make a phone call. I’ll be back at the hotel if you need me.”
He stood abruptly and left without saying goodbye, just walked away into the Strozzi.
Leaving her sitting at the table wondering just exactly what had just happened. He could wake her up inside? Granted, she felt a tiny pull toward him, some base, chemical thing. The kiss-oh, she didn’t want to think about that right now.
She couldn’t help herself. She started analyzing. Wasn’t that what life was about? Aren’t we all supposed to feel those twinges toward the opposite sex, even when we’re in a stable, loving, happy relationship? That’s just biology, propagation of the species. Perfectly natural, healthy even. It’s whether you acted on them that made you a good person, or a bad person. Moments like these defined you.
Taylor was quickly grasping that Memphis Highsmythe would be perfectly happy to compromise her morals, and her body and her life. All she had to do was give him the go sign, and he’d be on her like a wolf on a lamb.
He wouldn’t be gentle. She could feel the flame inside him, the raging inferno that he kept bottled inside, hidden carefully behind the panther grace with which he moved. Just the brief moment of his lips on hers had made that clear. Something was driving his need, and she suspected it was despair over the broken pieces of his marriage, the loss of his wife and unborn child. She could understand that. She’d gotten involved with hurt men in the past, with men who needed. Need was akin to desperation, and while the sex was always fantastic, the emotional toll was too much for her to bear.
Baldwin didn’t have that edge of desperation to him. He was solid inside, not pieces of flickering fire.
She shook her head. What in the name of hell are you thinking about, Taylor?
Baldwin. She needed Baldwin. One kiss and he would ground her, grind out all the memories of Memphis and his blue eyes. Of his stupid soft lips.
She paid the check and stormed out of the cafe, heading into the city. Damn you, Memphis.
Bring me to life. I’d like to see you try that.
Baldwin watched the scene play out. Memphis was making his move. To Taylor’s credit, once the immediate shock of the pass was over, she pushed him away.
He’d been expecting this. He could read the desire coming off of Memphis like Morse code, knew he’d be making a play for Taylor’s affections soon enough. He couldn’t help feeling shocked, though. Blatant and utter disrespect for their relationship. Unless Taylor had been giving him the go-ahead…no, she wouldn’t. She loved him, not some pretty, moneyed playboy.
Memphis stalked off. Taylor tossed some Euros on the table and was coming right at him. He ducked back around the side of the building, then started walking like he didn’t know she was going to bump into him.
He took a breath, turned the corner. Grabbed her by the arms so she wouldn’t be knocked backward. He just needed to feel her.
“Whoa! Hey, sweetie. That was good timing. I was just going to call you. How did the meeting go?”
No trace of guilt on her face, she lit up when she saw him like she always did. Good girl.
He kissed her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. They were in Italy; lovers embracing on a street corner wasn’t going to set off anyone’s alarms. After a few moments, he broke away and murmured, “Do you want to get something to eat?”
“Yes. I’m still hungry. I had a few bites with Memphis. That man is driving me crazy. Can we go to dinner ourselves, let him fend for himself?”
“That would be rude, wouldn’t it?”
“I don’t care. He’s…he’s…just one of those infuriatingly annoying people. I’m tired of him.”
“Then your wish is my command, milady. How about Mama Gina’s? We can see if Antonio is working.”
He took her hand, and together they made their way back to the Via Tornabuoni, across the bridge. It was a still evening, the river reflected the lights of the Ponte Vecchio. It was beautiful, and he pretended not to notice her stiffen as they halted on the bridge to look. He decided not to ask what was bothering her. Who knew what sort of trouble Memphis had been trying to get into.
After a few moments, with unspoken timing, they both started walking. At the bottom of the bridge they turned left into a little side street that housed some of the best restaurants in Florence.
As the scent of garlic and tomatoes flooded his senses, Baldwin tried to push the specter of disaster away from his mind.
Forty
G avin and Tommaso drank espresso, shared a simple meal of spaghetti carbonara and spent the evening getting to know each other. They had thirty years’ worth of catching up to do.
Gavin was overwhelmingly happy. This was the other half of himself, the missing piece. He’d never felt so complete. Not even the dolls could give him this kind of joy.
He was still struck by their physical similarities. There were only two real discernible differences: Tommaso’s hair, and their slightly different accents. Gavin had started shaving his head several months earlier, liking the feel of the bare skin. It also left fewer identifying pieces behind. And he spoke with the soft, rounded edges of a Southern upbringing, while Tommaso had unaccented English.
After dinner, Tommaso had taken one more look at Gavin’s head and disappeared into the bathroom. He emerged with his head shaved to match. Thankfully he worked indoors; there was no real demarcation between the freshly shaved skin and his face. Now no one would be able to tell them apart.
So far he’d discovered that they were both fanatical fans of Manchester United, though for entirely different reasons. Gavin had been drawn to the team because they were named after his hometown, Tommaso because they were the favorite of his adopted father. They both stirred three spoons full of sugar into their espresso with the handle of the spoon, both flossed their teeth religiously twice a day, both had emergency hernia surgery when they were three and fainted at the sight of blood.
But it was their passionate devotion to the arts that Gavin found utterly irresistible.
“I still feel like I’m dreaming,” Gavin said. “Here I sit, across the table from one of the world’s most talented photographers, the man I’ve been a fan of for years, and you’re my own flesh and blood. I still can’t believe it. I really didn’t know you were Morte.”
“I didn’t want you to know, Gavin. I needed to find out if you were like me, and the only way to do that was to create a world in which you could flourish. I wanted the best for you, wanted you to know you weren’t alone.”
They washed the dishes, then settled onto the buttery leather couch with grappa. Gavin was feeling drunk- the time change, the win and now the grappa was too much for his system.
Tommaso went to his stereo and selected a CD. The strains of Beethoven’s Piano Sonata no. 14 drifted from the speakers. Gavin had never felt so completely happy in his life.
“When did you know, Tommaso? When did you realize the first time?”
“The first time.” Tommaso got a dreamy look on his face. “My mother worked in the airbase hospital in Aviano. She used to have me dropped there from school, and I’d have to walk down this long corridor to meet her. The morgue was right there, and one day I slipped in. It was intoxicating. The smell, the chill. There was a woman on a gurney just inside the door-they must have left her there for a reason, but I never knew why. I ran my hand under the sheet covering her. She was so cold, so stiff. I realized I had an erection and masturbated. I hid my underwear in a trash can so my mother wouldn’t see the mess. After that, I couldn’t seem to help myself. I spent time there, in the afternoons. They didn’t have a guard, it was easy to get in and play. It was a beautiful time.”
“That’s so nice. My first was a friend. I’d always dreamt about being with her, but she was too animated, too loud. I preferred silence, the stillness. We had a fight one afternoon, and I hit her. She fell down so hard, was finally quiet. I didn’t know what to do. I knew she was hurt badly, knew I was going to be in so much trouble. I put her in a bathtub and filled it with water, held her down until her heart stopped. But seeing her naked…I couldn’t help myself. I took her back out. I had to feel inside her. After that, it was all I could do to contain myself.”
“I never bothered with containment. I couldn’t. The drive, the desire was too strong.”
