Julietta Fellini and the Men who Loved Her

By Sandy Raschke

Julietta Fellini wasn't looking for love when she sold her home in San Luis Obispo and embarked on a journey of rediscovery. A recent widow after fifty years in a difficult marriage, she begins her odyssey across the country in a motor home that will take her from the central-coast of California to places across the United States she has never seen before. With her is Gretta, a 14-year old, long-haired Miniature Dachshund. Paris, France is Julietta's final destination. She plans to visit her son, Darrell, and his family. He is now a Lt. Colonel in the Army, stationed in Europe, and married with a one-year old daughter. Julietta hasn't seen him since he enlisted, fifteen years ago.

 

Her journey takes her through the western states, beginning with Malibu, California, then to Las Vegas, NV, Moab, UT, Taos and Roswell, NM, and New York City. At each stop, she meets a man and all end up expressing their love for her. She later discovers that two of the men lied to her about their backgrounds and former relationships. She blames herself for her naiveté about men, as she hadn't kissed another man in fifty years or had sex for fifteen, punished by her late husband for defying him and giving birth to their son when she was forty years old.         

 

Tragedy befalls her in Roswell, when Gretta dies of a stroke. While waiting to pick up Gretta's cremains, Julietta visits the Anderson Museum of Contemporary Art where she meets artist-in-residence Joaquin "Jack" Solis. Instant attraction and they soon become lovers. Julietta reluctantly leaves him to continue her trip, promising to return.

            

In Paris, Julietta and her son, Darrell, are reunited. A week later, Ray Auberge, a wealthy businessman and her seatmate on the flight to Paris, takes her sightseeing. When her visit with family is over, she and Ray return on the same flight to New York and he invites her to stay at his coop apartment before she leaves for Albuquerque.

            

Jack's best friend picks her up at the airport. Jack has been severely injured in a crash outside of Santa Fe. Julietta remains by his side until he is well enough to return home, and takes care of him as he recuperates. But she worries—will their relationship survive Jack's growing stature as a painter of modernistic art? What about the twenty-year difference in their ages?

            

Obstacles are tossed in their way. Can they overcome them? 

            

A story of self-discovery, love denied and unexpectedly found, deceit, passion, destiny and devotion... a little magic, and several startling revelations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sandy Raschke
• Release date: Aug 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223069348

Book preview

Chapter 1

Monday, June 12.  Julietta Archer Fellini shut the door and put the keys to the house in the lock box. As she neared the driveway, she caught the sound of crashing waves, perhaps carried by the wind. But the house on Maple Drive was three miles inland, so maybe it was wishful thinking or a distant memory. They rarely went to the beach, even when Darrell was a child.

Don’t look back—too many memories.  

She gripped the leash and walked Gretta, her fourteen-year old, long-haired Miniature Dachshund, to the new Thor Motor Coach, a compact motor home she bought when Lee’s estate settled. Last night she stocked the RV’s cupboards with staples, the refrigerator with fresh food and the small freezer with frozen dinners and several quarts of her favorite ice cream.

SHE STARTED THE ENGINE and slowly backed out of the driveway, using the wide side mirrors to navigate onto the street. At 7:00 a.m., no one was there to see her off. She had confided in only one person, her childhood friend, Abigail McCloud, who lived in Minden, Nevada. When the house sold, Julietta told her about the trip she was taking across the country, then flying to Paris to see her family. After visiting with Darrell, Gizelle, and one-year old, Claire, she planned to return to the United States and find a place to live. Abigail had invited her to stay until she made up her mind about a permanent residence.

Chapter 2

First stop: Malibu and an RV park she found in a guide inside the RV’s information packet. Her plan was to lounge on the beach for a few days and talk with her fellow RVers, then take the I-15 freeway to Las Vegas, see some shows and do a little gambling.

Gretta cocked her head as Julietta talked to herself. So what if I’ve never driven across a desert, or gambled in a casino? There’s always a first time. She turned to Gretta. Right, kid?

Gretta looked up at her with aging watery eyes and yipped.

I thought so, Julietta said. Loosen up, Gretta. We have up to 3,000 miles ahead of us, people to meet, places to visit and, perhaps when we’ve finished our travels, buy a small home or condo in another part of the country to use as a base for further exploration.

Julietta glanced at the GPS screen: Malibu, 168 miles, about three hours. The RV Park was right on the beach. It was an expensive two nights, but the comments she read on the internet convinced her it was worth spending $80 a day just for the amenities alone.

She had never been to Malibu, or anywhere else other than the central coast of California after she and Leland returned from their honeymoon at an isolated dude ranch near Thermopolis, Wyoming. While she enjoyed the hot springs in Thermopolis, Leland went horseback riding. She tried but never got the hang of it, nor did she enjoy the huge starch-filled, meat-laden meals served in the immense dining room of the lodge. When they returned home, Leland never went horseback riding again.

On occasion, they would visit Santa Barbara and stay overnight in a motel, usually on their anniversary—dinner at a medium-priced chain restaurant and the next day, home.

After Darrell was born, all of their celebrations came to an abrupt halt.

AND NOW SHE WAS FREE and embarking on a grand adventure. She drove along PCH, glancing at the Pacific Ocean and the wide beaches awaiting crowds of people and children, and finally grasped how much she had missed and regretted how Darrell had also been deprived of the adventures most young boys enjoyed.

No father-son getaways, no sports or male rites of passage with his father. Lee grudgingly attended Darrell’s high school graduation and took him and his friends out for lunch. But when Darrell graduated from Cal Poly and was commissioned a 2nd Lieutenant in the Army, Lee stayed home.

At first she made excuses for his lack of interest in their son, and tried to fill in when he refused to participate in Darrell’s school and extra-curricular activities. She worked full time and occasionally on weekends in her position as senior attorney at the biggest law firm in San Luis Obispo. But when Darrell wanted to become a Cub Scout, she volunteered to be a den mother. When it was time for him to ‘graduate’ to the Boy Scouts, she asked Lee to take over. Too busy, he said—a man who was a civil servant and never had to work overtime, who had six weeks of vacation a year and fourteen days personal time. Too busy...

His attitude spilled over to sports and video games—not interested, too busy. Even before Darrell entered his teens, the relationship between father and son was non-existent. She encouraged Leland to get counseling and was always met with a steely gaze that implied, Back off. Eventually she gave up.

NO WONDER DARRELL LEFT the day after he graduated college and just shy of twenty-one, joined the Army. No wonder at all. And no wonder as to why he never contacted his father in the last fifteen years, although he did email or call her every now and then, keeping her up-to-date on his deployments and promotions. Last year, at the age of thirty-five, he was commissioned Lt. Colonel—a great honor and achievement for a young man, but he didn’t tell Lee. No, never his father... and she had never betrayed her son’s confidence.

Lee never asked about Darrell and she never told him anything he didn’t ask about.

FOUR YEARS AGO, DARRELL married a young woman he had met while on leave in Paris. Gizelle Durand, born in France but a naturalized American citizen, worked for an aid organization based in Paris. They had been engaged for a year then were married in a civil ceremony in New York City with her parents, sister and a few friends in attendance. Gizelle had been raised in upstate New York. Darrell asked for and was granted a two-week leave. They invited Julietta but Lee got wind of it and accused her of abandoning him. She stayed home.

Six months after Darrell reached the rank of Lt. Colonel, they had their first child—Claire—and Julietta’s first grandchild. She never told Lee he was a grandfather.

Last December, when Lee dropped dead in the backyard, she emailed Darrell and told him his father had died of cardiac arrest. She asked if he wanted to attend the funeral. No, Mom, he replied. She followed up with a second email and asked if he wanted some of Lee’s cremains. Again, Darrell’s answer was a short, capitalized NO.

JULIETTA SETTLED LEE’S estate in four months and while the house was for sale, contemplated what to do with the rest of her life. Now that she was free, traveling rose to the top of her bucket list. She emailed Darrell a month ago about visiting, only to find out he had left for Uzbekistan, his posting top secret. Gizelle was still in Paris and invited her to visit and meet her granddaughter, and they made a date. Julietta would fly to Paris in September, after completing her cross-country trip. Gizelle hoped Darrell would be on leave by then.

All Julietta had now were the photos Gizelle had sent her: of their wedding day, and Claire. Darrell looked mature and handsome in his full-dress Army uniform and Gizelle’s smile would have lit up Broadway. The photos of Claire filled her with joy. At one year of age, she had the features of both of her parents—beautiful, curly hair, dark brown like Darrell’s, and twinkling blue eyes and the fair complexion and smile of Gizelle.

She let out a long sigh. September was three months away. It would be the first time since Darrell enlisted she would see him in full.

Chapter 3

The sun rose higher in the sky as she drove down the Pacific Coast Highway. In mid-June the morning temperature was still a comfortable 60 degrees. Suffused with freedom, she was exhilarated to be on the road. The miles passed in slow motion: surfers got out of their trucks and SUVs and headed for the beach with their boards, and the parking lots filled with beachgoers. School was out and people were on vacation. She was lucky to have gotten a reserved spot at the RV Park.

IF ONLY LELAND HADN’T been so unwilling to acknowledge his son. Darrell would have liked to learn how to swim in the ocean, play baseball, soccer or volleyball, but Leland wasn’t interested in teaching him about sports. Nor did he give him any fatherly advice about puberty or how to treat young women. Instead, everyday when Darrell came home from school, he went directly to his room and studied, sometimes with one of the students in his class, but not if Leland was home. On Saturdays, he usually went to the movies with school friends, or bowling. On rare occasions, he went to another classmate’s home, watched movies and played video games. Lee wouldn’t allow DVDs or video games in their house. He was strict about watching TV as well.

Once, when Darrell was twelve years old, he asked Lee to drive him and his friends to a minor league baseball game in Santa Barbara. I’m busy, his father said—even though Darrell told him the game was on Saturday. Julietta drove them to the field and another parent picked them up and took them home.

Darrell didn’t attend Father and Son Day before his high school graduation either. His father thought such gatherings were nonsense, including Darrell’s Senior Ball. Julietta helped him find a tuxedo to rent and offered to help chaperone the event.

TOO BUSY, TOO LATE... Lee was always busy, too busy to pay attention to his son, too busy to see him grow into a fine young man—too busy to attend his induction into the Army as a 2nd Lieutenant.

Too late to make amends.

AND HE WAS OFTEN TOO busy for her, too. Their sex life had ceased about fifteen years ago, two months after Darrell joined the Army and she and Leland became empty-nesters. Lee had been diagnosed with angina and given medication for it. He walked five miles three times a week, and exercised every day on a stationary bicycle. But making love? Not part of his regimen, although his cardiologist told him having sex was a healthy and loving activity, and statistics showed men lived longer if they maintained intimacy with someone they loved.

Julietta was acutely aware of the grudge he harbored against her for getting pregnant at the age of thirty-nine. To her it was a blessing, but to Lee, a betrayal. He never wanted children and insisted she use birth control, which she had, several years before she even met him.

She had gone off the pill after a routine health exam revealed an increase in her blood pressure. And there were cautions at the time from medical professionals about the prolonged use of the pill—possibly resulting in a higher rate of breast or uterine cancer. To avoid taking meds to lower her blood pressure, her OB-GYN suggested she use another form of birth control and Julietta tried a spermicidal cream. Lee, however, refused to use a condom as double protection.

Darrell was born a year later.

After his birth, their sex life became rare, short and perfunctory, until the angina, when Lee moved to Darrell’s bedroom and their marital life ended for good. She should have left him then. She would have been in her sixties, still able to make a good living as an attorney, but guilt overpowered good sense. Although he denied it, Leland Fellini was a sick man and even though he ignored her most of the time, he still needed her. What if he died alone in the house and nobody found him for days? She would have never forgiven herself.

THE NUMBER OF MILES she had traveled blurred as her mind wandered in the past. She had watched a video on how to use the RV’s GPS system but instead of Malibu, the map on the screen showed directions to downtown Los Angeles and she couldn’t figure out how to change it, so she turned it off. She indicated a right turn and carefully pulled to the side of the road. She got out her California AAA road map of coastal communities. Several drivers of SUVs and trucks honked as they whizzed by and one gave her the finger.

What happened to patience and civility? she asked Gretta, who raised her head, eyed her with half-blind eyes then fell asleep again.

Aha. Not far—less than an hour. She used the mirrors to make sure no one was speeding up behind her, glanced out the window and slowly moved back into the right lane.

FORTY MINUTES LATER, a sign drew her attention: Malibu—10 miles. She moved into the right lane. Good thing she saw it or she might have ended up in Santa Monica. That’s what happens, Gretta, when you start ruminating about the past instead of paying attention to road signs.

The Dachshund got up, turned around a few times and settled back down again.

Julietta shrugged and shook her head. The man she had called her spouse had dropped dead six months ago in the backyard while mowing the lawn. He was too cheap to hire a gardener and had insisted on using a manual lawn mower. Good exercise and good for the environment, he said.

One minute she heard him cutting the grass and fifteen minutes later, silence. She thought he was cleaning the mower, but no—she found him sprawled on the ground and was unable to revive him. Although he was under the care of a physician at the time of his death, she paid for an autopsy. According to the medical examiner, Leland Fellini had died instantly of cardiac arrest. There were no drugs in his system, including the ones prescribed by his cardiologist. She wondered if he had stopped taking them on purpose, perhaps thinking he didn’t need them anymore.

She should have grieved: her mate of five decades suddenly gone. But Julietta experienced something else—a writhing storm of guilt for breathing a sigh of relief, followed by a strong sense of liberation and the determination to live her life as she saw fit.

MALIBU: ONE MILE. Where had the last nine miles gone? She slowed down, looking for the RV Park’s entrance. The driver behind her honked then whipped out from behind her and passed, dangerously close to oncoming traffic, leaving a screech of tires in his wake.

Gretta got to her feet and whined. Julietta patted her on the head. Everything’s fine, she said. We’re almost there.

Chapter 4

She saw the sign and turned but had to back up and try again. She had taken the turn too wide. Damn, she said. I should have practiced turning more. But with time and experience, I’ll  learn how to maneuver this RV with aplomb.

Laughing at herself, she pulled up to the clubhouse, parked, and went inside. A young woman at the desk took the reservation slip Julietta showed her. Welcome to the Malibu Shores RV Park, Ms. Fellini. She pointed to a map which indicated a layout of the Park. Here is where you’ll be staying. She handed Julietta a brochure. And enjoy all the amenities we have to offer.

I will, Julietta said and thanked her. She got back into the RV and carefully drove down the narrow road where she could see the beach and at least a dozen other RVs hooked up to power. Her spot was at the end of the row, near large palm trees, sea grass, and a stunning view of the ocean.

She tried three times to get into her space. Then an older man in the RV space next to her came out of his rig and smiled at her. He must have heard the engine. Need help? he called to her. I can park the RV for you.

She leaned out the cab’s window. Thank you. I haven’t mastered RV parking yet.

She scooted over to the passenger seat. He got into the driver’s seat and she held Gretta on her lap. Gretta growled at being moved. Julietta told the man the elderly dachshund was harmless and he grinned.

Glenn Barlowe, he said, extending his hand. I’ve got a five-year old Cockapoo inside my RV. She’s a terror until you get to know her. Julietta laughed.

Surprised by his deftness, she watched Glenn back up once then smoothly park the RV into her space.

Thank you again. She held out her hand. Julietta Fellini. He gave her a strong handshake. 

Are you traveling alone? he asked.

She smiled. Yes, I’m on a cross-country trip. It’s me and Gretta and the open road.

Me, too, Glenn said. Three years ago, I lost my spouse of fifty years to cancer. It took a year of grieving and months of introspection before I was ready to leave our home in Riverside, my three adult children, two grandchildren in their late 20s, and my newborn great-granddaughter. My kids thought I was crazy—or running away from them. Not so.

He sighed heavily. "I spent four years taking care of Jo—Helen, and when she finally passed, I was so exhausted, I could barely move off the couch most of the day. It took a while before I regained my strength. I bought a motor home and tried RVing alone. Then I joined a club and we caravan to various places in the spring and summer months. I’ve had a lot of fun since then."

A talkative man, she thought, but helpful and friendly. You have my sympathy, Glenn. I recently lost my husband to a heart attack. She gave him a friendly smile. I sold the house, most of the contents and our cars, and this compact motor coach is my home for now. She told him they had lived in San Luis Obispo for decades.

Nice town, he said. I’ve been up the coast as far as Eureka. The sheer beauty of the California coast, rugged or not, calms me, keeps me in the now rather than in the past.

Nodding, she opened the door and stepped down. Glenn followed. Gretta resumed her place on the passenger seat. I need to do the hookup thing, she said.

I’ll show you how it’s done, so in the future you can do it yourself. She caught him looking her over. As if nodding his approval, he gave her a sweet smile. And perhaps you could use a brief tutorial on how to dump waste?

Yes, they showed me when I bought the RV, but it went by so fast, I had to look at the owner’s manual twice before leaving home. She gave him a thoughtful look. I’d like to invite you to lunch, she said. The website mentioned a restaurant on the premises.

Yes, Julietta Fellini, a nice one. I’d be honored.

AFTER SHE SETTLED IN, they walked over to the restaurant. Glenn Barlowe said he had just turned eighty. He had a full head of white hair, speckled with gray, hazel eyes and, considering his age, a youthful, barely-lined face. He was close to six-feet tall, had a medium build, and was slightly stooped. He told Julietta he had retired at age sixty-five as a supervising lineman for a utility company in the Inland Empire.

Climbing those towers and restoring power, or hooking up power, is physically demanding, he said. Before I was promoted to supervisor, I got beat up a few times—electrical shocks, broke my wrist in one fall and my left leg in another. I loved being outdoors, but not the injuries. After thirty-five years on the job, I retired, with a great pension and unbelievable benefits. He sipped his coffee. "All was well until Helen was diagnosed with kidney cancer."

Julietta saw the hurt in his eyes. He was everything Lee was not: adventurous, kind, gregarious, and in good physical shape for his age. She enjoyed talking with him and from what she could tell, he liked her too.

When the bill arrived, Julietta snatched the plate it was on and put her credit card over it.  Glenn chuckled. You are a fast one.

I invited you to lunch, so it’s my treat.

I graciously accept, he said. Would you like to meet the others in our caravan? We’re having a barbecue tonight at one of the members’ spaces.

Thank you, I would. I started out on this journey alone, but I find it surprising I’m already accumulating friends.

Such is the beauty of RVing. You are rarely alone for long.

What time? Julietta asked.

Six o’clock, Glenn said. I’m bringing a spinach dip and pita chips.

What should I bring?

Just you, he said. Get to know us then next time, you can bring something.

Julietta blushed.

Chapter 5

At 6:00 p.m. Glenn knocked on her door. Julietta had taken a short nap when they returned from lunch. About an hour ago, she freshened up and put on a pair of jeans and a white cotton pullover. She found a pair of sandals she’d tossed into the small closet. Her dark brown hair, with its silvery highlights, was fashioned into a pixie cut. She knew that being on the road left little time for styling or trips to a salon and had it cut short before leaving San Luis Obispo.

As they exited the rig, she locked the RV’s door and saw the sun in all its glory cast its rays over the ocean. She inhaled the fresh salty air and stood there for a minute as the waves crashed onto the beach. Glenn stood next to her and waited.

Ready?

I am. She took a deep breath. He took her arm and they walked five spaces down to the Monarch, a large motor home, which she estimated must have cost over $250,000. An African-American man and woman were carrying food out to a large table. They had a huge gas grill and several plates of marinated chicken parts sat on a preparation table next to it.

Welcome, Glenn, the elderly woman said. Julietta guessed she, too, was in her eighties, along with the man beside her. And you brought a guest.

Julietta Fellini. This is her first venture into RVing.

Bethany Lovette, the woman said, holding out her hand. And my husband, Michael. His handle is Mikey.

Handle? Julietta asked.

His former CB handle, Glenn said. In the old days, farmers, truckers and RVers used citizens’ band radios to communicate at short distances. Last year we all converted to smart phones, for texting or to communicate by voice.

Julietta shook Bethany’s hand. I have a lot to learn, she said.

Something to drink? Bethany asked. We have soda, seltzers, wine, bourbon and whiskey.

A glass of wine would be perfect, Julietta said.

Bethany handed her chardonnay in a plastic cup.

Thank you for inviting me to your barbecue.

Our pleasure. Most of us are from the Inland Empire of California. We started out as ten, but one of the couples in our group decided to visit family in San Diego.

Within an hour, she had met the others: eight couples, African-American, Hispanic and Asian. They were about her age and, like Glenn, all retired from public agencies within the Inland Empire. She knew the area well, having grown up in Temecula, about 40 miles from Riverside. They were all friendly and welcoming and Julietta was glad she came.

Everyone sat at a long fold-up table, passing platters of barbecued chicken from one to another. They filled their plastic plates with salads, rice pilaf and raw vegetables, and Mikey kept pouring the wine and other beverages.

Julietta had never eaten a meal as big as this since her honeymoon and she didn’t think she had room for dessert, until she saw the blueberry cheesecake and took half of a slice. Glenn took the other half.

Not a big eater, I presume, he said, and she nodded.

It was delicious. She looked at the others. Do you always eat like this?

Mikey laughed. Usually on the second night of our arrival at an RV Park. Then we are on our own.

So where are you going next? she asked.

Las Vegas, Mikey said. We get special rates at a 45-acre RV park there.

It’s like a big party, Glenn said. That is, when we aren’t trying our luck at the slots or other gaming tables.

Julietta’s eyes widened. Las Vegas is the second stop on my itinerary.

Why not join us? Bethany said.

Thank you for the invitation. What can I bring for dinner?

Annie and I are going to barbecue ribs, Tim said. A salad would be nice—maybe coleslaw, or potato salad—for at least twenty people...

Looks like I’ll need a lot of potatoes, she said to laughter.

AS THE SUN SETTLED on the horizon, Julietta stood up, thanked everyone for their hospitality, and explained her aging dog needed to do her nightly business. I am so glad to have met you all. It was a wonderful introduction to RVing.

Glenn offered to escort her back to her motor home.

I think I’m going to call it a night. I took a nap but didn’t think I’d be this tired by 9 p.m. Must be the anxiety of leaving home for good and driving 170 miles for the first time.

I’ll get Monique and we can walk our companions over to the dog area for their nightly business, he said.

Good idea. See you in about ten minutes? I need to freshen up.

He nodded and went back to his rig.

EXACTLY TEN MINUTES later, he was standing in front of her door with the cutest black Cockapoo she had ever seen. She put Gretta on a leash and went outside.

Monique, you said?

"Yep. She was a gift from my oldest son when Helen was first diagnosed. She was a therapy dog while Jo...Helen underwent chemo twice a week and, after she passed, Monique turned her attention to me. At times I think she can read my mind as well as my emotional state."

Monique looked up at Julietta and cocked her head, then took a stiff-legged stance in front of Gretta. The mini-dachshund growled then they sniffed each other.

Glenn laughed. They are friends already. And she didn’t bark at you.

That’s a good thing, isn’t it? Julietta said as they set off toward the dog park.

Chapter 6

Julietta hadn’t slept through the night in decades. But last night, the moment her head hit the pillow, she was dreaming of million dollar jackpots and beautiful vistas. She didn’t get up once, nor did Gretta.

After they got back from the dog park, Glenn gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek and said he had enjoyed her company. She returned the kiss and thanked him for his kindness in introducing her to his friends, and for helping her with the RV. Then she invited him to breakfast. 9:00 a.m.?  

Perfect, he said.

She glanced at the clock on the night table: 8:30 a.m. She barely had time to shower, get dressed, feed and water Gretta and prepare the French toast and sausage.

GLENN RAPPED ON THE door at precisely 9.00 a.m. She invited him inside and showed him to the table. His eyes focused on the tablecloth and the fancy china plates. She had placed a small pitcher of orange juice, real maple syrup, and creamer in the middle. Have some juice or coffee while I’m making the French toast, she said.

Smells great already. He poured a cup of coffee from the carafe on the side table next to the stove. Are you also making sausage?

She nodded. She put the plate of sausage patties into the small oven to keep them warm then dipped the thick slices of sourdough French bread into the egg batter. The butter melted and began to sizzle and one by one, she lowered the slices into a large frying pan.

It smells so good. What is your secret?

Vanilla, cinnamon, and a touch of nutmeg, she said, flipping the toast. A few minutes later, she had a full platter. Help yourself.

She retrieved the sausage from the oven and set it on the table.

He took two slices and poured the maple syrup over them. After a forkful of French toast, he grinned. Yum,