At sixteen they called Crysta piccola Sophia, for her resemblance to the young Sophia Loren. At thirty-nine she was beginning her third decade as the most beautiful woman not just in Scandicci, but all of Tuscany. One dreary September afternoon her husband, an industrialist, came home unexpectedly, caught her making love to the wife of a rival and threw her out. When the rival learned why Crysta's husband had thrown her out, he threw his wife out, too, and the scandal became public knowledge. Privately, the rival's wife begged Crysta to run away with her. Crysta refused and the broken woman left Tuscany on a train, alone. Crysta endured the stabbing tongues until her divorce was settled and then did the same, on a jet.
Her first stop was Anna's home in Westchester, New York. She and Anna and Anna's husband, Al, grew up together in the same Scandicci parish. After they married, Al took his new bride, already pregnant, to join the American Rossinies. Crysta had never quite forgiven him. But Al had done well - the Rossinies were the largest tower crane suppliers in the Northeast - and Crysta and Anna saw each other more than yearly.
The three of them discussed Crysta's scandal over wine, sitting at the kitchen table, the big house to themselves. When she described the scene that had so enraged her husband, Al asked one too many questions and she knew the story had aroused him.
"Have an affair with an American man," Anna said. "When the word gets back to Scandicci, they'll say, "She had a taste, but it didn't agree with her," and you can go back home."
But Crysta wasn't in any hurry. However sophisticated Italians thought themselves in sexual matters, their attitude toward homosexuality was still primitive. She'd been outed against her will, but that didn't mean she wanted to go back in the closet. She was attractive, educated, single and childless, and now she had a bit of an income. For the time being, she intended to live openly as a bisexual. Al thought she was crazy.
The family traditionally spent August at their summer home in the Adirondacks. Three days before the trip, Anna's mother suffered a stroke. A small one, thank god, but Anna decided to stay close for at least another week. She pestered Al into staying, too, and Crysta was given a choice. She could remain in Westchester: Al would take her into New York for a Yankees doubleheader and the three of them would drive up to the cottage a week later than originally planned. Or she could catch a ride up on Thursday with their son, Tony, all grown up now and living with his girlfriend, and Al and Anna would join them later. Crysta hated baseball and she hadn't seen Tony since his high school graduation. He called her Aunt Crissa, though she was only a family friend.
A heat wave blew in from the west on Tuesday morning. When Tony and his girlfriend arrived late Wednesday afternoon, Crysta was sipping Long Island iced tea through a straw, stretched out on a lounger on the flagstone back patio, shaded by the shadow of the house and oak and elm and maple. She was wearing a simple pink bikini. It was modest, unlike her proportions.
She set her drink down on the side table when she heard the commotion of the arrival. When, through the partially open French doors, she heard footsteps approach, she got to her feet, took her short robe from the back of the lounger and was turning toward the house when Tony burst through the doors.
"Aunt Crissa!"
He came down the two low stone steps, took her in his arms and twirled her around, the both of them laughing. He was four inches taller, forty pounds heavier and four years older than the last time she had seen him.
Holding her weight easily, he slowed to a stop. A series of reactions occurred: she had her hands on his biceps and she squeezed them; his pupils widened and he glanced down on Crysta's impressive breasts; he looked back up; their eyes met.
Tony and Aunt Crissa shared a confused moment. "So you found her," Anna said, entering through the French doors. Tony quickly lowered his aunt back to the flagstone. They released each other and took a half step back.
"Anna," Crysta scolded, putting on her robe. "You should have warned me."
"What? The boy has never seen his Aunt Crissa in a bathing suit before?"
"I'm not talking about my bathing suit. I'm talking about your son."
Anna beamed. She came to Tony and their arms slipped easily around each other's waist; hers ample, his trim. Behind them, a striking young woman stood atop the steps. She was every bit as well endowed as Crysta, a fact made clear by the halter top which she so nicely filled out and the high, tight cheeks her short-shorts barely covered. Her coloring was Nordic. Her Sassoon-ish bob was just above shoulder length, curled inward at the bottom, with an off-centre part. The cut left one eye veiled by straight golden hair. A blue eye set off by black lashes peered out from the open side of the 'do. In the manner of well built women, they casually checked each other out. They exchanged amiable smiles that said, "Not bad;" each woman giving the other her props.
When they were formally introduced, the girl, Isabel, came down the steps, her hand extended, and greeted Crysta in perfect Italian. She was, it turned out, Italian after all; Northern Italy, the Alps, near the Austrian border. By the time Al got home and they had a cold continental supper as a family, the two women were becoming friends.
* * *
Tony, Isabel and Crysta left the next morning. The temperature was eighty-two at ten-thirty, the heat index six degrees higher. Inside Tony's SUV the air conditioner was efficient, the sound system was crisp, the music selection was varied and the windows were tinted. The four hour drive passed quickly. Crysta let the other's lead the conversation. They were on I-87, an hour into the trip, when Isabel asked Crysta if she liked gossip.
"Only if I am the one doing it," Crysta said.
"Do you know who likes gossip?" Isabel asked.
It was clear she had a point, so Crysta played along. "Who?"
"The Rossinies," Isabel said, loud enough for Tony to hear but with her hand shielding her lips from Tony's view, so she could make a joke of it if she was crossing a line.
"Ah," Crysta nodded. She leaned to her left until she could see Tony in the review mirror. "So what has the Rossini family been gossiping about lately?" she asked, as if she didn't know.
Tony glanced up at the mirror. When he found Aunt Crissa already staring at him, he rolled his eyes in embarrassment.
"You know the family," he said meekly and returned his gaze to the road.
"Yes," Crysta said, thinking of the part the Scandicci Rossinies played in spreading the news of her scandal. "I suppose I do."
She sat back up straight and turned her attention to Isabel, who had raised the issue. From the moment their eyes had first met the previous afternoon, there was a tug of sexual attraction between the two women. Crysta was aware of it and it was clear to her that Isabel felt it, too. But Crysta wondered if Isabel had named what she was feeling. She knew from personal experience that people often filed their homosexual urges in the 'friendship' drawer until something undeniable and irrevocable happened.
"So what is it you would like me to confirm or deny?" she asked Isabel, her tone a degree cooler than neutral.
Isabel, undeterred, asked, "Is it true you have just been divorced for having an affair with another woman?"
Crysta was surprised by the girl's tone: she sounded concerned. "Yes," she answered.
"And there was a public scandal?"
"Yes."
"Are you okay?"
