COUGAR ON THE PROWL
Everyone Loves A Cougar
Given Opportunity – Will She Pounce?
By Steven James
Chapter 1
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She Wasn’t Felipe’s Mom
“Mo’Ma, Mo’Ma! Come . . . come! Over here!” Little Felipe grabbed Bianca’s hand and pulled her into the market. Bianca resisted. He pulled harder.
“Come Mo’Ma!”
Who was this little boy tugging on her hand?
Felipe had a slight build and dark complexion. He wore a red scarf and a blue-striped shirt with sleeves folded meticulously to three quarter length at his little elbows. He had brown eyes, like his older brother Nikola. He pushed aside his dark wavy brown hair so he could give Bianca the evil eye.
“Mo’Ma!” he insisted. “This way!”
Bianca resisted less, out of pure curiosity, as they brushed by strangers and vendors at the open-air market counters loaded with fresh melons, oranges, and red grapes.
“Madam, a great dinner for your family,” shouted a fisherman with a forearm-length sgombro (mackeral) extended to her.
The canal was alive with movement. A heavy North wind blew at their backs as Felipe hurried her along the cobblestone alleys. Weathered and over-used clothes hung on worn clotheslines as the colorful shirts and occasional undergarments snapped in the brisk wind. Small stone houses lined the off-shooting alleys. Most stood two stories and were topped with red roofs.
Against her better angels, and giving in to them at the same time, Bianca followed the spunky little boy. As they rounded a corner they came to the canal. Boats of all types rocked back and forth fighting their moorings for freedom. Bright colored red, white, and green sails waffled playfully in the wind.
Felipe’s brother Nikola waited impatiently in front of Ziggy’s toy shop. Felipe’s bathroom break had been a long fifteen minutes. Nikola wasn’t happy. He was worried that he had lost the spoiled little brat and he’d get in trouble. As Nikola saw things, Felipe got too much attention and now he was getting more. He wasn’t actually worried about the little turd.
Bianca had humored little Felipe long enough. She unlocked her hand from his, just as they arrived at hisdestination.
“Here Mo’Ma.”
“Nikola . . . what does it cost?” Felipe shouted to his older brother. “Did you find out?”
Felipe pointed to the beautifully painted replica of his father’s traghetto boat. The model showed a sturdier version of a Gondola that carried as many as ten people.
“Mo’Ma, Can I have it?”
Nikola looked at the woman attached to Felipe. Their eyes locked. She wasn’t his Mo’Ma.
His look was unmistakable. Bianca knew the look. His hungry nineteen-year-old eyes had four letters covering his pupils—MILF.
Just then, Felipe’s real mom Marie and his sister Carabella came around the corner. Marie had let the boys explore the village. Bianca locked eyes with Marie. The whole family froze as the two women looked at each other.
How could this be?
The two women were mirror images of each other—doppelgangers. They stared. The children stared. The boys stared. The two women held their breath not knowing what to say or do.
Bianca felt a shiver through her body as if she’d looked in a mirror and seen a ghost.
What would Marie’s Nonna think? Did this strange meeting have to do with Bianca’s Nonni and his travels to Southern Italy each year?
Whispers shouted in their minds.
Marie broke the silence, “Hi. I’m Marie, and these are my children.”
Still stunned, she continued in a hesitant voice, “This is very strange. Are you from Venice?” Secretly in her heart Marie knew more about the thin, good-looking women in front of her than her children.
She flashed back to a wonderful trip with Nonni to Naples when she had met multiple women. Each had treated her like a daughter, showering her with love and kindness. It didn’t seem odd at the time. It was just the wonderful Italian spirit toward children—love personified and shared.
Bianca responded, “No. I’m from Northern Italy in the Alps. I’m down for a holiday. Apparently a very unusual one.”
Little Felipe tugged Marie’s tan sweater as he tried to hide behind his mother. What had he done? Felipe’s sister Carabella noticed her little brother’s discomfort. Carabella had always protected Felipe—from the crib to his scraped-knee tears to any mischief in which he found himself. Carabella even once took the blame in church when he belched loudly during the ceremony. She quickly said, “Mi dispiace tanto” (I’m so sorry). As she grabbed and squeezed little Felipe’s hand to quiet him, she caught the stink eye from the entire congregation. She didn’t care. She would do anything for her little bambino brother; he meant the world to her.
Now, her sixth sense and motherly instincts were ignited.
“It’s okay Felipe. Caio Bene! It’s all good. Your new friend is going to make our day the most interesting day ever!” she mused, trying to calm Felipe.
The family laughed nervously. Carabella’s motherly instincts eased the tension.
Bianca felt the tension too. She switched her gears. “Oh my. What a beautiful family. Shall we have a coffee on the canal and get to know each other? If your mother agrees, maybe a chocolate latte for you Felipe? My treat.”
If only the gods would tell their secrets, we mortals could know why our paths cross. Was this a pre-ordained meeting set in motion by an origin they didn’t know? Did Marie know?
Bianca wondered if she should tell her story. A widow trying to unfreeze, hoping to unravel one of the cords of life’s dirty tricks. She wanted to be whole again. She longed for the completion she felt when she was with Salvatore—her lost love.
Maybe this unusual adventure was the start of her new life? Nikola with his not-so-secret MILF eyes would be shocked. She was much too old for him. Or maybe not? That would shock all of them.
The gods had been kind to Bianca. She complemented the gifts of good looks and an hourglass silhouette figure that she had been given with her humble demeanor. Carabella watched the sun dance playfully on Bianca’s olive complexion. She looked even younger in the sun. No one could guess her age. Little Felipe had proven that.
Bianca hoped to find love—young love. She didn’t want a man her age. She feared that would only remind her of her beloved Salvatore. She craved someone fresh and new to fulfill her longing. It had been years since she had been “with” someone. That someone had to be someone without memories or attachments to her past.
Nikola interrupted her thoughts. “May we know your name?”
“Oh yes. Of course. I’m Bianca de LaMere,” she said softly.
Nikola’s eyes sparkled. In his mind he had already peeled her shawl off her shoulders and feasted on her with his love-starved eyes.
Nikola eagerly responded, “Bianca, we’d love to chat and have a coffee. I know just the place. They have great food, too.”
Bianca was no fool. She knew the food was not Nikola’s real interest. Carabella watched Bianca intently. She knew what was in Nikola’s imagination. She wondered what games played in Bianca’s head. The answers would come slowly like the effects of a fine wine.
They strolled along the canal, each quietly trying to figure out the motives of the other. There was definitely much more going on below the surface of their pleasantries.
Nikola broke the lingering silence, “We are here.”