To Rome With Love

Piazza della Repubblica, Rome March 1985

Piazza della Repubblica, Rome

March 1985Tammy's head was tilted back to allow the warm rays of afternoon sun light her face. She was sitting on the stone wall around the fountain in Piazza della Repubblica, her hand resting beside her hip as she closed her eyes and opened her other senses to the city sounds and smells that swept over her.

The rub-rub of bicycle tires mingled with the occasional car horn and light screech of tires from the Fiats and Alfa Romeos careening around the circular traffic pattern of the piazza. Young children giggled and young adults called out to one another, some with excitement in their voices, some with urgency.

The deep aromas of espresso from the hotel terrace behind Tammy were strong enough to reach her nose, as was the fragrance of the vases filled with lilacs and orchids being sold by the street vendor nearby. The aromas were just as seductive as the lilting vocal sounds of the Italian soprano in the window three stories above.

This was the vacation of a lifetime, and she was happy that it was only half over. Tammy had wandered the crazy maze of streets in Venice and slurped the incredibly fresh flavors of gelato in Florence. She had gazed out at the green rolling hills of Tuscany that swept by the train window as she traveled from town to town, and she had lingered over long, leisurely evenings on stone balconies perched on the cliffsides of the Amalfi Coast, captive to the scent of bougainvillea and vine-ripe grapes that hung from the balustrade.

Italy was dreamy, and she had no trouble concluding – as had millions of tourists before her – that the country was the most romantic place to be.

Well, at least for most people.

Tammy couldn't dismiss the reality that of all the things she had seen and done while rambling across the regions of Italy – that in this land known for romance and love – she was still alone, and had not even sampled a single romantic moment except for those in her imagination.

The night before, she had sat at a table in the Piazza Navona, a perfect sunset place to be and a favorite spot for visitors and Romans alike while in the city. Despite its local fame, most Americans seem not to find it, but Italian lovers huddled together to share whispered promises in the shadow of Bernini's fountain, and this drew Tammy to the cobbled streets of this particular piazza.

She sat for three hours in a café, watched the twilight slip away and yield to twinkling stars above. She sipped a cold Negroni – a cocktail of Campari, gin, and vermouth that would normally have been too strong for her. She nibbled at the bowl of olives and marinated carrot spears, and inhaled the fragrance of garlic and fennel that coated the little orbs. And she listened to the mandolin music that carried faintly from the dining room behind her.

Alone.

Tammy hadn't come to Italy to find romance but she would have been open to the idea. She was not particularly needy, but the wine, the food, the music in this country – not to mention the brilliant palette of extraordinary scenery that ranged from Medieval castles to verdant hills to post-modern architecture – could put a buzz in anyone with starry-eyed thoughts.

So, after a wonderful but platonic vacation in Italy, she planned to take home many memories of the non-romantic type. That is, until this one moment when it all seemed to change.

Her mind was drawn back to the present and back at the Piazza della Repubblica. With her eyes closed and face tilted toward the warming effect of the sun, she was enjoying a trance-like state when a voice brought her out of it.

“It's warm, no?”

Tammy opened her eyes and turned toward the man's voice. With the sun above casting narrow shadows about, his face was sunlit and easy to see. He had a warm, kind smile, and Tammy smiled back. His blue-hazel eyes were bright, and his dark curly hair cascaded down his forehead. The deep brown beard and mustache were cropped close to his face, and his luxuriously tanned skin crinkled when he smiled at her.

“Um, yes,” she replied with a pause. Not a facile response, so, she gave it another try.

“I've been enjoying the warmth of the afternoon.” Then, after a momentary pause, “And the scenery here at the fountain makes it a complete experience.”

“Sì,” he said. “It is the Fountain of the Naiads, la Fontana delle Naiadi. Did you know that?”

She shook her head.

“Naiads were Greek nymphs,” he said, then laughed. “Yes, well, I laugh because they are of Greek creation, but still, here, they are Roman.”

“Why nymphs?” Tammy asked. For Americans, the word had pleasurable connotations.

“They are little goddesses,” he replied, using his hands to suggest something diminutive. “Here, the naiads look after our fountain, to protect the water and the people who depend upon it.”

Okay, so pleasure wasn't their first duty.

“I'm Tammy,” she said, extending her hand. He took it and held it warmly for a moment longer than was necessary. But it felt too good for her to pull away from.

“I don't know the name 'Tammy.' But it is American, no?”

“My name is actually Tamara, but everyone calls me Tammy.”

He shrugged a little shrug. “But I like the sound of Tamara,” he responded. “You should tell this 'everyone' that your name is too beautiful to shorten.”

She felt a tingle zing down her back.

“I am Giorgio.”