Somebody's Angel

The young men were standing near the line in the courtyard of the old art museum, waiting for its doors to open. “See that girl in the white dress?” Andrea asked.

“What girl? There’s at least three, maybe four girls wearing white dresses,” Julio said.

“No, the one with the long brown hair, wearing the cream-colored hat with a black band around it.” He pointed. The woman was ahead of them, standing in line, about fifteen feet in front of them. She had been looking back to see how long the line stretched.

“Oh, yeah; too pretty for you.” He adjusted his hat, then his backpack, heavy with camera equipment.

“You’re wrong, Julio. I am going to meet that girl and marry her.”

Julio took one last drag of his cigarette and dropped it on the ground, crushing it with his shoe. He thought the woman was too tall for Andrea, but he didn’t say it. “The only thing you’re gonna do is get arrested for stalking her.”

Andrea laughed. The young woman turned away to face the museum’s entrance. “I wish she would look over here again so I could catch her eye.”

“Watch.” Julio whistled, the piercing sound reverberated from one courtyard wall to the next. Several people turned in Julio’s direction, annoyed looks on their faces, but the young woman paid no attention.

“See, just as I thought. She’s very self-assured,” Andrea said, “not about to be distracted from her deep thoughts.”

Julio looked at his watch. “The museum doesn’t open for another half hour. It’s almost lunch time. Let’s eat and come back later.”

“That’s all you ever think about, food. If I do that I may never see her again,” Andrea said.

Andrea and Julio had been tasked by their employer with covering the reopening of a newly refurbished art museum. Andrea was the writer, Julio the photographer. The two men had been employed on the same day two years ago and quickly became friends. Julio was recently divorced. Andrea was still searching for what he called, “mio angelo.” He had a sincere fondness for the Italian language and slipped it in whenever he could.

“I’m getting hungry,” Julio said.

“Again? This isn’t a straight news piece, remember? We’re supposed to immerse ourselves in the experience like the tourists,” Andrea said. “In fact, snap a few shots of the people waiting in line.”

“If you want me to take a few pictures of il tuo angelo just say so.” He reached into his bag for his camera.

At that moment the girl turned around and looked in their direction. Andrea smiled at her and she smiled back. That gave Andrea the courage to walk over to her. He introduced himself and his friend Julio. “We’re covering the reopening of the museum for The Journal. I’d like to interview you and Julio would like to take your photo.”

“Oh, no!” She said. “I can’t let you do that. I’m supposed to be at work. I only came here because one of my ancestor’s artwork will be on display.”

“I see. That would make such a good story. What is your name?” Andrea asked.

“It’s Carla, but as I said, no story.”

Andrea quickly agreed, no story. “Are you free for lunch after the tour?”

“With you and Julio?” Carla asked.

“Oh, I have to get back to the office,” Julio said. “You and Andrea go. I don’t usually eat lunch.”

Suddenly the line started to move. “Looks like they’re about to open the museum,” Andrea said. “Let’s meet afterward for lunch. I know a terrific bistro not far from here.”

The three of them started walking. “Only if Julio comes with us,” she said, smiling at the photographer.

Andrea looked at his friend, his eyes pleading, but Julio couldn’t tell whether Andrea wanted him to come along or beg off. “I’ll tell you what,” Julio said. “Let’s do the tour and talk about it when it’s over.”

The three of them walked through the museum. Andrea did his best to overhear what visitors were saying. He buttonholed a few people to ask for their opinion on certain exhibits and the museum’s facelift in general. He made a bit of a show of it, hoping to impress Carla. She smiled at him a couple of times, approvingly, he thought. Julio walked along, quietly snapping photos, speaking in a hushed tone only when the curator demanded to know why he was taking pictures. Carla, who was watching him work too, gently touched his arm once to point out something particularly interesting. Although they spoke very little, the three of them were having a good time. It seemed to both young men that she had paid more attention to Andrea during the tour than to Julio.

Later, standing in the courtyard again, Andrea said, “Let’s go to that bistro, Carla. You’ll love it.”

She turned to Julio. “I have to get back to the office,” he said.

Carla took a pen and tiny notepad out of her purse. She wrote her name and phone number and handed it to Julio. “Call me,” she said. Then she turned to Andrea. “Would you take a picture of Julio and I, please?”

Julio handed the camera to Andrea, who took the photo, his face red. He returned the camera to his friend. He took one last look at Carla and said, “It was nice meeting you l’angelo di Julio.”