Only Heaven Knows [reprise]
Angela is back in town for a couple of days, on a mission to get her divorce papers translated into Italian at the Consulate, and we had dinner last night. She hasn't yet found a tenant to rent her townhouse while she's in Italy, and since she has a near limitless supply of Valpolicella locked in her hall closet (along with her bottles of fancy oil and her new age books), we partook of a couple of bottles.
And I have a set of her keys.
Angela is a Life Coach, you know. She's the kind of person who, were it necessary to have someone deliver bad news to you, she's the person you'd want to hear it from. She has that kind, sincere demeanour, a soft voice, and of course that charming Italian accent. I mean, I'm a woman, and it works on me. I can only imagine what it does for the men.
Before she left for Italy she told me she wanted to "be married with" Luciano. He's the boyfriend she's had since late last spring. An Italian national, living here in Toronto for a few months to take some courses. Not Angela's cult courses, but real courses, in business. He was studying for his MBA. They met at the Consulate.
Last May, Angela and Luciano went to New York for the weekend. I know, because I looked after Leo and Daphne while she was away. And I got to meet Luciano.
Remember that episode of Friends, the one with the power failure, where they find a stray cat and Phoebe and Rachel go knocking on the neighbours' doors to find the owner and they meet Paulo, who doesn't speak a word of English but doesn't need to, and they invite him back to Monica's place where they're all hanging out, and then the lights come back on and there's Rachel making out with Paulo?
I don't know why I thought of that, just then.
Throughout the summer, as Angela was living in San Francisco and reporting in via email every so often, I got Luciano updates. He was back in Italy, and was calling her every day. He was always telling her how much he missed her. In July, they went to Angela's cousin's wedding. In Paris.
Just before Angela left for Italy last month she told me she felt Luciano was indicating that he was ready to take their relationship to the next level. He was almost finished with his MBA. He was turning 29. He seemed to be ready to settle down.
So last night I asked her how things were going with Luciano.
"We broke up," she said.
"Oh no!" I exclaimed. "What happened?"
"Well, I tell him how I feel, and that I think it's time for us to be more serious," she said.
"And he didn't feel the same way?"
"I guess not. He left, and we haven't spoken since."
The thing about being dumped and rejected is that, while you don't wish it on your friends, when it happens to them, too, you find it strangely comforting. It makes you think that maybe, just maybe, you're not really a freak.
So I tell Angela about Boz and the boat and the not going to the hockey game with me.
"He waits for Tammi to come back, I think," said Angela. "But she's no coming back, I know that. She's finish with him."
Angela is going to make a great Life Coach, whatever that is, one day.
Maybe I should sign up as a client.
* * *
The next story is another chorus of Working For The Weekend, in which Postmodern Sass thanks her readers for reading. And, in this chorus, posts a last minute news item about Boz. It will be a year before you'll hear another Angela story, Gentle Reader.
And I have a set of her keys.
Angela is a Life Coach, you know. She's the kind of person who, were it necessary to have someone deliver bad news to you, she's the person you'd want to hear it from. She has that kind, sincere demeanour, a soft voice, and of course that charming Italian accent. I mean, I'm a woman, and it works on me. I can only imagine what it does for the men.
Before she left for Italy she told me she wanted to "be married with" Luciano. He's the boyfriend she's had since late last spring. An Italian national, living here in Toronto for a few months to take some courses. Not Angela's cult courses, but real courses, in business. He was studying for his MBA. They met at the Consulate.
Last May, Angela and Luciano went to New York for the weekend. I know, because I looked after Leo and Daphne while she was away. And I got to meet Luciano.
Remember that episode of Friends, the one with the power failure, where they find a stray cat and Phoebe and Rachel go knocking on the neighbours' doors to find the owner and they meet Paulo, who doesn't speak a word of English but doesn't need to, and they invite him back to Monica's place where they're all hanging out, and then the lights come back on and there's Rachel making out with Paulo?
I don't know why I thought of that, just then.
Throughout the summer, as Angela was living in San Francisco and reporting in via email every so often, I got Luciano updates. He was back in Italy, and was calling her every day. He was always telling her how much he missed her. In July, they went to Angela's cousin's wedding. In Paris.
Just before Angela left for Italy last month she told me she felt Luciano was indicating that he was ready to take their relationship to the next level. He was almost finished with his MBA. He was turning 29. He seemed to be ready to settle down.
So last night I asked her how things were going with Luciano.
"We broke up," she said.
"Oh no!" I exclaimed. "What happened?"
"Well, I tell him how I feel, and that I think it's time for us to be more serious," she said.
"And he didn't feel the same way?"
"I guess not. He left, and we haven't spoken since."
The thing about being dumped and rejected is that, while you don't wish it on your friends, when it happens to them, too, you find it strangely comforting. It makes you think that maybe, just maybe, you're not really a freak.
So I tell Angela about Boz and the boat and the not going to the hockey game with me.
"He waits for Tammi to come back, I think," said Angela. "But she's no coming back, I know that. She's finish with him."
Angela is going to make a great Life Coach, whatever that is, one day.
Maybe I should sign up as a client.
The next story is another chorus of Working For The Weekend, in which Postmodern Sass thanks her readers for reading. And, in this chorus, posts a last minute news item about Boz. It will be a year before you'll hear another Angela story, Gentle Reader.
<< Home