The Sex Sphere Read Free Page A

little ones, were sharing the room with us. They were sleeping in a folding bed, one at each end.
    After a while Sybil and I came together, unusual for 69. There was, surprisingly, a magnolia outside the window. The city lights shone on its wet leaves. We kissed, and murmured a few things. Love. She fell asleep.
    After a medium interval of time I decided to get back up. Rome was right outside, and it was only midnight.
    My clothes were on the floor by the bed. I slipped them on, took the key and walked the two flights downstairs.
    The hotel halls were narrow and oddly shaped, like pieces in a 3-D jigsaw. Hotel Caprice, just a block off the Via Veneto. It was shabby and casual, some forgotten bankrupt’s converted house. Out of politeness, the horse-faced clerk ignored me on my way out.
    A fine rain was falling. It was a cool spring night, a few days before Easter. With all the pilgrims in town, we’d been lucky to find a hotel room.
    On the Via Veneto I sat down under a cafe awning, ordered a Heineken, then wished I hadn’t. There was hardly anyone out, hardly anything to look at. I was getting cold through my damp sport coat. Holy Week comes well before the Dolce Vita .
    A madman approached. Already from twenty meters you could tell. He carried a big toy robot, one of those weird Japanese toys that looks like a member of Kiss. The maniac’s eyes were all over the place, and he caught me staring at him.
    “ Ecco! ” he screeched, holding the robot towards me and raising one of its arms. He made a buzzing noise then, like the robot was supposed to be warding off my eye-attack with a death ray. “ DZEEZEEZEEEEENTINI! ”
    I looked away, hoping he would keep walking. Fat chance. I could hear him pause, move closer, pause again. One more step and he’d be breathing on me.
    With a sudden cry I whipped up my arms and pointed them at him, holding my fingers out and my thumbs flexed, as if to shoot Dr. Strange energy bolts from my palms.
    A stupid move…this wasn’t exactly my first beer of the day…but it worked. Falling right into the Marvel Comics idiom, the madman crooked a protective arm in front of his face and backed slowly off, eyes ablaze.
    I looked around the café to see if anyone had noticed my little victory. But the place was empty and…no, over there was a woman smiling at me, nice dark hair, good ass-flesh mouth, hi, baby , but, heh, there’s a man with her, also staring at me…should I look away? No, he’s not sending eye-attacks, no indeed, he’s… pimping , with a flick of his eyes at the woman, and a crook of his pinky at me…weird and scary. I called for my check.
    Out from under the awning it was still wet…not rain so much as heavy mist swirling and roiling in light-brightened patterns which twisted clear to heaven. All that information, just getting me wet. I decided to walk up to Harry’s American Bar, have a whisky and go back to the hotel. Full of purpose, I strode faster.
    There was a man ahead of me, a big strapping fellow loafing along under an enormous silk umbrella. I could see that I would have to pass him, and felt a bit nervous…he had fifty pounds on me, easy. But, after all, the street, though empty, was brightly lit, and the man was, I realized, much too well-dressed to be a mugger. He was wearing Gucci shoes and a three-piece gray suit, for God’s sake.
    I angled out to the curb and stepped up my pace, hoping to just whisk past him. Fat, as I said before, chance.
    “Tsst!”
    I slid a glance over. With that suit he looked like the junior partner of a Newark law firm. Played football at Rutgers. Breast-heavy, wasp-waisted wife and a newborn named Nino. You just had to trust this Roman.
    “What?”
    “Come here.” He stepped closer, including me under his umbrella. “You American?”
    I repressed my stock response, Does the Pope shit in the woods , and just nodded.
    “You live here?”
    I was flattered he knew me for an expatriate. I’d been out of the States for almost