Vespa, leaning into Jesse’s back. The engine’s hum traveling through her whole frame, she wrapped her arms around his waist and shut her eyes tight. Several minutes went by before she dared to open them. By then they were zooming down a city street, people and store windows streaming past on both sides.
“Do we have to go so fast?” she yelped, her words drowned out by the engine. Jesse leaned into a turn and she gasped, putting all her concentration into hanging on. When they stopped for a red light, she allowed herself a look around. They were on the road that ran along the Arno; sunlight danced on its dark surface. Lucy clung to Jesse, adrenaline coursing through her veins. The view of the river had been beautiful before, but now it was thrilling.
After that, Lucy forced herself to keep her eyes open, to watch the city unfurl through the scratched plastic visor of her helmet. She didn’t want to miss a thing.
Jesse took Lucy on the ultimate Vespa tour of Florence, tooling past many sights she recognized from the photos in Wanderlust. Then he parked near the Bargello, an imposing stone building that looked more like a fortress than a museum. “We won’t have to stand in line,” he said, tugging off his helmet. “A friend of mine works here. She’ll get us in for free.” The friend turned out to be Gianna, a fresh-faced girl with white streaks in her straight black hair. “We were in a band together. She plays bass,” Jesse whispered to Lucy as Gianna waved them past the turnstiles.
“You’re in a band?” Lucy asked.
“Used to be,” Jesse said. “Then the rhythm guitarist went home to Scotland, and I decided to focus on my own music.”
“Still,” Lucy said, “it must have been so cool.” The list of things to like about Jesse just kept getting longer. He’d been in a band, he could drive a Vespa, and he knew his way around the Bargello and could lead her straight to its highlights. Lucy’s favorite object in the whole museum turned out to be a statue of David, but not the famous one by Michelangelo. This David, by Donatello, was naked except for a floppy hat and boots. Art students surrounded him, squinting up at him over their sketchpads, drawing furiously.
Lucy stepped around them, getting as close as she could. Light from the windows played across David’s body, illuminating traces of gold leaf on his hat. She paused, surprised by the lush curve of David’s bare behind, then hurried back around to the front, not wanting Jesse to catch her in the act of staring. But when she zoomed in for a closer look at David’s face—his long nose and the full lips, his puzzled yet tender expression, she forgot about being watched. “He’s amazing,” she said, completely forgetting herself. Then she caught Jesse’s eye and tried to sound more casual. “I wonder what he’s thinking.”
Jesse pointed. “He’s feeling pretty proud of himself.” She’d been so caught up in David’s beauty that she hadn’t noticed he was standing on Goliath’s severed head.
“Ew.” Lucy took a step back, and Jesse laughed.
“Seen enough?” he asked. “I wouldn’t mind getting back outside.”
“Me, either,” Lucy said, and they burst from the quiet of the museum, back into the noise and bustle of Florence.
Their next stop was Piazza della Signoria, a sweeping square full of tourists. In the shade of the piazza’s famous loggia—yet another sight Lucy recognized from her guidebook—Jesse sliced cheese and bread with his Swiss Army knife while she leaned back against the cool stone wall to people-watch.
“So what’s your favorite place? Out of everywhere you’ve been?” she asked, digging into the fresh figs they’d picked up in the central market, a bustling indoor mall full of food stalls.
Jesse tipped his head back, deep in recollection. “Venice.”
“Lucky,” Lucy said. “I would love to see Venice.”
“Why don’t you go, then?”
“Not enough time.” Lucy frowned. “What makes it your favorite place?”
This was the longest speech Lucy had heard Jesse give. She waited to see if he’d go on.
“I’ll live there someday,” he concluded. “Maybe I’ll rent out an old, broken-down palazzo on the Grand Canal.”
“Really?” Lucy felt a little pang. “So you’re never planning on going back home? To the States, I mean?”
“Never is a long time,” Jesse said.
That’s not really an answer, Lucy thought, picking stray bread crumbs from her shorts. “You really don’t ever want to go to college?” she asked finally.
“Probably not. I like making a living with my music.”
“But you can’t do that forever.” Lucy regretted the words the moment they came out of her mouth. It was the kind of thing her father would have said.
“Why not?”
She considered the answers that popped into her head—that Jesse seemed more than smart enough to finish college, or that a person needed an education to get by—knowing how ordinary and boring she’d sound if she said them. Instead, she held out the box of figs toward him.
He fished in the box, took out a fig, inspected it. “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “About what you told me the other day. That deal you made with your father.”
Lucy felt her heart speed up. She looked down at her toes, peeping out of her sandals, her shell-pink pedicure gone dusty from the streets of Florence. “You have?”
Jesse returned the fig to the box as though it hadn’t met his approval. “He made you trade away your whole future? In exchange for this trip you’re on right now? That’s just not cool.”
Though she was still annoyed at her dad, it hurt to hear Jesse criticize him. “He’s paying my tuition. I have to do what he wants.”