Things Not Subject To Gravity

QUANTUM LEAPS: 16

16. JOE TAGLIAFERRI

To improve is to change; to be perfect is to have changed often.

(Winston Churchill)

(Side By Side, Kay Starr)

Wednesday the 17th of May, Joe Tagliaferri parked his custom – Moto Guzzi California 1400 - a few meters away from Caffè Palermo. It was a bike from 2015, in optimal condition, the black paint proudly reflecting the spring sunlight. The man took off his helmet, revealing his straight blond hair. He hadn't shaved and the shade of a light stubble on his chiselled jaw, combined with the biker's clothes, gave him a wild look. To top it off, a small golden ring gleamed in his left lobe.

He confidently strode to the cafe, smiled at the waitress that was looking at him and took a place at the first outer table, which was the closest to his two-wheel jewel. As soon as he leaned back in the chair, the girl came over to greet him and get his order. Joe took off his aviators, showing off his sea-green eyes.

"Buongiorno a te, cara. Un espresso, per favore (Good morning to you, too, honey. One espresso, please)," he said in fluent Italian.

She gave him an amused look and a nod but she didn't move. Staring into his eyes, it took her a few seconds before she could get back to her senses and head into the cafe. Joe grabbed the newspaper left on the next table, pulled an empty chair closer, stretched his legs and laid his feet over it. Then, he started reading the news. When the girl came back with his coffee, she had mustered her courage enough to start up a conversation and trying to look cool, she picked up the talk. She was in her twenties, obviously much younger than him.

"Scusa, ma sei italiano? (Excuse me, are you Italian?)" she asked in a friendly way.

"My father." He kept his eyes on the paper, but a moment before she could leave again, he dropped it down and gave her a seductive glance.

Her lips parted slightly as she stared back.

"And what about you? Are you Italian?" he asked, putting on his cat-that-ate-the-canary smile.

"Y-yes...I mean, I was born in Italy but raised here," she replied tripping on her words, and then she shook her head. "Basically, I can't remember a thing about it," she sighed.

"What a shame. It's such a beautiful country," he spoke slowly in his confident, low voice. "I've been to Roma, Milano, Firenze and Venezia. The best part is the countryside though. In Tuscany, I took endless rides on those small roads, lost among the green hills." His eyes half-closed as if remembering the view, a smile hanging on his full lips. "Now and then some little village would show up with its brownstone houses and cobblestone alleys and silence all around. It felt like being centuries back in time."

The girl brought her eyes up to the sky and let out an ecstatic breath. He gave her the time to imagine him riding those roads on his bike, herself sitting on the back.

"By the way, I'm Joe."

He brought his legs back to the ground and offered her his right hand.

"Maria," she said slowly, her eyes trailing down to him.

After a moment of hesitation, she grabbed his hand and granted him a dazzling smile.

Maybe afraid of looking too cheesy, she immediately excused herself to check on the only other client, an old man with a white beard and gentle eyes. However, just a step before disappearing inside the café, she couldn't refrain from giving Joe another glance. He caught her in time and gifted her a seductive half smile.