The Countess and The Pool Boy.

"God I hope she doesn't fall down those stairs, " he prayed watching the aunt of a lifetime traverse the Florentine bookstore's entryway. "She better not take another shitter like she did the last time in Venice. " His aunt's grace was legendary. Her last time in Italy brought her home with a broken wing and a little dust on her bravada. The rumor was that she had one to many negroni's and the gin made her spin. "Yeah, Spin and Martini, from the Mickey Mouse club. I'll have to file that image away for a story sometime in some bar."

He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his favorite fleece. He had fleeced the fleece from a niece, no actually from his favorite sister Sal a special Christmas two years prior. She hadn't even had the box open a minute before he swooped in and adorned his self entitled self with her gift. She knew in the instant that she would never wear that jacket. The light rain of Florence didn't bother him from enjoying his smoke. He hid behind a lamp post, in his dark sunglasses and watched his little bird shop her way around the store. It was ripe with leather bound tomes, beautiful parchments and lithographs from days gone by. It was exactly the type of place (of type) that he hoped they would find together. Three days from now they would be in Venice and then two days more they'd be back in the States, they would have this adventure behind them. On to the next!

A pack of tourist began pestering him for directions in some sort of Nipponese Neapolitan. It seemed only fitting that he exhale a ring of smoke at the tallest of the bunch and give them direcitons in self designed Span-Italian. He had created this language out of high school Spanish and years of working in restaurant's projected kitchen Italian. They were most appreciative and he flicked his extinguished butt towards the smallest of the retreating posse. He prided himself on the trip that he and his seventy something aunt were on. She never married but was witness to the raising of six siblings in her brother's house. Granted she went squirrely sometimes with opinions that were laced with crazy. It as like she had multiple lives and the overlapping of them confused her opinions. At one time she could be as straight as a novice, and another time she's hopping out a window to catch a train to NYC. Her and those trains. She was heavy into planning her next adventure with the 'Girls' to the Orient Express. She rolls with the ladies who lunch and their sect was going abroad next fall on the luxury train. Broad. Have to file that one away as well. Where was she now?

She was so concerned that she was going to be a hindrance but he welcomed this lady on his arm with all of her explosive conversation and fluctuating opinions. They had had some riled conversations on their first night in Rome. At the second seating for dinner, she had been charming the maitre d' while he had been flirting with the waiter, just innocent. But over espresso and sambucca it was made clear that she would get the room if she got lucky and the nephew would have to find other accommodations. Such nerve age brings. I asked if the sign to sleep elsewhere would be support hose around the door knob? She said a necktie would work. She was Old School.

She exited the store and convinced him to find a cafe. He reenacted his recent lesson in international relations with the lost tourists and they walked towards The Duomo. She always laughed at his stories and offered strange advice. But sometimes she was right on. We can learn so much if we just listen. So much about ourselves. The rain had stopped, he was glad not to see that crazy rain bonnet come out of it's hiding place. It's waxy origami shape always looked disturbing on her and he couldn't help but think of small children playing with dry cleaning bags. He wasn't well. His imagination sometimes got the best of him and he wold just expound into tangents of bizarrely mid conversation. It was always better with caffeine though, he smiled. He was going to have a nice doppio. He noticed she sneered at the cappuccino maker (man not machine) before they took their seats. "Here we go again, making friends as she goes. The bird's a tough broad."

There trip was special, they were to see Tuscany, Rome, Venice and such. It was initially to be for a wedding in Sicily, but she had gotten the daters wrong. They salvaged a trip out of it anyway. They were an odd pair to be travelling, one fruitier than the next. They found the same things funny and could tell a great story. He was thrilled to have this time with her and hoped for more adventures. It was a great moment. She asked what these people thought when they looked at them. Their opinion didn't matter a bit. He'd been through plenty in his life where he didn't care for what people thought. Once in a while he'd obtain respected council from good friends, but strangers? Screw them. He noted that she still had a look of concern on her face. He decided a little humor would alleviate her escalating stress. He lit a smoke.

"Maybe when they look at us they say, 'There goes the Countess and the Pool boy,' he cracked himself up, almost knocking his espresso over. "How's that?" She finished her Sambucca and agreed that would work. For whatever reason.