Venetian Masks Read online

  Copyright

  Published by

  Dreamspinner Press

  5032 Capital Circle SW

  Ste 2, PMB# 279

  Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886

  USA

  http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Venetian Masks

  Copyright © 2013 by Kim Fielding

  Cover Art by Shobana Appavu

  [email protected]

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Ste 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA.

  http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

  ISBN: 978-1-62380-347-6

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-62380-348-3

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition

  February 2013

  Glossary and Pronunciation Guide

  attenzione (ah-TEN-tzee-oh-neh): watch out; be careful

  Bellini (bell-LEE-nee): a champagne cocktail flavored with peach juice

  benvenuto (ben-veh-NOO-toh): welcome

  Bogovićeva (boh-goh-VEE-cheh-vah): a street in central Zagreb

  bollito misto (boh-lee-toh MEE-stoh): boiled dinner (in Venice, this means an assortment of boiled or steamed fish)

  buon appetito (bwohn ahp-eh-TEE-toh): enjoy your meal (literally, good appetite)

  buon giorno (bwohn JOHR-noh): hello, good day, good morning

  buon viaggio (bwohn vee-AH-joh): good journey

  buona fortuna (bwoh-nah for-TOO-nah): good luck

  buona notte (bwoh-nah NO-teh): good night

  buona sera (bwoh-nah SEH-rah): good evening

  burek (BOOR-ek): a puff pastry filled with meat or cheese

  Ca’ Luna (kah LOO-nah): Moon House

  campo (CAHM-po): public square

  Cannaregio (kah-nah-REY-joh): one of the districts in Venice

  capisce? (kah-PEE-sheh): do you understand?

  Carnevale (kar-neh-VAHL-eh): Carnival, the Italian pre-Lenten festival

  certo (CHEHR-toh): sure

  Cvjetni trg (SVYET-nee turg): Flower Square, a café-filled square in central Zagreb

  dobar dan (doh-bahr DAHN): hello, good day, good morning

  dobra večer (doh-brah VECH-her): good evening

  Dubrovnik (doo-BROHV-neek): a city on the southern Croatian coast

  e’ un peccato (eh oon peck-AH-toh): it’s a shame

  farmacia (fahr-mah-CHEE-ah): pharmacy

  favoloso (fah-vah-LOH-soh): fabulous; wonderful

  Fondamente Nove (fohn-dah-men-teh NOH-veh): a vaporetto stop in the northern part of Venice

  frutti di mare (FROOH-tee dee MAH-reh): seafood

  funghi (FOON-ghee): mushroom

  gelateria (jell-ah-teh-REE-ah): ice cream shop

  Glavni Kolodvor (GLAHV-nee KOH-lohd-vohr): the main train station in Zagreb

  grazie (GRAHT-tsyeh): thank you

  grazie mille (GRAHT-tsyeh MEEL-eh): thank you very much (literally, a thousand thanks)

  guardo gli alberi crescere (GWAHR-doh lee AHL-beh-ree KREH-sheher-eh): I watch the trees grow

  Ilica (EE-lee-tsah): a long, store-lined street in Zagreb

  Isola di San Michele (EE-soh-lah dee sahn mee-KEHL-eh): island in Venice where the main cemetery is located

  Jelena (YELL-eh-nah): a female Croatian name

  kuna (KOO-nah): Croatia’s currency

  la polizia (LAH poh-LEE-tsyah): the police

  Lido (LEE-doh): city on an island southeast of Venice

  Ljubljana (lyoob-LYAH-nah): the capital of Slovenia

  malaga (mah-LAH-gah): rum raisin

  medico della peste (MEH-dee-choh dehl-lah PEHST-eh): plague doctor

  Miragoj (MEER-ah-goy): large cemetery in Zagreb

  Mita (MEE-tah): Italian female name

  molto bello (mohl-toh BEHL-loh): very handsome

  molto bene (mohl-toh BEHN-eh): very good

  molto pericolo (mohl-toh pehr-EE-koh-loh): very dangerous

  Museo Correr (moo-SEHY-oh COHR-rer): a museum in Venice

  na zdravje (nah ZDRAHV-yeh): to life (a traditional Croatian toast)

  nonno (NAH-noh): grandfather

  osteria (oh-steh-REE-ah): a type of restaurant or wine bar

  Pala d’Oro (PAH-lah DOH-roh): the high altarpiece at St. Mark’s Basilica

  Piazza San Marco (pee-AH-tzah sahn MAR-koh): St. Mark’s Square, the main public square in Venice

  pivo (PEE-voh): beer

  Plitvice (PLEET-veeh-tseh): a Croatian national park

  Ponte dell’Accademia (POHN-te del ah-kah-DEH-mee-ah): a bridge in Venice

  pošta (POH-shtah): post office

  prosecco (proh-SEH-koh): a sparkling wine produced in northern Italy

  ragazzo (rah-GAH-tzoh): boyfriend

  salmone (sahl-MOH-neh): salmon

  Santa Lucia (sahn-tah loo-CHEE-ah): the main train station in Venice

  sarde in saor (SAHR-deh een sour): sardines in sweet and sour sauce

  schie (SKEE-eh): small shrimp

  signore (see-NYOH-reh): mister; sir

  šlivovica (SHLEE-voh-veetz-ah): plum brandy

  spaghetti con seppie in nero (spah-GET-tee kohn SEP-pee-eh een NAIR-oh): spaghetti with squid ink

  stracciatella (strah-chah-TEL-ah): gelato flavor involving a vanilla base with bits of chocolate mixed in

  Tkalčićeva (Tuh-kahl-chee-CHEY-vah): a café-lined street in Zagreb

  Trg bana Jelačića (turg bahn-ah YELL-ah-chee-chah): the main square in Zagreb

  Trieste (tree-EH-ste): a port city near Italy’s northeastern border

  vaporetto (vah-poh-REH-to): water bus

  Venezia (veh-NEH-tsee-ah): a city in northeastern Italy; usually called Venice in English

  Zagreb (ZAH-grehb): capital of Croatia

  The sculpture referred to in the text (of a guy really happy to be riding a horse) is The Angel of the City (L’angelo della citta) by Marino Marini.

  Chapter 1

  JEFF double-checked the emergency procedures card against the flight attendant’s previous instructions as the jet lifted into the air. He crooked his neck to see past another passenger and watched as the land and water dropped away. Like zooming out on Google Maps, he thought. But then the plane passed through the nothingness of heavy gray clouds and into the bright sunshine above, and he settled his head back and closed his eyes.

  The seat beside him was empty. He should probably be grateful for that, because it gave him a little more room to stretch out and meant he didn’t have to worry about jabbing someone with his elbow. But still, Jeff couldn’t help the sad little twinge in his heart.

  Despite being thirty years old, he had never gone farther from Sacramento than Vancouver. And this flight would be a long one. It was Jeff’s first journey to Europe—a trip that was supposed to be a romantic getaway with Kyle. Instead, Jeff felt very alone. He tried to sleep but couldn’t even doze, tried to read but couldn’t concentrate. He flicked through the in-flight movies and TV shows, but nothing held his attention.

  He caught himself imagining what the flight would be like if Kyle were there. Kyle would play cards with him and start a conversation with the lady in the window seat. He would flirt with the flight attendants and cadge free drinks out
of them, and then he’d fall asleep with his head on Jeff’s shoulder, probably snoring softly.

  But Kyle was back in Sacramento, likely helping redecorate his new condo, picking out an expensive leather sofa with his rich new boyfriend. He’d left Jeff to deal with the hassle of emptying out the house they had shared, getting rid of unwanted junk, and getting the place ready to sell.

  Thirty-five thousand feet aloft, with the engines rumbling and a nearby toddler screaming his lungs out, Jeff closed his eyes again and drifted back to the previous day.

  HE HATED it when the house was a mess. Less than twenty-four hours before his flight, and he was surrounded by half-filled cardboard boxes and big plastic bags full of stuff Kyle hadn’t bothered to take with him. No doubt he had fancier things now that he’d moved in with his new boyfriend. Partners in law firms made a lot more money than guys who worked IT for a time-share company.

  “Jeff? What do you want me to do with this?” His mother stood in the doorway to the bedroom with a Crock-Pot in her hands.

  He sighed. “Toss it.”

  “You sure? It’s in perfectly good shape.”

  “It was his. I’ve never used the thing and I don’t plan to. If you want it, it’s all yours.” His tone was a little sharper than he’d intended, but he was tired and cranky and just wanted this whole thing over with.

  She made a face, as he’d known she would, and stalked back to the kitchen. To the best of his knowledge, his mother had never cooked anything more elaborate than canned soup. When Jeff was a kid, they’d had a housekeeper who prepared the meals, and nowadays his father made something or his parents ate out. Jeff wasn’t much of a cook either, actually; he’d relied on Kyle for that. Which meant he was now subsisting mostly on salads, takeout, and anything microwavable.

  He was still scowling down at the small suitcase on his bed when his mother reentered the room. “You can’t be serious about taking only that much, darling,” she said.

  “I’m totally serious, Mom. Every website I’ve looked at says just one suitcase, and even better if it’s a carry-on.”

  “But you’re going to be gone for a month!”

  “Yeah, but I bet they have washing machines in Europe.” He waved the piece of paper in his hand. “I have everything that Rick Steves recommends. I double-checked my list.”

  She looked unconvinced, but then she never left the house without a purse nearly as big as his suitcase. When he was little he’d thought her purse was a lot like Mary Poppins’s satchel—anything she needed seemed to be in there. Hard candies, Kleenex, a book or two, pens and notepaper, her makeup and glasses and wallet, a shawl in case she got chilly, an address book, aspirin, a mirror, a comb and brush, keys, and Christ knew what else.

  Suddenly exhausted, Jeff sat on the edge of the mattress and let his shoulders slump. “I shouldn’t go.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, sitting next to him. “Your plane tickets are nonrefundable, and all your arrangements are made. You’ve been planning this trip for months, Jeffy.”

  True, but the trip had been Kyle’s idea. Jeff had ventured off United States soil only once—that trip to Vancouver. Honestly, the idea of going somewhere truly foreign—where he didn’t speak the language and didn’t know how to get around—scared the crap out of him. But Kyle had wheedled and whined, pushed and persuaded, and finally made a demand in the midst of an unusually good blowjob. Jeff had given in at last. Of course it was Jeff who did all the research, Jeff who made all the arrangements. He’d collected all his unused vacation time and all the time-share credits he got as a perk of his job, and he’d booked them plane tickets and rooms in Venice, Vienna, Paris, and London.

  And then Kyle left him.

  Now Kyle was shacked up with a lawyer from the firm where he worked as a paralegal, and Jeff was left with a mortgage he couldn’t afford and that, thanks to the housing slump, was probably more than the place was worth.

  He let his packing list fall to the bedspread and rested his forehead in his hands. “I’m gonna just stay here. It’s stupid for me to be jet-setting when I—”

  “It’s stupid for you to stay,” she interrupted. Then she continued in a softer tone, “Honey, if you’re around, you’ll just get in the way when I show the house. We’ve been over this already. You go off and have fun and forget about you-know-who—”

  “You can say his name, Mom.”

  “Forget about Kyle. I’ll stage the house really nicely, and somebody will snap it right up. And when you come back, you can start fresh.”

  He knew better than to argue with her about real estate—she’d been selling houses since before he was born. And she was undoubtedly right—his place would show better with Kyle’s junk gone and with most of Jeff’s belongings stored in his parents’ spare bedroom. “I don’t want to start fresh,” he grumbled. He wanted his old life, with his comfortable old house in his comfortable old town, and his comfortable old boyfriend sitting beside him on his comfortable old couch.

  His mother ruffled his hair like she used to when he was a boy, and he huffed and smoothed the strands back into place.

  “Sacramento is boring and provincial,” his mother announced, as if she hadn’t grown up in the much-smaller neighboring community of Lodi. “You need to broaden your horizons. I don’t care if I have to drag you on that airplane myself. You’re going on this trip.”

  Jeff frowned, stood, and went to fetch his five pairs of underwear. But he stopped when he got to his dresser and saw the framed photo he hadn’t yet packed into a cardboard box. Three boys in front of a waterfall: one in his early teens, wearing a sullen scowl, and a pair of twins a few years older. The twins were a little darker than their younger brother, their hair sandy-colored while he was a towhead, their skin tanned instead of sunburned. They were built more heavily than him too, both of them slightly pudgy, but all three shared the same wide-cheekboned face and generous mouth.

  There really should have been some portent in the photo. A black cloud hanging ominously overhead, maybe, or a crow perched darkly on a nearby tree branch. But the sky was bright blue, there were no birds, and his brothers’ faces shone with happy mischief. One twin was making rabbit-ear fingers behind the youngest boy’s head, and the other twin had been caught in midlaugh. So much for omens, Jeff thought as he opened a drawer.

  HE COULD have flown out of the Sacramento airport. That would certainly have been the most convenient option. But doing so would have required him to make a connection somewhere in the United States, and his research had informed him that flights through O’Hare, Denver, and other domestic hubs were often delayed. So instead he had booked the flight from San Francisco. There was still a layover in Zurich, but according to his online sources, delays were less common there.

  The original plan had been for Kyle’s brother to drive them to the airport, but that wouldn’t work under the current circumstances. After their six-year-long relationship suddenly evaporated, Jeff realized that most of their friends had really been Kyle’s friends. The post-breakup distribution of assets had been really unfair, Jeff thought. Kyle got the friends, the rich new boyfriend, and the fancy penthouse condo. Jeff got the mortgage, the slow cooker, and the ride to the airport in the backseat of his parents’ Lexus.

  “Now remember,” his mother was saying as his father hurtled down I-80 with his usual disregard for speed limits, “you’re getting me earrings. Real Murano glass in yellow or green.”

  “Yes, Mom,” Jeff answered automatically. This was the fifth or sixth time she’d reminded him.

  She twisted her head to smile back at him. “I wish I was going to Europe.”

  “Why don’t you? You and Dad can afford it.”

  “Because we cruise, dear.” They did, twice a year: once to Mexico and once to Alaska. Jeff would have thought they’d be bored to tears with it by now. But his mother liked the shopping and the onboard spa, and his father liked the classes and the casino, and they’d accumulated enough loyalty points that
they got all kinds of gifts and upgrades. Besides, their friends went as well—two other couples plus a pair of sisters—and they all looked forward to their shared vacations.

  “Maybe you should try a cruise next time, Jeffy. They have special gay cruises, you know.”

  He imagined being stuck for days with a boatload of lust-stricken, partying men in Speedos, and he shuddered. “I think I’ll pass, Mom.”

  “Barbara’s son Timothy went on one last year and had a wonderful time. Which reminds me, I hear Timothy’s not seeing anyone right now. When you get back I’m going to call Barbara and—”

  “Mom!”

  “Lois, leave the boy alone. He doesn’t want you matchmaking.”

  Jeff might have been annoyed at being referred to as “the boy,” but he did appreciate his father’s intercession on his behalf. He also marveled at the way fifteen minutes spent in his parents’ company always regressed him to an embarrassed, slightly sullen fourteen-year-old.

  His mother shook her head but turned back around to face the front, his father increased the radio volume as A Prairie Home Companion began, and Jeff checked for the thirtieth time to make sure he’d remembered his pills and his passport.

  When they arrived at SFO, his parents got out of the car. His mother hugged him and kissed both his cheeks. “Have a wonderful time, darling,” she said, sniffling just a bit. His father hugged him too and gave him a wink. And then they climbed back in the Lexus and drove off, leaving Jeff standing at the curb with his little suitcase, feeling slightly abandoned. Entering the large terminal with its milling crowds further added to his insecurity, making him feel small and insignificant.

  Jeff felt a little weird about handing a brand-new passport to the girl at the Swiss International Air Lines counter. Her passport was undoubtedly chock-full of exotic stamps and visas. But she only glanced at the photo and then at him. Yep, she must have concluded, it all matched: straight white-blond hair, broad face, gray-blue eyes. She gave him a mechanical smile and handed him a boarding pass.

  The security check made him nervous, as if the TSA agents might find a four-ounce bottle of shampoo he’d overlooked and drag him into a back room for a body cavity search. The fact that one of the agents was a really buff guy with dark-brown skin and dimples only made the fear of an intimate grope more intense. What did a TSA agent do to you if he saw you pop a woody when he reached for his latex gloves?