Lunch with Caravaggio

By Bruce E. Weber

There are certain illusions the human psyche depends on in order to maintain balance. One of the most vital of those illusions is that we can live our lives according to reason and logic, functions of the frontal lobes of our "advanced" brains. This belief remains widespread despite the evidence of history, which shows clearly that with humans, it is the tiny lizard-brain at the base of their skulls that rules.

The characters in these stories, be they a famous concert pianist or a rubber-planter in Malaysia, a naturalist searching for an extinct species or an infamous Thai prostitute, they each live under the spell of that most treasured illusion, but all that is necessary to awaken the primordial reptile within is a slight change in their circumstances.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bruce E. Weber
• Release date: Mar 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005011260

Bruce E. Weber

Bruce Weber grew up in Indianapolis, in the neighborhood that is the setting for Dark Manna. He moved to Arizona in 1998. He lives in Tucson, where he is self-employed. Bruce says the writer who has influenced him most is James M. Cain, who wrote the Postman Always Rings Twice, Double Indemnity, and Mildred Pierce. Of Cain’s work, Weber says, “Cain told more story with fewer words than any writer I know of, and from reading his books, I became imbued with his own worst fear: a gnawing terror of boring the reader.”

Book preview

Lunch with Caravaggio

The Smashwords Edition

Bruce E. Weber

Lunch with Caravaggio

Bruce E. Weber

a Stanfield Books publication

Copyright ©2022 Bruce E. Weber

Printed in the United States of America

All rights reserved.

Smashwords License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. Please don't resell it or give it away.

If you want to share this book, please return to Smashwords and purchase an additional copy as a gift. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

* * * * *

Disclaimer

This is a fiction book. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, or events is a coincidence.

* * * * *

Cover curtesy of Painting of the Bay of Naples by Issimo

Formatting and Cover by Debora Lewis

[e-mail]

This book is dedicated to

those who have always been noncompliant,

and intend to forever be so.

Table of Contents

Extravagant Expectations

Warm Tortillas

The Twinge

For Good Remember

Olden Times

The Last Dodo

Orange Ribbons

Gifts from Heaven

One Thousand Boyfriends

Sarawak, 1931

Lunch With Caravaggio

About The Author

More books by Bruce E. Weber

Extravagant Expectations

When her thirty-seventh birthday passed, Collette Hamilton’s parents gave up all hope of her ever being married. They had made excuses over the years, citing her busy schedule as a concert pianist, the need for incessant practice to maintain her form and the unavailability of suitable men. But a few days after that last birthday they came to the conclusion that their daughter firmly believed that no man alive was worthy of her.

During the years since her 18th birthday, a long string of hopeful suitors had been rejected. They ranged from big-time professional jocks to Wall Street suits with lavish portfolios and homes in the Hamptons, to fellow artists of her own world-class stature. But they all left her cold.

Collette’s parents had to extend their 37th birthday greetings via the phone, since Collette was in Paris at the time. They promised her a warm celebration when she returned to Boston from her tour, but two weeks later, after meeting her at the airport they despaired of any such celebration. After hugging both parents at the airport, Collette told them she was about to get on a flight to Chicago.

Her father, Edgar Hamilton, said, My God, dear girl, what could possibly be of interest to you in Chicago?

Collette brushed back a strand of blonde hair from her cheek and smiled. She wore no makeup and looked a bit tired, but her green eyes sparkled and her spirits seemed unusually high. I’ve met a man, she said.

Collette hugged her mother again, stood on her tiptoes to kiss her father, picked up her flight bag and waved, then disappeared into the airport crowd.

Well for the love of God, Edgar Hamilton said.

Yes, for the love of God, said his wife Adel. Can you believe the look on her face?

A bit worn around the edges, but the word buoyant comes to mind.

But the Hamilton’s did not feel buoyant when two weeks passed without a word from Collette. In her sixteen years of concert performances all over the world, a day had never passed without hearing from her. Their anxiety was relieved when late on a Friday afternoon she appeared at the door of their sprawling Westminster Estates home, somehow having gotten through the security gate without the Hamilton’s being notified. They were so glad to see her that this breach was instantly overlooked.

After hugs and kisses, Collette collapsed onto the burgundy-leather Chesterfield couch in her father’s study. Her mother sat on one side, her father on the other, both looking at her expectantly, till her father lost patience with her silence. Well goddamit girl, what’s with all this mystery?

Collette sounded a bit hoarse when she began to explain. I’m sorry to be so secretive, but I know how both of you have fretted over my remaining single so long. As I told you last time at the airport I have met a man. He’s the only man I have ever met who makes me feel...

Her mother leaned forward toward Collette, so far she almost toppled into her lap. Feel what?

"Mother, I don’t know how to say it, really. He just makes me feel, not in the least bit special."

Edgar Hamilton roared a hearty laugh. When it subsided he said, Who is this man? What’s he do for a living? Hope to God he’s not in the cursed music business or light in the loafers like all those other limp-wrists you’ve dated.

No Father, he is not involved with music. And he never wears loafers, just boots that are always covered with dust. And his wrists are very... um... firm, I assure you.

Adel Hamilton put a shaking hand to her mouth. What do you mean, dear, about dusty boots. Is he some kind of cowboy?

Collette laughed, displaying two rows of orthodontic perfection. No, mother, he’s not a cowboy, but I am sure he could handle a horse. Collette dropped her chin to her chest and softly whispered, He certainly knows how to handle me.

Edgar Hamilton leaned to hear this and when he heard he roared again with laughter. The horrified look on his wife’s face did nothing to deter his delight. Well, goddammit, when do we get to meet this paragon of masculinity?

Pretty soon, I mean, if I can manage to get him to come here.

Adel Hamilton dropped her shaking hand. What do you mean, if you can get him to come here? All you have to do is tell him you want him to come to Boston to meet your parents. I’m sure he’ll do as you ask.

Collette leaned back on the couch. She looked up to the ceiling and smiled. No, Mother, he won’t do as I ask. I don’t think he’d do it even if I got down on my knees and begged.

This remark brought another shaky hand to her mother’s mouth and an even louder stream of guffaws from Edgar Hamilton. Well I’ll be goddamned, he said. You mean you finally met a man who refuses to kiss your ass?

Adel stared stonily at her husband. Edgar, must you be blasphemous and vulgar at the same time?

Just being a bit emphatic, my dear. Now Collette, how about we all jump on a plane and go meet this person, saying we were in town to visit friends. It would be a harmless ruse, that is, if you are not deceiving us about him in order to make us feel better about your protracted delay of matrimony.

Don’t even think about marriage now Father. And if we went to where he’s working he would ignore us. He’s very busy these days. He has to oversee the project he’s working on and most days he’s extremely tired after work. Unless, of course, when he allows me to come see him. Then he seems to have lots of energy. Collette looked off through the picture window, to its view of the glittering Boston harbor. Yes, when he allows me to see him he always has a lot of energy. Even if he had to leave early for work the next morning with almost no.... Collette had stopped herself by biting her lower lip.

Edgar Hamilton sat back and stared at his painfully beautiful daughter, a woman who had rejected men that most women would have killed to marry. In a low voice he said. I’m trying my level best to imagine what this fellow must be like.

Collette frowned. Well, Father, he’s as tall as you, and he has very, very large hands. They are rough and heavily calloused but he always keeps his fingernails neatly trimmed and clean. When I first noticed his hands they scared the hell out of me. I thought he would snap my bones. But you wouldn’t believe how gentle he can be. His name is Carlo.

Collette seemed about to add something, but then her head nodded and her chin dropped onto her chest. Her parents left her to sleep on the study’s couch and went into the living room. Edgar poured himself two inches of his favorite Scotch and made a Martini for his wife, then they sat in separate wingback chairs near the gas log fireplace. Edgar loved to see his still-beautiful wife in the glow of firelight, but he knew she would want to ramble so he sipped his Scotch in silence.

"What can be the matter with her Edgar? What do you think it is? Infatuation? And what about his name, ‘Carlo.’ Edgar, what do you make of it? Do you think it’s just that biological time-clock thing they speak of? Edgar, tell me, what if she goes through with it? What if she marries some kind of roughneck Italian with mob connections? Edgar, I may have lived a sheltered life, with the exception of being with you, I mean, but I am not a fool. A woman her age under her circumstances could easily make a terrible mistake. Edgar, what do you think? I mean, do you think we should somehow intervene, maybe hire someone to check up on this Carlo person? Edgar, I am more afraid for Collette than I was when she left for her first concert tour. I am seriously−"

Goddammit, Adel, that’s enough! And I’d not be too concerned about marriage. From what she says he may not be the marrying type.

The Hamilton’s went to bed concerned but grateful to have their daughter safe under their roof, under which she had spent less than six months total since she began her touring career. In the five days that followed, instead of getting a much-needed rest, Collette seemed more fretful each day. She only went out once, to see her long-time friend Teddy Appley, one of the light-loafered men her parents had pleaded with her to marry, but they’d dropped that prospect when Teddy settled down with a man twice his age.

And while Collette was home she never practiced her music or strolled the grounds or swam in the pool or played tennis. She sat most days in the garden, her cell phone in her lap, seeming to stare off into space. Despite her parents efforts she could not be roused to do anything else, and she could not bear to be parted from that iPhone.

Their worries were compounded when they awoke before dawn on the sixth morning and found Collette gone, her bed a mess and her small flight bag missing from its hook on the bedroom door. A note on her dresser put them at ease, but only slightly;

"Dear Mother and Father,

I am so relieved! Carlo texted me last night just before I fell asleep.

He’s in Paris. I’m flying American Airlines flight 105 will leave 6 a m. I don’t know where he is staying but I know where to find him.

Love,

C.

Adel Hamilton put her quivering hand to her mouth as Edgar read the note. Her speechlessness surprised her husband.

Well, my dear Adel, that’s that. She has a commitment to play tomorrow for the Boston Symphony and she knows she’ll be in violation of her contract. That’s something she’s never done before. This Carlo business is definitely serious.

They sat close to each other on the wide Chesterfield couch, neither thinking of anything to say, when the landline phone rang. Edgar saw it was Collette’s cell phone and pushed the speaker-phone button. Before he could speak Collette said, Hello, don’t worry I’m still at Logan, flight delayed but boarding in ten minutes. Just wanted to apologize for the sudden departure.

Adel leaped to the phone but Edgar shushed her. Phone when you get to Paris, he said. You say this Carlo didn’t tell you where he’s staying but you know where to find him. What does that mean?

He’s working on the Cathedral, Father. The French Government called him for advice on restoration of some of the damaged sculptures. I can find him there. They’re calling for boarding now, must go, love you.

Edgar pushed the off-button and smiled. Adel did not smile. Edgar, for God’s sake, our daughter has forsaken her career obligations and flown at the spur of the moment to meet some man in Paris and you look as happy as the day she was born.

Well goddammit, Adel, you heard her voice. She sounds like a teenage girl in love.

Adel’s face pinched into a frown. Edgar, you know good and well there are more important things in life than love.

Edgar Hamilton looked out to the harbor in the distance. Yes, he said, so I’ve heard.

~ ~ ~

Collette waited one day after her arrival in Paris before going to the old cathedral. She was ashamed to admit that, though she had been to Paris often to perform, she had only seen Notre Dame from the window of the car she was driven in. When she stood before it she gazed up in wide-eyed wonder at its looming gray towers. She stood in front of the barricade that surrounded it and listened to the clatter of restoration work. She could see no way to get in so she waited, hoping to see Carlo when he left after his workday, but at 4 pm, as the long line of workman filed out she fretted, hoping to restrain herself from hugging him when he finally emerged.

When the line of exiting men came to an end she still waited, till one last man emerged. Unable to control her eagerness, Collette stood in front of him and said, in what little French she had, Is Carlo here today?

The Frenchman squinted. Carlo?

I don’t know his last name but he works on the statues. He’s American but he looks like an Italian.

The Frenchman looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, I am a carpenter. I do not... wait, you must mean Le Maitre. He turned around and faced the church. I saw him a few moments ago. He is coming out I think. Oh yes, see him there?

The Frenchman turned and walked away. Collette watched Carlo appear from behind the barricade. A large fat man walked beside him, gesticulating with both arms and speaking rapid French in a loud voice, too fast for Collette to translate. The two men stopped and faced each other. The fat man’s voice grew louder, till Carlo raised one hand and waved it in front of the man. Carlo said something in a voice too low for Collette to hear. The large man frowned, nodded, said nothing more and walked away.

Collette was worried that Carlo would be angry after this seeming argument. She wondered if she should wait another day to approach him. What if she made him angry? What if he was too tired? What if he resented her chasing him all