Joey told his dad what happened with Sharon.
His dad said, "What's the matter with you? All the girls in the city, you pick her?"
Joey had asked himself the same question, but he didn't pick her. "We met, started going out, she said she was separated, getting a divorce."
"You got to check the people you go out with."
Like his father knew anything about dating. Joe P. had gotten married to his mother in a Sicilian village forty-five years earlier. He doubted his dad had ever had a date in his life. Joey remembered his expression when he told him what happened, the old man's dark eyes sunken behind the thick lenses of his glasses, black horn-rims — Jesus Christ, looking at Joey like he was a little kid.
"You know how this is going to make me look?"
Yeah, he knew. That's what this was all about.
"You think we want a federal agent snooping around, sticking his nose in our business?"
He didn't want it either, but what could he do now? Nothing. So the solution was to get rid of Joey. He didn't tell his father he and Sharon had had phone conversations for five weeks and sent emails back and forth to each other. He doubted his father knew what email was. There were also phone records and sooner or later Sharon's husband was going to figure it out and come looking.
That's why he'd cleaned out the house, packed everything in boxes and had Anthony take it all to a storage place. The husband came calling, Joey wouldn't be there. And nobody but his old man knew where he was.
He'd never fallen for a girl as hard and fast as he did for Sharon. He was sure she was the one. Asked her to marry him and she said, I've got to tell you something. He remembered what she said like there was a tape recorder in his head.
"I can't marry you 'cause I'm already married. I should've told you. I'm sorry. I care about you. I really do."
He was head over fucking heels, and she said she cared about him. By the way she acted, he thought it was mutual that she was into it as much as he was. How could he have been so wrong? Joey had said, "You're married? What're you doing going out to bars?" Joey believed that married women should be faithful at all times. There were rules you followed and lived by.
Sharon had said, "I'm lonely."
Joey said, "You're lonely, huh? How many of us have there been?"
Sharon said, "Listen to me, I'm crazy about you. I really am."
That sounded a little better. If she was putting him on she was pretty goddamn good. Joey said, "If you're not happy, why don't you get a divorce?" He felt bad for her locked in a fucked-up marriage.
"I'm afraid of him," Sharon said.
Joey said, "You've got nothing to worry about, I'll protect you." He grinned, thinking he'd have a talk with the guy, tell him the way it was, the way it was going to be. He sipped his champagne, picturing the husband, a balding, out-of-shape suburban executive wearing a coat and tie. This was before Joey found out who the guy was.
Sharon looked out at the lake. He could tell she was worried. "What's your husband do, he's out of town all the time?"
"Works for the government," Sharon said.
"For the government?"
"Uh-huh."
"Don't tell me he's with the IRS." You didn't want them on your ass. They could make your life miserable.
Sharon said, "He's not."
Joey was curious now. "What's he do?"
She held up the champagne flute. "Can I have some more?"
Joey grabbed the neck of the champagne bottle and pulled it out of the cooler. He said, "Come on. What's the big deal?"
"He's a special agent in the Secret Service."
Joey stood there, mouth open, staring at her, unable to move or talk, like her words had Tasered him. When he could, he said, "Tell me you making this up?" But he knew she wasn't.
Chapter Fifteen
Dr Mencuccini said, "Impressive, isn't it?"
She gazed out across the lower level of the Colosseum, students packed in a tight group in front of her.
"Fifty thousand Romans could enter and be in their seats in ten minutes. Can you imagine that happening in a modern stadium?"
McCabe wondered if he paid more attention to Dr Mencuccini than his other teachers because she was good- looking. She reminded him of an aging starlet, early forties, with a small knockout body and dark hair. She had her own style, wore scarves and coats over her shoulders, and designer sunglasses.
Chip standing behind him said, "'All gladiators up to the training area at once,'" in a theatrical Brit voice.
The students around him could hear but not the teacher.
Dr Mencuccini said, "The concrete core — with its miles of corridors and stairways — was a masterpiece of engineering."
Chip said, '"What sort of man is this leader of the slaves?' 'I don't know. I think they call him Spartacus.'"
McCabe could see students next to him smiling.
Dr Mencuccini fixed her gaze on him and said, "Signor McCabe, do you have something to add?"
McCabe said, "I didn't say anything."
"With your cuts and bruises, you look like a gladiator who fought here," Dr Mencuccini said.
Behind him, Chip said, "'Get back. I tell you, he's an expert with a Thracian sword.'"
Students around Chip were laughing now.
Dr Mencuccini said, "Signor Tallenger, do you want to come up here and entertain us?"
"Mi dispiace, Dottore," Chip said.
"Prego," Dr Mencuccini said. "Do you mind if I continue?"
"Per favore," Chip said.
She said, "To celebrate the thousandth birthday of Rome, gladiators slaughtered thirty-two elephants, ten tigers, sixty lions, ten giraffes, forty wild horses, ten hippopotamuses and twenty Etruscans. It all happened right here." She paused and continued. "Condemned criminals — and occasionally Christians — were stripped naked and thrown to the lions. The violence of ancient Rome has troubled scholars for centuries. Were the Romans exceptionally bloodthirsty?" She scanned the students in front of her. "Signor Tallenger?"
Chip said, "I defer to my learned colleague, Signor McCabe."
"Signor McCabe?"
"It was violence at a distance," McCabe said. "Safe and controlled. Like a boxing match, or a violent movie." He was aware of students around him, watching him.
"Molto bene" Dr Mencuccini said.
'"Spartacus, you know things that can't be taught,"' Chip said. '"Why a star falls and a bird doesn't. Where the sun goes at night. Why the moon changes shape… where the wind comes from."'
Dr Mencuccini, amused herself now, said, "I don't recognize the lines. What is that from?"
" Spartacus" Chip said. "Appropriate, don't you think?"
"Yes. And I think that's enough for today. I will see you all Thursday at Campidoglio. Ciao."
They walked out of the Colosseum, Chip and McCabe, and stood there surrounded by tour groups and students. It was four o'clock, classes over for the day.
Chip said, "Let's get a beer."
McCabe said, "I can't. I've got to go back to the police station, meet Captain Ferrara. More photos he wants me to see."
"Call me when you're finished," Chip said.
McCabe walked along Via dei Fori Imperiali, the Roman Forum to his left below street level. He passed the Basilica of Constantine and Maxentius and the Temple of Antoninus and Faustina and the Forum of Caesar.
At Piazza Venezia he thought about taking a cab, but decided against it and walked down Via del Corso to the Condotti area, trying to find the enoteca Angela had taken him to.
He thought it was on the corner where Delia Croce met Via Bocca di Leone. He went there looking at the back-alley intersection, remembered the bar, remembered sitting at a sidewalk table across from Angela, thinking how lucky he was and trying to make the most of it. He went inside, scanned the people sitting at the bar, didn't see a good-looking girl with streaks in her hair, and went back out. He tried to remember which way they'd gone when they left the enoteca, but he hadn't been paying much attention, his main focus was on Angela that afternoon.