WANTED: Love of my Life

46. Smelly Courtesy

 It was our fifth date down at our own private little beach. Three more times we had danced there in the moonlight since our first romantic interlude beside the ocean. Three more times he had brought the boombox along and we had gone through rhythm after rhythm. It still felt like a dream. I doubted I would ever get tired of it. Especially since I was getting better. Much better. This filled me with a silent satisfaction. My dream wasn't so far-fetched after all. And Giacomo had been the one to help me realize that.

Once I asked him where he'd gotten the boombox from, since I doubted he had any money.

“I borrowed it,” he'd said.

“Borrowed?” I narrowed my eyes and stared up at him. “I can't imagine who'd let you borrow his boombox.”

“Why? Do I look that disreputable?”

“Don't change the subject, and yes you do.”

He chuckled.

“Who let you borrow his boombox?”

“Ah, I never said anything about the owner being aware of the fact that I borrowed it.”

“So you stole it.”

“Not true. I return it every night after we go our separate ways. I doubt the owner even notices it is gone now and again.”

“And why do you think so?”

“Well, because the owner is Father Elliot.”

“Good reaso- What?! You stole from a priest?! You stole from Father Elliot?”

“You don't need to get so excited about it. And I thought I already explained to you that I didn't steal it, I just borrowed it.”

At that moment, a rumba started. Suddenly, I was having trouble remembering what we were arguing about. Arguing? Why should we be arguing? One, two, one two three four...

In the end, I had accepted it. He was right. The good father probably wouldn't notice that his boombox was missing. And we could spend some happy time dancing together, so what was the problem, really?

This night, I looked around in vain for the stolen (sorry, borrowed!!) boombox. Giacomo was just standing on the beach, his hands clasped behind his back and an apprehensive expression on his handsome face. I skipped up to him, and stretched up to kiss him. He kissed me back, but it was automatic, not as passionate as I had grown used to, and I started to get miffed.

But before I could complain, he said:

“I didn't bring the boombox tonight.”

“I noticed. What's up with that? I thought you were going to show me how to waltz?”

“Si. I thought... perhaps you wouldn't mind doing something different.”

Something different than dance with him? Was he kidding? But the tone of his voice prevented me from replying with my usual fervor.

“Something like what?” I asked, instead.

“Would you like to see where I live?” The question came out like a shot out of a pistol. Fast. Irretrievable. Violent. In contrast, my reply was a long time coming.

“See... where you live?” My voice was no more than a whisper.

He obviously took my expression to be apprehension. “Of course, if you don't want to, that is perfectly fine,” he backpedaled. “I don't... I mean, I'd never want you to think that you have to come. It's just that once and again you mentioned that you'd like to know more about me and I thought that perhaps... well, I can see that you don't want to. That's no problem. I'll just...”