“Have fun,” she said to her mother as they hung up. And she was annoyed with herself later when she realized that her mother had scored a hit again. She was suddenly worrying that maybe she was forcing herself on Leslie and he didn't want her there as desperately as he said.

“I will not listen to them,” she said to herself, as she zipped her suitcase closed at midnight. “Mom and Jane are full of shit. They hate me, they have always hated me, and I don't care what they say. He loves me, and I love him, and that's all I need to know. He wants to see me, and we are going to have a wonderful time in Venice.” She said the whole speech out loud, and was proud of herself. And as Coco walked out on the deck and looked up at the stars, she prayed that everything would be all right when she got there. After that, she walked back inside and went to bed, and reminded herself that twenty-four hours later she would be in Venice, with the love of her life. It didn't get better than that, movie star or not. She wasn't going to question it, or dwell on what her mother had said. She was going to fly to Italy and have the time of her life.





Chapter 15

Coco made the same trip that Leslie had made almost two weeks earlier. The only difference was that he had made it in first class, and she flew in coach. Leslie had offered to buy her a first-class ticket too. But Coco liked to pay her own bills, and had refused. It was a long, eleven-hour cramped flight from San Francisco to Paris. She had slept fitfully on the flight, and she arrived feeling rumpled and dirty. She was too excited to fall into a deep sleep, and had watched four movies. She had a three-hour layover in Paris, where she managed to take a shower in the public bathroom, and have something to eat at an airport café. And she was starting to get seriously sleepy when she boarded the plane to Venice. She dozed off right after takeoff, fell into a heavy sleep, and the flight attendant had to wake her when they landed. It was the middle of the night for her, and she felt as though she had been traveling for days.

She had gone through customs in Paris, so all she had to do in Venice was walk off the plane, and get her passport stamped by immigration on the way out. She brushed her teeth, washed her face, and combed her hair before getting off. She had worn an old sweatshirt on the flight to Paris, but had changed into a new black sweater and black leather flats before disembarking in Venice. And as she left the plane, carrying a large tote bag, she saw Leslie waiting for her on the other side of immigration. It was lunchtime in Venice and the late October sun was very bright. But brightest of all was the look of joy in his eyes. He was thrilled to see her and swept her into his arms immediately, took the heavy bag from her, and walked her out of the terminal to a waiting limousine. He handed the driver her baggage stubs, and he went to claim her luggage while Leslie kissed her passionately in the car and told her how glad he was to see her. They both acted as though they hadn't seen each other in months, although it had been two days shy of two weeks.

“I was so afraid something would happen and you wouldn't come,” he admitted to her. “I can't believe you're here!” He looked ecstatic.

“Me neither. How's the movie going?”

“We have two days off. And I think they're giving us next weekend off too.” It was perfect. “I booked us into a hotel in Florence next week,” he said, beaming. He could hardly keep his hands off her as the driver appeared with her bags, put them in the trunk, and got back in the car. They were riding in a stretch Mercedes, which the producer had brought in from Germany, specially for him. He said the film was going well, although he and Madison had had some problems, but he didn't go into detail. All he wanted was to concentrate on Coco now that she was here.

It was a relatively short drive from the airport to the enormous parking lot, where they had to leave the limousine, and from there he had rented an enormous motoscafo, a speedboat, to take them to the Gritti Palace, where he was staying. The rest of the crew and some of the stars were staying at other smaller hotels, but he and Madison had been given suites at the Gritti, which was considered the most luxurious hotel in Venice. Madison had wanted to stay at the Cipriani, but the producer had insisted that it was farther and too complicated for transportation every day. And the director had taken refuge at the Bauer Grunwald, which he insisted he preferred. Leslie was delighted where he was.

The motoscafo took them rapidly down the Grand Canal, as Coco looked around her with awe. As they left the parking area, the city began to reveal itself before them. Churches, domes, basilicas, ancient palazzi, and eventually St. Mark's Cathedral and the square were dazzling in the October sun. It was easily the most beautiful place she had ever seen. And Leslie smiled at the look of wonder on her face.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” he said, and then pulled her into his arms and kissed her. He couldn't think of a better place to share with her than this. He had already rented a gondola for that night to take them under the Ponte dei Sospiri, the Bridge of Sighs, on their way to dinner, if she was still awake by then. There were a thousand things he wanted to do with her and show her. This was only the beginning. And he was grateful to have time off to be with her that weekend. They had been working hard.

When they arrived at the Gritti Palace, they were instantly whisked inside, and Leslie took her to their rooms. She had expected him to have a suite, but instead they had given him several suites, joined together, to form a palatial apartment just for him. It was in his contract, but more elegant and luxurious than anything Coco had ever seen. And the view from his windows was spectacular, looking across the canal at other palaces, many of them private and still owned by noble Venetians. It was a remarkable and unique city.

Several of the hotel's formidable staff were bowing and scraping to Leslie, as two maids disappeared to unpack her bags, and a liveried waiter arrived carrying an enormous silver tray with food for her, and a perfectly chilled bottle of Louis Roederer Cristal champagne.

“One gets a little spoiled on location,” Leslie whispered to her with a sheepish grin.

“I'll say,” she said, trying to remind herself that she was here for only a week or two. And when she left, the royal coach she was traveling in with him would turn into a pumpkin again. She had to remind herself of it constantly. Being with Leslie was a totally Cinderella experience, and without a doubt, he was the handsome prince. It was hard to believe that the glass slipper would really fit her in the end. That only happened in fairy tales, but clearly this was one.

They settled onto an enormous yellow satin couch as the waiter poured her tea for her, and served her a plate of exquisite little sandwiches, and then discreetly left the room.

“I'm not sure if I'm Cinderella or Orphan Annie,” she said, looking at Leslie in disbelief. “Last time I looked, I was in Bolinas. How did I ever wind up here?” She hadn't expected anything like this. All she had thought about was being with him again, it never occurred to her what his life would look like on location, or the lengths to which producers went to, to make things comfortable for him. This was way beyond comfortable. It was opulent in the extreme.

“It's not a bad life, is it?” He smiled mischievously. “But it was miserable until you got here. It was no fun without you,” he said, and showed her through the rooms. There was a gigantic, palatial bedroom, all done in exquisite antiques, with a frescoed ceiling, two sitting rooms, and a private dining room big enough to entertain two dozen friends. He had a small office, a library, and there were so many vast marble bathrooms in the suite that she lost count when he showed them to her. There were fresh flowers in every room, and he had picked out a pink marble bathroom for her, with a spectacular view of Venice.

“I think I'm dreaming,” she said as she followed him, and then without further ceremony, he pulled her onto their enormous canopied bed. It was fit for a king, but there she found the Leslie she knew and loved again. Despite the elegance of their surroundings, he was as loving and playful as he had been in Jane's house and Bolinas with her. One of the beauties about Leslie was that he enjoyed his life and everything that went with it, but he wasn't full of himself. And all he wanted now was to be with her.

They made love and slept through the afternoon, and then they took a bath in the enormous pink marble bathroom. He told her to put on jeans. He wanted to take her for a walk, and show her some of the wonders of Venice. They scampered quickly through the hotel lobby, and his private motoscafo deposited them in St. Mark's Square. From there, they wandered through some of the narrow back streets, walked into churches, bought gelato from a street vendor, and strolled over tiny bridges that covered the smaller canals. She totally lost her sense of direction as she walked with him, but neither of them cared. He was learning a little bit of the city, but being lost in Venice was never ominous. Wherever you went it was beautiful, and somehow you wound up back in the right place in the end. They saw other lovers like them walking everywhere, and most of them were Venetians at that time of the year. The weather was cool and sunny, and as the sun disappeared finally, they went back to the motoscafo, which deposited them back at the hotel.

Back in his palatial rooms again, she stood looking out at the city, and then turned to Leslie with all the love she felt for him in her eyes. “Thank you for inviting me here,” she said softly. It was almost like a honeymoon, being there with him, and the most romantic place she'd ever been.