Strangers in Venice Read online

  As for the job, it wasn’t a secret if her drunk uncle already told her drunk fiancé that she was on her way to being a brewmaster. Like her father, she started at the brewery when she was nine. First, it was sweeping floors, an excellent way of getting out of lessons, if Uncle Josiah wasn’t around to charm Miss Bloom, and Father never said no to her interest in brewing. She swept, shoveled hops, learned how to fix compressor valves, working her way up to mixing and bottling. It wasn’t work like what Mavis did, morning until night. She did it when she could escape her tutors and her mother, who didn’t think a proper place for a girl was in a brewery with those hard men and their high expectations, but she loved it.

  And she earned, just a few cents at first, but now it was a tidy sum, earning good interest and waiting to be used. She didn’t have a trust fund. The family didn’t believe in them. Grandmother said money like that made people soft. She had no patience for soft people being rock hard herself.

  The last stair groaned and Stella hurried onto the floor, which groaned just as much.

  “Are you okay?” yelled Nicky.

  “I’m fine! Come on up!”

  “Yes, by all means come on up,” said Dr. Davide, standing by the window with a glass full of a yellow liquid. “This isn’t my home that you’ve invaded.”

  Stella straightened her coat and smoothed her hair that was slick with rain, doing her best not to breathe deeply. The untidy room smelled like unwashed hair and moldy bread.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “No, you’re not.” He downed the liquid and poured a generous glug from the unlabeled bottle on the sill. “What is so important that you interrupt my holy day?”

  Stella walked across the room, dodging trash and a plate. She held out her hand and said, “Eulalie Myna.”

  He snorted and ignored her hand. “Sure you are.”

  “I am I assure you.”

  Nicky came up, looked around, and put his mask on. “She is and I’m Douglas Myna, her husband.”

  “Whatever you say. I want cash. No traveler’s checks.”

  “Don’t you want to know what the problem is?” asked Nicky.

  He swirled his glass and leaned in closer to Stella. He smelled like Uncle Josiah after the binge when he’d gotten lost and fell asleep in the stable. “All right. I’ll play. How’re the feet?”

  “Swollen,” said Stella.

  “That’ll be 1000 lira.”

  “We’re not here about Eulalie’s feet,” said Nicky.

  Dr. Davide pointed a shaky hand at him. “I know that, boy. I’ve been in this festering city for a long time. People like you don’t come to a doctor like me if they can help it. You’re a Jew, right?”

  “No.”

  Dr. Davide waved a finger at Stella. “What’s with the face? Who punched you?”

  “I fell.”

  “Yeah, there’s a lot of falling going on in Germany these days. What do you want? I’ve got to finish that bottle. It’s my civic duty.”

  “I told people at the Hotel al Ponte Vittoria that I’m expecting and something happened,” said Stella. “I want you to tell them I’m fine.”

  “Make that 2000 lira.”

  “We don’t have that,” said Nicky.

  “What baby? Eulalie isn’t expecting,” said the doctor before swilling right out of the bottle.

  Stella clicked through a list of their possessions and they had nothing that was remotely worth that much. “We can get it.”

  “When?”

  “It depends,” said Nicky.

  Dr. Davide pointed at the stairs. “Beat it.”

  “Is there an open telegram office today?”

  “It’s Sunday in the land of the Pope. What do you think?” The doctor looked thoughtful.

  “What if there’s an emergency?” asked Stella.

  “We’ve got telephones. This isn’t the Serengeti.”

  Stella looked around at the small apartment. “Do you have one?”

  “Yes, I do and no, you can’t use it,” he said. “It takes effort to arrange a call to the US, and I’m not getting stuck with your overseas charges.”

  “We’re good for it,” said Nicky.

  “You won’t mind if I don’t take your word for it, Mr. Douglas Myna.”

  Stella crossed her arms. “What will you take?”

  Dr. Davide’s eyes roamed over Stella, calculating something, but she couldn’t imagine what. The look wasn’t suggestive or anything close to it, but Nicky didn’t agree. He put his arm around her and squeezed her painfully to his side.

  “I’ll thank you not to look at my wife like that,” he said.

  “Don’t blow your wig, kid,” said Dr. Davide. “I’ll take the coat. What is that? Lamb and fox?”

  “Yes,” said Stella, unbuttoning.

  “No,” said Nicky. “She needs that coat. You know she’s sick.”

  “That’s not my problem.”

  Nicky went stiff. “You are a bastard and a poor excuse for a doctor.”

  “Right on the first count and wrong on the second,” he said.

  “Fuck you.”

  Stella caught her breath. She’d never heard Nicky say that before. He was essentially an elegant man given to politeness. Unlike her family, where politeness was considered optional and a barrier to honesty.

  “Just for that. Give me your coat, too,” said the doctor, clearly relishing their predicament.

  Nicky advanced on the doctor and towered over him, but, to Stella’s surprise, the doctor, who was sixty pounds heavier and probably six inches shorter, didn’t waver at all.

  “Go ahead. Throw me out the window. It’ll end my problems and give you a new one.”

  Nicky gritted his teeth. “I’m not going to throw you out the window.”

  “Then what’s your plan, son? I’d really like to hear it.”

  Stella wormed her way between them. “Our plan is to give you our coats and to pay you as soon as possible.”

  Their eyes met, hers clear and blue, his bloodshot and brown, and a deal was struck.

  “I like you, Eulalie Myna. I’m a sucker for a pretty face and a paycheck.” He held out his hand and she gave him her coat with an involuntary shiver.

  “Douglas, your coat,” she said.

  “This is insane,” he replied.

  “Insanity is nothing new.”

  Nicky took off his coat and gave it to the doctor, who inspected it and then said, “Off the rack. You don’t strike me as an off the rack couple.”

  “Well, we are,” said Nicky.

  “This isn’t worth much.” He held out his hand. “I’ll take the hat, too.”

  Stella shook her head. “No way. He needs that hat.”

  The doctor squinted at her. “More than you need me to lie?”

  Nicky was so recognizable without a hat that Stella wasn’t sure.

  “It’s fine.” Nicky tossed him the hat and Dr. Davide examined it as if he expected to find something special inside. He was disappointed, glaring at Stella and noting her lack of rings and any other jewelry. “You’re sure you’re not Jews?”

  “We’re sure,” said Nicky.

  “Why do you care?” asked Stella. “You sent Dr. Salvatore to me yesterday.”

  “I didn’t say I cared,” said Dr. Davide. “Salvatore is a good doctor, almost as good as me.”

  Nicky snorted and the doctor showed an ounce of pride. “Scoff all you want, kid. You’re looking at the best doctor you’re likely to find outside of New York.”

  “I’m not entirely sure you are a doctor.”

  “I went to Harvard medical and trained at Johns Hopkins. So fuck you.”

  “You don’t mind if I don’t take your word for it,” said Nicky.

  The doctor chuckled. “Touché and get out.”

  They went to the stairs and Stella went first, gingerly stepping on the first questionable stair when Dr. Davide said, “Word to the wise. If you’re not Jews, you need to prove it or you’ll get hass
led.”

  “How are we supposed to prove it?” asked Nicky.

  “Well, you could pull down your pants.”

  Stella stopped and looked through the rotten spindles. “What in the world?”

  He laughed. “That clinches it.”

  “Why would—”

  “I’ll tell you later, Stella,” said Nicky, shooing her down.

  “There’s another option,” said Dr. Davide.

  “I think we’ve had enough of your ideas.”

  Stella went back up. “I haven’t. What have you got?”

  “Simple. Be a Catholic.”

  “I am a Catholic.”

  “Do you have a rosary and cross stashed somewhere?”

  “I’m fresh out.”

  “Then my idea is that you buy them immediately, today, if possible,” he said. “It’ll help you get around.”

  “It’s Sunday,” said Nicky.

  He glugged down the rest of his bottle. “I know people.”

  “I bet,” said Stella. “Do you know anyone named Sorkine?”

  He squinted at her and rolled the name around in his thick head. “No. Who is it?”

  “Never mind. You’re as useless as you look.”

  Dr. Davide chuckled. The comment seemed to cheer him up a bit and he told them about a woman who sold trinkets at the train station. Maria made it her habit to be at the station when certain trains arrived to solicit business. The way he said “solicit” made Stella nervous, but she didn’t know why. She didn’t really care what business Maria was in, if she had what they needed.

  “Fine,” said Nicky.

  “I have a train schedule. There’s one from Milan coming in. They usually have a few first-class carriages. She likes those, but I don’t know for certain she’ll be there.”

  “How much will it cost us?”

  “I’ll take whatever you’ve got when I come to Vittoria this afternoon,” said Dr. Davide. “You better have at least 500 lira.”

  “Can you look at her feet now?” asked Nicky, frowning as Stella winched when she shifted her weight.

  He spread his arms wide, showing off his yellowed pit stains. “Does it look like I’m doctoring right now? Sofia gives me dinner in exchange for seeing her guests and keeping my mouth shut about it.”

  “You’re all heart.”

  “I was. Now I’m all booze.” He gave Nicky a crinkled slip of paper. “You can make the eleven out of Milan, if you hurry.”

  They didn’t hurry. Not down the stairs. That didn’t seem prudent. When Stella stepped into the water on the first floor, she felt the cold up into her molars. It hadn’t bothered her when she had her coat on. The warmth of her fur warded off quite a bit. Dr. Davide really was a horrible person, but she supposed they were lucky he didn’t take the umbrella, as well. He was capable of it, to be sure.

  “Alright,” said Nicky, pausing outside and opening the umbrella. “I don’t know about the train station idea. God knows what that bastard is up to.”

  “We should go. It’s the train station. How bad can it be?”

  “I wish you hadn’t said that.”

  She smiled up at him. How handsome he looked under the black umbrella with the remains of a bruise on his chiseled jaw. Nicky could’ve been the hero in a thrilling movie and she would’ve found the whole thing romantic if her feet weren’t turning into blocks of ice. “I think it’s a good idea and I do miss my cross.”

  “I don’t think you want a cross purchased from a…woman in the train station.”

  “God doesn’t care where it came from.”

  He let out a sigh.

  “We can get a better one later when we have money again,” she said, doubting that she’d want to. Every penny counted. That was now printed on her very soul.

  “Your money,” he said.

  “Sure. Why not?” She eyed him, daring him to say the wrong thing, even though she wasn’t sure what the right thing was.

  “I don’t know, Stella darling, I really don’t.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my money,” she said.

  “Okay. Fine. What’s your job?”

  “I’m a brewer’s apprentice.”

  To her surprise, he cupped her cheek and kissed her full on the mouth with warm, insistent lips. “Of course, you are.”

  “You’re not mad?”

  “You keep telling me that you’re a Bled. What else would you be but a brewer?”

  “People call Uncle Josiah a rascal and a reprobate.”

  He kissed her again. “I’m relieved you’re neither of those.”

  “Also, an addled-minded nincompoop. That came from a judge.”

  “A judge? What the—oh, never mind. Let’s go to Santa Lucia and get this over with.”

  He turned, but Stella held his arm. “You’re really not mad?”

  “Stella, my wife is standing in front of me, shivering with torn up feet. I’m not mad. Your job is the least of my concerns.”

  The rest of the truth burst out of her. “I have 5000 dollars.”

  Nicky whistled. “That’s a tidy sum.”

  “We can use your money, if you can think of a way to get to it,” she said.

  “It’s all our money and if we keep dealing with that doctor, we’re going to need a lot of it.”

  Chapter Seven

  NICKY INSISTED THEY splurge on a water taxi to the train station, since they were both shivering and now had a plan for getting some funds. When they got on the boat, Nicky told the captain straight out that they weren’t Jews, which appeased him, but, when it came to Nicky’s request that he wait for them to come back out of the station, doubt was all over the man. He looked at their coatless, rain-splattered clothes and obviously thought there was something a matter with them. He just couldn’t decide what.

  He tapped his palm. “Money now.”

  “Later,” said Nicky.

  “Now.”

  “We have to meet someone,” said Stella, doing her best to look appealing with chattering teeth.

  “Now.”

  Nicky took his wallet out and held up a bill. “Now.” Then he pulled out another bill. “Later.”

  The man grimaced. “You hurry.”

  “We will. We will.” Nicky got out and lifted Stella over the side to carry her across the flooded piazza in front of the Santa Lucia station.

  “Is it deeper?” she asked.

  “Yes.” He didn’t elaborate and that wasn’t a good sign.

  When he set her down on the dry top stair, his pants were splashed up to the knee.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I could’ve stayed on the boat.”

  “I wasn’t leaving you there. Did you see the way he was looking at you?”

  “No.”

  “I’m glad.” Nicky took her hand and they ran through the station as a train started to pull in. It was a fancy, silver affair, puffing smoke and making a tremendous racket. The train must’ve meant money, because there were several porters on the platform and a few people hawking trinkets. Nothing like the number that had been there earlier in the month when they’d left Venice, but a lot more than when they’d arrived a couple of days ago.

  “What do you think she looks like?” asked Stella.

  “Disreputable, I assume.”

  “She might not.”

  He gave her a look and they started walking past the platforms. One train was loading, but there weren’t any women hanging about. Nicky tried asking a porter, but he didn’t speak English and couldn’t be bothered to try and understand Stella’s rudimentary French. He shooed them away in a huff and they returned to the other platform, where the silver train was coming to a halt.

  “There she is,” said Stella, pointing at a woman who stood expectantly next to the newsman’s stand they’d gone to when they arrived. And she did look reputable in Stella’s opinion, except for the brassy blond hair that clearly wasn’t natural. She wore a well-fitted navy-blue coat and hat, had pretty silver shoes with rhinestone buck
les, and carried a small case, the kind that one might sell trinkets out of.

  “She’s a passenger,” said Nicky.

  “I don’t think so. She’s got a pair of galoshes tucked behind her and the newspaperman isn’t too happy about her standing there.”

  The man scowled at the woman and said something, which she ignored.

  Nicky shrugged. “All right. Let’s give her a try.”

  They dashed past the engine and down the platform, startling the woman so that she backed up into the wall, dropping her case, which popped open to reveal necklaces with crosses, rosaries, engagement rings, watches, and some earrings.

  Nicky reached for the jewelry, trying to help, but she screeched and slapped his hands.

  “So sorry, Maria,” said Stella. “Dr. Davide sent us.”

  She, instantly, went calm and businesslike. “Davide?”

  “Yes. He said you might have a cross and rosary for me.”

  Maria stuffed her wares back in her case and looked them up and down, obviously finding them wanting, and Stella had to agree. If anyone was disreputable, it was them.

  “You have money?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  She opened the case with a smile. “This is a nice rosary. My uncle make out of the olive wood.”

  It was nice, beautiful beads and a simple cross with a lovely swirling in the wood. She showed them other ones, but none were so elegant. The crosses were another story. Stella preferred a small gold one, nothing garish, and Maria’s selection took garish to another level. They were huge, the size of a half dollar and covered in fake red stones and filigree.

  Stella picked out the least obnoxious and asked, “How much?”

  Maria thought for a moment. “1000 lira.”

  Nicky laughed. “I’ll give you fifty for both.”