The following day, Mac did his run, ate his breakfast, and went off to work, apprehensive about the evening ahead. Teresa gave him his coffee just the way he liked it, black, no sugar. Balsieri was off to some meeting downtown, or so he said. Mac took the time to organize his thoughts with respect to the Vatican issues, and he began to form an outline of his first report back to the States. He decided that the powers that be should know what was being discussed in the Vatican, and his belief that he was being told these things because they knew he would have to pass them on, unofficially. He had already begun to appreciate the brilliance of the Holy See, and he was feeling delighted to be trusted as their mouthpiece.
Towards the end of the workday, Teresa popped her head into Mac's office, asking if he needed anything before she left.
“Actually, what are we eating tonight?”
“It will be a surprise, if you get that far.”
“No seriously, I would like to bring the wine. Tell me red or white, at least.”
“Red would be nice. My husband likes red wine.”
“Sounds good. See you at seven sharp.”
Mac gathered his things together and left for the day shortly thereafter. He took the bottle of Cognac Balsieri had left on his desk. When he got back to the Inn, he asked Beaumonti to give him a couple of bottles of his finest French burgundy to bring with him, regardless of the cost. He returned to his room, after waving to Carla serving in the restaurant, took a shower, and dressed in grey slacks, a white button-down shirt, and a tweedy sports coat. He left his shirt collar open, with no tie. He downed a single malt, and smoked a Lucky Strike on his balcony, to calm his nerves. On the way out, he asked Beaumonti how he looked, and he was off with a smile.
Walking though the Piazza di Spagna, he picked up two beautiful bouquets of flowers for his hostess, and he walked the short distance to the DeFelice home. He knocked on the front door, and he waited for a response, nervously. It was a little chilly out, so he did not perspire, but his palms felt wet. His hands were full of wine, cognac, and flowers, or he would have wiped his hands on his pants. Just then, the door opened, with Teresa dressed down from what she had on at the office and inviting Mac into her home.
There was a Christmas tree in the corner of the living room, the furniture pushed to one side of the room. It looked like a comfortable home, very lived in, and charming. The place was immaculate, and the smell of dinner was wafting through the air.
“Mac, so nice of you to come,” said Teresa, leading him through the living room, taking the flowers from him, along with his hat and overcoat. “They are so beautiful. Thank you for being so thoughtful. Sorry for the mess, but I just got home myself, as you know. Come; come meet Alberto. He is sitting in the den reading.”
Mac walked uneasily into the den, which looked even more comfortable than the living room, all overstuffed furniture, with books and newspapers spread all around. Mac felt like he was back in his parent's home in Poughkeepsie. Alberto, a rather polished looking man, sporting a maroon cardigan sweater and an open white shirt, was sitting in an easy chair, a newspaper open before him. It looked like some kind of fascist publication, with pictures of troops and weaponry on the front page, but Mac was too nervous to try to read it from where he was standing.
“Alberto, this is my boss, Tommaso Martini,” said Teresa, as Alberto halfheartedly lowered the newspaper, a possible perturbed look on his face.
Alberto was greying at the temples, not necessarily from age, but most likely from the stress of his position. He was only a few years older than Mac, yet his experience was written upon his face, each line representing the many worries he carried as a person of stature within the fascist party.
“Here, Tommaso, sit here on the couch,” offered Teresa. “I will go put these flowers in water and bring you a drink. What would you like?”
“Thank you, I will have whatever Alberto is having. Alberto, I brought you a little something. Perhaps you might want to taste it after dinner. It is from France.”
Alberto grunted, showing virtually no interest in the gift that Mac had placed on the maple coffee table.
“Alberto is having a beer, Mac. Would you like one?”
“That will be fine,” said Mac, as Teresa left the room with the flowers and Mac's hat and coat.
After a moment of silence, Mac spoke first.
“Alberto, I am very sorry to have offended you and your family by not asking permission before I asked Carla to come with me to the Christmas Ball. It is not our custom to do it that way back in America. I was planning on doing it the night of the Ball when I arrived to pick her up Carla. I meant no disrespect, and I beg your forgiveness. I am a good guy, really, and I would never have acted so rudely had I known the custom here. Anyway, maybe you will let me get off on a better footing. Come on, Alberto, I am dying a thousand deaths here,” said Mac seriously.
Alberto looked at Mac with a cold stare in his eye. He appeared to be taking in this young man from America. After what seemed liked an eternity, as Mac squirmed in his seat, the outwardly stern looking man burst out laughing.
“That was good, Tommaso. I can do nothing but accept your apology, after a performance like that” Alberto said, as he stood to shake Mac's hand. “Anyone who would go though that must really like my sister. Tell me about yourself, then I will decide whether you may take my sister to the Ball.”
“Very well,” Mac laughed, “fair is fair. I am twenty-seven years old. I am a Harvard educated lawyer, working for a fine Wall Street law firm. I have come to Italy to work for the Vatican, as any good Catholic boy would be thrilled to do. My grandparents, my father's parents, are from Palombara Sabina, having moved to America years ago. My parents are both college professors, teaching romance languages to college students. I met your sister, and my heart almost jumped out of my chest. She is not only beautiful, but she is charming, bright, and wonderfully entertaining. I want to get to know her better, under the auspices of your family, properly, with no disrespect intended.”
“You did that very well, Tommaso Martini. Very impressive. Now, did you mean it? Carla is young, very young. She is not yet a worldly woman, but someday, she will do great things, of this, I am sure. She is very bright, and she has opinions of her own. She is Italian to the core, Tommaso. When she feels passionate about something, she will let you know. When she is not happy, she will let you know. She is a woman of substance. I do not want her disrespected in any way; do you understand? She is not only my sister, but I am charged with ensuring her safety, and her well being, while she is here in Rome. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”
“Yes, sir. I would never think of disrespecting your sister in any way. My intentions are sincere and honorable. And perhaps if we are not related,” he laughed, “perhaps this can be something lasting. If you know what I mean?”
Alberto laughed heartily, and he hugged Mac into him.
“I like you, Tommaso. You are good people. Maybe we are related,” laughed Alberto.
“I spoke to my mother on the telephone, no easy feat, but I had to find out. She said we are not related. I sincerely hope she is right.”
Teresa came into the room with two beers, seeing the two men hugging and laughing together.
“So, it is settled, then?” Teresa asked.
“Not so fast,” laughed Alberto. “Let's see if he can get through dinner with the two of you!”
“Alberto!”
“Yes, dear, it is fine. Tommaso, you have my family's permission to take Carla to the King's Ball. Have her back by midnight. I think that should be late enough for a first date. Imagine that, my sister's first date will be to the King's Christmas Ball. I have never even been invited. I want to see how you are going to top this in the future, Tommaso. Bad precedent, lawyer boy.”
Mac laughed, as the front door opened, Carla taking off her hat and coat in the living room.
“Carla, good news. Your brother has given his permission to Tommaso to take you to the Christmas Ball,” said Teresa, as Carla saw her family and Mac all friendly through the doorway of the den.
“Wonderful,” said Carla, sarcastically. “Now I have to go.”
“You know you are dying to go, sister,” said her brother. “You were fighting with me all last night to let you go. Now I have given my permission, and you are not happy. Women!”
“I am very happy, just nervous,” said Carla, as she came in and hugged Mac. “Thank you for asking my brother's permission. Was he a beast?”
“Not at all. Alberto and I understand each other. He is a good guy, Carla. He just cares about you. Anyone that cares about you is good in my book.”
“Alberto, Tommaso brought you this very fine bottle of cognac,” said Teresa. “You could say thank you. You will try it after dinner, speaking of which, I must go check on it. Carla, go get cleaned up, and help me in the kitchen. Boys, sit at the dining table and try the wine Mac brought.”
“Thank you, Tommaso. I know it's not easy to come by a good bottle of cognac in Rome now.”
“Listen, Alberto, my friends call me Mac. Please call me Mac.”
“What is this “Mac”?
“My nickname. My mother is Irish.”
“Catholic?”
“Yes, a real churchgoer.”
“At least she is Catholic,” laughed Alberto. “We will not hold that against you. I guess that means that you want to be my friend, that I should call you Mac?”
“Yes, that is what it means, Alberto.”
“We’ll see.”
Alberto led Mac in by the arm to the dining room, inviting him to sit next to him at the head of the table. One of the bottles of burgundy was sitting on the lace tablecloth in front of Alberto, breathing, waiting for his approval. Alberto poured healthy glass tumblers for himself and for Mac and toasted the evening.
“Hopefully, the first of many, Mac. I need some help here with these ladies.”
Teresa entered the room carrying a huge bowl of steaming pasta, a dishrag being used as a potholder. Carla followed with platters of meatballs, sausage, and broccoli rabe. The smell of garlic overtook the room, making Mac again feel as if he were home. The ladies served the men with healthy portions, as Alberto poured each of them tumblers of wine as well.
“This is incredible, Teresa. I feel like I am home, at my mother's table.”
“You could not give me a better compliment. Family is everything. Welcome to our family. You are welcome here any time.”
“He wants to be called Mac, Teresa. His friends call him Mac. His mother is Irish.”
Carla was beaming ear to ear, barely touching her food, but sipping her second glass of wine.
“Carla, eat,” said her brother. “You will get sick.”
“I will never fit in that gown Teresa got from her friend if I eat a thing. I’m starving,” she laughed.
“Oh eat, Carla,” said Mac. “You still have a few days.”
“You’re right,” laughed Carla, as she dug in. “Oh my God, Teresa, this is delicious. Pass the cheese, please.”
Everyone laughed, and the table felt relaxed, and all seemed at home with each other. Mac was pleased with his performance, and with his new family. He was happy to be at their table.
“I understand you are joining us on Christmas, Mac, to Palombara,” said Alberto.
“With your permission, of course.”
Everyone laughed.
“We’ll see,” said Alberto, while everyone laughed again.
“I can get a car and driver from the firm, if you like, to get us there. I was going to see my family as well. We can all ride together.”
“In that case, you have my permission,” laughed Alberto.
“Teresa, you make the arrangements tomorrow, if you don’t mind. I have a car on reserve already.”
“Yes, sir! Oh boy, now I have two men ordering me around in my own home.”
Dinner went well, each of them laughing the evening away, having a splendid time. Mac occasionally caught Carla looking at him, with a smile on her face. She periodically touched his hand on top of the table while she spoke, all proper, but Mac was wishing she would leave her hand on his. Carla caught him looking at her hand on his, and she gave it a squeeze.
“Coffee, anyone?” asked Teresa. “We have some real coffee. Carla gets it from the Inn.”
“No thank you, Teresa,” said Mac. “I am stuffed. Everything was so good, but I could not put another thing in my stomach.”
“Thank you. It was my pleasure, but Carla cooks even better than I do. She knows her way around the kitchen. We will have you back one day and have Carla cook. Maybe on a Sunday; she is off on Sunday.”
“The day after the Ball?” stressed Carla. “No, you cook this Sunday, Teresa, thank you!”
“Mac let's go to the den and have a smoke,” said Alberto. “Do you smoke?” asked Alberto, as he pushed his plate to the middle of the table, in his wife's direction.
“Yes. That would be swell.”
“Teresa, bring us that cognac with a couple of glasses,” ordered her husband.
The men took seats in the den and lit up cigarettes. Teresa brought the bottle of Cognac, and two glasses, and a dirty look for her husband.
“Carla and I will be cleaning up, gentlemen. Enjoy.”
“So, Mac, what do you think about our leader, Il Duce?” inquired Alberto.
“He is very strong, Alberto,” said Mac, sensing the danger in the question, not sure what the right answer would be. “He has been so good for Italy, bringing the country together. Even as a transplanted Italian, I am proud of what he has been able to accomplish for my people still here.”
“Very politic, Mac,” laughed Alberto. “He is a great man, but he is fumbling this whole thing with Germany. I work for the Foreign Minister. He has been having discussions with King Victor Emmanuel about the future of this country, and with respect to working out a negotiated peace with Brittan and France. Things are getting very testy, to say the least.”
Mac could not believe that Alberto was so loose with his thoughts, but maybe that was the point. Perhaps, he was telling Mac so that he would pass it on.
“I’m sure that my president would be delighted with a negotiated peace. He has been loath to get involved in this mess. I hope it never comes to that.”
“If it does, we would be on opposite sides, Mac. What then?”
“I guess we will have to cross that bridge if we get there, Alberto. Who knows what the future will bring.”
“Mac, I am asking this because I am very concerned for my family. If something happens, and you are with my sister, please take care of her. You would have my permission to protect her, no matter what that means. Wars are terrible, Mac. No one wants war, not even the fascists. But, if it comes, we will all have to fight, I suppose. Just take care of my sister.”
“You have my word, Alberto. I will always do the right thing.”
“Thank you, Mac. Here, give me a hug. I like you.”
Mac laughed, stood up to give him a hug. The ladies walked in and laughed.
“Well, I guess you two hit it off, huh,” said Carla, with a tear in her eye.
“Carla, I have to go,” said Mac. “I have to get up early tomorrow for my run before work.”
“What?” asked Alberto.
“I run every morning before work. I see the city that way, clear my head, and stay in shape.”
“Maybe one day I will join you,” said Alberto laughing. “Not likely, but maybe. I like this guy. Did I say that already?”
“That would be great. But, if I drink another thing tonight, there will be no running tomorrow morning.”
“Come Mac, I will walk you to the door,” said Carla.
The young couple walked out the front door, closing it behind them. Carla put her arms around Mac's neck, and she kissed him on the lips.
“Thank you, Mac. That meant a lot to me. You are wonderful, and I am most definitely falling for you.”
“I am glad. You are wonderful,” said Mac, as he leaned in to give her a more meaningful, more passionate kiss.
“Signore Martini!” exclaimed Carla. “Taking advantage of a young Signorina, right in front of her own home. Do it again!”
Mac laughed, leaning in to give Carla another warm kiss. Just then the front door opened.
“Carla, get in here,” yelled Teresa. “It is cold out there with no coat.”
“No, it's not,” purred Carla. “It is perfect.”
Mac smiled, squeezed Carla's hand, and turned to walk home.
“Goodnight, Teresa. Everything was wonderful. See you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight Mac,” said Teresa, as her sister just stood there with a smile on her face.