The Montepulciano Mob

Venice was the one place my friend and Italian professor, Maria, said that I must visit. I was glad I wasn’t going to have to pass up this chance; it might be my only one. I went around seeing who would be attending from the Mob. Everyone was. I got everyone’s green light; I trekked over to Il Sasso and made the reservation request. Anna, who was in charge of the travel requests, said I should come back after my second class, and she would have an answer. I couldn’t believe it was going to be that easy. I was going to go to Venice.

I left the school and caught up with the gang to have lunch and give them an update. The first question they all brought up was “How much is it going to cost?” It hadn’t occurred to me to ask, for it was of little concern for me. I told them I’d not know until the evening and most of them were satisfied with that answer. From that point on, I never took the financial situation lightly with any of my friends. I had never had to worry about money. Many of my friends have thought I was in denial, when I said that money can’t buy happiness. I had never had to understand what it must be like to worry about money, just like it must have been for them to understand what it’s like to live with a physical disability. I have wanted only to be in love, thinking that would bring me happiness, not material items. I’d rather have love than financial security. It may not be fool proof plan, but I’m happier with friends than with my bank.

After film class, the rest of the Mob headed back to our place to play cards and await my arrival with the news before we headed out to dinner. I went back to Anna’s desk, and, as promised, she had good news for me. She had found us a place to stay. It wasn’t in Venice, since all the places cost more than $80 U.S. a night, but just outside of Venice, in a small town called Mestre, for $40 a night. Anna said she could only hold the rooms for a day.

I told her, “I have to check with my friends. I’ll give you an answer in the morning. Is that fine?” She said it was. I didn’t think the group would have a problem with it, but I needed to consult with them. Consulting before a decision is always best, I thought, in order to avoid problems.

I headed up to the room, opened the door, and heard the familiar sound of card-playing. “Bullshit,” Tracy’s strong voice boomed as she called out a challenge to someone’s bluff. I played along, pretending to be the victim. “Well, if you don’t care to hear what I have to say, then . . . .”

"Did you get it?” Mark asked me.

"What hotel are we staying at?” Andres asked.

"How much is it going to cost?” Mike blurted out.

"How long is the train ride?” Tina asked.

“Now that I have your interest over the card game, which by the way I want in on the next hand…” I heard some snickering.

“Sure Dan, we’d love you to play. And lose,” someone said. I always gave away my hand because I didn’t inherit a poker face. I spoke up. “It’s not about winning or losing, it’s about being a part of a group.”

"Give us the Venice info,” Maggie demanded.

"Well,” I started, “I got us three rooms in a two-star hotel three minutes outside of Venice for three nights at $40 a night. The train leaves at 6:30 p.m. and will arrive in Venice around 11:00 p.m. on Thursday night, and we arrive back in Montepulciano around 5:30 p.m. on Sunday evening. Anyone have any objections?”

"Forty dollars?” some said

"Outside of Venice?” others questioned.

"Arriving on Thursday night?” Mike complained.

They all wanted to know when the deadline was for giving a definite answer and when the monies were due. And that was it--I had successfully planned the first group trip. Or so we all were led to assume. In my defense, what happened wasn’t my fault. But, as always, the joke was on Mr. Wonderful my nickname because I said the word so often). At the time, I didn’t realize it was great practice for teaching. The questions they asked me were no different from the ones my students would ask later. When was the paper due? What grade did I get? I told the gang what I knew for sure about the trip up, north by northeast (the direction we were headed). Few got the movie reference to Hitchcock’s film, and even fewer laughed. I had a very dry sense of humor that only a few people thought was funny. I wasn’t as witty as Jack Benny, but I’ll always be Lucy at heart.

We were all agreed on the trip. I’d tell Anna to book us in the morning. We decided to play a couple more hands of Bullshit before heading over to Corner Bar. When we got to the outside bar and walked in to give our orders, the woman behind the counter looked scared and thrilled that we were all there. She was a version of an Italian Roseanne Barr, and, ironically, when I went in to get the sodas, she was watching Roseanne dubbed in Italian. It was the first television show I’d seen in Italian. Actually, it was the first television I’d seen in over a week. Before this summer, I’d never been away from my best friend of 15 years for longer than 24 hours at that time. I was shocked to realize I didn’t miss it. I was beginning to take more of an interest in my own life and stop observing every one else’s.

The next day, I told Anna to book the trip. She said the money would need to be paid in full the by following afternoon. I said that should not be a problem. I met up with Andres and Tina during literature class and I told them the news and to pass it on. That evening after film class, Professor Ferrara was holding a wine and cheese welcome party for all of us at his apartment. When we returned to our place after class, Andres and I found a note saying Mike and Mark had already left for the gathering. This gave me my first chance to talk with Andres alone. I couldn’t even tell you what we discussed. All I remember was strong perplexing feelings toward this guy. I had suspected I was gay, but now I had had some confirmation of it. It was not just his looks--anybody could see how handsome he was--but he was also intelligent and witty, and had great charm and a heart of gold. Beyond my initial attraction, I took a liking to him because he was so friendly and interesting. I found myself having a good time and not feeling so alone.

When we arrived at the party, almost everyone was there already. Dr. Ferrara’s apartment was much nicer than where the rest of us were staying. It was right across the street from Hofstra Hall on the piazza, meaning that he didn’t have to walk up any hills to go to work. At first, I thought this was very unfair; later I realized how much work he had in addition to teaching classes. He set up all the trips, arranged tours, and kept in touch with the university. None of us knew at the time that he also had his own secret.

We had walked up a narrow, steep flight of stairs, which we were coming to realize was the norm for entering most apartments in Europe. His living space was dimly lit by candles and the Seville orange-red setting sun. He showed us to his quaintly Italian kitchen filled with all the necessary amenities and a long wooden table where the wine was. The cheese was arrayed on silver platters. Lisa and Tina were the first to find the open doorway off the kitchen and stepped outside to the veranda. Tina quickly called the rest of us out there. It was a cool summer night, about 55 degrees, a temperature I never experienced at home in the summer. We stood watching the blood-red sun set over the Tuscan hillside and our sleepy little village. I followed the lead of everyone else and starting shooting off my camera. Later, when we were inebriated on local wine, I was glad to have the second camera with me so I would not run of chances to take pictures of what happened.