Chapter 22 Elisa
Elisa
“You’ll never guess what I just found out,” exclaims Giada, rushing into my room, where I’m sitting on my bed with my laptop on my lap, surrounded by piles of papers, folders, and notes.
“Please don’t mess up my papers. I’m working on my business plan for the EC grant,” I say, turning the computer toward her. “May I present, Le Giuggiole Agriturismo!”
Giada blinks her long eyelashes in amazement. “What about the vineyard?”
“We’ll keep producing Chianti, but once the villa is renovated, thanks to the regional fund for the restoration of historic-artistic assets, we can make it a wonderful farmhouse with a restaurant and lodging, where we can host events and ceremonies.”
“Like the Relais the preserves and sauces will be made with vegetables from the garden.
We can even make the soaps ourselves. It may be just a hobby of Donatella’s for now, but why not exploit it. ”
“It sounds nice, but you keep saying ‘ours, ours, ours.’ There is nothing of ours here, Elisa.”
“Not yet,” I point out.
“What if they don’t give you the loan? What if they deny you the funds?” she says, her big blue eyes shining with anxiety. “You’re already so invested in this, and I don’t want to see you disappointed.”
“We’d be the only agriturismo in Belvedere! Everyone else is gone; no one we knew thought about how to reinvent what they already had, they all went looking for new things elsewhere. There’s no competition, and the proposal is solid. Why would they deny me funding?”
“I’m just saying you should prepare yourself in case something goes wrong.”
“I appreciate your concern, Giada, but I know what I’m doing. I could give Linda a solid future, which is a lot more than I’ve done for myself.”
“Have you come down with irresponsible single mother syndrome again?” she reproaches me. “I thought you were over that!”
“I don’t know if I’ll ever get over it completely.”
“You did a great job with Linda,” she reassures me.
“I also made a lot of mistakes.”
“The only people who don’t make mistakes are the ones who never do anything in the first place,” she says, repeating her life mantra to me.
“Hey, why the hell am I talking to you anyway? You’re the one who let Mamma sell me to Elmo Colli without the slightest objection.
What good is a sister who doesn’t come to my aid in times of crisis?
It was a terrifying date,” I reproach her for her complicit behavior from the other morning, when she sneered at me behind my back.
“Ah!” she exclaims, with a bounce that shakes the mattress. “Speaking of scary dates, I almost forgot what I wanted to tell you . . . although I don’t know if I should . . .”
“Too late to back out now.” I close the laptop, because it’s clear I’m done for the evening. “Do tell.”
“Charles told me that Michael had a spicy date with Pompilia yesterday.”
“Okay, I don’t think I want to hear the rest,” I announce, throwing my hands up. “Keep me out of sordid hardcore romps.”
“What do you mean hardcore romps? You can’t even imagine what happened to him, poor thing,” she insists. “So, Pompilia, as soon as she saw Michael, jumped on him and proceeded to practice her specialty.”
“So far, I certainly wouldn’t describe him as a ‘poor thing.’” On the contrary. Honestly, I’m also a little annoyed. “He must have enjoyed his ‘mic check.’”
“Well, unfortunately, Pompilia had eaten her famous spicy tomato soup just before her performance.” Giada winks at me, as if to say the best part of the story is yet to come.
“The result? The oral exam irritated Michael’s nether regions to the extent that he’s now lying in bed with an ice pack in his underwear. ”
So that’s why we haven’t seen him all day. “Karma’s real!” I exclaim with a treacherous hint of glee.
“Don’t you feel the slightest bit of guilt? You’re the one who inflicted these three terrible dates on him!” Giada asks.
“I may have forced the dates on him, but I certainly didn’t push Pompilia’s open mouth on him.”
“What do you care what they did or didn’t do?”
“I don’t.” Really, I don’t care . . . but . . .
“Then put an end to this feud. Remember he’s the one managing the sale of the estate. If you want them to sell it to you, tone down your animosity and start talking to him like a friend you’ve known for ten years.”
It pains me to admit it, but Giada’s right. “Did Mamma make pizza tonight?” I ask her.
“Like every Monday: one with sausage; one with ham, mushrooms, and artichokes and a white one with bacon.”
Okay, let’s do this. I get out of bed and pull on my All Stars. “Perfect, that ham, mushroom, and artichoke is mine,” I say, and I head toward the villa to get the hot pan.