Paolo and Francesca…

a novel about beautiful people in Italy.

Tag: opera

“the opera doesn’t last all night.”

The bell at her door rang shrilly; though she was expecting him Francesca was startled, and she dropped the lipstick she was applying.  Paolo rang the bell again.

“I’m coming!” she called out.

She opened the door.

“Come on!” he said, grabbing her shoulders to kiss her.  “I don’t want to be late.”

“Just a minute,” she said, turning back into the apartment.  She took her small satin Bottega Veneta minaudiere and a champagne-colored mink stole that had been her grandmother’s.  He closed the door behind her.

“You look incredible,” he said as they waited for the elevator.  “Is there a technical term for what you’re wearing?”

“It’s a jumpsuit,” she said, laughing.

“Ah, a jumpsuit,” he replied.  “It looks like it’s complicated to get into and out of.”

“Not horribly complicated,” Francesca said.

“Hopefully not too complicated for me to figure out,” he grinned.

“You do know we’re going to the opera,” she said as she climbed into the passenger seat of his Maserati.

He reached over the gearshift to stroke her leg.  “The opera doesn’t last all night.”  He turned the key in the ignition and they roared out of her drive.

[after this: trying to drive.]

pants, no pants.

She awoke to the phone ringing on her nightstand.  Paolo turned over and pulled a pillow over his head and she reached for the phone.

“‘Giorno,” she said groggily.

“You’re in the Corriere today,” her mother replied excitedly.

“Hmmm,” she said.

“You’re wearing pants.  Why are you wearing pants to the opera?”


“Was anyone else wearing pants?  I don’t think so.”

“Mama, it’s Valentino.”

Her mother sighed.  “Valentino isn’t what it used to be.”

“You could say I looked pretty,” Francesca replied.

“You looked pretty, considering you were wearing pants.  And I have to say, that Paolo Romaldo is very handsome.”

Francesca looked at the sleeping man beside her and smiled.  “I know,” she said.  “We saw Marco last night,” she added.

“And how was he?” Anna asked.

“Very well.  The same.  He never changes.  He asked after you.”

“I’m sure he did,” her mother replied.

Paolo stirred again.  “I’ve got to go, mama.  Thanks for calling and letting me know about that.”

She hung up the phone.  Her mother woke early; luckily, the rest of her friends would be up much later.  She should be able to sleep a bit longer.

“What was that?” Paolo mumbled.

“My mama.  There’s a picture of us in the Corriere,” she answered.

“Mmmm,” he said into the pillow.  “I bet you look hot.”

“I bet you look hot,” she said, burrowing down under the covers.

She must have dozed off, because she woke up again more than an hour later to a phone ringing again.  But this time it wasn’t hers, it was Paolo’s.  She nudged him.  “Your phone,” she whispered.

“Ugh,” he said, rolling over to grab it off the opposite night table.

“Buongiorno,” he said.  “Si…si.  No,” he laughed.  “I know.  Yeah.  Ok, I’ll be back for dinner tomorrow night.  Ciao, To.”  He set down his phone and turned to her.  “We’re in the paper in Torino, too.  That was Verrino, calling to tell me he’d seen it.”


“Defensive back.  Tomasi Verrino.  He’s a good guy.”

“As long as it’s not some other woman calling to give you a hard time,” she said.

“No other woman,” he said, kissing her bare shoulder lightly.  “Not for me.”

She moved closer to him, letting him envelop her in his arms.  “Thanks, baby.”  She reached down between them for his penis, wrapping her fingers around it lightly.  He kissed the back of her neck as he grew thick and stiff in her hand.

“Oh, Cesca,” he said as she moved under the covers towards the foot of the bed and took his cock in her mouth, first just circling the head with her tongue, then diving deep down his shaft.

inspiration #15 : Rigoletto.

I’m working on an opera scene (Paolo likes opera, remember?).  The first opera I ever saw, and my favorite to this day, is Verdi’s Rigoletto.  Like any self-respecting Italian opera, it has a healthy dose of scandal, womanizing, family drama, date rape, and royalty.  I was fortunate to see this opera at New York’s Metropolitan Opera House, probably the world’s second most famous opera house, and second only to La Scala in Milan, where (if I can finish this chapter) Paolo and Francesca go to see Rigoletto on opening night.  I guess I’m just sentimental like that.