Page 6 of Better Than Gelato
The perimeter of the piazza is lined with ornate buildings that look centuries old and way too cool to house mundane things like pharmacies and banks. But there they are, sandwiched in between designer clothing stores and restaurants with outdoor seating.
For the last week, I’ve felt like a giant transported to a land of tiny cars, narrow streets, and petite people. But standing in this huge piazza in the shadow of Cathedral Duomo, I feel like a pixie.
The piazza is packed with people, and it’s clear that this is where everyone meets up. I can feel the energy tingling along my skin as I watch the crowd of glamorous Italians, ready to begin their glamorous Friday night activities.
I’m not sure how I’ll find Carmen or how this night will go, but I know I can’t go back to that apartment right now. So I pretend my hands aren’t sweating, and I saunter as confidently as I can toward the steps of the cathedral where dozens of people sit waiting and chatting.
“Ciao bionda,” an Italian guy calls. Hello blonde.
I’ve been in this country for less than a week and this is the fourth time this has happened. Sometimes it’s Hello Blonde. Sometimes it’s Hello Beautiful. Sometimes it’s even Hello Beautiful Blonde. I may get tired of it one day, but that day has not arrived yet.
I give the young man a wave, then turn and walk in the other direction. I’m flattered, but also slightly terrified.
I’m nearing the edge of the piazza when someone yells, “Julieta!”
I turn and spot a small young woman waving at me from the top step of the cathedral.
“Carmen?” I ask, walking over.
“Yes!” she says, tucking a strand of wavy dark hair behind her ear. “Sorry it took me so long to find you!” I’m about to ask how she knew it was me, then I take a look around and realize I’m definitely the best candidate for American nanny.
“I’m so glad you made it!” she says and stands on tiptoe to kiss me on each cheek. I’m obsessed with the cheek kissing here and plan on doing everything in my power to start this trend in America when I go back.
“Thanks so much for inviting me,” I say.
“Of course! We’re meeting Diego, Paolo, and Valentina here too, but they’re always late. Then we’ll all ride over to the church together.”
I’m so focused on the exotic names, I almost miss the second part of her statement.
“Ride where?” I ask.
“To the church,” Carmen repeats.
“The church?” I say back stupidly.
“Yeah, the concert is at la chiesa di Sant’Ambrogio. It’s a beautiful old church not far from here.”
I look at Carmen’s outfit. Silky black pants with stiletto boots. A flowing blouse in deep purple with a gold zipper down the front. Large gold bracelets on both wrists and a black and gold clutch.
“What kind of concert is it?” I ask, a bad feeling growing in my stomach.
“It’s an opera, but not a whole opera,” Carmen says, brushing a wave of hair out of her face. “Visiting performers come and perform their best songs.”
“I thought it was a rock concert.” I gesture lamely to my outfit. I’m wearing ripped jeans and a leather jacket with a Coldplay T-shirt. My hair is in a bunch of funky braids.
“Oh!” Carmen says, taking in my outfit. Her eyes go big. I’m hoping she’ll tell me that I look fine.
“It will be pretty dark in there,” she says instead.
My face heats up.Could I make a worse first impression?
As we wait, she gives me the scoop on Diego, Valentina, and Paolo.
“Diego is from Chile. He’s been here about three years. He’s like a puppy, high energy and yapping a lot, but he’s a good guy.”
“Valentina is from Argentina, and she’s gorgeous, but also so sweet. You’ll see.
“Then there’s Paolo. His family still lives in Sicily, but he came up to Milan for work. I’m not sure exactly what he does…something in a bank.”
