Contents

Chapter I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

CHAPTER XVII

CHAPTER XVIII

EPILOGUE

Chapter I

I WANTED TO SAY HELLO

I was in a little coffee house in Milan, Italy. I had been drinking coffee and listening to an Italian accent, which had a funny sound to it. It took me a moment to recognize what kind of accent it was. Hearing Italian spoken with a foreign accent is a common thing in Milan. It was the Brooklyn accent that had caught my ear and intrigued me. She was chatting with another woman. I wanted to say hello and find out who she was and how she came to be here in Milan.

   I figured that if I strolled over to her table and said hello with a Brooklyn accent, even if it was faked, she might think I was from Brooklyn. She would be glad to say hello to someone from the same old neighborhood. Then after the ice was broken I would drop the phony accent and explain where I was really from and that I had just wanted to say hello. By then my charm would have won her attention. She would smile and laugh lightly. We would engage in small talk and enjoy our coffee. She would be captivated by my American coolness. We would be in bed together soon, maybe even tonight. So went my thoughts.

   I strolled over to her table, looked down at her in my best command performance presence profile, smiled my charming casual smile and said, Hi! Don’t I know you? You’s from Brooklyn; ain’t ya?

   Her face went pale and slack. She seemed to have trouble getting her breath. For a brief moment, I thought she was choking on something. She grabbed her handbag from off the table and stood up in one sudden motion and disappeared out of the coffee house and into the street traffic.

   It happened so suddenly that I was standing there with my practiced casual smile sliding down my face into an open mouthed gape. I wasn’t expecting that reaction. I realized that I must look stupid, standing there by the vacated chair staring at the door. Her friend got up, looked at me quizzically and left. It took an effort to close my mouth. Suddenly, feeling self conscious, I made my way to the door and my escape into the street.

   I had about forgotten about her when about a week later I saw her in a women’s hair salon. She was working there. She was doing something to a woman’s hair that only women understand. I moved away from in front of the window.

   I still wanted to meet her and learn her story. Yeah, well Ok, the rest of the truth is, she was very attractive. Her face wasn’t beautiful, but its features were nicely balanced and attractive. Her body was trim. She didn’t have large breasts, but when my eyes followed her silhouette from neck to knee, the curves were all there, and in a very pleasing ratio too. So, all right, you’ve figured out what it really was that attracted me to want to meet her in the first place. Her accent was just what had caught my attention in the coffee house and made me look at her. It was after that look, that I

decided that I should say hello.

   You see, I like women. Since I’ve been on this trip, that’s about two weeks now, I haven’t had one in my arms, let alone in my bed. Now don’t get me wrong. I am an attractive enough guy, but sometimes women don’t realize that right off. So anyway, sometimes I need to get close to them before they notice me.

   I would like to have a chance with this woman, if I could just find some opportunity to put myself into her world. After all, we were both Americans in Italy. I figured it should be a natural cinch. She had to be Italian American. She obviously lived here, but she could only have come by that accent by growing up in Brooklyn. That made me curious, but then there was also that line; that curving line of her body’s I had mentioned. At her waist, the curve actually pinched inward, not out like so many. I don’t know what there is about that line, but I’ll tell you this; when I look at it, I get this primal feeling, low down in my body, that feels pretty good. And I’m not speaking about my stomach either. The more I studied her lines the stronger the feeling was growing. I wanted to wrap my arms around that waist and draw that profile close to my profile, if you know what I mean.

   From across the street, at a sidewalk café, I could see through the beauty shop’s window and still not look like I was watching. She wasn’t visible all the time, but I was very much enjoying the occasional view of her silhouette.

   I don’t know why I had never noticed it before. It was when I was seeing her shadowy profile through the window that I realized; that what was making my body yearn for her wasn’t so much large breasts or a well-formed leg. It was her waist. Her waist accented her female form. Her waist emphasized the swell of her breasts and the swell of her hips. As I was appreciating her swells I was getting a swelling feeling myself. Spying on her, from across the street made me feel sleazy, besides it wasn’t satisfying to just look at her.

   I think I can understand how some of those sick guys started to get obsessed with some woman and took to stalking her. That thought made me feel real uncomfortable about myself. I’m not going to become one of those sick puppies. I’m going to go over there, meet her, be direct, but I don’t want to freak her out again.

   First, I have to figure an angle on this. She works in a women’s beauty salon. Therefore, I can not just stroll in and ‘accidentally’ recognize her and say, Oh hi! Say, I’m sorry about startling you the other day. You reminded me of someone else and…. Forget about it! That won’t work. I’ve got to come up with something else. I’m not going to stroll into a women’s shop. Maybe when the shop closes, I could follow her to see where else she goes and find a more comfortable place to ‘bump into her’. Yeah, that might work.

   Then, it dawned on me. What if she has a boy friend pick her up at work or a husband? Damn! That idea struck me and I felt myself angry at the thought that someone else had a claim on her. Damn again! Why hadn’t I thought about that before?

   A waiter had asked me if I wanted anything else. I muttered, Prego! I had been so involved with my thoughts that I had not realized that I had drunk my coffee. I was surprised at my self. I’m feeling jealous over a woman I don’t know and who may be married. I should just forget about her and find myself someone else.

   Someone was saying something to me, loudly, and with a bit of anger in their voice. As I came out of my reverie, I looked up. It was she and she had anger on her face like one of those Hawaiian Tike dolls. I had been here to watch her and done such a piss poor job of it that not only had she seen me, but now she had walked right over to my table and I hadn’t even noticed.

   Just who the hell are you and why are you spying on me? Are you working for Little Joe? What do you want? Her questions were popping off like a string of firecrackers. How long have you been following me? She paused to catch a little air. My turn to talk. Oh! Hi! Gee, I’m sorry about startling you the other day. You reminded me of someone and… I’m sounding pretty lame here, I thought. There was no time to come up with something that would sound suave and besides—I had been caught.

   I stopped talking, took a slow breath and started again. Ok! Ok! I was watching you just now, but I haven’t been following you. This is the first time I’ve seen you since I fumbled while trying to say hello last week. Which reminds me. Why did you run out of there so abruptly? Did I have spinach in my teeth or something? I was just trying to say hello. I know I’m not Wayne Newton, but you reacted like you had just seen Dracula. I paused and waited for her to explain.

   That’s a lie! How did you know where I worked if you had not been following me? You even know which table I prefer to sit at when I take my coffee break. She paused and glared the Tiki face at me.

   Oh great, I thought. That is just great. Not only did I not have my attention on watching her, but I had tried watching her from a table, she thought of as being hers. I’m not too good at this sneaking around and spying on people business. Welding is a whole lot simpler. I can predict how the metal is going to react to the heat, but this woman; who could predict this?

   I started laughing at my predicament and myself. The situation had become absurd. I said, Your table! This is your table? I laughed at my mental image of Stan Laurel saying, This is another fine mess you’ve managed to get us into.

   I stood up and told her, "Look, I just passed by and saw you. I sat down here while trying to think of someway to say hello, but now I’m not sure I want to meet you. You seem to be angry with me every time I run into you. Good-bye!

   I began to stride away with dignity. The waiter hustled over. Signore! Signore! He was holding out the bill for the coffee. I had to halt my grand exit to dig into my pocket for the change. After fumbling through two pockets I was able to get the sum together. I thought, I couldn’t even escape a scene with dignity.

   She didn’t say another word. She just kept an angry pouting look on her face. I thought her look might even have had some disdain in it. Disdain! Yeah, that is what it was. So, that is what disdain looks like. I had read the word somewhere, back a few months ago. I didn’t know what it meant. I had looked it up in my dictionary. The definition seemed a little vague to me. Then, I saw it on her face. Now I understood the word. Ugh! It wasn’t pretty.

   I was uncomfortable with the feeling that I was disdainful. I don’t interface with people a lot in my work. I am a welder. The extent to which I interact with people on the job is when my foreman tells me what he needs me to do that day. I then set about doing it. That is about it.

   For the last eighteen months I had been working on an oil well drilling platform in the North Sea. It was a brand new platform design, just coming out of the water, and there had been a lot of us with long days and little rest. We had just completed getting the deck down and now a few of us could be spared for a little vacation time. The number of working hours in a day backed off to ten. I spend most of my working time ‘under the hood’. Which is what we call it when we are working, wearing our welding hood. My vision is limited to the welding bead I’m putting down and the noise doesn’t invite polite conversation. I have to pay close attention to the details of what I’m doing for long hours, everyday, for months at a time. It isn’t that I’m antisocial. It is rather, that I’m unskilled at small talk. I might enjoy your company, to go fishing or hunting, but let’s just not talk about it. You see, I’m still learning how to communicate well with words. It is difficult to even to admit to having feelings let alone talking about them. I think it goes back to the way I was raised. I like my work, but it isn’t conducive to developing social skills.

   We have built a little bar in the workers quarters. We can have a few beers and a little talk at the end of the day. I tried it for a while, but my liver cannot live with the amount of brew, most of these guys are pouring down their throats. The talk is always about the job or women. So, I spend the couple of hours I have between work, eating, and sleeping with reading.

   The characters in the books I read are my social contacts. I read everything I can get a hold of. There are quite a few paperbacks, which circulate around. The subject matter runs the gamut from Snoopy and The Red Baron to All The President’s Men; from Barbara Cortland to Dilbert; from Playboy’s articles about Sex In The Age of Aids to The Static and Dynamic Stresses Induced into Stainless Steel Piping by Plasma Welding. I’m a very well read guy. Just ask me about anything. I have read either something about it or I will soon and I’ll have an opinion about it too.

   Every six months we can catch a helicopter ride out of here and connect with the rest of the world for a few weeks. I usually look forward to meeting a woman, developing a lasting, in depth friendship over a couple of hours and then sharing some quality time together in the sack. It might surprise you to find out, how seldom this really happens. I usually have a few beers, try to strike up an interesting conversation, and spend the night alone. Maybe I should learn how to dance. Women are frustrating to try to figure out.

   After a night or two of this I usually end up visiting some old world city and marveling at the architecture. I can stick steel together with weld and span great spans, but the only material any of the old masters had was stone. I am awe struck when I gaze upon some of these monuments to man’s engineering and building prowess. I am thrilled within my soul when I look at the grandeur of so many of the old buildings.

   I had chosen Milan for this vacation. It was February and the weather there was much better than that in the North Sea. I had eight more days to enjoy the beautiful old city. I wasn’t about to waste more of my precious time on some ‘dingbat’, as Archie Bunker might