Alibi

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. I just looked at him. And him? Nothing, just a look. But it was there, in his face. And the others, the men with him, they don’t understand it at all. Why he’s staring at this woman by Colleoni. Who doesn’t say anything to him either, just a look. And when they start again, I hear one of them say, ‘Who was that?’ And he says, ‘Nobody.’ And one of them turns back to look and I could see he’s thinking, So why did he stop? But how can Maglione explain it? So it’s the begi

“In one look,” I said, trying to coax her out of it.

“Yes, one look. I know. I’ve seen it before.”

“Maybe you’re overreacting,” I said gently.

“No, the same. You know how I know? Because it frightened me. The way it always did. Like a knife at your throat—so close, when? So now he’s afraid of me, just the sight of me, and I’m afraid of him. We know each other. Maybe it would have been better if I’d never found him. Now how does it end?”

I went over to her. “You go away and live happily ever after.”

“Ha. Leave. So he wins.”

“No, you do. Just forget about him. Look what it does to you, just passing him in the street. You’re all—”

“What?”

“Nerves.”

She shrugged. “No, I’m better now.” She looked out the window again. “And how is he, I wonder?”

“Claudia—”

“I know. Forget it. All right—forgotten.” She brushed the air with her hand. “But I’m still out of work. No job. Nothing.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, coming nearer. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Like a whore.”

“No,” I said, turning her around, lifting her chin with my finger to make her smile. “Like a mistress.”

“Oh, there’s a difference.”

“Mm. More expensive.”

A small smile. “Yes? How much?” she said, playing back.

I kissed her. “Whatever it takes.”

“Any price—how nice for me,” she said.

“How about di

She pulled back, smiling. “So that’s my price? A di

“Why not? You don’t get fired every day.”

In the end we settled for a drink at the Danieli. The big gothic dining room was almost deserted, quiet as a church, waiting for tourists and spring. Waiters stood near the wall gazing toward the lobby. The few diners spoke in whispers. Nobody was celebrating anything. We had a Prosecco in the bar and slipped back out to the Riva.

The moon was out and the air was sharp. We held hands going over the bridge to San Marco, still happy to be out of the hushed dining room.

“I’ll talk to Bertie,” I said. “Maybe he can do something.”

“No. Anyway, I don’t want to go back there.”

“Where, then?”

We were strolling past the empty cafés.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go to Murano and make glass. Maybe Quadri’s,” she said, pointing to the frosted windows. “Somebody must do the dishes.”

“Not tonight,” I said, looking in. An old woman in a fur coat, nursing a drink. Two men at the bar.

We went under the arcade and out of San Marco, past the back basin where the gondolas tied up. Guido’s was a small restaurant, cozy in the winter, with windows overlooking the Rio Fuseri and a long antipasto table filling the far end of the room. In the summer it would be filled with foreigners, sent by the big hotels with walking maps, but now it was only half full, romantic with shaded lamps and a pleasant murmuring of Italian.

Claudia saw them first. I was handing the coats to a waiter near the door, the eager maître d’ hovering nearby, and felt her grab my arm. Gia

“Darling, what a surprise. Look, Gia

Gia

“Adam,” Gia

“From you, nothing.” She turned, gripping my arm more tightly. “Let’s go.”

“Darling,” my mother said, drawing it out so that it was like a hand reaching over, insistent. She looked around the room again, then at me, a signal to behave. “It’s no trouble. About the table.”

Now her voice reached Gia

“Yes, join us,” he said, a little unsteady, still not sure, but gesturing graciously to the table. “I can recommend the polenta. If you like that.” Now even a polite, forced smile.

“With you, never,” Claudia said, her voice low.

Nearby the maître d’ waited. Gia

“But perhaps you would rather be alone with your friend,” he said to me.

“Oh darling, this would be such a chance to talk things out,” my mother started, then stopped, caught by Gia

“Grace,” he said, cutting her off.

“Is that what you want?” I said. “To talk about things? Old times?”

Before he could answer, Claudia said something in Italian, her voice still low but edgy, even the sound of it unpleasant. Gia

“Adam, don’t,” my mother said. “Please.”

“She lost her job today,” I said to her, then looked again at Gia

“Why Gia

“Tell her,” I said to Gia

Claudia said something more in Italian, rapid-fire, too fast to catch. Gia

“Enough,” he said in English. “First the father, now your job. Everything that goes wrong in your life you blame on me? Why?”

“You made the call, didn’t you?” I said. “Tell her.” I nodded to my mother, then put my hand on Claudia’s back, ready to go.

“Listen to me,” Gia

“Do you think I would stay in the same room with you?” Claudia said to him in English.

“I am sorry for your confusion,” he said deliberately. “A misunderstanding. Some other time we will discuss it.”

“Darling, do please stop,” my mother said. “I don’t know what this is all about. Gia

“Is that right?” Claudia said to him. “You don’t remember me? Shall I describe it for her?”

“Adam, you can see what she’s like,” Gia

“You don’t remember her?” I said.

“Go to the table,” he said in a hard whisper.

“That’s right. You forget things. You don’t remember her father either, your friend from med school. Do you remember the Villa Raspelli? Your friends there? I found somebody today who remembers you.”

“Adam, really—” my mother said, but the rest of it faded, only a sound in the background, because at that instant I saw Gia