He asked her to wait for him to finish his gig but she told him she had only fifteen minutes, she was supposed to be somewhere.
“Fifteen minutes. I need to wash my face. I can’t talk to you with this stuff on.”
“Yes. Sure. Fine. I’ll wait for you over there.” She pointed to one of the cafés bordering the square.
She kept an eye on him from where she sat. She watched him close his act in a hurry, gather his things and store them behind a potted plant. He washed his face with a sponge, at one of the water fountains.
When he sat at the table she recognized him. It was Jack all right, but a deflated version of younger Jack, his skin no longer so taut, some creases in his forehead. Still handsome, brown-eyed Jack, though, with a full head of hair. In his haste to meet her he’d left some smears of white makeup on his face. He stared at her, bewildered.
“I just knew it was you the minute I touched you. Your eyes. I never forgot them.”
They each ordered a glass of red. He told her he had been studying with a famous French mime in the south of France, that he lived in Marseilles and he did street shows—that’s what he called them—to make some cash when traveling. To justify this rather vague description of his life he said the previous year he’d performed at Avignon’s theater festival with a Belgian company Emma had never heard of; she pretended to be impressed.
She told him she lived in Manhattan and worked for an architecture studio. No, she wasn’t married and no, she didn’t have children. Yes, she lived by herself, in a small one-bedroom apartment downtown.
He seemed relieved and smiled. He had bad teeth now, she observed. They were jumbled and yellowing, the teeth of a person who hasn’t been taking care of them. Yet he didn’t seem self-conscious about his smile.
“Do you still have your house in Greece?” she asked.
“Oh no. Mummy sold it years ago. She and Dad divorced. The money from the sale was part of the settlement.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be. They’d been fighting like cats and dogs for years; we actually couldn’t wait for them to divorce.”
Emma took a small sip of wine. It was the kind of cheap Chianti they served in those tourist traps. The conversation seemed to be heading nowhere. She thought of something to say to relaunch it.
“How is David doing?”
“David died. Six years ago,” Jack said.
Emma felt something in her chest, a sinking feeling.
“What happened?”
“Drugs, I’m afraid.” He made a face and tilted his head sideways.
Emma closed her eyes for a second.
“Oh my God.”
“Yeah.”
They stared at each other for a few seconds, not knowing what to say. Emma thought she should grab his hand across the table. But Jack gulped his wine and looked away, above her head.
“Well, David always had problems. Dyslexia, depression, then drugs.”
He paused, then tried a smile, to lighten up the mood.
“They all start with a d, like his name. I wonder what that means. Doom and disgrace, maybe?”
Emma didn’t know how to answer; she was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. It all sounded so hopeless.
“You know, he was an adopted child, and maybe that was part of the problem,” Jack continued. “He never felt he fit anywhere. At least that’s what Mum thinks.”
There was a silence. Jack seemed to be thinking about something, while he contemplated the froth of the Bernini fountain across from them. Emma was desperately trying to come up with the right thing to say. He turned to her.
“He had a huge crush on you, you know?”
She said nothing.
“He used to talk about you quite often. Every summer he’d say, ‘I wonder if Emma is coming back.’ He didn’t know how to find you. I guess you hadn’t exchanged addresses.”
“No. In fact. We didn’t.”
Jack looked at Emma intensely, then smiled.
“And here I am, running into you by chance in Rome. He would have been so chuffed to know that I’d found you.”
Emma smiled and nodded. Then she managed to squeeze in a quick look at her watch.
“I’m so sorry Jack, but I’m afraid I have to …”
“Sure. How long are you here for? I’d love to see you again, so we can catch up.”
“Of course, I’d love to.”
They made an appointment for the next evening at the same café.
“Afterward we could go for a pizza. If you have time, I mean,” Jack suggested.
“Yes, why not? I know a good place around the corner.”
She grabbed the outrageously expensive check and left some change on the table. Jack protested.
“No, please. Let me take care of it.”
“Don’t even try, this is my turf.”
They hugged awkwardly. He smelled of sweat and wine. He held her an extra second, just as she was about to pull away.
“God, I am so happy I found you, Emma,” he said, close to her face. “You have become such a beautiful woman.”
Emma held her breath, fearing it might be possible that he would kiss her. They lingered for a few seconds in that dangerous proximity, then he let her go.
She turned around once more to wave goodbye from a secure distance. Jack was still sitting at the table. He lifted his wineglass in a toast, leaning back in his chair, his legs wide open, like a satisfied man enjoying his place in the world.
She walked away fast. She had already made up her mind not to show up the next night.