Laura Caldwell - Red, White & Dead

There was a word in Italian-sbrogliare-that meant to disentangle, to sort things out. To him, that made it sound too simple, as if the thing that was tangled definitely needed to be undone. He didn’t believe that in all cases-didn’t believe it in this case, his case. The open wound was exposed, yes, and clean right now, that was true, but it had options other than to heal. It could become black and infected; it could lead to other worse injuries.

He walked slowly down a darkened street. Many people, he knew, were afraid to walk such a street by themselves. Napoli was not as dangerous as it once had been, but it was just as unpredictable. And yet he had learned many things over the years, and one of the best lessons was not to fear what wasn’t yet in existence.

And so he didn’t fear the thug who might jump from the shadows to attack him. In fact, he rarely feared for himself at all.

But for her, he feared.

Gone. She was gone. Where to, he had no idea. She was with her friend, and now, apparently, two men. One of the guys he knew of-Theo, the long-haired one, the guy who looked like he was in a rock band. He checked him out, and Theo was who he said he was. Everything about him was true-he started a company after leaving college early; it was one of the most successful software companies of its kind in North America. But the other guy? The large guy who appeared to be, from what he could tell, Filipino. Who in the hell was he? What did he mean to everything that was going on? Would he bring safety, or more danger?

He turned one corner, then another. So many corners in Naples, so many angles and wrong turns. All the establishments were closed, their front windows and doors boarded tight for the night.

A car door opened suddenly, and he immediately flattened himself against a wall. But it was only a family, home from a visit or a dinner. The couple removed their two young children from the car, opened a street side door and disappeared inside, not even looking at him.

He was used to being invisible. Over the course of years, he’d actually grown to enjoy it in a queer way. So he kept walking, and he was not afraid of those streets, whether he was seen or not.

But it made him sick, literally and physically sick, see how far the game had gone. It was never supposed to be like this. None of this was supposed to be happen. But then, nothing in life was ever happened like it was “supposed to happen”. And so he would have to change and adapt. Now that he’d lost her, he couldn’t protect her. And so, in the meantime, he would do the only thing he could-he would pray for her.

This partial scene was originally contained within the scene when Izzy sits outside eating soon after arriving in Italy.

We had planned to honeymoon in Spain, but Italy had been widely debated. We’d finally decided on the Costa del Sol in part because neither of us had been there. We wanted someplace new at the beginning of our new marriage. But there were so many things in Italy I would love to share with Sam now. As a lover of food and wine, he would be deliriously happy here, and I think of him every time I ask at a counter for a slice of soft goat cheese and I watch as they unwrap it from a cocoon of chestnut leaves. Sam would love the veal meatballs steeped in lemon and the paper thin slices of pink salmon rolled around a dainty puff of mozzarella foam.

Of course, it’s not just food that makes me think of Sam, The thoughts of him keep coming, I think, because I am experiencing a new emotion, one I’ve never felt before in my whole life.

I am jealous. And even worse, I am lonely.

It took me a while to figure out what this thing was-this hollowness in my chest, this ache in my belly, the tears that spring when nothing is sad, when usually, in fact, it is just the opposite. I got lost one day and turned the corner to see the sun hitting the dome of St. Peters in a silvery-green stream of light. I stopped right where I was standing, and I cried. Those tears streamed down my cheeks because the sight was so stunning and also in part because there was no one there to see it with me. This has never bothered me before. I don’t need another person to validate some experience I’m having. I don’t need a man or a friend to tell me, Yes, you have witnessed beauty.

When I get back to my room that day, I call Sam. I do the math, and I figure out with the time change it is eight in the morning Chicago time. Sam will be getting ready for work. He will be reading the Wall Street Journal on line and eating a protein bar, a cup of coffee next to the keyboard. He will have one more cup while he puts on his jacket, packs his bag that he slings cross-wise over his body until he gets off the el near his building, when he will take it off and carry it by the handle into his office.

The phone rings.

This scene was written in the first draft of Red White and Dead. At that point, I envisioned that Maggie’s mafia clients might help bring about Izzy’s downfall, getting asked by Dez Romano to find out where they were. Later, the book was changed so that Dez had men at the Centrale station in Naples looking for them when they arrived.

Maggie looked at her phone. She scrolled through it. “My secretary called five times while we were on the plane. I better call her back.”

We kept staring out the window while Maggie waited for her secretary to answer. “Rita,” she said, “what’s the fire?” She listened for a minute. “Ah, damn it. Again?” She put her hand over the phone, said to me, “I’ve got a dumbass client with two priors and two pendings. Arrested again.” She took her hand off the phone. “What’s the charge? Hmm, that’s new for him. Well, get Tom to go see him at 26th Street.” She listened some more. “No, I’m not back until Sunday, and I’m certainly not coming back for him.” She held the phone away from her head, and I heard her secretary’s raised voice rattling on. Maggie brought the phone back to her ear. “Fine, tell him he can call me.” She hung up.

“What’s going on?” I asked her.

“The kid’s family is freaking. The uncle is insisting they talk to me. Won’t let any other attorney see the kid or talk to him, and he’s got to appear today.”

The cab driver turned onto a broad cobbled avenue. “The bay of Naples,” he said proudly. On one side of the avenue, the water sparkled blue and sailboats bobbed. The other side was lined with stately hotels, most of them with balconies looking onto the bay.

Maggie’s phone rang. She looked at the display then answered it. “Hello, Tony.” She listened. “Yes, I heard. Well, I’m in Italy so I can’t do much right now. I’m sorry about that, but Tom from my office can handle the bond hearing.” They spoke for a minute, Maggie reassuring the client that she would personally speak with the associate from her office and that she would be on the case as soon as she got back.

“Grand Vesuvius,” the driver said, “and we are here.”

Maggie finished up her conversation with her client as the driver parked.

This scene was originally in the Ischia section of the book where Izzy finds Elena. Initially, she was to meet Maurizio.

His blue cap hid his hair but not the coarse but attractive features of his face.

“This is Maurizio,” she said, gesturing at him. She spoke a few words in Italian that ended with “Isabel. My niece.”

“Ciao, ciao,” Maurizio said congenially. He stood and shook hands with Theo and me. He switched into English. “You have been enjoying Italia.”

“Very much,” I said, an automatic response. I didn’t mention getting chased by men with guns.

He and Theo started chatting. Theo, apparently, knew something about European soccer and soon, Maurizio was explaining about the different levels of soccer teams in Italy -Serie A, Serie B.