As Long as It Takes

Chapter 1

RESEARCH NOTES: INTRO TO PROJECT

Understanding human behavior is complex, as it requires deep understanding of the psychological underpinnings that may influence motivation and action.

Abraham Maslow, a psychologist born in Brooklyn, was one of the first to attempt to understand human behavior within a framework of personal success instead of focusing on psychological illness and distress.

Believing in the human potential for creativity of expression and a sense of purpose, Maslow created a hierarchy of needs designed to describe a pathway toward well-being and a sense of peace.

It is, however, a flawed construct. Despite attempts to describe a linear journey toward the ultimate goal of self-actualization, the Hierarchy of Needs is dependent on a series of philosophies that are inadequate and inapplicable to modern lifestyles, social structures, and even familial norms.

Lora would have paid better attention to Vilmari’s explanation of the ingredients in a Hugo Spritz, but she was too focused on attempting to parallel park, with the help of RuPaul, on the steepest street she had ever seen.

Living in New York City for the past decade, she had found herself in the driver’s seat fewer times than were necessary to master the task at hand—let alone in a rental car with a stick shift.

But there was that video of Ru on the internet somewhere in a classic convertible explaining how easy it was to parallel park once you measured up to the—what was it?

PSL? No, not the latte. The PSD. All she had to do was make sure the seam of the Passenger-Side Door was lined up with the bumper, then reverse at an angle, and she should be nestled in that spot like it had written her an invitation. At least according to RuPaul.

“It sounds so good, don’t you think? You know how much I love elderflower.

Remember my St. Germain thing two summers ago?

This is the first drink I’m ordering.” Vilmari swiped away her Pinterest board, then paused to glance out the window of the tiny Fiat 500, where a stone wall was the only thing visible. “If there is anywhere to order it.”

“I think we’re not quite in the town yet,” said Lora, glancing at the rearview mirror on the passenger’s side.

She flicked her eyes forward to the car in front, which was another Fiat 500, identical to the one she was driving.

How hard could this be if that person managed it?

she thought as she eased her foot off the clutch and unfortunately felt the car roll back and straight out of the perfect PSD position.

Sweat bloomed on her forehead as she contemplated the utility of taking parking advice from someone who also likely thought that both mastering winged eyeliner and walking in eight-inch platforms were child’s play.

“Also, it’s only 12:30? Maybe we should get settled before we spritz anything. ”

“It’s 12:30 here, but it’s 7:30 in New York. My body’s already on cocktail hour. You got this, Mami?” Vilmari peered over her massive Chanel sunglasses. “I’m sure we can find a parking lot somewhere.”

“No, no,” Lora said, gripping the steering wheel with her left hand.

She reached down into the middle of the seats and wrapped her right hand around the parking brake, pressed the button with her thumb and jerked it up, holding on tight.

Instead of emulating the elegant RuPaul maneuvering her Mercedes around Bel Air, Lora was going to have to resort to calling up her South Florida roots, where she learned how to yank a 4x4 out of a mud pit in pitch darkness with Tim McGraw on the stereo.

She blew out a breath between pursed lips, centering herself.

“I got it. I got iiit…” She trailed off, sliding her foot off the brake and pressing the clutch while easing the hand brake down.

The Fiat rolled forward with a purr; then she cut the wheel and settled into the spot, bumping the back tire gently against the curb.

“Holy crap, that was insane. You nailed it. We have to celebrate!”

“Hold the balloons, Mar. We’ve got a lot more hurdles to get through before we start celebrating anything.”

“We made it here from Milan without getting lost once with a fourteen percent charge on my phone, and even figured out how to pay tolls in Italian. I’m feeling festive!

” Vilmari grinned, her shoulders squeezed up to her ears.

“Should we grab the bags? Let me GPS the B and B. What’s it called again? ”

“Casa Coo-coo Zolo? I think that’s how you say it.

But I want to head right to city hall first. Baia Santa looked pretty small on the map, so I think we can take the bags with us now and figure out where everything is later.

What do you think?” Lora popped her door open and stepped out into the June heat.

It wasn’t sweltering, but hot enough to let her know that August would likely come with fangs.

The landscape was on the edge of arid, with short, scrubby bushes lining the road and two tall maritime pines rising up to frame the view of a deep blue wedge of sea.

The road was too high up for them to get a good view of the water, but seeing only a piece of it made Lora feel a zing of excitement.

Yes, she was here to complete a task, but she was also on the Italian Riviera with her best friend on their last summer trip for—well, for the amount of time it would take her to complete a postdoc in Zurich and figure out whatever was coming next.

If she could get her citizenship paperwork filed as soon as possible, there’d be plenty of time for a Spritz—Hugo or otherwise.

“I think I’m ready,” Vilmari said, swinging her tote bag onto her shoulder. “Let’s get this woman a country!”

“I already have a country. What I need is grant money.” Lora laughed as Vilmari ducked her head back into the car, then struggled to push her seat forward.

Her suitcase was so huge they’d had to shove it in the back seat instead of the trunk, laying it down like a sleeping toddler.

“I think we need to get you a stevedore. How is it that you always pack like you’re going to be at sea for six months? ”

“Because my style contains multitudes,” she said, gesturing one arm toward the heavens.

She clasped both hands around the handle and pulled hard.

“I like options. You know me, I can’t be confined to a capsule wardrobe.

I need variety, I need expansiveness, I need abundance!

” Her suitcase landed on the sidewalk with a thump.

“I know, I know. You’re probably the only reporter in New York who shows up to work with a costume change. It looks like we just walk straight down this hill, according to the map,” Lora said, staring down at her phone. “It shouldn’t be too bad. Can you make it with that thing?”

“Don’t worry about me, I’m as strong as my fashion game. I am thirsty, though. If drinks are down the hill, that’s where I’m headed,” Vilmari said, pushing her sunnies up and starting to walk.

Lora pulled her smaller suitcase out of the trunk and locked the car.

She ran her fingers through her bangs, sensing an Italian frizz already threatening her New York shag.

Maybe it was hotter than she’d thought. Vilmari was already disappearing behind the row of cars, determined as one could be wearing wedge espadrilles and pulling a sixty-pound Samsonite.

“Mar. Mar? You’re walking so fast!”

Lora took off behind her, but approximately six minutes later, they were both reasonably certain that they had somehow missed the town.

They were coated in a gleaming sheen of perspiration, their wrists aching from trying to keep their bags from rolling downhill into either each other or any random urn of geraniums they had passed.

Lora squinted down at her phone, not ready to accept defeat, and turned her body trying to get a better sense of what direction the blue GPS arrow was pointing.

“How does an entire town hide?” Vilmari searched in her bag, unearthed a hair tie, and began gathering her dark brown waves into a bun on the top of her head.

“I don’t think it’s hiding. I think we missed a turn,” Lora said.

She turned to look back up the road, where she could see a small white sign about fifty feet away with a symbol of concentric circles that read CENTRO.

“That’s it. That’s the road into town,” she said, twisting her suitcase around to edge back up the hill.

“Are you sure? I will not appreciate an unnecessary uphill at this point.” Vilmari fanned her face with the hand that wasn’t pulling on the suitcase handle.

“Promise. The road is here,” said Lora, pointing.

“That’s not a road. It’s a hallway,” Vilmari said, reaching Lora with her suitcase trailing behind. She turned to look down the tiny walkway paved with large gray stones. It was lined with sherbet-colored buildings and more urns of pink, red, and white flowers.

“The center of town is pedestrian-only, according to this. Wait,” she said, holding her phone up so that the camera captured another white sign with black lettering nailed to the same pole that held the CENTRO sign.

“I love this translation app. ‘Zona Pedonale.’ It means ‘pedestrian zone.’ This must be it.”

“The whole town is pedestrian-only? What if someone needs to move something big? How do you get a truck down here when you want to buy a couch?”

“I’m sure they have ways. Maybe they take things in pieces.”

“What if you’re the thing in pieces? I can’t imagine an ambulance having an easy time getting through here either.”