Paris is a photographer’s dream. When we weren’t out shooting, we hung out on the apartment’s balcony, wrapped up in blankets and eating giant boxes of chocolates we claimed to have bought for our families. On Christmas Eve I talked Francesca into going to the ice-skating rink on the first level of the Eiffel Tower, and even though she just sat on the sidelines and complained about the cold, I skated for more than an hour, giddy about how magic it all was.
The only downside was how much I missed X. Francesca brought him up a couple of times, and it took every ounce of willpower I had not to tell her what’s been going on between us. It’s like we’re living a double life—friends in public, lovers in private. I hated spending Christmas away from him. And I’m also feeling worried. How is our relationship supposed to progress if we can’t even tell anyone that we’re together? Can I survive another six months of secrecy?
JANUARY 20
School is back in full swing, and now that the initial excitement of staying for another semester has worn off, I’m stuck with reality, which basically means calculating and recalculating. Every night I get out my notebook and try out different scenarios. How long can I afford to stay in Italy if I take fewer classes? What if I eat only spaghetti and tomato sauce? What about if my student loan gets approved? (Fingers crossed.) All the answers are pretty grim. I can stay, but just barely.
FEBRUARY 4
Student loan finally cleared today. PHEW. Had a dinner party to celebrate. Weather was perfect (cold and clear), and the food was divine. Even Simone and Alessio were on their best behavior—they had only one argument (a record), and it was just over who got to eat the last piece of caprese. Finn didn’t end up coming back for the semester. He was on the fence about it, and at the last minute decided to accept a teaching position at the University of Maine. Francesca put a copy of The Old Man and the Sea in the chair where he usually sat, so at least he’s here in spirit. I felt that old familiar weirdness about my friends still not knowing about X and me, but I’m kind of coming to peace with it. He doesn’t seem to mind, and it is what it is. It feels out of my control.
MARCH 15
Something weird happened tonight.
Adrienne hasn’t been hanging out with us much this semester. She stays in most nights and lately it seems like she avoids us even when we’re in class, so tonight a few of us ambushed her at her apartment and took her out to dinner. Afterward, everyone headed over to our apartment, but when we got to the building, she hung back. I finally went looking for her, and when I stepped out of the apartment I saw her standing in the stairwell, talking on the phone and sobbing like her heart had just been snapped in half. I tried to sneak away, but the floorboards creaked, and when she saw me, she gave me a look that froze me to the core. She left without saying good-bye.
MARCH 20
By some horrible stroke of luck, Adrienne and I were paired up for an “Out in Florence” assignment. And I say “horrible” because things have been pretty uncomfortable since the other night.
My idea for the project was to head down to the Arno to photograph fishermen, but Adrienne told me she already had the perfect subject in mind. The way she said it left absolutely no room for discussion, so I just packed up my camera and followed her out into the street. I tried to ask her if she was all right, but she made it pretty clear she didn’t want to talk about the other night. Or anything else for that matter. Finally I gave up on conversation and just followed her into the city.
We walked for at least ten minutes in silence and then she turned off onto a side street and went into a small tourist shop. There were two middle-aged men sitting in the corner of the shop playing cards, and when they saw Adrienne, they nodded at her and she just headed for the back of the shop. Behind the register was a doorway with a beaded curtain, and on the other side was a small apartment with a kitchenette and a twin bed. A woman wearing a flowered housedress was sitting in front of a black-and-white TV, and when she saw us she raised her hand and said, “Aspetta. Cinque minuti.” (Translation: “Wait. Five minutes.” See, I am learning some Italian.)
While I tried to figure out what we were doing there, Adrienne pulled out her camera and started taking photos of the room and the woman, who didn’t seem to notice. Finally Adrienne turned to me and said in her deliberate English, “This is Anna. She is a psychic. Her sons own the shop out front, and during the day she reads cards. No one else will be photographing a Florentine psychic. It is a unique subject.”