Angelica Lost and Found

Chapter 8. Stairway to Heaven?

One night, returning from a late walk, I chanced upon two figures struggling in a dimly lit alley. One was a man, the other a woman, and she was desperately trying to fight him off. He turned to me, reeking of vodka, and I knocked him unconscious with a single blow. She, suddenly released from his grasp, fell also. I helped her to her feet and she said, ‘Wow! The answer to a maiden’s prayer.’

‘A maiden!’ I said. ‘Chained to the rock of your beauty and beset by monsters!’

‘What?’

‘You are a maiden?’

‘Hold on, friend — that was a figure of speech, so let’s not get hung up on personal details, OK?’ She stood on tiptoe to kiss me. ‘Thank you for saving me from that scumbag and you can walk me home if you like. He’s not getting up; you think he’ll be all right?’

‘Is he someone you know?’

‘No, he’s a total stranger.’

‘Then forget about him,’ I said as she took my arm and we went on our way.

Being a man I could not help mentally undressing her and I found her beauty unimpeachable. Ariosto flashed into my mind and my shoulders itched for my absent wings as the blackness of the crow filled me, and the redness of the dim red caverns of sleep. I waited for my head to clear, then, ‘Angelica!’ I said.

‘Who?’ she replied. ‘What?’

‘You are Angelica, eternally transcending time and space?’

‘Slow down, handsome. My name is Doris. What’s yours?’

‘Vola —’ Suddenly a wave of confusion swept over me. The ball was flying through the air, I stretched out my arms and found Doris in them.

‘You’re a fast worker, Vola,’ she said. ‘I like a man who knows what he wants. Is that your first name or your last name?’

I removed my arms.

‘Vola not! Name is Renzetti, Marco Renzetti.’ Although I wasn’t too sure of that just then.

‘I like your accent, Marco. Where are you from?’

‘Seven hills. Romulus and Remus suckled by a wolf. Rome.’

‘Feral children! What happened to them?’

‘Founded Rome.’

‘Fast learners! Here we are at my place. Want to come up for a drink? I could sure use one.’ She kissed me again, longer this time. ‘Come on, don’t be bashful.’

She unlocked the street door and as I followed her up the stairs my head cleared. Her skirt was very short, her legs beckoned sweetly and her bottom, rising before me like a full moon, cheered me on.

‘Renzetti,’ I said to myself, ‘Marco Renzetti.’