The Touch and the Times

Our work in Florence is done and in a few minutes we will depart for the airport. I will admit that Hugo and I have smiles on our faces. In merely a week we have finalized the summer study in Italy details. Housing has been arranged in Rome and Florence, many restauarants identified for the student "involvment," and we have developed a nice list of wines for them to sample should they be able to find them in the U.S. And we take pride in devising a summer program that is open to all regardless of financial ability. Finally we have coauthored two very well placed articles for the decanal glossy.

All is not well, though, and I am somewhat alarmed. Despite my best efforts to avoid being alone with Marvelle and to avoid eye contact, an unsettling thing happened last night at dinner. Marvelle, Caroline and Hugo had all excused themselves to go to the facilities. Marvelle returned first. She approached the table and rather than sit in her chair he came very close to me and leaned over. Her lips were next to my ear. "My God, is she so smitten that she will kiss me in public?"

Then I hear these words spoken very slowly, "Listen you asshole. I have friends Hugo does not know about and you should pray you never see. Touch me again like you did on the plane coming over and I will make sure they make you even more of a woman."

I am mulling this over (there are so many messages in there) as I write this and prepare for the return flight. The only good thing I can see in this that is hopeful is that Marvelle appears to be a strick adherent to the New York Times rule. She has complete denyability about her threat.