Once Is Not Enough Read Free Page B

January. “I speak the English language very poor. You will help me?”
    “Well, I—”
    “Your father, he all the time talk about you. He count the hours until you come.”
    “He did?”
    “Of course. Just like I count the hours until I meet you tonight.” He reached out and touched her hand. She pulled it away and turned toward her father, but he was whisperingsomething into Melba’s ear. The actress giggled and rubbed her cheek against his.
    January looked away, but Franco smiled. “Maybe love needs no language, right?”
    “I think your English is excellent,” she said stiffly. She tried not to stare at Melba’s hand, which was resting on her father’s thigh.
    “Oh, I learned from G.I. uncles.” Franco laughed. “My mother was widowed from war. She was very young . . . multa bella . . . she speak no English then, but she learn and teach me. And G.I. uncles good to my mama. But she’s fat now and I send her money because now no G.I.’s to help out. Just Franco.”
    January was relieved when Mike signaled for the check. He left a pile of bills on the table and they all stood up. Then he turned to January with a smile. “Well, I guess I’ve hogged you enough, babe. Besides, a beautiful young girl should spend her first night in Rome with a handsome young Italian. At least that’s what it says in all the movie scripts I’ve ever done.” He winked at Franco. Then he put his arm around Melba as they walked out of the restaurant.
    For a moment they all stood together on the narrow cobbled street. Then Mike said, “Okay, Franco. I’m gonna let you show my daughter some of the night life in this town. But take it easy. After all, we’re all gonna be here two months.” Then he took Melba’s arm and headed for his car. January watched them drive off. It all happened so fast she couldn’t believe it. Her father was gone and she was standing on a strange street in Rome with a handsome young Italian, courtesy of Mike Wayne.
    Franco took her arm and led her down the street to a tiny car. They squeezed into it, and with skillful maneuvering he managed to dart in and out of the crowded traffic. She was silent during the drive. Her first inclination had been to ask him to take her back to the hotel. But then what? Sit there and wait . . . and wonder what they were doing? No! Let him sit and wait and wonder what she was doing. He had walked out on her . . . left her with this boy. Okay. She’d show him how it felt.
    “Small car only thing to use in Roma,” he said. They went through winding streets and stopped at an outdoor ice cream parlor. “We go downstairs,” Franco said. They climbed out of the car, and he led her down a dark narrow staircase. “You’ll like . . . best discotheque in Roma.”
    The entire building looked as if it were ready for the demolition ball, but they entered a cavernous expanse that was packed with couples gyrating to blasting music and psychedelic lighting. Franco seemed to know everyone in the place, including the waiter, who led them to a choice table in an alcove. He ordered some wine and then pulled her onto the floor against her will. She was embarrassed because she didn’t know the new dances. She looked around. All the girls seemed to be undulating, oblivious of their partners. The entire floor looked like a mass of worms . . . wriggling . . . squirming . . . twisting. She had never tried it. Her last term at Miss Haddon’s had been dateless by choice, because Mike had been in New York and she had spent every weekend with him.
    But Franco laughed away her doubts. The beat of the music was strong, and under his guidance she began to move slowly . . . tentatively. Franco nodded encouragement and swayed to the tempo. His smile radiated confidence and approval. She found herself falling into a modified imitation of the other girls on the floor. Franco nodded . . . his arms waved in the air . . . his hips slithered . . . she followed his pace . . . the beat of the music