Now that I’m here, I’m swept up in his charm, his essence, his view on life. It’s not just that I find him ridiculously attractive, it’s not that I don’t dream about letting go of all my inhibitions and screwing him (because, believe me, I think that’s exactly what I need).
It’s that he makes me feel good. He makes me feel better about myself, like I’m somehow more interesting. When I’m around him, whatever zest and passion he has for life rubs off on me, until I see things the way he does, like the world is one big canvas waiting for me to paint it. Like I’m worthy of holding the brush.
As if he can tell I’m staring at him, he squeezes my hand tightly.
I squeeze it back.
We hold hands like that until the haunting strings of “Never Tear Us Apart” begin to play. My mind is automatically brought back to our session in his studio. He’d held me so close, not a care in the world. And I remember the feeling of letting go.
That surrender.
I want that again.
And I also want more than that.
“Vanni,” Claudio says to him, barely audible over the music. “Do you want to come on my shoulders for this song?”
He shakes his head violently. “No. You said I was too old for that.”
Then Claudio turns his head toward me, peering down.
“Grace?”
I want to laugh. I can’t get up on his shoulders. I might be short, but I’m heavy. I will break his back. Not to mention, the people behind us will probably get mad.
I look over my shoulder. Then again, the couple behind us is making out and not paying attention to the show at all.
“I…” I say. Wanting to say yes, needing to say no.
Before I can complete my sentence, he squats down low, like impressively low (those quads are beasts), and pulls me around so I have to get on his back like we’re playing leapfrog, my legs around his neck.
His hands take a firm grasp on my thighs, his forearms pressing my calves against his chest. “Hold on,” he says.
I immediately grab hold of his hair, though that’s probably not what he meant, and he straightens back up, slowly. He does it with so much ease, it’s like I’m not on his back at all. Meanwhile I’m not making it any easier with my wavering back and trying to get a grip on his head.
“Sorry, sorry,” I tell him.
“Don’t be,” he says. “I like it when you pull my hair.”
Oh lord.
And now I’m suddenly very conscious that his head is between my thighs. Backwards from the way I’ve dreamed about, but still. He better do nothing to turn me on.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yes,” I squeak. I glance down at Vanni who is shaking his head in disapproval.
I do have an amazing view of the concert, but angry Italian gibberish from behind me grabs my attention.
I turn and the making out couple have ceased their tangled tongues and are giving me a dirty look.
“One song,” I tell them, trying to think what that is in Italian. “Una sonata.”
“Canzone,” Claudio whispers, correcting me.
“Una Canzone,” I tell the couple. “Per favore.”
The couple shrugs and goes back to making out.
“Very good, Grace,” Claudio murmurs.
He begins to stroke his thumb against my thigh, his rough skin against mine, making my veins course with heat.
Yeah, so much for not being turned on.
What is he doing?
Just shut up and enjoy it.
So I listen to that voice. While Claudio rubs his thumb along my skin, back and forth, over and over, I wind my fingers into his hair. It’s very thick and strong and soft, and I can feel him relaxing beneath me. Every now and then I give it a playful tug, hoping he’s as turned on as I am.
But eventually the song comes to an end.
It’s time for me to come down.
And Vanni says, “Papà, I need to use the toilet.”
“Okay,” Claudio says, grabbing his son’s hand while gripping my leg tighter with the other. “Hold on, Grace.”
“Wait!” I cry out, my nails digging into his head as he starts to walk through the crowd with me on his back. “Put me down!”
But I’m drunk and I’m giggling.
I feel like I’m in a circus, riding an elephant, but in fact it’s just a stupendously talented and handsome man, and I’m up here on display. I start waving to people, waving to the band, who are paying me no attention, of course.
I can’t stop smiling.
By the time we reach the line of porta loos on the side of the field, I’m laughing hard, having a tough time staying upright.
As Vanni goes off into one of them, Claudio starts to stumble.
I shriek, still laughing, and he goes down on his knees.
“Ahhhh!” I wrap my hands around his face, blinding him, and pitch forward until my shoulder hits the grass.
The impact is soft, and I roll over onto my back, my hands clasped over my stomach, knees up, and I am laughing so hard that I think my ribs might give out.
Claudio is laughing too, a big and boisterous laugh that only fuels mine.
He grabs my legs as he crawls over to me, leaning over.
“Mio Dio,” he says, chuckling. “Are you okay?”
I look up to see him looking down at me, hand at my face.
I can only grin at him, nodding. The stars are shining in the sky beyond him, one insanely bright star right behind his head, and my eyes keep going in focus between his face and the starlight.
Both are insanely beautiful.
“I am sorry about the crash landing,” he says, his hand still at my cheek. “I tried very hard to make it gentle.”
I bite back my innuendo.
“I imagine that’s what riding a camel is like,” I say through a laugh.
“Yes, but I would hope I’m less smelly and hairy.”
“Much less smelly. You smell like almonds and sunshine,” I tell him. The drunk in me is speaking now.
He blinks at me for a moment, then his smile deepens. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“It’s really not.”
I sit up and he puts his hand on my shoulder to help me.
Then leaves his hand there.
His other hand is on my bare thigh.
I swallow, noticing the goosebumps on his arm.
“You have goosebumps,” I say quietly. “That song really does it for you.”
He glances at his arm and then slowly meets my eyes, giving a small shake of his head. Something in his gaze changes, no longer playful. His smile fades.
“No,” he says thickly. “It’s not the song.”
His fingers press into my shoulder.
Eyes smoldering.
He licks his lips.
And for a moment, we aren’t on the grass outside the loos at an INXS concert. We’re nowhere at all. It’s just empty space and it’s him and it’s me, and every wire that has tightened between us over these last weeks is close to snapping.
Once they snap…
“Papà!’ Vanni’s voice dissolves the world.
It was there, and now it’s gone.
The roar of the concert comes back and Vanni is running over.
“Stai bene? Why are you on the grass?” he asks, looking down at us in surprise.
“Your father dropped me,” I tell him, throwing Claudio under the bus so that Vanni doesn’t pick up on the fact that we just shared one very strange and fleeting intimate moment.