Who the fuck needed plans, anyway.
~Opening a Door~
Mischa called in sick. Tal took her to lunch. They looked at tourist shit. He tried to screw her in a bathroom at the Colosseum. She resisted.
At first.
“How long are you in Italy for?” Misch asked as they strolled down a street.
“How long are you in Italy for?” he turned her question around on her.
“Just over three weeks, then we head to Turkey,” she answered.
“Nice. I love Turkey.”
His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her into his side. She flushed. She wasn't used to so much physical contact. Her own husband didn't touch her as much as Tal did – he always seemed to be finding a way to touch her. On top of that, there was the naughty aspect. It was so bad, so wrong, so illicit. It made her blood pressure skyrocket.
My left hand feels so much lighter. Like my spirit.
“You've been to Turkey?” she asked as they turned a corner.
“Yeah, I have a home in Istanbul,” he told her. She was shocked, and judging by the look on his face, Tal had surprised himself by letting go of that snippet of personal information.
“You're from Turkey?” she went ahead and questioned. He shook his head.
“No, I just live there sometimes. Want an ice cream?” he asked, but before she could respond, he let her go and he jogged to an ice cream cart on the curb. When they both had ice cream cones, they started walking again.
“Are you going there after whatever it is you're doing here?” Misch tried to keep the questions light.
“I go wherever my job sends me,” he answered.
“When do you have to leave?”
“Not sure. Could be next week, could be the week after.”
“Oh.”
Even she could hear the drop in her voice, and Tal laughed at her.
“Don't worry, plenty of time to work on that whole broken-vagina thing,” he assured her.
“Always thinking of others, aren't you?” she sighed. He snorted.
“I'm like Mother Teresa.”
“Tal, what is it you do?” Misch asked. She watched his eyebrows move into a scowl and she expected him to change the subject.
The night before, in between rolling around in her bed, they had talked about some things. Questions were okay, but digging around wasn't encouraged. Mischa refused to talk about Mike with him. Tal refused to talk about his personal life. So they called it even and agreed not to pry.
“It's … I'm a photographer. Sort of,” he tried to explain.
Except it didn't explain anything.
“I thought you told me you worked for a government, or something,” she replied.
“Sometimes. Sometimes not. It takes me all over, it's a nightmare sometimes. But this time it brought me here, and you're here, so it's good,” he said, and his arm was back around her again. With sweet words like that, she couldn't bring herself to pry anymore.
They found a little cafe and Tal held the door open for her. Waited for her to sit first. Little things that probably came naturally to him, but were still foreign and exciting to her.
“This was a good idea. I've been so uptight lately,” Misch sighed, letting her head fall back.
“I could tell,” Tal agreed. Without looking, she threw her napkin at him.
“So you're probably leaving in the next week or two,” she began as soon as their iced coffees were delivered. “And I'm definitely leaving at the end of the month.”
“Yup,” he concurred.
“We'll go our separate ways,” she added. He glanced at her.
“You sound upset about that,” he pointed out. She shrugged.
“Not upset. But I will miss you,” she was honest. He smiled big.
“I'll miss you, too. At least we'll always have Rome,” he reminded her.
“That's true. And what about tomorrow?” she continued with her questions.
“What about tomorrow?”
“Figuratively. What are we doing here, together, us? Are we gonna separate, say goodbye, but then a week later, you show up at my job, or at my hotel room? I can't handle that,” she explained.
“Hey, I didn't even get a goodbye last time, you just ditched out – I had to come find you. Aren't you glad now?” he teased her, and she rolled her eyes. “How about we just play it by ear. Who knows, I may have new orders to go somewhere else tomorrow. I'm not making you any promises, Misch. I picked you up in that cafe because I'd seen you around, and I thought you were hot – not because I'm looking for a girlfriend or anything.”
Mischa cleared her throat. Looked away.
“Good thing, because I can't be anyone's girlfriend. I'm married.”
“That's why you're so perfect for me.”
“I don't think I'm perfect for anybody,” she whispered.
“Let's make this easy on each other. If I want to see you, I'm gonna come find you. If you want to see me, come find me. We're here now, with each other. You and me. There's no jobs or life or … husband,” he said the word carefully. “Just you and me, and this time together in Rome.”
She wasn't sure if it sounded awful or perfect.
“A year ago, when they offered me this job, I started working out. Lost a bunch of weight, psyched myself up. Told myself I would get here and I would find somebody and I would sleep with him. Only once I got here, I sucked at it. I was scared and nervous and I hated it, hated myself, so I stopped. Told myself I wouldn't do it. Then you found me. I want to feel awful, and I did the other day, but right now, I'm …,” her voice trailed off into the afternoon sun. Tal scooted his chair over so he was right next to her.