Easter Sunday came and went, as April rolled into May. Mac put in his time at the Vatican, at Sullivan & Cromwell, and with Carla DeFelice, and her family. He heard nothing from, or about, Sara, nor did he hear from the Squadristi again. As Mother's Day approached, Mac was missing New York, and his family. He and Carla had taken a few day trips to Palombara Sabina, but the family visits were not enough to soothe Mac of his enduring homesickness.
The Monday after Mother's Day, Mac went into his office at Sullivan & Cromwell before going to the Vatican, figuring he would clean up a little paperwork before he went back to the Church issues.
“Mac, you have a visitor,” announced Teresa as he walked into the lobby, without saying whom it was. “Mr. Dulles!” she whispered. “He has been here in your office for about twenty minutes.”
“Which Mr. Dulles?”
“I didn’t know there was more than one,” laughed Teresa. “I didn’t know, sorry. He has a big brush of a mustache! Handsome fellow.”
“Oh, that is Allen Dulles. Thanks, Teresa.”
“Mr. Dulles,” said Mac, as he entered his own office. “I see you have met Mr. Balsieri.”
The two lawyers were sitting next to each other, across from Mac's desk, a case in contrast, Dulles, the august, conservatively dressed, spymaster, and Balsieri, the younger, flamboyantly attired, Italian litigator.
“Hello, Mac, yes, I know Balls a long time. We play tennis together whenever I am in Rome. Good player, bad loser,” laughed Dulles.
“What brings you to Rome, sir?” asked Mac.
“Well, I have some matters to deal with for the firm, so I thought I would just pop in and say hello and bring you something in person.”
“Bring me something, sir?”
“Mac, the president has invited you to Hyde Park, to the dedication of his Presidential Library. He figured you would be ready to visit home, so he is using this as your excuse. He has invited your parents, as well. They have gotten their own invitation in Poughkeepsie. Here is yours, son.”
The invitation was in a cream-colored envelope, the formal stock card inside engraved in black ink, announcing the “Dedication of the Franklin D. Roosevelt Library, at Hyde Park, on Monday afternoon, June Thirtieth, Nineteen Hundred and Forty-One at Four O’clock.”
“That's swell, sir. How am I going to get home by the end of June? It is already the middle of May. I have no passage booked back to America, and it takes over a month of travel to get there.”
“You are flying, son. The Dixie Clipper out of Lisbon lands in Port Washington twenty-four hours later. I know that you have flown before.”
“Yes, sir, but that was over land; this is over water. I don’t know of an airport in Port Washington, sir?”
“No problem, Mac. They have been doing it for two years now. You do not need an airport,” laughed Dulles. “The airplane has pontoons. It lands in the water, Mac.”
“Oh, Madonna! When do I go?”
“We have you booked to go the third week in June, but you must get to Lisbon, obviously. Mrs. Appleton is working on that. You will love it, Mac. I did it. The only way to travel. All top shelf. The finest restaurants supply the food, the seats turn into cots, and the dining service is all silver and china. It takes months to get a seat, but the president pulled some strings. It costs over three hundred dollars, can you imagine?”
“Sounds interesting, sir. How long will I be in the United States?”
“Probably, about two weeks, depending upon the availability of the return flight. There is only one flight a week. Mrs. Appleton is working on your return flights, as well. By the way, Mac, the president wants to meet with you privately.”
“With me?”
“Yes, he has been very impressed with your reports, and, with the information you had provided out of Germany. It looks like that was accurate. The Germans seem poised to move out as expected. Amazing intelligence, Mac. Just amazing! The president has something for you in appreciation of your good work, for your troubles. And he wants to pick your brain about Italy, in person. You know how he relies on all of us as his eyes and ears on the ground, as he cannot get around himself. Besides, he loves a good story, his own and from others.”
“He will see me at Hyde Park? That's right down the road from my parents’ home.”
“The president was made aware of that.”
“Wow, what do I wear to see the president?” laughed Mac nervously.
“It's a garden party, apparently. Dress casual, but not too casual. It is the president, for God's sake! I would wear a sports jacket, open button down, white bucks; you know the drill. My brother will be there. Ask him when you get to New York. He wants you to stop by the office, by the way.”
“Of course, Mr. Dulles. I look forward to it. And to seeing my apartment.”
“We are all very proud of you, Mac. Apparently, the Pontiff has seen fit to send a letter to Foster extolling your virtues. Seems he wants to steal you away into the priesthood,” laughed Dulles. “A spy priest! That would be something! He is probably looking to cut down on his legal bills,” said Dulles, continuing to laugh.
“I was wondering about that, sir. The Vatican is covering my billings I take it? I do turn in my hours, and they are quite extensive.”
“You bet, Mac. You are the biggest earner for the firm here in Rome. We should be giving you a medal, as well.”
“Well, I am glad my loyalty to the Pope has been lucrative to the firm, Mr. Dulles.”
“All kidding aside, I think Foster wants to talk to you about that as well. If you play your cards right, and you do not become a priest, you can probably turn this into a partnership offering.”
“That's exciting! I will have to postpone my decision on priesthood until I hear him out,” laughed Mac.
“Well, gentlemen, this is all great fun, but I am getting hungry,” said Balsieri, probably a little perturbed that they were talking partnership for young Mac without even consulting him. “Anyone up for lunch? My treat! Let's take Dulles to that family place!”
“That's very kind, Balls, but I have to go to see the Ambassador,” responded Dulles to the invitation. “Besides, my friend, it is only eleven o’clock in the morning. I just had my coffee. Maybe, we can do it another day. I will be here the rest of the week.”
“Very well, Dulles. I will have Teresa get you your hat and coat.”
“Keep up the good work, Mac,” said Dulles. “And say hello to that pretty little woman of yours, for me.”
“What, how do you know about her?”
“It is my business to know, remember?”
Mac laughed, as he showed Mr. Dulles out. He was already worried about how he would break the news of his upcoming trip to Carla.
“Hey Balls,” yelled Mac as Balsieri walked down the hall to his office. “I am going to the Inn for lunch. I must tell Carla I am going back to America for a while.”
“Very discreet, Mr. Martini,” laughed Teresa. “So much for not announcing things to the firm. You better go tell Carla, before I must do it now that I know. How long, Mac?” asked Teresa, obviously concerned on different levels.
“How long until I go, or how long will I be gone?”
“Both.”
“I leave in about four weeks, middle of June sometime, and I return probably around the middle of July.”
“How are you going to accomplish that? It takes four weeks one way, and that is after you get to Portugal.”
“I am flying, Teresa.”
“Oh, merda! Sorry! Oh Madonna! Carla is going to have a cow!”
“I know, I know!”
Mac left for the Inn around lunchtime, taking a slow stroll along the Piazza di Spagna to get his thoughts together, and to buy his girl a rose. As he was greeted by Signore Beaumonti, Mac gave him his hat, proceeding directly into the dining room. Carla was putting out place settings when Mac walked into the room, with his single red rose.
“Mac, honey, what are you doing here?”
“Can’t a guy see his girl anymore?” asked Mac, as he handed her the red rose.
“Oh, Mac, I love you!”
“I love you, Carla.”
“What can I get you to eat, my dear?”
“I need to talk to you first, while there is no one here.”
“What is it, Mac?”
“I have to go home for a little while.”
“What? When?”
“Middle of June. I will be back by the middle of July.”
“What? What are you flying?” joked Carla.
“Actually, I am flying. Pan American out of Lisbon. A seaplane. Only takes twenty-four hours!”
“Mac! No! I don’t want you to fly, it is dangerous!”
“I must. The president wants to see me. I think I am getting a medal, or something. Besides, I must see my parents. My mom is giving me something.”
“Oh, what will I do if something happens to you?”
“Nothing will happen to me. I know how to swim.”
“Oh, stop! Don’t tease me. I am so nervous already! What are you getting from your mother?”
“It's a secret. When I get back, I will show you.”
“Oh, Mac! Please come back soon! I will be beside myself with worry!”
“As soon as I can; as soon as I can!”
“Mac,” hesitated Carla, “I want to go to the beach before you go!”
“What?”
“Yes, and you promised! I bought a bathing suit, and everything. I want you to see me in it before you go home to your American girls.”
“I only have eyes for you, my love. But, sure, I would like that. When shall we go?”
“Next weekend; they say it is going to be hot.”
“Consider it a date! We will get up early and spend the day at Viareggio. It is like a five-hour drive, I understand.”
“Mac?”
“Yes?”
“I want to see one of those private coves,” blushed Carla.
“Carla!” laughed Mac. “Sure, sure, but don’t you tell your brother. He will have the Squadristi come and take me away!”
The following Saturday, it was very warm, as predicted, even at five in the morning. Mac and Carla took the highway by the sea, along the soft Etruscan beaches north of Rome. The sunrise was rejuvenating, as it played with the soft blue waves, the hard jutting rock formations, and the fine, undulating sand along the beaches. The quaint towns passed one after another as the warmth of the advancing morning took hold. Carla removed her white cotton cardigan, tossing it playfully into the back seat of the car. She sat closer to Mac, in her spaghetti-strapped, yellow flowered sun dress, Mac excited by the softness of her exposed supple shoulders. As she leaned forward, he could tell she wore no undergarment, her breasts shifting subtly with the movement of the vehicle. Her legs were crossed at the ankles, the delicate straps of her brown sandals in contrast to her light olive skin.
Mac could not take his eyes off her, the turn of her ankles, the suppleness of her calves, the roundness of her burgeoning breasts barely covered by the thin yellow sundress material. He could not take it anymore. As he came upon a secluded section of the highway, he pulled over, kissing the young girl deeply, on the side of the road.
“I think this will do, Carla,” said Mac, pointing toward the beach below. “You really want to do this?”
“Hell, yeah! Let's go!” she yelled, as she leaned over to kiss him reassuringly.
Mac got out of the car in his loosely fitted tan trousers, and his short sleeved, Hawaiian type shirt. He opened the trunk of the car, removing a blanket, two towels, and a beach bag Carla had brought with drinks, olive oil to protect their skin, and their bathing suits. He opened Carla's door, holding out his hand to her. She swung her long sinewy legs around to get out, giving Mac an eyeful as she did. They crossed the deserted highway, and walked down a hilly, scrub pine path, towards the sea. When they got to the beach, they continued along the waterline, until they found a secluded spot, protected by the rocks, the mature trees, and the lush vegetation. It was still only ten in the morning, but the sun was already hot, as the waves lapped up against the shore.
“This is it, Carla. It seems quiet here.”
“It's lovely, Mac,” said Carla, as she leaned in to kiss him.
Carla, without a word, stepped back, and she pulled her sundress over her head, her ample breasts bouncing as she jumped around on the sand. She took one finger, putting it inside the elastic of her panties, pulling them down around her feet. She slipped out of her sandals, posing with a hand on her hip, and a sly smile on her face, clearly hoping for some sign of approval.
“Carla, you are beautiful! My God!”
And she was beautiful. The sun had made her olive skin glisten, as the soft wind tousled her long, curly black tresses. She stood there before him, smiling at his reaction to her nakedness.
“Your turn!” she giggled. “Come on!”
Mac removed his shirt slowly, revealing the fruits of his running, his abs toned to a tight tautness. He went for his belt when Carla yelled, “Wait!”
“What?”
“I have been dreaming of doing this. Let me!”
Carla deftly undid his belt, unbuttoned his pants, and pulled down his zipper, as Mac became fully aroused by the young girl's attention. His pants fell to the ground, as Carla did the finger trick to his boxers, leaving him as naked as she.
“Oh, Mac! You are a God!”
Carla leaned into hug Mac, their naked bodies touching for the first time. The warmth between them was undeniable. Their unbridled passion was bubbling to the surface, as she rubbed up against him.
“Come, Mac, let's cool off,” said Carla, as she pulled Mac by his hand to the inviting clear blue surf.
Carla stood there, the waves lapping at her ankles, goose flesh all over her body, as she hugged her breasts flat against her chest. She lifted one foot, then another, dancing around in the rippling waves to keep warm, only further exacerbating Mac's condition.
“It's now or never,” yelled Mac, as he ran down the surf, diving into an oncoming wave. “It's cold!” he screamed, as he came up standing there, hugging his own chest, attempting to catch his breath. “Come in, Carla, you will get used to it,” laughed Mac, as he backed up into the surf to strategically cover his embarrassment.
Carla ran down the beach screaming like a banshee, as she too dove into the water. As she surfaced, she screamed again, grabbing Mac around his neck, attempting to catch her own breath. Mac hugged her tightly, attempting to warm her up, as she wiggled herself into his hard body.
“Mac, it is too cold in here. I need to get out!” she said, as she ran for the beach, with one hand on her chest.
Mac followed Carla to the beach, not taking his eyes off her behind for a second. She grabbed the towels, putting one around her back, covering her exposed breasts, more an attempt to warm up, then out of a desire to cover herself up to his eyes. She approached Mac with the other towel; he reaches out for it.
“Let me do it, Mac,” said Carla, as she rubbed the terrycloth slowly over the naked skin of his hairy chest.
After drying his arms, and his back, Carla dropped to her knees to dry his taut behind, and his legs, as Mac bobbed unabashedly in her face.
“My, my,” Signore Martini! You seem very happy to see me today!” laughed Carla, as she toweled off his privates gently.
“Carla, please! I am trying to control myself!”
“Oh, Mac, just be free, my darling. It is natural. I am thrilled that I excite you like this.”
“Well, you obviously do. You are so beautiful; so incredible!”
“Thank you, sweetheart. So are you! Let's lie down on the blanket, and warm up in the sun. I want to feel you naked next to me.”
Mac threw out the blanket on the sand, smoothing the edges with his foot, as Carla reached into her bag for the olive oil. He could not take his eyes off her bending figure, all curves, and full of sweet suppleness.
“Here, let me put some of this on you, so you don’t burn,” said Carla shyly, as they both sat down on the blanket.
Carla moved in behind Mac, rubbing the lotion into his back, and around to his tight chest. She worked herself around to his front, her nakedness in his face, as she rubbed lotion on his legs and belly.
“Mac, I have never touched one before,” announced Carla, as she held the pool of lotion in her hand.
“There is always a first time,” laughed Mac.
Carla did what she was busting to do, her eyes as wide as saucers. Mac gasped as she touched him with the warm olive oil, causing her to pull back.
“Are you alright,” she laughed.
“Yes, sort of.”
Carla rubbed her hands together, and then she went back to rubbing in the oil, much to Mac's delight.
“Mac! Oh, Mac! I will never stop wanting to touch you!”
“Promise?” laughed Mac, writhing in his own excitement.
“Here, do me!” she said smiling, lying down on the blanket, her breasts pointing up to the sky. “Everywhere! I don’t want to burn,” she laughed, putting her knees up off the blanket.
Mac did as he was told, kneading the olive oil over every part of her young nubile body. Carla began to moan in pleasure the closer he got up her thighs to her special place.
“Oh, Mac, this has to be heaven!”
Carla leaned up on the palms of her hands, as did Mac. They kissed passionately, their hands all over each other, neither wanting to let go.
“I think we should go, Mac. I don’t think I will be able to hold back if we stay much longer. I hate to leave you in this condition, though.”
Carla reached out her hand, touching Mac with the tip of her finger. As she did, Mac again gasped, and pushed his pelvis towards her.
“Mac, lay down next to me. Here, come here!”
Mac did as he was told, feeling Carla's body heat next to him, as she put her head on his shoulder, her leg over his, her breasts pressing up against the side of his chest. Carla reached out to grab him in her hand.
“Oh, Carla!”
“Yes, my love, yes! Just relax!”