Joshua
leaned out the window, trying to absorb all the sights and smells and sounds of
Rome.
From
his limited vantage point, he could hear music playing and people laughing.
Joshua took a deep breath, the smell of garlic and car exhaust mingling with a
scent he couldn’t even begin to describe, but one he knew would forever remind
him of Rome. Through the leaves of the tree in front of the window, he saw small
cafés full of people, some dancing, some just sitting at tables, all having
what appeared to be a good time.
More
than anything, Joshua wished he could join them at the café, to drink and laugh
and just be normal.
He
refused to turn from the window when he heard the door to his room opened,
knowing who it was without even looking. He braced himself for the inevitable
scolding.
“Your
highness!” came a strident voice. “You mustn’t lean out the window like
that!” The man came over to Joshua, reaching out and pulling the window closed,
forcing Joshua away from window. “How would it look if the press saw you
hanging out a window like a common housewife gossiping with her neighbors?”
“I
don’t imagine it would be that much of a crisis, Claude,” Joshua said.
“Let’s
not find out, shall we?” Claude said, closing the curtains against the window.
“You must remember your place, your highness.”
“As
if I could ever forget it,” Joshua replied.
“Sometimes
I wonder that you do, your highness,” Claude said. “You must remember that
your first duty is to your country.”
“Claude,
I know what my duty is,” Joshua replied bitterly. “I don’t need you to
remind me every single day.”
Claude
blinked at the bitterness of Joshua’s voice and quickly changed the subject.
“Princess Eva looked very lovely tonight, didn’t she?”
Joshua’s
eyes closed in frustration at Claude’s words. More
duty and responsibility. Joshua was expected to marry someone, and marry someone
soon, to keep the royal line going. And by the way Claude and the others have
been acting as of late, it appeared as if his advisors and ministers made a
choice for him in Eva, the daughter of a prince of a country that his own was
trying to sign a trade agreement with. Not to mention the idea of marrying a
woman…he stopped his train of thought, knowing however he felt, whatever he
needed, whoever he loved, it didn’t matter. He had no choice.
He opened his eyes, finding Claude observing him with a puzzled
expression. He forced a smile on his face. “Yes, she looked lovely,” he
agreed with a sigh.
Claude beamed. “It’s past time you were asleep, your highness,”
he said, turning back the sheets of the bed. “Please drink your night cap
before you retire. You have a busy day tomorrow and need your rest.” With that,
Claude bowed to Joshua and left the room.
Joshua walked over to the bedside table and picked up the glass of
milk. He moved back over to the window, slipping behind the curtain and opening
the window again. The laughter and life of Rome was still going on below him.
Laughter and life that Joshua would never participate in. He raised the glass of
milk to his lips, but stopped before taking a drink. The milk he drank every
night included a sedative, and usually Joshua didn’t mind, needing the
numbness the drug gave him.
But not tonight.
He leaned out the window a bit and poured the milk to the ground,
spying for the first time the trellis that was built against the wall. The idea
came to him so fast, and felt so right, he didn’t even stop to think about it.
Joshua ran to his dressing room, throwing of his sleepwear and slipping on the
most casual clothes he could find in his wardrobe. Realizing he had no cash
money, he rummaged through his trunk for one of his sash broaches, choosing the
least unattractive one and slipping it into his pocket. He grabbed his sailing
hat; the one Claude had threatened to throw away for years, and ran back to the
window.
Throwing a leg over the windowsill, Joshua’s feet found the
trellis. He used the slats as a ladder, scooting down the wall quickly. Silently,
he moved through the grounds of the embassy until he reached a back gate.
Locked.
With a hint of panic, Joshua looked around, sighing with relief
when he spied some crates from the kitchen thrown onto the trash pile. Joshua
pulled two crates over to the wall, stacked them as best he could, climbed on
top, and with desperate effort, heaved himself over the wall.
Justin sat at café table, reading the morning edition of the
International Herald-Tribune, the paper he used to work for. He absently scanned
the headlines. The big story of the day seemed to be that visiting prince had
taken ill, and all his official duties had been canceled until further notice.
He looked at the picture of the prince. Not bad, Justin thought, if
you went for that hoity-toity type.. Justin did admit, through his
photographers eye, that to look that good in newsprint this prince was probably
really spectacular in person. Justin shrugged, turning the page. He was a
penniless photojournalist. No chance they’d ever meet, much less get together.
Justin looked over his paper as a sound of a scooter came close to
him, smiling as he saw Joey drive up to him. “Morning,” he called out to his
friend.
Joey turned off his scooter, propping the machine against a lamp
post and joined Justin at the table. “George wants to see you,” he told
Justin, reaching over and snagging one of Justin’s buttered rolls.
“I don’t care,” Justin said. George was his former and
Joey’s current boss at the Herald-Tribune. Justin has been fired last week,
for the last time, he vowed. Ever since then, George had been trying to get him
to come back to work. “I’m not going back unless I can do it on my terms,”
Justin added.
Joey shook his head. “What more do you want?’ he asked.
“George said you could have more money than you had been making.”
“And my assignments?” he inquired. Joey shook his head.
“There you go then. Until I can pick my assignments without George sending me
to flower shows and pig races, I’ll stay freelance.”
“It was one pig race,” Joey protested.
“Which is one too many.” Justin checked his watch. “I have to
go to Libretti’s and visit my camera equipment,” he said, rising from the
table. “And I’m taking your scooter!”
Justin ignored Joey’s cries of protest as he wheeled away from
the café. In a matter of minutes he was pulling in front of Libretti’s.
Justin might have joked that he was visiting his camera equipment, but it
wasn’t far from the truth. He looked through the pawn shop’s window at his
Leicia, the sign now reading “Available in 5 Days” in front of his beloved
camera. He silently cursed Libretti as he opened the door.
“Ah, Signore Timberlake,” Libretti said in his halting English.
“You have come to retrieve the Leicia, yes?”
Justin shook his head. “Not yes, Libretti,” he said sadly.
“But I can make a payment.” He pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket.
The bell over the door rang just as they finished their
transactions. “You’ve have bought yourself one additional day, Signore
Timberlake,” Libretti said. “I change the sign right now.” He noticed the
other man who had entered the store. “Sarò con lei in un minuto.”
“Grazie,” came the reply.
Justin gazed at the newcomer. There was something familiar about
the man. He tried to peer under the scruffy hat, but Libretti came back and took
his attention. “Now, you have six days,” he said.
Justin nodded but didn’t leave. “I’m just going to look
around a bit,” he said.
Libritti shrugged. “Lo come posso aiutare?” How can I help
you?”
Justin watched the other man pull something from his pocket.
“Quanto lei me darà per questo?” How much will you give me for this?
Justin saw Libretti’s eyes widen, then his expression closed.
“Non un pezzo cattivo.” Not a bad piece. “Quindici mila lire.” Fifteen
thousand lire.
“Ciò è un lotto?”
“No, it’s not a lot,” Justin said in English automatically.
“Libretti, you crook, are you trying to cheat him?”
The seller turned to Justin. “Is he trying to cheat me?” His
English was tinted by a lilting accent.
Justin heart raced at the sound of his voice. There was something
familiar about the man, something he knew but just couldn’t place. “Yes, he
is,” Justin confirmed. “Libritti, give him what it’s worth,” he told the
shopkeeper.
“Did I say fifteen-thousand?” Libritti said. “I meant one
hundred and fifteen thousand! I’ll be right back!” He left the shop
through a curtain.
“Thank you,” the seller said, taking off his hat. “I really
don’t know anything about Italian money.”
Justin’s eyes widened as he realized who this man was. What
the hell? he thought. The visiting prince, the one the embassy had
proclaimed as “too ill to attend official functions?” What was he doing in a
pawnshop? He shook his head, remembering to finally answer him. “That’s
alright,” Justin said. “It’s not really as much as you think, what with
all the post war inflations still going on.”
“Yes,” came the reply. “It’s that way in my country as
well.”
Justin was prevented from asking anything more by Libretti coming
back. He watched as the prince…what was his name again? Oh, yes, Joshua. He
watched Joshua complete his transaction with Libretti, his mind working
furiously.
By the looks of him, Prince Joshua was obviously not ill. And the
clothes. Justin regarded the casual attire and the hat. Not to mention pawning
what looked to be some kind of ornamental broach for cash. Justin smiled to
himself.
Prince Joshua had run away from home.
Justin
thought of his Leicia, sitting not four feet away. He thought of George and how
he swore he’d only go back on his own terms. If he could bring George a story
so fantastic, a story so exclusive, he could write his own ticket. Forget
George and the Herald Tribune, Justin thought. This could get him back to
the US, back to a real paper like the Times.
He
watched the Prince finish his transaction. “So, you’re new to Rome?”
Justin asked.
The
Prince nodded. “My first visit,” he said, his smile bright with excitement.
“I want to see everything!”
Justin
chuckled. “Well, in that case, you should see it with someone who knows Rome,”
he suggested. “Someone like me.” The Prince looked at him with wary eyes.
“I know, I know, but I’m completely harmless and extremely trustworthy,”
Justin explained. “Libretti! Tell him I’m safe!”
“He’s
very safe, signore,” Libretti agreed. “Like a little kitten.”
“A
kitten?” the Prince said, looking Justin up and down.
Justin’s
breath caught at such a forward action. Well, well, Justin thought.
“Not too much a kitten, but not dangerous, either.”
The
Prince considered the offer, then nodded. “Thank you, I’d appreciate a
guide,” he said.
Justin
smiled, holding out his hand. “I’m Justin.”
“JC,”
the Prince said, grasping Justin’s hand.
Their
hands held for just a moment too long.