Page 16 of Marcello

“Sure.” Federica called out to one of the waitresses working the evening shift. I caught about half of what she said, but the other waitress nodded.

Tommaso started yelling from behind the counter again until Federica shouted back at him.

I think it was along the lines of I’M PAYING FOR IT!

He looked grumpy, but he shut up.

“Do you guys speak Neapolitan all the time?” I asked.

“If you’re speaking with somebody local, yes. If it’s tourists, we speak Italian or English. And as you’ve probably noticed,” she said as she gestured around the pizza place, “we got a lot of tourists.”

“Do they teach Neapolitan in schools?”

“No, it’s something you learn at home. Italian’s the official language for government and business – but if you’re hanging out with friends or talking to anybody who lives here, you use Neapolitan.”

“Jesus,” I groaned. “I didn’t think I was going to have to learn another language.”

She laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you.”

As soon as she said it, her leg brushed up against mine.

She was definitely hitting on me.

When I didn’t react, she must’ve gotten a little self-conscious, because she pulled her leg back and said, “So – why did you quit school in Florence and come to Naples?”

I knew this was coming, so I’d worked up a plausible lie while I was scrubbing dishes.

“I just hated it. I especially hated being a business major. It was all my parents’ idea. I knew I could never quit and stay in Florence because they’d nag me to death – so I saved up some money and moved down here so I could do whatever I want.”

None of that was true. I liked university. I wanted to be an entrepreneur one day, so I figured I should know as much about business as possible.

My father would’ve been pissed if I’d dropped out, but after he cheated on Mama, I didn’t give a shit what he thought.

And while my mother would have been disappointed, she wouldn’t have nagged me about it. She would’ve just insisted I get a job.

Preferably not washing dishes.

“Why’d you come here, though?” Federica asked. “Why Naples?”

“Well, at the time,” I said drily, “I didn’t know you guys spoke an entirely different language.”

She laughed. “Rethinking your life choices right about now?”

“A little.”

“You still gonna stay?”

I have no fucking choice.

“I’m thinking about it,” I replied.

She grinned. “Good.”

The pizza came a few minutes later. As we ate, Federica talked about how she’d gone to the Accademia di Belle Arti di Napoli, or the Naples Academy of Fine Arts. After she graduated, though, she couldn’t find a job using her degree, so she’d had to settle for waitressing gigs while she worked on her own stuff.

She was really big into street art, and made posters she plastered around the city – like the ones I’d seen earlier on my job hunt.

While we ate and she talked, I drank another two beers. I had a pretty good buzz going by the time we finished.