Chapter 17 Loretta
L ORETTA
Loretta leans her head against her bedroom window while she nurses the coffee Rocco brewed for her. It’s still dark out, the light from the streetlamps reflected in the shallow puddles along the path. It rained on and off through the night, and the gentle sound of it on the walls was a comfort to her through the slow hours when she couldn’t sleep. Now, the streetscape below of Dom and Eva’s pastry shop with all the cakes displayed in the window, the faded red apartment block next to it with Gino’s cafe on the ground floor, and next to that Yolanda’s hairdressing salon and Minh’s souvenir shop with their shutters still drawn doesn’t feel familiar. The view is different somehow, the colours deeper, the contrasts sharper. Flavia’s in Venice and nothing is the same.
Alberto’s bustling about cheerfully in the bathroom, having slept solidly while she didn’t get a wink. She’d been too petrified that his heart would stop and she’d wake up to his cold, stiff body. Every time he’d stopped snoring, she’d sprung up to check he was still breathing. If only he’d stayed in hospital like he was supposed to. Now he’s as fresh as a schoolboy, singing to himself with the confidence of Pavarotti while he shaves, which has her feeling more resentful than ever. All she can think about is walking out onto the rainy street to find Flavia.
She tells herself to stop obsessing, to think of something to be grateful for instead. So she thanks the Blessed Virgin that the puddles aren’t deep enough this morning to require shoe coverings when stepping out.
The hotel was spared in last month’s catastrophic acqua alta, thanks to the foresight of her ancestors who built it high off the ground. But whenever the city floods, it makes the hotel guests a little more demanding, edgier. It makes her job harder. So she’s grateful that the rain has been light this time, saving her especially from the American guests, the obnoxious old man and his bumbling wife, who surely would’ve made her day long with their complaints. Loretta immediately feels guilty for thinking badly of the Dawsons. Any guests who keep Il Cuore afloat deserve her gratitude.
This reminds her of something else to be thankful for: the solvency of their little hotel. Ten years ago, with the surging popularity of Airbnb, the number of guests checking into the hotel reduced every month. Competing with Airbnb felt as if they were a children’s lemonade stand fighting a giant like Coca-Cola. On top of that, the high tariffs on Venetian businesses and the growing number of ‘eat and run’ tourists using Venice as a day-trip destination made it just about impossible for boutique hotel owners to survive.
In a desperate bid to keep their heads above water, they sold off the top floor to foreign investors, who rented the rooms out to long-term tenants, but it didn’t take long for much of the money that came in from the sale to dwindle. When the future of the hotel was at its most dire, a miracle occurred. Rocco, who was living in Milan, unexpectedly came home. It was true that Rocco’s homecoming was overshadowed by the terrible circumstances of his return, but it was a miracle nonetheless. Because even though he came home a broken man, he did have a clear vision in his head for the future of Hotel Il Cuore. And that vision was of a hotel painted bright blue, a glistening jewel that paid homage to the canals, with a forest-themed restaurant inside that had Loretta as its star.
Rocco convinced her and Alberto to use every cent they had to build a restaurant with a glass dome ceiling and indoor trees, like a giant greenhouse. They bought back that small section of the top floor to make this possible. He encouraged Loretta to share her home cooking with the world.
It was risky. If the restaurant failed, they would have been left with nothing. But the restaurant became an almost overnight success, thanks to its launch at the exact time when the world’s millions of Facebook users collectively decided it would be a grand idea to show their friends and family what they were having for dinner, and tagging restaurants in posts became a thing. Rocco was savvy enough to exploit Loretta’s looks along with her swoon-worthy plates of authentic Venetian food.
In no time, word spread about the indoor forest restaurant in the bright blue hotel, run by the Sophia Loren lookalike, Signora Bianchi. Celebrity TV chefs soon came to film specials with Loretta, food magazines came knocking and Il Cuore’s name grew.
Later, when Instagram influencers really came into their own, a whole new level of fame ensued. To this day, tourists come from around the world and the photos they post of the food and of the surrounds – and, of course, of her – keep the restaurant busy.
Loretta doesn’t mind the attention as long as it benefits her family. Signora Bianchi is a character she’s mastered perfectly by now. She’s become a queen at small talk, at making every guest feel special. She has signature poses for photos, allowing herself only the faintest hint of a smile to keep up her alluring reputation, while avoiding looking like she’s sucked on a lemon. She knows to keep her chin level with the ground and her nose pointing thirty degrees to the left for the most youthful angle of her face. Turning on the charisma comes naturally to her. And because she’s charmed people the world over with her knowledge of Venetian cuisine, her family lives in comfort in a city where many natives struggle to survive. Now that’s something to truly be grateful for.
Her phone vibrates on the bedside table. The sound makes her jump and the scalding coffee splashes onto the back of her hand. ‘Merda!’
‘Cos’é, Mamma?’ Rocco calls out from her doorway.
‘Nothing, don’t worry.’ She puts the cup down and reaches for a tissue, holding it tight against the red strip of skin.
Rocco walks into her room. ‘What happened?’
‘I spilt some coffee, that’s all.’
‘Show me.’
She reluctantly holds out her arm. ‘See? I’m not dying.’
‘Run it under cold water. That tissue will do nothing.’ He looks out the window. ‘I hope Sophie’s dressed warmly enough for the Rialto. It’s the windiest place in all of Venice.’
Marina comes into the bedroom with her hands up behind her head, twisting her long curls into a messy bun. ‘Maybe she can get warm by cuddling against you.’
Rocco shoots her a look.
‘We shared a womb, my friend.’ Marina smirks. ‘I know you.’
He lets out a small laugh. ‘She’s been good to us. It’s not my fault if I can’t help noticing she’s beautiful as well.’
‘Be careful, eh?’ Marina raises an eyebrow.
‘Your sister’s right.’ Loretta moves away from the window. ‘We don’t need drama with this food writer, Rocco.’
‘Relax, Mamma. There won’t be any drama.’ He smiles.
‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Marina says. ‘I know what you’re like with your soft heart.’
‘If anyone needs to be careful with their heart, it’s not me.’ Rocco’s smile disappears and he meets Marina’s eye.
Loretta whips her head around to Marina. ‘What does he mean?’ As far as she’s aware, Marina’s steadfastly single. What does Rocco know?
‘Nothing, Mamma, ignore him.’ Marina pushes Rocco lightly in the back. ‘Go. You’ll be late for your Australian girlfriend. Make sure you have a scarf, and take an extra umbrella in case she doesn’t have one.’
‘Wait, Rocco, I’m coming with you,’ Alberto calls out. He appears in the doorway in his coat.
‘The only place you’re going is back to hospital!’ Loretta yells at him.
Alberto launches into Shirley Bassey’s ‘Never, Never, Never’, swinging his hips from side to side as he waddles towards her . Rocco’s the only one who rewards him with a laugh.
All three of them have already tried talking sense to Alberto this morning to no avail. His stubbornness knows no bounds. Unless Loretta carries him to the hospital on her back, he’s not going.
She points her finger at him. ‘You may as well take off that coat, because the only way you’re going to the market today is if you step over my dead body first. If you’re not smart enough to know you should be in hospital, then you’re certainly not smart enough to choose the produce for my restaurant. Rocco will go alone. And if you think I’m letting you set foot in the kitchen today, you’re even thicker than you look.’
Alberto snorts and turns to Rocco. ‘Let’s go.’
Rocco shakes his head. ‘Sorry, Papà, I like having my head attached to my neck, so I do what Mamma wants.’
‘What will I do with myself all day?’ Alberto whines.
‘You can sit up here and think about how stupid you are.’ Loretta gestures to him.
‘At least keep me company, then. Let the children work,’ he argues.
‘If you want my company, go back to hospital. I’ll come and sit with you all day. Otherwise I don’t want to see your face.’
Alberto zips up his coat defiantly. ‘You can’t keep me locked up here like a prisoner.’
She quickly steps between him and the door. ‘You’re not going to the market.’
‘Get out of the way, Loretta. I’m going to Eduardo’s to complain to him about the dictator I married.’
Eduardo’s cafe is only one lane away; it’s the lesser of two evils. She steps out of Alberto’s way. ‘Walk slowly and don’t eat anything that’s bad for your heart. And don’t you dare smoke, Alberto Alfredo Bianchi! Do you hear me?’ she calls as he leaves.
He waves a dismissive hand in the air and enters the lift, the doors closing behind him.
‘I’m going down now, Mamma.’ Marina comes to the doorway.
‘I’ll meet you down there in a minute.’
‘Are you really well enough to work?’ Marina rests a hand on Loretta’s lower back. ‘I can set up for breakfast. Why don’t you come down later, after Rocco returns from the market?’
Loretta throws her arms in the air. ‘Child, we haven’t even started the day and you’re already getting on my nerves! This is the third time you’ve asked me if I’m well since I woke up. Do I need to remind you it was your father who had a heart attack, not me?’
‘What’s so terrible about me asking if you’re fine?’
‘If I’m not fine, you’ll be the first to know. Until then, leave me alone.’
‘Okay, okay! You can’t expect me not to be concerned.’
‘If only you were as concerned with finding yourself a husband as you are about being a pain in my arse.’ Loretta takes the keys to the apartment off the hook by the door and slips them into her jeans pocket. ‘Why don’t you call Luca Falcone and invite him to join us for lunch? He’s such a good man, a fine surgeon. This might be an opportunity for you.’
Marina rolls her eyes. ‘Enough with Luca Falcone! How many thousands of times do we have to have the same conversation?’
‘But he has that big penthouse in Martellago—’
‘Mamma! I beg you, stop.’
‘Bene!’ Loretta’s voice echoes through the apartment. ‘Let those ovaries of yours shrivel up and die before you give me even a single grandchild. You and your brother are the curse of my life, neither of you with any prospects.’
Marina blinks, her face turning pink. Loretta instantly regrets her words but before she can apologise, Marina pushes past her and heads out the door.
Rocco comes out of his room, with so much aftershave on they’d be able to smell him in Athens. He’s put product in his hair and has his best coat on.
‘Go easy on Marina,’ he says gently. ‘Let her be. She doesn’t need a matchmaker.’
Her eyes narrow. ‘ Why? Who has she matched herself with that you’re keeping from me?’
‘Nobody.’ He laughs, but it’s clear from the way his cheek twitches that he’s lying. ‘Ciao, Mamma.’ He kisses her cheek on his way out.
Loretta closes the front door behind him and walks back into her bedroom. She sits on the bed, letting her shoulders sag. She’s already worn out from her interactions with her family today and she hasn’t even served breakfast yet.
To the public, the Bianchis are the epitome of the close-knit happy family, all four of them living and working together in harmony. All the outside world sees are their smiling faces, their joviality with each other. But lately, all she does is argue with the others. The three of them exhaust her, more and more as time goes on, and she’s craving to be left alone.
It’s only now they’re all out of the apartment that she dares look at the message on her phone that came earlier. Another message from her .
I’m waiting for you.
We can’t, Flavia. We can’t do this.
Oh, but how she wants to go to her! A few seconds pass with her hands gripped tight around the phone before she sends another message.
How did you get my number?
It wasn’t hard. Come to me.
No
All I want is to touch you – just once.
Let me have that and then I’ll leave you alone, I promise.
Just once, Loretta.
Gesù Cristo. She reaches for the medal of the Madonna tucked inside her top. This woman will be the end of me.
She casts her mind back to when she was a young woman desperately in love. In the ten years Flavia and Loretta were together, not a single person knew. If they had been two unmarried Venetian men who spent every spare moment with each other, even vacationing together, the whole town would’ve been speculating about them. But they got away with it because they were living in the patriarchal Italy of the seventies, when women weren’t credited with having sexual desires of their own and were only the child-bearing vessels for their husbands. The idea that two women would be lovers was a concept so unimaginable that Loretta and Flavia’s relationship was never brought into question.
Loretta’s parents pushed her to go to the local youth dances, to meet prospective suitors. They invited families with sons to dine at the hotel, but she was obsessed only with the girl from choir with the long blonde hair and the curvy hips who lived up the street. In Loretta’s fantasies, it wasn’t John Travolta or Massimo Troisi she dreamed about, like the other girls did. It was only Flavia, with her full lips and her almond-shaped hazel eyes, who filled Loretta’s head.
Loretta knew for sure that it wasn’t just a crush when Flavia started dating Aldo Gaetano from San Polo, and she thought she would die of jealousy. She hated Aldo. Sweet, loveable Aldo who would make a fine husband for Flavia. Loretta wished he was dead.
‘My parents are nagging me to marry Aldo,’ Flavia told her one day on their walk home from choir practice. ‘They’re worried if I take too long to accept him, he’ll give up and then nobody else will want me.’
‘Do you even love Aldo?’ Loretta’s heart hurt saying his name out loud.
Flavia hesitated. ‘I don’t. He doesn’t make me laugh.’
‘I make you laugh.’ It was barely more than a whisper. An invitation: please love me .
Flavia lifted her hand, and with her thumb, she caressed Loretta’s cheek.
They’d arrived at Flavia’s front door.
‘You do make me laugh. But you see, that’s the problem. That’s why I can’t give my parents what they want.’
She turned away from Loretta and unlocked the door. Walking in, she left it open behind her and disappeared into the house. Loretta stood outside, knowing what she did next would change everything. Instead of walking home, she followed Flavia inside.
For the next ten years, Loretta gave her life to Flavia. They didn’t live together, of course, accepting from the beginning that their love would have to be a secret. Sometimes Loretta fretted that they’d be caught and bring shame to their families, or that their parents would eventually force them to marry men. Most of all, she fretted that she was disappointing God by loving a woman. There was always guilt casting a shadow over her, always.
She confessed to Flavia once how worried she was for their souls. ‘We’re going to hell, aren’t we? We’ll never meet the Blessed Virgin in heaven because we disgust her.’
‘You listen to me.’ Flavia held her face in her hands. ‘I’m prepared to live in eternal damnation in exchange for this.’ She kissed Loretta’s closed mouth. ‘And this.’ She separated her lips with her tongue. ‘And this.’ She unbuttoned Loretta’s jeans and slid her hand inside her knickers, making her gasp. ‘I’d give my soul for you,’ she whispered.
After proclamations like this, it came as the greatest shock of Loretta’s life when Flavia tearfully told her that she was leaving to join a convent after being called by God.
‘What call?’ Loretta cried. ‘Since when did you have a calling?’
‘Since before we even met. I never told you because I didn’t want it to feel real. I tried and tried to ignore it, for years I pretended I couldn’t hear Him. But now the Lord’s voice is getting so loud in my heart that I can’t hear anything else above it.’
‘Your heart can’t even hear me?’
‘Even you, my darling, even you.’
Flavia left for a convent in Tuscany to begin her induction. She changed her name to Suora Teresa and disappeared from Loretta’s life.
Years later, when Flavia’s parents died one after the other and she returned to Venice briefly, Loretta was a married mother, and she made excuses to avoid the funerals. Her marriage vows were too important to her to risk seeing Flavia.
Over the years, she’s tried her best to give Alberto and her children a good life, to be grateful for the family she was blessed with. But now Flavia’s returned, and it’s all coming undone.
She leaves Flavia’s message on read, tips the rest of the coffee into the sink and gets dressed for the day. She puts on her sneakers and walks out into the hallway.
It takes all of her self-control not to keep on walking out of the hotel, all the way to San Zaccaria, to the woman she loves who asked her to come.