“Follow me.” Roman headed for the studio.
Hector fell in beside Grace, continuing to talk in his native language. “Who are you, and where did you come from?” She told him she came from a temp agency, and Roman had hired her full-time as his personal assistant. “It’s about time. He needs help.” He talked faster, and Grace had to concentrate to catch everything. Clearly, the man liked Roman. El jefe paid well and was a gifted artist. Hector considered it an honor to work with him. He didn’t pause until Roman interrupted their conversation.
“Do you know what he’s saying?”
“Most of it. He was just telling me about himself.” And you.
“Get to know him later. Tell him I still have another transfer to go, but he can get started on the two I have ready. I’ll bring the last one down to San Diego when I’m done. Tell him I’ll call before I’m on my way. Better yet, I’ll have you call. That way, if he needs anything, you can tell me what he says.”
Grace relayed everything. Hector had questions. “He needs to know where he’s staying while he works down there. He can’t keep driving back and forth, and he doesn’t like sleeping in his car.”
“What the—?” Roman exploded, but managed to swallow the rest. “The hotel was supposed to put him up. We’ll get that straightened out. Pronto. Call the hotel and remind them he was to get a room free of charge so he can stay and work. That was part of the deal. They can now add meals in the restaurant, since he’s been running back and forth. And tell him to take time off and go to the zoo, where he can see some real, live animals.”
“Is that a suggestion or an order? Zoos are expensive.”
Roman dug for his wallet, extracted a hundred-dollar bill, and handed it to Hector, who looked confused until Grace explained. The guy grinned like a happy kid and talked fast.
“He says—”
“Yeah, yeah. I can guess.” Roman dismissed the thanks. He picked up two long, numbered cardboard tubes and handed them to Hector. “Tell him to charge whatever supplies he needs at the usual place. I’ll see him as soon as I can. I want to get this job finished. Pronto.” He held out his hand, and Hector shook it.
Hector grinned at Grace. “I guess that means he’s done with me.”
She laughed. “I guess so. I’ll walk you to the door.” She went a few steps ahead before Roman demanded her attention.
“After you show Hector out, I could use a cup of coffee.”
“What’s in the pot, or fresh?”
“Fresh.”
Hector was in no hurry to leave. Grace made coffee while they talked. He said it was going to be a relief having her around. He’d like to get to know the man he worked for. They talked for another ten minutes at the door before Hector said adiós and headed for an old Ford pickup.
Grace returned to the studio with a mug of fresh coffee. Roman sat at his drafting table, working on the transfer. There was no place to put his mug. He gave her a strange look.
“You two sure hit it off.”
“Hector is very nice. He admires you. He said you do amazing work. I’ve never seen one of your murals.” She came closer, offering the mug while looking at the parade of elephants he’d finished. Even without color, the drawings looked alive and in motion. She spotted something he’d drawn near the bottom and grimaced.
“What’s wrong?”
She turned her head and found him staring at her intently. “Isn’t this mural going into a hotel lobby?” She pointed to the lion devouring a baby giraffe. “Children might be upset by that.”
“It’s what happens in real life.”
“Not in a hotel, hopefully. If children are upset, you can count on their parents being upset, too.”
“I won’t be around to worry about it.” Roman wore an odd smile. “And most people wouldn’t have noticed something hidden in the grass.”
“It’s right there.”
“It’s not right there. You just happened to spot the hidden picture people usually miss.”
His scrutiny made her uncomfortable. She looked for a place to set his mug, hoping to escape, and noticed he’d done more work on the easel paintings. Talia had been calling every few days asking about his progress.
He certainly had varying tastes in art. “Which style do you enjoy most?” She looked pointedly from the transfer to the paintings.
“Neither.” He turned on the stool and faced her. “And both. What about you?”
Grace couldn’t read his expression, and she wasn’t about to give her opinion. “I don’t know anything about art.”
Roman finally took the mug of coffee, his hand brushing hers. “Worried you might hurt my feelings?”
She admired the Serengeti migration. “You have a God-given gift, Mr. Velasco.” No wonder he was so successful. He had a wide range of work.
“God-given? I doubt God has anything to do with me. And enough with the Mr. Velasco. You didn’t say Se?or Espinoza. You said Hector. Time to call me Roman.”
“All right. Roman.” Something had him upset. He must be stressed about getting the project done. He’d told Hector he wanted it done pronto. Grace took a step back. “I’d better let you get back to work. I’ll call the hotel and clear things up for Hector. And the door chimes.” She headed for the door.
“Grace. When Talia calls, as we both know she will, tell her the paintings are almost done. She can pick up two on Wednesday, and I’ll finish the other before I head for San Diego.”
ROMAN, AGE 21
Roman shoved his backpack into the overhead compartment of the Boeing 777 and slid into his seat. He stayed awake long enough to feel the rush of takeoff, coming to somewhere over the Atlantic, just in time to lower his tray as the flight attendant served dinner. He fell asleep again while the two middle-aged women to his right went over their week’s itinerary in Rome.
Sergio Panetta had given him directions to the Cremonesis’. He got lost, but several nice-looking girls who spoke heavily accented English guided him to public transportation. Once in the right neighborhood, he walked the narrow streets with laundry hanging on lines outside windows. There were many more bicycles and motorcycles here than in San Francisco or Los Angeles, but he knew how to survive traffic.
Baldo and Olivia Cremonesi didn’t speak English, but they embraced him in welcome and jabbered rapidly in Italian. Within an hour, their home was packed with relatives eager to meet the American who had painted a fresco for their rich cousin in Hollywood. A dozen Cremonesi aunts, uncles, nephews, and nieces, not to mention Santorini neighbors, crammed into the house. Olivia fretted over Roman not eating enough and kept pushing food at him. The table was laden with dishes he’d never seen before, and all of it smelled good. But a man can only eat so much. Younger members of the clan practiced their English on him, peppering him with questions about America and about Sergio, who had become a family legend with his success as an import-export business owner.
Roman had hoped for quiet lodgings for a day or two until he could learn his way around the city and find a good hostel, but the Cremonesis had the next few weeks of his life all planned out. They’d even appointed a relative to act as guide to the Eternal City. Luigi was young, out of work, and eager to show their American guest around. Grinning at Roman, he raised his wineglass. “We go tomorrow. I teach you everything you need to know.” He winked. “We look for girls.”
Olivia smacked Luigi on the back of the head and erupted in excited Italian while waving angrily at Baldo, who hollered back. Luigi laughed. Baldo raised his hands in surrender and cried out, “Olivia!” Others laughed, too, saying things to Luigi with glances at Roman.