Without Reservations_ The Travels of an Independent Woman - Alice Steinbach [80]
It was her first trip to Italy, but not to Europe. The daughter of a military man who moved from place to place, she had lived a few years in Germany during her early teens.
We finished our coffee and asked for a bill. The young waiter, who had been flirting with Carolyn all evening, made quite a show of saying in English, “It has made me the most happy to come to the table of so beautiful women.” Later, I told Carolyn it was very smart of him to include me in his flattery; it had earned him a larger tip.
Although it was almost midnight when we arrived back at the hotel, a small band of people were still setting up bridal displays. Carolyn and I stopped again to peek in the door of a room on our floor. A smartly dressed woman was sitting inside, taking bites out of a sandwich and sipping wine. When she caught sight of us, she called out “Buona sera.” Carolyn and I returned her greeting. “Good evening,” we said, almost in unison. To my astonishment, the woman motioned us to come in. Then, in accented English, she said, “Are you here to buy from the show?”
I explained we were just guests at the hotel who couldn’t resist the tempting display of silk and satin gowns.
“Oh, look at this one,” Carolyn said, pointing to a champagne-colored satin dress that was elegant in its simple cut and lack of adornment.
“Yes, that is the right color for your hair and fair skin,” the woman said, rising to pull the dress off the rack and spread it before Carolyn. She turned to me. “Your daughter has good taste.”
Carolyn and I exchanged glances. “Yes,” I said, “even as a little girl she showed a great deal of taste. Remember, Carolyn, how you would never wear frilly dresses?”
“Yes, Mom, I do remember.” She paused. “I always wanted to be just like you.”
Then Carolyn asked the woman a question that surprised me. “What does a dress like this cost?”
“Quite a lot,” she answered. “I think in American dollars something like three thousand dollars. Are you getting married?”
“Yes, I am,” Carolyn said. “In Florence. Next month.”
“What a beautiful city to marry in. And what a beautiful bride you will make.”
It was growing late. I could see the fatigue in Carolyn’s face. I didn’t need to look at mine to know I was dead tired. “You’ve been very kind, Signora, to take so much time with us,” I said.
“No, it is my pleasure,” she said. “Tomorrow will come only the buyers shopping for their stores. It is nice to see a real bride.”
We left for our rooms. There were so many questions I wanted to ask Carolyn, but there would be time for that tomorrow. We already had agreed to spend the day together. But I had to know just one thing before we parted. I asked if it was really true that she was to be married in Florence the following month.
“Yes, it really is true,” she said, turning to unlock her door. Then, turning back to face me, she said: “Good night, Mom. See you in the morning.”
Over the next few days Carolyn and I spent most of our time together. We visited museums, reconnoitered the lobbies of expensive hotels, ate in cafés, trattorias, and bars, explored hidden streets, sat peacefully in parks and churches, took a day trip to Lake Como, and, in a moment of heart-pounding madness, climbed the stairs to the roof of the Duomo for a breathtaking view of Milan.
I learned a lot about Carolyn in the days we spent traipsing around the city. First of all, that she was fun to be with. She was the kind of spontaneous traveler willing to ditch a preplanned schedule in favor of seizing the moment. We also shared a number of interests. Art, for one thing. And, for another, a view of the world that was equal parts affection and amused skepticism.
During one of our dinners together Carolyn talked with enthusiasm about her upcoming wedding. “We don’t really have any plans about where or how we’ll get married. The only thing we’re sure of is that