Date: Sun, 25 Feb 2024 15:34:44 -0500
From: Ronald Speener <boethiuscell@gmail.com>
Subject: Chrysalis Part 3-Chapter 9

Chrysalis Part 3-Chapter 9

This story is about a young man's quest to fix a major birth defect--he was
born without a penis. On his quest he meets challenges, his soul mate and
many other soon to be friends.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and events are the product of
the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any
real person is coincidental.

The story depicts procedures and practices common for gender reassignment;
however, this story does not claim to be a medical treatise, and
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Chapter 9--Fashion's Follies in Milan

	The Milan Fashion Week overlapped the London Fashion Week by a few
days, which Tom assured Chris was fine since they were scheduled for the
end of the week as they boarded the plane for Milan in London. It was only
a two hour flight on the commuter plane. Not even time for a nap. Not that
Chris could nap--hell he was going to Italy, fucking Italy. He would take
plenty of pictures, if he had time, and send them to his mother. Yes he
knew he was partly being petty, but then his mother would have bragging
rights too. Helga had booked business class, only two very comfortable
seats to a row. Tom offered Chris the window seat, which Chris did not
argue about.

	The plane rose steadily through cloud with only glimpses of
London. London and England now part of his life: Grandda, Thistledown, and
servants. He squeezed Tom's hand, nor from apprehension but from
excitement. Chris Wentworth world traveler, international fashion model,
owner of two elegant homes, respected by colleague's, loved by many
friends, loved by family, but greatest of all was being loved by Tom.

	Tom leaned over to whisper to Chris, "You, okay?"

	"Yes, way more than okay. I am sitting here counting my blessings
and am over whelmed with gratitude."

	Tom leaned over kissing Chris on the cheek, a steward saw and
smiled. "If you look down between the clouds, you can see the English
Channel." Tom lost Chris to the window until they were too high to make out
anything but spaghetti roads and doll house roofs.

	"Sirs," a baritone with a strong British accent interrupted Chris's
viewing. A tall lanky man in British Airways Uniform continue, "Sir, may I
offer you drinks and a small cheese tray?"

	"That would be lovely, Ian." Tom had read the name tag. "A cheese
tray with fruit, and a red wine for me, a Bordeaux, and for my
fiancé," Ian gave Chris a big smile. "a white, Pouilly fuisse."

	"Of course, sir, excellent choices. I will return with your repast
quickly."

	"I do love British snobbery," Chris chuckled at Tom. "How do you
know this flight has what you asked?"

	"My dearly beloved, naïve, Chris." Tom grinned broadly, "I
read the menu while we waited at the airport." Chris slapped Tom's arm then
was warned about pay backs. Tom showed Chris how to pull up the trays which
were in the armrest between the two seats.

	Ian returned with a tray and two glasses of French wine, which he
was able to attach between the two seats. "Please enjoy. The cheeses and
fruit are English, only fair, a Double Gloucester, a Stilton, a
Duddleeswell, and a Tintern. The fruits are Bramley apple, Orange Pippin
apple, Williams Pears, and Spetchley Red grapes." He bowed respectfully at
the two, then stood quirking his head. "I have seen both of you before. Are
you going to Milan for Fashion Week?"

	"Yes, we are, but this flight must be packed with travelers for
that event?"

	Ian acknowledged the fact that 90 percent of the flight was for the
fashion show; Tom looked so familiar. "Damn, I know from GQ and Armani."

Tom nodded, "walking for them tomorrow."

"But you I have seen too, but I'm not sure where. For some reason I think
as a singer and not a model." Chris looked both embarrassed and stunned.

"Chris," Tom looked at Chris like he was an apple pie fresh from the
oven. "Don't under estimate the power of the Internet and Claret." He
turned to look back at Ian. "Might it be Jazzabel's?"

"Yes, that is it, but don't be too loud. I'm still closeted, until I find a
proper job. Finished Uni with a marketing degree in entertainment. Most of
the people in the business are antiquated and not open to new approaches."

Chris gave Ian a careful scrutiny. "What is your last name Ian?" Tom openly
stared at Chris amazed to see him work his magic. Ian gave his last
name. "Dreamweavers, whom Tom and I both work for, is opening a model and
talent branch in London. The date is uncertain, but it will likely be after
February or March of next year. If possible I would like your contact
information for a potential position. If you could email me a portfolio, I
would pass it along to the hiring team, which has not even been set up."

"Dreamweaver's is American right and you are both American, how are you
doing this?"

"Yes, we are both American, but Tom has dual citizenship, his granddad
lives in England. We will be involved in getting things started." Ian
quickly wrote down contact information, while Chris and Tom gave Ian
business cards.

"Ian, quit pestering these gentlemen." A youngish woman with hair in a
tight bun, interrupted. "I am sorry sirs if Ian has been fawning over you,
but you are both strikingly handsome, and Ian is strikingly gay." Ian
blushed.

Tom winked at Ian. "So much for being in the closet dude, but...Penelope,
Ian has been most helpful with questions my fiancé has. This is his
first time to Europe and is a bundle of curiosity."

"Yes, thank you Ian very much for your help. The information you have given
me will be valuable to me."

"You are very welcome sir. And maybe we will meet again when you are in
London, and I can show you Yanks the real London. You have my email."
Penelope frowned at Ian but said nothing.

Tom handed Penelope a business card. "I assure you Penelope that our
conversation with Ian was most appropriate."

She looked at the card and choked on a swallow. "May I presume that you are
related to Lord Greenwood."

"Yes, his grandson and Chris, my fiancé, is very close to him as
well. We are just from visiting him at Thistledown and will be returning
there after the shows in Milan and Paris before we return to the States."
Tom turned to Chris, "How many frequent flier miles do you think we will
earn with all the travel to and from England. We will be back for our
wedding at Thistledown at Christmas, and likely before, and then there is
the other business we are involve in in London."

Chris smiled sweetly at Tom guessing his game, "I would say thousands. And
I do like British Air. It is convenient to fly out of our homes in New York
and Los Angeles as well as our offices in Chicago." Ian was trying not to
bust a gut while Penelope turned from officious to unctuous.

"We strive to be the best at British Airways. Now, Ian, we need to get
ready for landing. You need to start collecting the trash. And sirs it was
a pleasure to meet both of you." Penelope turned down the aisle toward the
front and likely to inform the powers that be of the conversation. Ian
turned to head toward the back of the plane, giving Tom and Chris a thumbs
up.

Chris took a piece of cheese on a slice of apple. "Tom, you are wicked, and
I love you." He bite the cheese and apple in half.





As Chris and Tom were exiting the gangplank, a gentleman and a lady, both
in British Airway Uniforms approached them. "Sirs, if you would follow us,
we have transportation for you to baggage claim. We appreciate your flying
British Airways and want to upgrade your status with us to preferred. This
means that you will always have first choices in seating and are guaranteed
seats on any flight."

"Thank you,...Bill, Chris and I appreciate the upgrade. As you have already
been informed by the very efficient Flight Attendant, Penelope, we will be
flying frequently from our homes in the states to London to visit with my
granddad Lord Greenwood but also for business."

Chris sat in the back of the cart with Bill's partner Arrabelle. "This
sudden courtesy to us is a very welcome surprise." Chris said as a way to
start a conversation. "We flew to London on British Airways, and it was
very comfortable. The only other long haul flight I've take, besides
between the coasts of the Unites States, which is a little less than 2500
miles, was to Dubai aboard an Air Emirate plane." Arrabelle looked at Chris
reevaluating his role in the relationship with Tom.

"Air Emirate is the gold standard, but then there is oil money behind the
airline. They have yet to make a profit. We at British Air try to balance
profit with service. What do you think?"

"I am impressed with the quality of service, particularly the flight
attendants. We flew first class to London with a horde of over privileged
snobs, who drove the attendants to distractions."

"I take it you did not come from money or social standing?" She looked down
her nose at Chris.

"No, my parents are solid middle class, who own a nice home. We in the
States appreciate wealth, particularly when it is earned. I have bought two
homes each worth more than several million with my own money. Tom comes to
our relationship with his own wealth. We have no need to impress anyone,
even you." Chris enjoyed putting her in her place. "I just came from
Thistledown where I met Lord Greenwood for the first time. There was a man
caught in the Edwardian period, with staff, servants, to take care of his
needs. Tom and I take care of our own needs. We do have a butler, but he is
AI. A computer program. We also will hire a housekeeper for our places in
New York and Los Angeles, and a landscape service for our home near
Malibu. But otherwise, we fend for ourselves. This whole idea of class is
very foreign to me, and slightly distasteful. Although the special
treatment is appreciated. We both travel for work extensively, anything
that can make it more comfortable is appreciated. I am not sure that I like
that we have been upgraded because Tom is Lord Greenwood's grandson. I
prefer that we have been upgraded because we are valued customers?"

"I see your point and appreciate your candor Chris. We follow the British
way; we honor class distinction like we have for over a thousand years. It
is hard to break habits, nor are we sure we want to. It is part of who we
are."

"If I and Tom are to survive when we are in England, I need to understand
your core traditions. I know your history, literature, art, music, and
politics, but they are only the visible parts of your culture. I plan on
obtaining British citizenship when Tom and I marry. I need help with the
invisible British. Any suggestions?"

"Pubs, football, rugby, Wimbledon, and toads in hole." Arribelle
laughed. "It is one of the national dishes of England."

Chris laughed with her, "Tom gorged himself on it when we were at
Thistledown."

Arribelle turned a frown. "Lord Greenwood is accepting of Tom marrying a
man, not that I mind, but an aristocratic, curmudgeon that he is rumored to
be."

"We have his blessing, after a fruitful discussion about being happy. We
are to marry at Thistledown over Twelfth Night with both of our families in
attendance." Chris looked at Arribelle, thinning his lips slightly. "How do
you feel about your son being gay."

"How did you know? He only told me three days ago, and I am processing. I
love him dearly, but he is my only son." She knit her hands together. "I
want to be supportive, but the world is not supportive. I worry."

"You have every right to worry; you're his mother, but life has no
guarantees regardless of sexual orientation. You are a good, kind,
thoughtful person. You have passed these traits onto you son. He will make
mistakes, like you did when you were his age. Love him when he fails;
encourage when he is strong; defend him when he is weak, rejoice when he is
happy. You both will do well."

Arribelle stared at Chris unable to talk. "How did you become so wise?
You're not even twenty."

"I am only telling what I want to be when I am a parent." Arribelle only
nodded. "How is your husband handling the news?"

"Bloody well. Which flabbergasted me. He offered to connect him with some
gay people where he works. My Bobby's only 17, legal but. Fred, my husband,
said that we cannot teach our son to be a responsible gay man. He needs
role models, which he will introduce Bobby to."

"Your husband seems to have his act together."

"Here we are at baggage claim," Bill yelled as he stopped the cart. "Do you
need assistance with your bags or arranging a taxi?"

"Tom, Chris, benvenuti amici miei [welcome, my friends]," Blaine waved his
hands as he strode toward the group. After kiss to both Tom and Chris and
sending Bill and Arribelle off, Blaine cleared the confusion as to why
Blaine was at the airport. Cedrick told Blaine to be their guide since he
knew Italian, and he needed to visit more than just Roma. Blaine called for
a porter to take the luggage and follow them to his car.

They barely arrived at the doors to the terminal when flash bulbs hit them
like a full sun. Blaine looked around in confusion and then looked at
Chris. "Dude, you are a celeb here. Get used to the paparazzi. They are
piranha, shove them Tom."

"Thanks, Blaine. You should be the bait since you are local."

They made their way to Blaine's canary yellow Fiat 500 L. It was a four
seater, so Tom climbed in the back with both their backpacks; the luggage
went behind the seat. It was good to travel light. "Where to?" Blaine asked
as everyone settled in. Tom pulled out his phone and showed Blaine the
Sheraton Diana Majestic and the GPS directions.

Blaine pulled into traffic, which made Chris cringe and want to shut his
eyes. Blaine opt to swear: col cavolo, porca miseria, vaffancule a chi t'e
morto [come on, damn it, go fuck your dead family]. Chris found the
swearing funny and started to laugh. "You cannot survive Italian traffic
unless you have a healthy repertoire of swear words." Blaine laughed back
to Chris. "I love Italy. They enjoy each day with food, wine, and fucking."

"My kind of place to live," chimed in Tom, who felt left out in the
back. Chris turned in his seat so he could talk to both Blaine and Tom. "As
long as I do it with Chris."

"Ain't he sweet," Blaine responded sarcastically, "like a hot fudge Sunday
with marshmallow whip, whipped cream and sticky maple caramel."

"How is your love life?" Chris asked. "Are you still seeing Randy, who
moved to Rome to be close to you?"

Blaine blushed, "We're good." Chris stared at the side of Blaine's head as
he assiduously watched the road. "True, it's very good: hot fudge Sunday
with marshmallow whip, whipped cream and sticky maple caramel good. You'll
meet him tonight; we're staying at the same hotel as you. Cedrick got the
details from Stu. Which is how I knew to meet you at the airport."

Chris was pleased that Blaine was driving; even with GPS, the city's
traffic was frightful, the route had multiple turns, and Chris was able to
watch the city roll by. The architecture was foreign with apartment
complexes toeing the street, particularly as they entered what Blaine said
was the old city. Blaine announced that they were getting close to the
hotel. The street turned into a boulevard with a tree-lined center verge, a
train track, and the road one way with cars parking on the street too. It
was not as narrow as the hotel in London, but the street would be a
challenge. Blaine turned onto a drive way into a tunnel that was inset into
the building and out to a lushly landscape oasis. He stopped at what was
the main entrance and an attendant was immediately out to help with the
luggage and park the car. Blaine took over speaking in Italian, which Chris
knew along with some French and Latin, thanks to Cindi at the library, who
brought in retired teaches to help with the languages.

At the desk, Chris and Tom presented their passports receptionist at the
front desk. The receptionist, Gina, handed Tom and Chris each about a dozen
messages. Chris turned when he heard "Guarda qui." A man snapped a picture
on his cell phone and fled out the door. "Fastido paparazzi [Annoying
paparazzi]." Gina said. "I apologize Mr. Greenwood and Mr. Wentworth. We
try our best to keep the scum out of our building, but they are like
cockroaches, impossible to totally exterminate."

"Nessun danno fatto, è il prezzo di essere interessante.[No harm
done, it's the price of being interesting.]" Chris responded to put Gina
more at ease.

"Yes, Mr. Wentworth, you are very interesting. Your social media pages are
translated into Italian. There is a buzz about you here in Milan. Both
adulation and sceptacism that a young American can be so `spavaldo'
[cocky]."

Blaine's eyes were laughing. "Chris, my friend, no one told you that you
are to be inundated with papparazzi? You thought Los Angeles was bad. The
word and the proffesion originated in Italy, and they are honor bound to
set the standard for invasiveness. Do not be surprised if a photo of you in
the shower doesn't make it to La Stampa, Fanpage or Panorama."

Chris tried to be worried about the publicity, but resigned himself to it
being a fact of his life. "If I am to be the object of the papparazzi, I
might as well be interesting. It will help Dreamweavers." Chris looked at
Tom, who was white with anxiety. "But I will not be rude, offensive or
crass. Tom, it looks like we are in for a bumpy ride."

Tom gave a sign of resignation. "Let's get to our room and contact Stu and
Helga. I should be accustom to you being a news hog by now."

When Chris, Tom and Blaine were in the elevator, Blaine cornered Chris. "I
didn't know that you knew Italian. I might as well go home since you don't
need me to translate."

Chris knew that Blaine was not serious about the threat. "I know enough
Italian, French and Latin to manage to ask for the bathroom, give my name,
and say thank you and your welcome. Put me on the street and I am lost."

"Your pronunciation is good, though. More Venice or Milan than Rome.

	"My teacher for Italian for three years lived in Venice where he
taught political science. So I learned not only Italian but also Italian
politics. The language was easier to learn taht way."

They exited on the third level althought the elevator said 4. The porter
led them down a long hallway and then a left turn. "Gentlemen," he said
with a strong Italian accent, "this is your accommodations. The bagno is to
the left." He, Giovanni, opened the drapes and a French door leading to a
small balcony that gave a view of the gardens that the hotel was famous
for. "Ecco la vista, Sirs. I always find it rinvigorente, refreshing, no?"
Both Chris and Tom walked over and said how refreshing the view
was. Giovanni beamed with pride.  "I leave you now."

"I will leave you to relax and Randy and I will join you in H Club at
7:30. We have dinner reservations at 8:15. You can always ask for
directions. Chao."

"Wow," was all Chris could say as he pulled Tom in to a luscious kiss.

"Wow," was all that Tom could respond.







Blaine introduced Randy, who was tall, dark, handsome, suave and a total
douche. He was more interested in how successful he was, how much money he
was making through other people's investments, and totally oblivious to
Blaine sitting next to him, who was looking at Randy with cow eyes. Randy
was ruining the ambiance of the H Club, and the thought of making it
through dinner with him was going to be excruciating. Randy excused himself
to head to the restroom.

"What do you think of him Chris," Blaine leaned forward and gushed his
admiration. "He is so successful and so hot. Great in bed
too....demanding." Blaine added.

"Yes," Chris carefully replied wanting to be honest but not hurtful. "He is
full of himself."

Blaine blinked, "You don't like him?"

"I am sorry Blaine. I don't like him as much as he likes himself."

"He is a little self-centered, but he is very successful and has a right to
be proud."

"You are very successful too Blaine and have every right to brag, but has
he said one think about you and how proud he is of you?"

Blaine sat silent, thinking. He took a drink of wine and then
another. Randy returned and sat, took a drink of wine. "This is a fine
vintage but I bought a case of..."

Blaine stood, "I think I need the restroom now. Excuse me."

Chris jumped into the conversation. "You and Blaine make a nice looking
couple."

"We do, I need to go to events where it is important to be seen with
someone gorgeous on your arm. Blaine is not only gorgeous but that he
speaks several languages is useful to getting dirt on my competitors in the
office. They assume that neither I or Blaine speak anything but English. He
then then tells me everything when we get home."

"Blaine does not participate in any conversations?" Tom asked.

"Nope, I like him to play cute and dumb, like he is." Tom put a restraining
hand on Chris's knee.

"And that he is a manager at an international hotel of one the best hotel
chains in the world means nothing?" Tom asked.

"Look Tom, guys like us need cute faggots at our elbow, who needs brains."
Randy glanced at Chris. Chris put a restraining hand on Tom's knee.

"I totally understand what you are saying Randy," Chris said. "I understand
that you are involved in pension and retirement asset management." Randy
nodded, wondering if he had the relationship backwards and just screwed
himself. "You managed the finances for Margery Kenilworth, about 400
million. It is a pity that those assets are now below 100 million because
you are skimming money into phantom investments that you control. You set
up a corporation, with some friends, invest in the company and then
liquidate the company, pocketing the assets. And I could probably name a
dozen other people you are bilking."

Randy looked around wanting to bolt, but needs to stay cool. "Are you a
regulator Chris?"

Chris gave a fruity laugh. "No just some dumb eye candy on Tom's arm."
Chris glanced up at the front door. "I do think that there are some
gentlemen at the door waiting for you. You can go with dignity or make a
scene."

Randy stood looked at Chris and then threw his half empty glass of wine in
Chris's face. The two men at the door rushed over, grabbed Randy by each
elbow and dragged him screaming from the bar.

"I guess he did not go for dignified." Chris took his napkin and wiped his
face and shirt. "Thankfully, it was white wine and will not stain."

Blaine returned to the table as Chris was wiping some of the wine from the
sleeve of his shirt. Standing he asked. "What happened to Randy? Why are
you wet? What did you say?"

"I am wet because Randy threw his wine in my face--very Italian. I pointed
out that there were two gentlemen at the door here to arrest him for
embezzlement. He did not like my comments about his business practices,
threw the wine, and was arrested by the gentlemen."

Blaine carefully, with grand dignity sat in his chair, sipped his wine and
started to giggle, which turned into a chuckle and then finally in to a
full laugh. After a couple of minutes Blaine regained control. "Thank you
Chris for making my night. After what you said earlier, I went to the
restroom to think about it ,and you were right. Our relationship was one
sided. I played a role for him, forgetting my own value. You saved me from
having to kick him out of my room, which I paid for, and out of my life."
Blaine lifted his glass. "To Chris, my knight in shining armor. You
introduced me to Mr. Greenwood, Cedrick, and then saved me from a leech."
Tom raised his glass in salute to. "Now I am famished. We can eat in the
hotel restaurant which is excellent. Or we can go to a small family owned
place that one of my colleagues at work recommended."



The trattoria was excellent, with no pizza or spaghetti. The three shared
costoletta alla Milanese, which was superb, rosti nega'a, and
ossobuco. They all had the traditional barbajada with lemon semifreddo. But
even more enjoyable was the conversation. Chris and Tom catching Blaine up
with what was happening in their lives.

They returned to the hotel bar where Blaine continued talking about his
love of Italy and working for Cedrick. Blaine lamented his now single life,
with laughter. Chris mentioned that he should visit Ariel's gallery in
Rome. He might find something he liked, and Cedrick wanted to bring in
pieces for the hotel restaurant. Chris pulled out his phone. "As I
thought. She will be there Saturday. It is a good opportunity to spend time
with your boss's wife." Blaine loved the idea because he liked Ariel, and
he liked art. Chris played with his phone. "She is expecting you Saturday
at 1:30 for lunch." Chris said.

"Damn, you are that close to her that you can arrange this. That fast."

"They are closer than sibling," Tom said. "Just watch out. They are both
matchmakers." Blaine laughed. "Don't laugh, Chris is very successful at
it. So, I would definitely show up."

Blaine stared at Chris; Chris just smiled. "This has been a great evening,
but I must get to bed. I need to be back to work tomorrow late afternoon,
and it is a six hour drive from here. Blaine stood and kissed Tom on the
cheek, and then Chris. "Thank you, and I will let you know if I meet
Mr. Right."

Tom ordered a second negroni for he and Chris. "Have I told you how much I
love you, even when you meddle in other people's lives?" The bartender
placed the drinks down. "I love it when you save people from themselves and
give them hope because I know that you will put the same effort into our
relationship--fiancé."

"Don't remind me. We still have weddings to plan. But let's finish our
drink, retire to our room, and I will show you how much I love you."

Tom downed his drink, "Ready."





Tom and Chris were to joined Blaine for an early breakfast at the Diana
Garden in the hotel, before Blaine returned to Rome, and Tom and Chris went
their separate ways for fittings, rehearsals and meetings with the
designers. Blaine was already at the table sipping coffee with a plate of
fruit and pastries. Tom told Chris to sit while he grabbed food for both
from the buffet. "Must be nice to be waited on." Blaine commented as he
slipped a newspaper across the table to Chris.

"He is only doing it because he wants to impress you with how devoted he
is. But when we are alone. I do the doting one." Chris replied with a
chuckle, although he knew that each of them were doting and it was never a
contest between then. Blaine tapped the newspaper and smirked. Chris looked
at the headline. "GRAZIE A DIO, È SOLO VINO BIANCO" [Thank god, it's
only white wine]. Below was a picture of Chris from last night wiping the
wine off his face. Chris groaned.

	"No Chris," Blaine said, he was both enjoying Chris's discomfort at
the event and the article itself. "The article is very positive in your
favor. The press loved your il sangue freddo, your coolness under
pressure. The rest of the article is about your blasting into Randy about
his embezzlement and the police arresting him. They assume that you were
part of the sting. You now have an air of mystery, a handsome international
model and Interpol agent." Blaine was laughing as Chris flustered for
words.

	"What has Chris done now?" Tom said as he placed food and coffee
from a tray in front of both of their places. Blaine handed Tom the
newspaper. Tom chuckled. "Only Chris can make a headline in a newspaper
within days of arrival. He has a knack of being headlines. He did is
several times in New York and then later in Los Angeles. So, I am not
surprised." Tom looked at the paper and then set it down. "I will need it
translated, so can I have it to send to Stu and Helga.

Chris flushed but took control of the conversation. "This was in my box
when I arrived yesterday. I am not sure what it means. I know it is an
invitation to a party, but should we go?" Chris passed Blaine a heavy
parchment envelope with Chris's full name in gold script and a coat of arms
of what looked like a dog under three stars on an azure field.

"Chris did you notice that there is no RSVP?" Blaine asked as he carefully
read the invitation. "This is more of a command. The Lombardi Olderamo
Baldissera family is Milan royalty, both figuratively and literally. They
are related to the Medici, the Visconti, and French nobility. They are
involved in textiles, banking, architecture and interior design. They host
an exclusive party twice a year during the two fashion weeks. You must go,
not only because of who the host is but also just to see the Casa degli
Atellani. It was built in 1490, is associate with da Vinci, and renovated
after World War two by the hosts uncle." Blaine handed the invitation
back. "Mr. Wentworth this is the invitation of the decade. You must go. You
must dress formal but fashion forward. This will put you on a high
international standing. You must act worthy of being there."

"Now I am not sure we want to go. But I am marrying into British royalty."
Blaine blinked in surprise. "Tom's granddad is Lord Greenwood with an
ancestral estate going back centuries. I know how to put on airs, right
Tom?"

"Chris, you are a chameleon between rustic, modern, and royal. We will
dazzle. When is the party?" Chris showed Tom the invitation and even in
Italian he could decipher Friday at 9:00 PM. "Text Leo from Tuxed-in and
Helga and Cynthia. We can have new duds by then."

"Sirs," Gina from the front desk approached, "your vehicles are waiting."

"Thank you Gina," Tom, Chris and Blaine all stood.

"It is so good to see both of you," Blaine said with kisses on both their
cheeks. "Don't know when I will see you again?"

"You will be at our wedding at Thistledown, Tom's granddad's estate in
England. It is the day after Christmas. I know Cedrick and Ariel will be
there too."

"I will make every attempt to be there, and let me know about the party
Friday. It is too rarified an event for me to even contemplate, but have
fun."

The three split and went their separate ways.





Chris found a van waiting for him outside the hotel lobby. He climbed in;
five people were already inside, four young women and a young man. No one
spoke, but they all glared. He took his seat next to a pale thin woman
reading Oggi. She glanced up, quickly appraised his looks and went back to
her reading without comment. He heard whispered comments behind him
"Americano spazzatura...succhiacazzi pretendente...non all'altezza degli
standard. ["American trash...cocksucking pretender...not up to standard].

Chris turned and smiled at the people chatting behind him. "Ciao, mi chiamo
Chris. Posso essere un succhiacazzi, ma non trascuro mai i miei
coetanei. [Hi, my name is Chris. I may be a cocksucker, but I never trash
my peers.]"

The three people gasped, the woman beside Chris had a thin grin, but never
looked up from her paper. "You talk Italiano?" said the young man. "A
little," replied Chris in Italian.

"Mine name is Giovanni, Chris. Nice to meets you." Giovanni said with an
offered hand. He showed Chris the newspaper and asked in Italian if that
was Chris. Chris blushed with a yes. "Tutti, Chris `e l'uomo del vino
bianco. [Everyone, Chris' and the white wine man]"

The questions came so fast that he could not follow the Italian. He
answered a few, until the woman sitting next to Chris stood and told them
to leave Chris alone. They could ask questions later. "I am Bianca," she
said as Chris sat and faced her. "Your Italian is very passable. Far better
than I would expect from a young American." The rest of the short ride was
passed in casual conversation between the two. Chris felt that they could
become friends.

"Where are we?" Chris asked as the van stopped in front of large building
with art deco high relief sculptures that would not have been out of place
in New York or Chicago.

"The Borsa Italiana or Italian Stock Market." Chris gave Bianca a confused
look as to why a stock exchange. "The Borsa has a large auditorium which
houses the fashion show. And the Borsa is actively involved in the stocks
and finances of many fashion houses."

They exited the van. Now several people on the van introduced themselves to
Chris. He added three to his contacts including Giovanni and Bianca along
with Ginerva. Waiting for them was Greta Allegro, mistress of the house,
who would be directing them to the wardrobe room and designating what they
would wear and what order for the 11:00 AM show. The other person was
Alessandro Crimini, a representative of the Borsa.

Alessandro greeted each person. At Chris he said, "Mr. Wentworth, it is a
great pleasure to have you as part of our Fashion Week. A fresh new face is
always welcome, particularly one so highly accomplished in so many area. I
am aware of your work in the States." His English was perfect with only a
hint of an Italian accent. "I would graciously appreciate if you and your
fiancé, Thomas Greenwood, would join me and my principate for
supper." Chris started to say no. "I know you need to arrange this with
Mr. Greenwood, but the meeting would be advantageous to both the Borsa and
Dreamweavers."

"Mr. Crimini, I am sure that we can arrange a time tonight. Let me text Tom
and see when. I can let you know before we leave here this afternoon."
Chris hated to be put on the spot, but if Dreamweavers wanted to move into
Europe, having connects in Milan would help. Alessandro smiled with
pleasure and left Chris's side.

Immediately, the gang from the van surrounded Chris with
questions. Obviously he was an important person to know, but Greta Allegro
was accustomed to flighty models and herded the gaggle to the dressing
rooms and focusing on the work at hand. She was more demanding than Miriam
and had no sense of humor.

After an hour, Chris was fitted, pinned and placed in the line-up. He had
four changes for four walks, none were solo: one pair, one triple, and two
group. Chris did not complain, he smiled, and did as he was told, which
surprised Greta, who expected Chris to be difficult and demanding. She
actually smiled, slightly, at him once, when he helped another model with a
zipper.

The designer came in and did a check of his fashions and models. He changed
Chris's clothes to something he wanted to try: very, very fashion forward,
It was a combination of Byzantine top with Scythian leather pants. This was
finished with black Russian boots and large fur hat. Chris looked at
himself in the mirror; he told the designer, in Italian, that he likes the
design, but it needed a prop. The designer nodded and told Greta to bring a
frusta.  He liked the addition of the horsewhip to the outfit, then moved
Chris to a solo at the end of the show as a teaser for the Fall/Winter show
in early 2016.

The show was uneventful; the usual blinding of flash bulbs. That was until
the end when Chris started to walk a photographer crawled onto the runway
to take photos of Chris as he walked. When Chris walked past him, Chris
swatted the photographer on the behind with the horsewhip and said,
"cattivo ragazzo, bad boy," and walked on. The audience roared with
applause. Greta Allegro, however, was not amused. "Cattivo ragazzo," she
scowled at Chris.

"Sei accigliato come mia madre. [You're frowning like my mother.]" Chris
replied with a smile and a kiss to her cheek.

"Se fossi tua madre ti frusterei quell frustino. [If I were your mother I
would whip with that whip.]" She shot back.

Chris rubbed his behind. "My mother would use this whip on me too." He then
went to change.

"She likes you," Giovanni said. "She do not threaten; she smacked. Smacks
hard." Giovanni laughed as he finished changing.

"Chris," Bianca said as she met him outside the building. "We do not have
anything until 14:00, would you join us for lunch?" She pointed to
Giovanni, Ginerva, and two other, who were not on the van to the venue with
them. Bianca introduced them as Tommaso and Narcisa.



The group walked several blocks down streets that quickly confused Chris to
a small family owned and run osteria that was away from the tourist
locations. Since the temperature was chilly, Chris ordered buseca--tripe
soup, at the insistence of his companions, who also ordered it along with
pappardelle alla boscaiola--pasta in wild mushroom sauce. It came with
fresh crusty bread. They shared two bottles of wine.

The meal was filling, both of the stomach and the soul. It was food
prepared well, but served like it would be to a family. Chris took pictures
to send to Louis. He explained to his friends that Louis was a master
chef. He showed pictures of the food from the Co-op diner. They asked about
his other friends and his life. He shared pictures of his home in New York
and in Los Angeles. They asked about Tom. Chris proudly showed pictures of
him at Thistledown, which prompted more questions about Tom being English
royalty. It meant more in Italy than it did in the States. But the real
questions were about Dreamweaver and Chris's role in the company. He handed
out business cards. All five of them had agents, who did not promote or
pamper the talent like Dreamweaver did. None had long term contracts, which
was common for most European models.

After lunch and exchanging contact information, Bianca walked Chris back to
the Borsa as the others found transportation to their next show. He
appreciate her walking him back because he was totally lost. They compared
schedules and did not have the same shows again. He asked if she was doing
the Paris show. She was not, but she was doing Istanbul in a few weeks,
which Chris was not. She was someone that Chris wanted to work for
Dreamweavers. By Sunday, he would have a conversation with Stu, Helga and
Cynthia and offer her a job.

After Bianca left, Chris sat outside to text Tom about supper tonight and
then texted Stu and Helga about the Borsa. He knew it was a little after
6:00 AM in Chicago, but he also knew that both Stu and Helga were
up. Within five minutes Stu responded with a definite yes, and Helga's
response quickly followed. They agreed to have a conference call after the
supper. Tom responded 15 minutes later, after he contacted Stu and Helga,
agreeing to have supper with Alessandro. Chris walked into the main lobby
and asked to see Alessandro Crimini. Alessandro quickly found Chris, and
they set a time, 8:30, to pick him and Tom up at the hotel. Dress was
business casual. With that set, Chris found a cab to take him to his next
appointment somewhere in Milan. The cab driver was excellent and talked
about the city he loved. Chris tipped him well.

Three hours later Chris was finished, exhausted and ready to take a nap
before dinner that evening. Although there was a damp nip in the air, Chris
decided that he would try public transportation. He asked directions from
one of the other models to the nearest public transit to take him to his
hotel. Gaston, who was from France but now lived in Milan, offered to walk
him to the correct station since it was on his way home.

It was a longer walk than Chris expected, but the up side was that they
passed La Scala. Chris made Gaston stop so that he could take pictures of
Chris in front of the building. Gaston laughed that Chris was acting like a
tourist, which Chris replied that he was one. After walking a dozen more
blocks, Gaston helped Chris purchase a pass and saw him safely on the tram,
which was a new experience for him.

He found a seat midway back and sat next to an older woman, likely leaving
work by how she was dressed. "Excuse me," the woman said in English, which
surprised Chris. "You seem nervous. First time?"

"Yes, my first time in Milan, I wanted to see the city, and this is the
best way."

"Yes, it is more colorful. What is your destination?" Chris gave her the
name of the hotel. "My stop is a few blocks after yours so I will tell you
when to exit."

"Thank you, Ms.?" She supplied Bancoto "Thank you Ms. Bancoto. Your help is
greatly appreciated. I was told the Italians are friendly, and you are
proving that true. Your English is very good. And how did you know to speak
English to me?"

"First you do not look Italian and your clothes say American; with
definitely an Italian cut. I studied art in Chicago for four years a decade
or so ago. It has come in handy with my job as a legal clerk in Milan for
an international law firm."

"Wow, it is a small world. I was raised in Chicago and lived there until a
few months ago when a took a modeling job for Dreamweavers. Now I have a
home in Los Angeles, New York, and likely north west of London. My
fiancé's grandfather lives west of Shrewsbury. He is elderly, old
fashion, and wants us to marry on the family estate."

"I've heard of Dreamweavers," Chris gulped in surprise. "Rumor has it that
they want to expand into the European market. A Thomas Greenwood, whose
grandfather is Lord Greenwood and has an estate west of Shrewsbury, has
been putting out feelers in London. He is reported to be engaged, but I
have no further details. Might you be that fiancé?"

Chris could not help laughing. "Caught. It is a small, small world."

"Are you also the `vino blanco' that hit the local tabloid?"

"I stand accused. My bosses have a joke that within two days of my arrival
in any large city, I will make the local news. That is not true." Chris
wink at Rosa. "In Los Angeles it took a week." They both laughed.

"I still have friends in Chicago. One is gay, and he told me he went to a
fund raiser that was hosted by a Chris Wentworth. You again?"

"Yes, me again. I love playing the piano and people like to listen to me
play. It is how I relax." They changed topic to talk about Chicago and
places they both knew. "I have a question. I am invited to Lombardi
Olderamo Baldissera party Friday night. What can you tell me about it?'

Rosa looked at Chris dumb founded. "You have an invitation to one of the
most exclusive parties in Milan. Is your family very famous or very rich?"

"Neither, my parents are very middle class. I am wealthier than them but
not fabulously wealthy. I have no clue as to why I am invited."

Rosa pulled out her phone and tapped away. She looked at Chris in awe. "You
have over 2 million followers on YouTube, 3 million on Instagram, and your
own Wikipedia entry. For so young, you are a celebrity. Of course they
would invite you. You are interesting, artistic, and talented. Your
fiancé is old English nobility. You have connections to Europe."

"You are not helping my nerves."

"Chris, the party is a gathering of the literati of Italy and Europe. It
will be authors, philosophers, historians, archaeologist, retired
politician--no campaigning allowed, and artists and architects. The family
started their fortune in weaving over a century ago, but moved to
architecture and interior design. One of the family redesigned Milan after
the Second World War." She patted Chris's leg. "You have every right to be
nervous, but if you are half as charming and eloquent as you are with me,
you will do fine." Chris blushed slightly and thanked her. "Now you will
need to be dressed to impress. No black tuxedos, nothing that is not new,
modern, and au courante."

"That is being taken care of. I have a friend who designs stunning formal
wear. He is making tuxs for Tom and me. We should have them by Friday."
Chris pulled out his phone and showed Rosa a picture of himself when he
took his sister to the ballet. Rosa was very impressed.

"And you are having masks made? You know that is a requirement. And not
Halloween masks but something suitable: elegant, mythological, or
allegorical is acceptable."

"That is being taken care of too. But I have no idea what anything will
look like until it arrives."

Rosa nodded and was back on her phone texting. After two minutes she
stopped. "Chris, could I and my boss, take you and your fiancé Tom
to supper Friday. It will be an early supper since you need to get ready
for the party. We could eat the Diana's Garden. The food is excellent."

Chris shook his head and laughed. "Tom and I are having supper tonight with
representatives of Borsa Italian, and you want us to meet a partner in your
international law firm for supper." Rosa frowned ready for rejection. "My
boss wants us to make contact in Europe because the rumor is true about
Dreamweaver moving into the European market, but we are a small agency. So
why this interest in us?"

"You may be small but you are well managed and growing. European markets
are getting stale. You are bringing fresh ideas and money. And you Chris,
you may not believe it, are a large part of their success. Part of my job
is to keep track of people who are shapers of the future. From looking
briefly about you on line, that is what you are. The people who are
influenced by you, who you have shaped their lives for the better post
online about the value of your friendship, which you give freely." Chris
did not know what to say. "I take it that you do not follow social media."

"Not particularly interested in that. It seems narcissistic. I have enough
issues getting up each morning and looking at myself in the mirror. I just
want to be average."

Rosa looked at Chris and just started laughing so loud that the entire tram
looked at her. "I am sure others have told you that you will never be
average." She gave Chris a little shove. "This is your stop. When you exit
turn right and then right again when you reach the park. It is about a five
minute walk. I and Lorenzo Cocchi will see you Friday at 6:00 PM."

Chris thanked her, exited the Tram and was back in his room. Tom had not
returned yet so Chris took a shower, dressed in a robe, ordered a bottle of
wine from room service and researched Lombardi Olderamo Baldissera. Shortly
after the wine arrived Tom arrived. After showering, Tom joined Chris and
talked about their day.





	At 7:15 Alessandro found Chris and Tom waiting in the lobby. Tom
was finishing reading a text from Stu, who had given Chris and Tom some
background and a few talking points. This was not a negotiation; Stu had
texted to both several times. This is an introduction before negotiations.

	"Chris," Alessandro's voice carried from several feet away. Tom and
Chris both rose. "It is a pleasure to see you again." He shook Chris's
hand. "And this must be your fiancé, Thomas Greenwood." He shook
hands with Tom. It was a firm professional handshake. The car is waiting
outside along with Mr. Costa; he is the Vice President of Development."
Chris smiled at Tom because that was who Stu said would likely be in charge
of the evening.

	"Chris and I look forward to spending the evening with you and
Mr. Costa. And please call me Tom. I was born and raised in the States,
although I have dual citizenship, so we are more informal, and this evening
is an informal meeting."

	"Certo, as the phrase goes, `We are dipping our toes into the
water.'"

	"My understanding is that the Borsa is a subsidiary of the London
Stock Exchange."

	"Yes, very true, but let us leave any business for after
supper. Now is the time to form friendships." He led Chris and Tom to a
black Audi limousine. He held the door open for Chris and Tom and then he
climbed in.

	Alessandro made introductions. Mr. Costa was as handsome as
Marcello Mastroianni, but with distinguished white hair. Chris got the
impression that behind his charming façade was a tiger ready to
pounce. Mr. Costo handed each a glass of prosecco.

	"I am pleased that you could find time to have cena [dinner] with
us. My Borsa takes pride as a hosting venue, but it is seldom that I meet
the participants other than a handshake." His was the first volley,
establishing this meeting was not usual.

	"Chris and I," Tom smiled politely, "as representatives of
Dreamweavers, look forward to a most amiable meal and company."

	Mr. Costa chuckled softly. "I had heard, Mr. Greenwood, that
although you are young, you understand the beast." He turned to Chris. "And
you Mr. Wentworth are the person I need to impress. My research says that
your appraisal can make or break deals and business. Alessandro, we must
learn from this." He did not turn from looking at Chris and Tom. "Never
underestimate youth or beauty. I have no intention of treating either of
you as naife or unprepared. I very much look forward to the start of a
profitable relationship."

	"Mr. Costa, please call me Chris and you can call my fiancé
Tom." Mr. Costa gave a start at the relationship between Chris and Tom. He
looked at Alessandro like he should have been told. "Alessandro is
dedicated to the Borsa, and with the right mentoring will be a long-term
asset. However, should he want to find other, better employment, all he
needs to do is contact me." Alessandro looked at Chris with surprise and
interest. Mr. Costa caught the exchange.

	"You are correct Chris, about the value of Alessandro to the
Borsa. I will see personally that he has every opportunity to advance
within the organization. Should Dreamweavers at some point decide to employ
us. I would be very pleased to make my Alessandro your dedicated
representative."

	"I never doubted what you say about opportunity and talent. You are
a man of refined tastes, solid judgement, and ruthless competitiveness. It
likely comes from your playing professional football before heading into
finances. I believe you played for the I Crociati, which was highly
respected when you played."

	"Chris, mi umili. I am humbled. You have done your research
ottimo. I am curious about the vino bianco incident. Was it a well-planned
event to promote Dreamweavers?"

	"Hardly, we were having dinner with a friend and his boyfriend. The
boyfriend was an egotistical snob. When our friend went to the restroom, I
noticed at the door two men who showed a badge to the host and then looked
at our table. I simply told the obnoxious boyfriend that he was an ass and
a criminal and was about to be arrested. He took offense at my
comments--white wine in the face before the two Interpol police dragged him
away. I do not suffer fools or obnoxious people lightly."

	"We need to keep Chris away from Carlo," Alessandro said with a
laugh.

	"No, I think we need to introduce Carlo to Chris and see Carlo put
in his place. We are approaching our destination. Have you dined at
Contraste before?" Both Chris and Tom said it was their first time in
Milan. "This is a very special restaurant. It has two menus: one a
seven-course traditional menu and a 14-course small plate menu. I love the
place and il cibo e impeccabile [The food is impeccable.]."

	The limo stopped in front of a nondescript building that looked
like a home. The chauffer opened the doors and the four men climbed
out. Mr. Costo went to the door and rang the doorbell. A young man, dressed
in black shirt and pants answered. "Benvenuto, Signor Costo. Abbiam il
vostro tavolo pronto [Welcome, Mr. Costo. We have your table ready.]" They
were led into a smallish room, like a living room with a fireplace burning
and sat at a table. Wait staff quickly supplied water and menus.

	"Avremo tuti il menu Riflesso con I vini abbinati. [We will all
have the Riflesso menu with matching wines.]" The waiter nod and left. I
hope you do not mind, but I ordered the tasting menu for everyone along
with the matched wine." It was too late to object so Chris and Tom both
said they appreciated his selecting what was best on the menu.

	The meal was excellent: each small plate both creative and
delicious. The conversation was about Milan, London and the States. It was
about family and friends. It was about art, literature, and a lot of
fashion. Chris dazzled; Tom lent gravitas of thought, which surprised
Mr. Costa. After two hours, the meal finally ended with everyone opting for
the bitter chocolate cigar and whiskey. The chefs joined them at the table
to garner opinions. Chris mentioned Louis and how he would love the food,
he showed pictures of his co-op dinner, which impressed the chef, since
Louis was so young. Chris asked for and received copies of both menus and
contact information for Louis. It was 11:00 PM when Mr. Costo suggested we
have a nightcap at the hotel lounge.



	Seated at a table in the lounge, Mr. Costo interrupted a
conversation about Fellini. "Now it the time for business since we are now
amici. Our Borsa is looking to expand and support up and coming companies
with exchange serves, investors, and access to capital. Dreamweavers,
within the last few months has exploded as a major player not only in the
fashion world but as a talent agency. You have the pulse on the direction
of American fashion. The future Guccis, Armanis, and de la Rentas are
coming from America. We, I mean my Borsa, want to be involved. I assume
that Dreamweavers is privately held."

	This was business; Chris let Tom take control. "What you are
offering, might be of interest to the owners, of which there are currently
six." Chris knew of Stu, Helga, Miriam, and Gorgy, but not the other
two. "Discussion is how to be flexible without losing our primary focus of
promoting talent. Chris and my involvement in Los Angeles with the new
Dreamweavers-West expands the focus from promoting fashion models to all
areas of entertainment. With the also new Dreamweavers-East in New York, we
are in a position to grow. We are growing faster than we have staff for.
You are also correct that we are looking at the European market as well,
since my Grandda, Lord Greenwood, can open many doors. I and Chris are
doing preliminary field work and have snagged some exceptional talent to
manage the business. Developing a relationship with your Borsa would expand
our credibility in Europe. We are exploring other avenues as well. We are
having an early dinner at our hotel with a major international law firm,
and Friday we are invited to the Castallini Lombardi Olderamo Baldissera
party."

	"I am very in awe at what you have accomplished in the few days you
have been in Milan. Dreamweavers is very fortunato to have you work for
them. I can see why they trust you to not only walk the cat but handle
business dealing." Mr. Costo looked at Chris. "This all seems to have
happened since Chris joined Dreamweavers. What is your role? Since Tom
seems to be the mouth, you must be the brains."

	"Mr. Costo, you do not know the talent Chris brings to the
company. He is very much a team player, with an acute eye for finding
talent. He is accomplished pianist and performer; he is thoughtful,
considerate, and kind. And best of all he is soon to be my husband."

	Chris blushed. "He is very umile, vedi come arrossisce, [humble,
see how he blushes.]" Alessandro added. "Since this morning when we first
met, I have trolled the Internet. He has a first-class publicist that posts
extensively about him. I have seen the Jezebel performances, avvincente
[fascinating]. I have seen you walk the runway like a king. You have every
reason to be arrogant and demanding. Even Mrs. Allegro warmed to you."

	"I see you have a groupie in Alessandro." Mr. Costo laughed, "but I
agree that the two of you make an excellent team that we would love to work
with." Mr. Costo turned to Alessandro and spoke in rapid Italian, of which
Chris gleaned about half.

	"Thank you gentlemen," Mr. Costo rose followed by Alessandro, "I
greatly appreciate your time this evening. Seldom have I enjoyed an evening
with potential colleagues. I know that we are early in building a
relationship, but I see us as well suited that both parties will benefit."
With that they left.

	"We need to call Stu and Adam and discuss the meeting."  Tom
finished his drink pulling Chris up with him to stand.

	"Yes, let's do it from our room where there is privacy. I do have
some reservations, but we can discuss them in private." Chris said the last
loud enough that the bartender heard. Chris assumed that the bartender
would report to Mr. Costo anything that was said in public.

Tom smiled at Chris and led the way to their room.



The conversation with Stu and Adam was brief, but productive. It was
considered a foot in the door. Stu was pleased that he was in the driver's
seat in any negotiation. They talked about the meeting scheduled with the
law firm, which Stu was more interested in and about the formal wear for
the party. Adam said that the tuxs were magnificent but they needed a
tailor for any last-minute adjustments. Leo from Tramp Wear was designing
the masks. They were schedule to be express shipped. It was being shipped
by British Airways through a flight attendant that Cynthia knew. They
should have the clothes by Friday morning. Chris fell asleep while Stu was
jabbering. "Stu we need to say goodnight. It is after midnight here, and we
have work early tomorrow." Tom looked at Chris, so perfect in his
sleep. "Chris is already out. And I am not far behind." The call was
quickly ended for a follow up call the next day. Tom carefully picked Chris
up and carried him to their bed. He crawled into bed, pulled the covers
over both and promptly fell asleep.



The next three days moved along quickly. Friday were two big shows for
Chris. Giambattista Valli and Bugatti, who wanted to move into the fashion
industry like Harley Davidson did.

Chris enjoyed the Bugatti show because he ended of the show, wearing white
leather pants and vest, with a discrete Bugatti emblem on the vest, riding
a midnight blue Bugatti Ducati Desmosedici. He was given a half-hour to
learn the controls. Instead of the usual runway, a path was created from
the rear of the auditorium to the stage. He raced, faster than was prudent
toward the stage, up the ramp, hit the brakes and killing the engine. The
bike slide behind Chris like a cape, Chris stood defiant and flushed, one
foot on the front wheel. He strutted around the bike like Mic Jagger, up
righted the bike and cockily strode off the catwalk with the bike at his
side.

Back stage, he could hear the roar of the crowd. A senior representative
for Bugatti was thrilled by the display, effusively hugging and kissing
Chris. This would be the talk of Fashion Week he said in broken English. A
few of the other models derided his American braggadocio. A couple others
wanted to talk to Chris about Dreamweavers. Word was getting around,
particularly with those who did not have sponsors. Chris gave his business
card to two, who he thought me complement Dreamweavers.



Once Chris was back at the hotel, Gina, from the front desk, gave him his
messages--a small stack, and said she had boxed for him and Tom. A porter
carried them to his room and set them on the bed. The porter was a young
man, maybe 17, that spoke passable English. Chris asked him to stay for his
initial opinion. Chris opened the two boxes with his name on it. The first
and smaller box was the mask, with three pages of directions. It was
twisted limbs that covered his face from cheek bones to above the hair
line, from the hairline they branched to form a small tree. It was a
sculpture of infinite strength and beauty. He had Florio, the porter, tie
it on with the dark blue ribbons. The first bullet point on the note said
to push on the right side where the ribbon connected to the mask. Suddenly
the mask came alive with a multitude of blue butterflies on the mask. The
second bullet point said to push the same on the left side. The crown of
the mask flushed out in leaves and blue flowers. The remain pages of
directions told how to control the displays in more detail. The last page
of the directions was a bill for $6,458.39 marked paid in full.

Chris opened the second box, which was the tuxedo. It was of deep blue with
swirls, like waves in two slightly lighter shades of blue. Chris put the
jacket on. It fit perfectly except the sleeves were loose and long. Chris
saw the note with a drawing of the final fitting. He looked at the sleeves
of the jacket; they pulled up and buttoned at the elbow, leaving a good
third of his are exposed. The jacket was tailored tight with blue
iridescent buttons. The front and back of the jacket came just to the belt,
but the sides were long, reaching below his knees. Under the jacket were
the pants in the same fabric as the jacket. The pants were fitted to
through the hips and then flared slightly to reach the top of Chris's
feet. Under the pants was a Dark blue silk shirt the same color as the
jacket, covered in butterflies. It ended in French cuffs. Finally in that
box was another box. Chris opened it to find a pair deep blue sapphire cuff
links, a butterfly stick pin for the lapel. There was in the box a simple
leather belt, again blue to match the pants. Next to a pair of ballet
slippers covered with iridescent butterfly wings. The final item was a long
gold chain with a pendent butterfly at the end. The body of the butterfly
was made of deep blue sapphires with the wings of blue agate. The chain had
a slider in front the made the chain fit tight around the neck and flair
out for the pendant to land mid sternum.

"Santo cazzo [holy shit]," Florio blurted out and then covered his mouth
with his hand. "Mi scusi che è scivolato fuori [Sorry it slipped
out]."

"I agree, Florio, `holy fuck'." Both burst out laughing when Tom walked in.

"What did I fucking miss?" He smiled at Chris then grabbed a quick kiss.

"Leo has out done himself. The getup for tonight is over the top." Florio
was heading toward the door. "Florio, is there anyone on duty that can
steam out the wrinkles before we leave tonight?"

"Si, avro qualcunò qui tra un'ora [Yes, I'll have someone here in an
hour]."

"An hour will be fine."

Tom opened his first box, which was his mask. Unlike Chris's, the mask was
a thick coronet of sculptured smokey quartz, citrine, brown topaz crystals
and gold laurel leaves. It fit snuggly on Tom's head. Again, like Chris's,
it had electronics imbedded. A touch to the right side, the crystals
glowed. A touch to the left, and images appeared in the crystals: trees,
birds, and one butterfly. Further options for more control were supplied
with the directions.

The shirt was made of smokey brown topaz silk with French cuffs of sand
colored damask silk. It buttoned on the side so that the front lay smoothly
across Tom's torso, like a glove.

Tom's tuxedo jacket, was a smokey brown topaz silk woven like
branches. These were highlighted with bronze and gold threads. The jacket
was long in back with a double tail to the ankles. The front had a three
inch wide strap that overlapped to fasten on the left with two gold
buttons. The pants matched the jacket. They were form-fitting but flared
mid-calf into a heavy braid fringe.

Under the tuxedo were two boxes. The large box held brown embossed
calf-high boots in patent leather. They had a three-inch heel and zipped in
the back.

The other box contained a belt matching the shoes, a pair of gold cufflinks
with brown diamonds surrounded by citrines, a lapel broach with citrine and
smoky quartz crystals, like a sky scraper sky line on a beaten gold
base. Instead of a necklace, Tom had a batik silk scarf to wear in place of
a tie. Chris suggest that the broach was to secure the knot of the scarf,
which made sense.

A fifth box, with no individual name held hangers and a steamer for the
clothes. Also, inside were two small packages: one from Miriam and a second
from Gorgy. From Miriam was cologne and from Gorgy pairs of ear cuffs for
Chris and earrings for Tom, since he had his ears pierced several years
ago. Both pairs were long, almost to the shoulder, and of the same design:
a simple gold box chain with a pendant gem stone. The difference was in the
gemstones. Chris was finished in two oblong blue fire opals, one at the ear
and the other hanging, and Tom's were tiger's eyes.

	Chris texted Ted, from Tuxed-in, Leo, from Tramp Wear, Stu, Helga,
Miriam, and Gorgy to say that everything arrived in good condition. And all
of it was beautiful beyond expectations. Chris did not wait for a response
because Florio was at the door with an older woman, Maria.

	Tom took them to the closet where he had hung everything
up. Maria's eyes went wide when she saw the garments. She felt Chris's and
then Tom's jackets, "Tessuto così bello per due uomini
abbelliti. Brillerai più luminoso di qualsiasi stella. [Such
beautiful fabric for two beautified men. You will shine brighter than any
star.]"

	"Grazie per il complimento. Parteciperemo a una festa molto
importante e vogliamo apparire al meglio.[ Thanks for the compliment. We
will be attending a very important party and we want to look our best.]"
Chris replied, and then turned to Tom. "She said we would be like stars in
these clothes, and I said thank you." Tom smiled at Maria and said,
"Grazie."

	Maria laughed and took Tom's hand, "Sarai la festa, abbellisci il
ragazzo. [You will be the party, beautiful boy.]" Tom looked at Chris. "She
said that you will be the party."

Tom's phone chimed. "Time to meet for supper." They looked at each other;
neither had time to change from work and both were wearing jeans and bulky
sweaters, since Milan had turned colder. "Good enough."

"Scusate se vi lasciamo ma abbiamo un impegno per la cena. [Sorry to leave
you but we have a commitment for dinner.]" Chris said to Maria and Florio.

"Go, I wait with Maria. All will be bueno." Florio rushed Chris and Tom
from the room.



Chris and Tom found a table for four at the Diana Garden and ordered
crodino to drink; no alcohol to dull the mind. They did not wait long
before Chris spotted Rosa with three other people. "Think we need a larger
table." Tom called over a waitstaff and pointed to the other in the
group. The swiftly were transferred to a larger table.

"I apologize for not letting you know the number to be in attendance." Rosa
said as they all stood around the table. "Chris why don't you introduce the
man with you and then I will introduce my companions." Chris introduced Tom
as a colleague and as his fiancé, which raise a few eyebrows, but
not in condemnation. "Thank you Chris. I hope first names are fine." Tom
and Chris nodded yes. "I am Rosa Bancoto, a legal clerk to Ricardo De Luca,
a senior partner in the Giordano International Group." Ricardo shook
hands. "Next, also a senior partner is Noemi Garnier, and her son Angelo."

"Chris, Tom," Noemi said in slightly accented English, "it is a pleasure to
meet both of you. I hope you do not object to my son attending. Who knew
that he was a fan of yours Chris. And when Angelo pouts, how can a mama say
no?"

Chris looked at Angelo, who was maybe 16. And his big brown eyes. "I see
your problem, Noemi with his big brown eyes. In America, we call them cow
eyes because they are so large and soulful--occhi grandi e pieni di
sentimento" Chris added if Angelo did not speak English.

"Dude, I am so stoked to meet you," Angelo said with a grin. I am a
follower on Facebook, Instagram and YouTube. You are an inspiration that a
gay man can be successful in molti sforzi. You are only three years older
than me and already making a name for yourself. You have my mother anxious
to do business with you."

"I appreciate the compliments, but I am not where I am without events in my
life that made me mature fast. And I am surrounded by people who support
and encourage me. No one is successful without support of others. Never
forget that nor fail to appreciate them."

"Chris," Noemi grabbed Chris hand, "thank you for the words of wisdom for
my son. He thinks that because life is easy for him now, it will always be
easy. I want to support him but he needs the foundations."

"Also, for everybody's understanding, Chris and I work for Dreamweavers. We
have their permission to talk with you tonight, but neither of us are
decision makers. You are putting your toe into the water; Chris and I are
the shallow end."

"Thank you Tom for that clarification. None of us have any illusions about
what tonight is, but we must start somewhere. And the where is here and
now. Both you and Chris are important to Dreamweavers besides being top
models. I am familiar with your work at Dreamweavers--East and most
recently Dreamweavers-West. You have the ear, as they say, of the decision
makers." Rosa nodded to the rest of the group. "Let us continue
introductions so we can sit and enjoy a meal. We know you have a commitment
latter tonight." The two men behind Noemi and Angelo stepped forward. "This
is Lorenzo Cocchi, a junior partner and his husband Octavio. Octavio speaks
no English so Lorenzo will translate for him, if you have no object."
È un piacere per me incontrare ognuno di voi, per favore siediti
prima che i miei piedi diventino insensibili [It is my pleasure to meet
each of you, please sit down before my feet go numb.] I have been on my
feet all day," Polite laugher went around as each sat. Rosa next to Chris
and Ricardo next to Tom.

	Two waiters came to take drink orders and handout
menus. "Ordinarily, I do not like to conduct business during a meal. It is
so not Italian, but I also appreciate Chris and Tom making time to meet
with us in their busy schedule. We will not make you late for the Lombardi
Olderamo Baldissera party." Several eyes went up as the mention of that
name. "To be blunt, rumor has it that Dreamweavers is thinking of expanding
into the European market. Your reputation in the States is impeccable and
you are a growing company needing services. We would like the Giordano
International Group to offer those services for Europe. We were founded
after World War II by Silvio Giordano, who was a visionary who saw the
benefits of a united Europe. To that end until his death in 1994, he worked
to make his law firm multinational with branches now in Madrid, Paris,
Lisbon, Berlin and London." He emphasized the last place. Today the company
is headed by a board, Mr. Giordano had no heirs, of which one seat is
currently vacant and the second could not make tonight's meeting because of
a prior commitment with his children." Rosa handed Chris and Tom a
folder. "In the folder is a listing of services, fees, branches and the
managers, and a select list of clients. The clients have approved the
endorsement."

	"I do not want to waste time now by reading everything in the
folder." Tom took his folder and set it on Chris's. "The rumors are true
that Dreamweaver is looking at moving into Europe. I and Chris spent time
before we came to Milan putting feelers out and looking for the right
talent to manage the business."

	"But you live in the States, how are you going to manage from the
distance?" asked Riccardo. Tom felt Riccardo already knew the answer.

	"My Grandfather, Lord Greenwood, is getting up in years, so Chris
and I will be spending more time in England. In fact, we are to be married
the day after Christmas on the family estate."

	"The rumors are also that you will be designated his heir. This is
curious since I am sure he wants you to have children to carry on the
family name." Lorenzo looked at Tom and then Chris.

	"I have met Lord Greenwood, and he has fully approved our marriage,
which is why it will be at the estate. He was more amenable once he learned
that I was a descendant of a Greenwood, who settled in Italy after the
first crusade. My great grandmother was Italian. According to my mother, my
grandmother's maiden name was Verde or Green, and likely related to the
composer. As for any children, that is a private matter that was
inappropriate to ask about." Chris looked Lorenzo in the eyes until he
turned.

	"I am sorry for the intrusive question, and you are right about it
being none of our business, but we Italians like juicy gossip." Lorenzo was
enjoying baiting Chris.

	"There is an old Italian proverb `Non romperti gli stinchi sulle
pentole dei tuoi vicini'. I think it translates `Don't break your shins on
your neighbor's pots.'" Chris smiled at Lorenzo. "I assume that you and
Octavio have already seeded your neighbor's pot."

	"How did you know?" In Italian, Octavio asked in a panic. "We have
told no one. It is too early."

	"My great grandmother was a chiromante. I inherited some of her
gifts. I know things; not the future per se but what is. But your secret is
safe with me. It is for you to tell others, just as mine are mine. But you
will find great joy and fulfillment when the task is done."

	"That is interesting, but a side trip to this meeting." The waiter
came and took orders. "Chris what is your role in Dreamweavers? Because you
are too astute to only model, which has a limited time frame."

	"I do enjoy the modeling, for now it is fun, but management is
reducing my work load. As I have demonstrated, I have an eye for
people. One of my main roles, currently in Los Angeles, is evaluating
talent for contracts. I am at the beginnings in England and have a few
names from here in Milan and will add more in Paris."

	Tom took his cue to talk. "Starting with Dreamweavers-West, Lost
Angeles, the company is expanding from just a model talent agency to a full
talent agency. We just completed a music video for a person we think will
rival Adele. We are actively scouting and hiring photographers, musicians,
and actors. I am moving more toward the business side and Chris will bring
in the talent. Already, because of Chris, we have more talent than we can
process in Los Angeles. We are actively hiring, all of whom meet Chris for
an interview. Although he does not make the final decision, he is a gate
keeper." Tom sat back as the food was placed in front of him.

	"You say you have a feel for talent. I know this is risky, but what
is your assessment of the people at this table. I ask this because it will
be part of your recommendation." Noemi smiled at Chris like she trapped
him.

	"You Noemi are a stickler for details and the language surrounding
details. You recently negotiated a contract with a European auto
manufacturer that was excellent for your client but would lead to
downsizing by several thousand workers. You are conflicted by this because
your father worked for De Tomaso before it closed." Noemi flinched but said
nothing. "Lorenzo, you like to balance work with leisure; some see you as
not very ambitious. Right now, you are the lowest producer of revenue on
the board. However, an opportunity is hovering, of which you are aware that
can change everything for the better." Chris looked at Riccardo. "Riccardo,
you are the backbone of your firm. You make sure all the team functions
well. You are the capo, in a good sense." Both Rosa and Noemi stifled a
chuckle. "I am sure that all of you are aware the Mr. Lombardi is planning
to retire next year. Riccardo, you are the front runner to replace him. But
first you must fill the empty seat. Your best choice would be someone at
this table." Looks went around the table since everyone was on the
board. "She is working on three lucrative contracts, not Dreamweavers, that
will be a financial and prestigious accomplishments." Rosa looked
stunned. "And finally, I do not want to exclude Angelo. His heart and
talent is to work in movies. Not as an actor but behind the scenes either
as an editor or a director. He needs to be encouraged along this path,
because it is the path to his happiness. It will not be an easy path; there
will be many obstacles, some of which cannot be overcome, but must be
worked around. Now is the time to learn and explore. Watch movies: old
ones, new one, the good and the bad. Takes notes so that when you go to
college you will be ahead of everyone else. You will be noticed." Chris
stopped talking and dove into his food.

	"Rosa," Ricardo said. It took a few moments to look at him unsure
what he would say. "We need to meet Monday to discuss how we can further
our relationship with Dreamweavers. You have the best handle on the
company, and Chris is your find."

	The rest of the meal was light conversation about Milan Fashion
Week and the new looks. Riccardo insisted on taking the check so Chris and
Tom rushed to their room to change.



	When they returned to the room Maria was still there watching
TV. She stood, embarrassed, "Signori, ho aspettato per assicurarmi che
tutto fosse perfetto prima che ve ne andiate. [Gentlemen, I've been waiting
to make sure everything is perfect before you leave.]"

	"Thank you Maria for waiting, we will appreciate your help. Could
you return in 15 minutes to allow us to dress, then you can fuss." Chris
said in Italian. She nodded and left the room.

	"Fifteen minutes does not give us much time to shower and dress."
Tom said as he pulled his tuxedo out of the closet and laid the accessories
on the bed.

	"Then we must shower together." Chris said as he started to strip
on the way to the bathroom. Tom rushed to follow them. It was a far too
quick a shower but they were done in five minutes. Tom decided not to shave
and leave a little sexy stubble. Chris did not need to shave; he wondered
if that would change.

	Chris sat on a bench at the end of the bed pulled on his socks and
underwear and then the pants. He realized that they were designed for
commando and space was given to moderately pump up his prosthetic. The
shirt likewise was designed to be worn against the skin; none of this was
new as a model. Chris was planning on spiking his hair, but the mask was
not designed that way. Tom, with inspiration pulled strands of hair into
tight curls, that he sprayed in place. Two curls came across Chris's
cheeks, like armor. It was the perfect look.

	Tom quickly dressed having fewer issues with commando or tight
shirts. He was young and handsome. Since Tom's hair was shoulder length,
Chris decided Tom needed to be more Prince Valiant; his hair was curled
under and sprayed copiously in place. A knock on the door announced
Maria. They had dressed except for the shoes and the jackets.

	Maria entered and stood looking at the two men. "Signori mi
togliete il fiato. Se non fossi sposato...[" Gentlemen, you take my breath
away. If I weren't married...] She fanned herself. "Agli affair [To
business]." She walked around Chris, pulled the back of the shirt out for
retucking without any wrinkles. She walked around Tom. Stopped and stared
as if not sure what was wrong. "Ah" she said and rebuttoned the shirt,
which Tom had missed a button hole. "Glacca, per favore." Chris put his
jacket on; Tom followed the lead. She circled both again, carefully picking
off stray hairs and lint. "Tessuto magnifico, di tale qualità e
squisita per due uomini belli [.Magnificent fabric, such quality and
exquisite for two handsome men.]" She positioned the necklace on Chris and
professionally tied Tom's scarf. Then she place the pin, making sure it was
just perfect on Chris's lapel. She did the same with Tom. Then she pointed
to the shoes. She helped Tom with the boots. "Chi avrebbe pensato che un
Americano potesse progettare meglio di un Italiano. [" Who would have
thought that an American could design better than an Italian,]

	She sat both on the bench and carefully pulled out the masks. "Ora
le mascherine per sapere come vanno avanti. Tienili nella scatola fino al
tuo arrivo."

"She wants us to try on the mask to learn how to wear them but keep them in
the box until we arrive at the party." Chris translated for Tom.

Maria took gently placed the mask on Chris until is felt properly
aligned. "Okay?" Maria asked with a grin. Chris stood, walked around, moved
his head. It was securely positioned as long as he moved slowly,
elegantly. Maria did the same for Tom. Because Tom's was a crown, it was
more stable on his head, but he needed to be careful not to lean forward
too much because it was front heavy. Then she scooted them to the bathroom
mirror. "Perfecto. Andare." And she left the room.

Chris and Tom removed the masks, put them in the boxes. They removed their
jackets to avoid wrinkles. "Ready?" Tom asked. "Got the invitation."

Chris found the invitation in a pocket of his messenger bag. "Got it. Let's
go. We have a ride coming."

"It will be cool tonight, we need to wear our dressier coats, the ones we
bought in London."

They walked into the lobby. It was a little after 8:00 PM. The limo was to
arrive at 8:15. "Time for a drink to steady the nerves?" Tom asked a pale
Chris. "This cannot be any more prestigious than the dinner at the
Powells. You charmed them. You will charm tonight."

"A light cocktail would not be remiss." Chris walked into the lounge; at a
table still sat Lorenzo, Octavio, Noemi, and Angelo all having drinks. They
waved Chris and Tom over; Angelo found two more chairs.

"We were waiting for you," Angelo said, "Curious about what you are
wearing. Tom and Chris shrugged off their coats and pulled on the
jackets. All conversation in the lounge stopped, people passing in the hall
stopped.

"Too much?" Chris asked concerned that they had made a major fashion faux
pas.

"No, no not at all. It is exquisite. They complement each other but are
individualistic. The fabric is very expensive, but the tailoring does the
fabric justice. Who was the designer?"

"It was a friend in New York who is just starting his brand. I have worn a
few of his designs to the opera and the ballet with mostly positive
reviews. Some like the black conservative. But neither Tom or I are
conservative."

"You have masks too?" Angelo asked, eyes more on Chris's crotch.

"Yes, in the boxes." They opened the boxes to awes of wonder.

"These are created by a master." Octavio said in Italian, which Lorenzo
translated. Chris pushed the right side of the mask and the tree limbs
filled with birds and flowers. "Truly works of art. You will rule the
event." Octavio gushed and Mattio translated with equal wonder.

"Truly worth of royalty. I am ashamed to admit it but this puts Italian
design to shame." Naomi said with a shake of her head.

"Sirs," Gina interrupted, "The limo is here."

"So much for a cocktail, Chris said as he climbed into the limo like this
was customary. The ride was uneventful although Milan at night was
enchanting. They arrived. A doorman opened the limo door. He took their
coats while they donned their jackets and then handed him the boxes with
the masks. Tom turned to the limo driver and told him to return at 11:15
PM. The invitation did not say how late the party ran, but better to leave
early than leave late. Tom handed the driver a 50 euro bill and faced the
doorman who was with another young man dressed in the same blue and gold
livery. That man took the coats and boxes and stepped inside asking Chris
and Tom to follow. He place the items in a closet and asked for the
invitation, which Chris handed him. Mr. Wentworth and Mr. Greenwood, if you
would allow me to affix your masks and then follow me to the grande
salon. The young man was very efficient with the masks; he praised the
quality. They went through the formal entry way filled with paintings from
several periods and tastefully appointed with Renaissance to Modern
furniture, but they all lived harmoniously. They crossed an open courtyard
with a simple fountain flowing into a basin. At an ornately carved double
door the young man asked in English. "Do you have your masked name?"

They had not been told of that, but Chris quickly called himself
`Farfalla', butterfly and Tom `Albero Cristallo', tree crystal. The man
nodded in approval and announce the two. All heads turned and frantic
Italian filled the room.

A tall gentleman with grey hair and a dog mask approached. "Welcome, to my
home. You both bring grace and beauty to it beyond expectation. For tonight
I go by Capo Cane, Big Dog." His English was perfect with a slight Italian
twist that made him all the more charming.

"Capo Cane, thank you, we are honored to be invited to your home." Chris
said in Italian; the man smiled slightly.

"Beauty, charm, and brains wrapped in an exquisite package. Albero, may I
ask who designed these confections?" He reached out and felt the fabric of
Tom's jacket. "Amazing."

"It is dear friends, Ted Poppidos and Jordan Singer of Tuxed-in, and the
masks were made by Leo Pickler of Leo's Tramp Wear." Chris reached up and
touched the side of his mask. Chris gasped as his tuxedo glowed and
butterflies rose from the hem of his pants to his jacket where the spread
out in a joyous dance. Tom grinned at Chris and touched his mask and his
tuxedo light up in birds and flowers.

"Stupendo," Yelled Capo in delight clapping his hands above his
head. "Ecco, ecco." He continued to yell getting everybody's
attention. "Ecco senza dubbio il vincitore della festa di stasera. [Here is
undoubtedly the winner of tonight's party.]" He turned to Chris and
Tom. "This is truly a delightful display of workmanship, technology and
fun. It is perfect for this evening." He looked at a couple of men who were
frowning. "This is what fashion can be. It does not need to be boring; it
does not need to be loud. Here is perfection. I need the contact
information to these designers. He leaned in closer to Tom's mask, "How did
he get the images inside the crystals?"

Tom quirked a smile, "Magic."

"Yes, yes, you make me believe in magic."

A man, younger than Capo, slid next to Capo, sliding in arm through
his. "Uncle, I told you that inviting these two gentlemen would be full of
surprises, but this," he waved his hands toward Chris and Tom, "this is
beyond my expectation. Gentlemen, you have made our night." He started to
clap, soon everyone was clapping, yelling "Bravo, bravo, bravo."

Chris looked at Tom uncertain what to do. Tom took Chris's hand and they
both did a deep bow. "We appreciate the honor bestowed upon myself and my
fiancé, but we are all here at the invitation of our hosts. Let us
not diminish the festivities by focusing on us, but let us honor our hosts,
who planned all this wonder." Tom bowed to the two men as did Chris. "Let
us honor them by enjoying the evening, the company, the food, and the
drink." Tom looked at Chris who whispered back to Tom. "Beviamo, Let us
drink."

"Thank you for your kind words and turning the evening back to us." He
looked fiercely at Chris and Tom. "Many would have fed on the adulation to
the detriment of others. Only people grounded in themselves are willing to
share glory."

"Grazie, non tuti gli Americani sono brutti. ["Thanks, not all Americans
are ugly.] Chris replied with a grin.

"I must apologize, Faralla and Albero Cristallo, for have not given you my
fete name nor offered you food or drink. Please call me Cane Nichel, his
mask was also a dog face but done in brushed nickel." He raised a hand and
snapped a finger. Two waiters appeared, one with a tray of wine and the
other with two plates of aperitivo. Chris thanked both servers in
Italian. They blushed and left.

"Now, as our special guests, let us make the rounds, so you say." Capo took
Tom's arm while Nichel took Chris's. They made the round chatting with the
elite of Milan society.

"Do you like opera," a man with some heft asked. Chris recognized him as a
leading Italian tenor. The man looked at Chris like he would have no polite
answer.

"Yes, very much. I must confess that I have more of a fondness for Puccini
than Verdi, although I am told that I am a distant relative of Verdi. I was
at the Met in New York recently and scandalized them because I did not wear
a black tie. I believe that if opera is to survive we need to be willing to
forgo worthless traditions."

The man was at first speechless, bit then recovered. "I too must confess a
preference to Puccini, his music soars. What is your favorite opera?"

"It is difficult to select just one, however, I must confess I am fond of
Purcell's Dido and Aeneas, which many find too old fashion, but Dido's
lament brings me to tears. Mozart is fun and the melodies sublime. As for
Puccini, it is Turandot, although I hate the story line. The Prince is so
blind to true love.  And I truly doubt that Calaf and Turandot will have a
happy marriage. The story needs a more tragic sequel."

The man laughed. "But who has the skills today to write like Puccini?"

"I hope no one. We do not live in Puccini's time. It needs to be modern and
dark."

"Perhaps you are right." He looked at the men on Chris and Tom's arm. "I
have taken too much of our time. If the host do not object I would like to
sing later for these two men."

"We would appreciate that. Thank you Orpheus," said Capo. As they walked
away. "Usually, he refuses to sing since he is not getting paid." Capo and
Nichel both laughed.

They did more meet and greet. Tom answered questions about America and
fashion; some politely hinting for information about Dreamweavers. Although
everyone was masked, true identities were not hidden. A soiree like this
offered contacts to people of power and talent. Tom exchanged business
cards with several people; the hosts did not object.

As they approached the far end of the room, Chris spotted a piano. "Ah, do
you recognize this old master?" Cane asked. It is a 1790s Johann Andreas
Stein creation. Family tradition says it was played by both Mozart and
Beethoven, before it was acquired by my family in 1842. Listz, Brahms, and
Puccini have played this piano." Cane said with a smile. "I understand that
you know how to play. Would you like to try it out?"

Chris did not answer, but was quickly seated on the bench. He carefully hit
a few keys to get the feel. "It is different from a modern piano, less
responsive and I notice no pedals. But..." Chris started playing Mozart
piano sonata. His hands started softly picking out the base melody with
longing melancholy. Then they bounced along the keyboard returning to a
slow conclusion. All conversations stopped in the room to listen. Tom
beamed proudly. Chris started to rise from the bench.

"No please, play more. You have a gifted touch that honors this gem of a
piano." Capo said with his hand on Chris's shoulder holding him in place.

Chris played another piece by Mozart, Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, and a
piece by Respighi. Chris noticed the opera singer force his way to the
piano.

"Could you accompany me? I would like to sing. That is if you know the
music for opera." He gave a slight sneer.

"From following your career, you confine yourself to light opera. Let's
start with an aria we both admire, "Nessun Dorma". They performed well
together. The singers voice filled the room. They did two more aria, and
then Chris switched to musicals, which the singer did not know and in high
pique stomped off. But the attendees did know some of them and sang along
off key and humming when they did not know the words. At 11:00 Tom point at
his watch. Chris stood, much to the displeasure of the audience. "We have
an early day tomorrow and must leave."

Tom turned to Capo and Nichel. "Sirs, Farfalla and I great appreciate being
your guests tonight. As Chris says, we have an early day tomorrow, so
reluctantly we must leave." Tom and then Chris bowed their heads to the two
gentlemen.

Capo and Nichel escorted them to the street. "I was not sure what to expect
when Nicolo insisted I invite you. You both have made this gathering
memorable." Capo was grasping Chris's hand but looking at Tom. "You have a
gem in this man. Guard him well because he is precious."

"Sir, I have every intention of that. I know what has been gifted me." Tom
turned and kissed Chris's hand.

"I am often in London and New York, where I have homes. I hope we can meet
again soon to discuss Dreamweavers-Europe. After meeting you tonight, I
will be happy to vouch for you." Tom thanked Cane or now Nicolo.

The limo pulled up and the doorman opened it for Tom and Chris. "Tom,
please say hi to your granddad. It has been years since we have
talked. Mention the Follies." Tom said he would as the slipped into the car
and drove away.

"I think that went well." Tom said untying his mask then helping Chris with
his. "One more day in Milan and then off to Paris on Sunday. We will leave
early Sunday and take the train. We can see the countryside and stop in
Dijon for lunch and shopping." Tom looked over; Chris was asleep. "May
guardian angels attend thee." Tom kissed Chris's head.



The next day started too early. They managed a breakfast in the room,
thanks to room service. And then they were off. Tom had a message from
Nicolo asking about supper at their place at 8:00 PM. Tom quickly texted
Chris for approval, and then replied to Niccolo that 8:00 would be
fine. They would send a car at 7:30 and dress was casual--jeans.

Tom returned to the hotel by 5:00 where half the staff of the hotel were
waiting for details of the party. Since Chris was not back yet, Tom found a
secluded spot in the lobby where he was the center of attention. Maria was
there with Florio eager for every detail and commenting how very nice both
boys looked. Fortunately, Gina was available to translate. As Tom was
talking about Capo and Nichel, everyone stiffened and looked at the main
lobby. A tall thin, balding man was staring at everyone. They quickly
excused themselves and disappeared behind the frowning man.

"Mr. Wentworth." Tom did not correct him. "I do not appreciate your
detaining my staff from their jobs." Tom started to apologize, by the man
raised a hand to silence him. "I am Mr. Rossinato, the general manager of
this property. You may not be accustom to the adulations of lesser
people. But fame does not give you the right to flaunt it to the detriment
of my employees."

Chris found Tom talking to an angry man; not talking, listening. Tom saw
him but did not smile. "Oh, Tom, my love, here you are." Chris flounced in,
grabbed Tom and gave him a juicy kiss on the lips. Chris turned to the man
and with a smile said, "I will have whatever Tom is having." Then he sat
next to Tom, almost on his lap.

Mr. Rossinato did not know what to say. "Mr. Rossinato, I would like you to
meet my fiancé, Mr. Wentworth. I am Mr. Greenwood, which if you had
paid attention during the week you would have known." Mr. Rossinato flushed
and silently fumed.

"Have you heard from your granddad, Lord Greenwood," Chris innocently
asked. "We need to firm up our nuptials at his estate." Chris turned to the
man, "My drinks. We are not accustom to being ignored."

"Chris dear," Tom purred, "this is Mr. Rossinato, the hotel's manager."

"Oh, I am so sorry about the mistaking your position. Your staff has been
so helpful, but you being the manager explains why you are not. It is for
lesser people to serve." Chris claimed another kiss. "Please sit." Chris
gestured to a chair near them. "Apparently, our appearance at the Lombardi
Olderamo Baldissera party last night is the talk of Milan."  Chris handed
Tom a newspaper with both of them entering the limo to leave. "You must be
please at the free publicity we are causing." Chris showed Mr. Rossinato
the newspaper where the hotel's name was clearly named. "I don't know what
to do." Chris sighed into Tom's shoulder. "Wherever we go, it seems that
the press follows us. It is like this in New York, Chicago, Los Angeles,
and even London." Chris stopped talking suddenly looking at
Mr. Rossinato. "I am so sorry for interrupting you conversation with
Mr. Greenwood. Please continue what you were saying."

"I was telling Mr. Greenwood how my staff adores having you stay here. Is
their service acceptable?"

"Mr. Rossinato, the staff has been most accommodating. Gina has handled the
influx of messages," Chris waved the stack he just picked up from Gina. Tom
continued. "And Maria was most helpful last night in making us look fitting
for the Lombardi Olderamo Basdissera party, whom we are meeting for supper
tonight at their place." Mr. Rossinato blanched. "And the food has been
exemplary. We dinned here with the board of the Giordano International
Group."

"Tom dear, we need to talk to your cousin Cedrick Greenwood. A few of the
staff here do not feel fully appreciated. They might like moving to Rome to
work at his hotel." Chris looked directly at Mr. Rossinato, "Staff can be
so temperamental, I am sure it is a struggle to make all of them happy. But
you strike me as a man dedicated to the success of his hotel, since the
staff are the core of the hotel it is important to treat them as
important." Chris stood, "Tom, dearest, I am exhausted today. I need a rest
before our dinner engagement." Tom stood. "Good evening, Mr. Rossinato, it
was a pleasure talking with you." Mr. Rossinato stood speechless.



Once in the room, Chris burst out laughing, "That was fun. I've not played
bitch in a long time." There was a knock on the door and a voice saying
room service.

At the door was Florio, with a tray, two glasses and a bottle of
wine. "This is from Gina and the rest of the staff. We appreciate you
standing up for us. Mr. Rossinato is not an easy man to work for. Because
of his position he thinks he is better than everyone else. The funny thing
is that his father is a bricklayer."

"His feelings of insecurity make him put on airs to compensate." Chris said
in Italian to Florio. Florio nodded.

"Where is Mr. Rossinato now?" Tom asked.

"He grabbed his coat and hat and left the building." Florio pour the
wine. "With luck for good. He is a devil that we, the staff, need to
constantly exercise caution. He is bad for here."

Florio left, but then there was another knock on the door. An older Italian
couple stood there, "Ci scusi, ma possiamo scambiare due parole con lei?
[Excuse us, but can we have a word with you?]" Tom looked at Chris who
nodded. Tom opened the door wider and gestured for them to enter.

"I am sorry to interrupt your evening, we know you have plans. I am
Lucretia Sabatini and this my husband Leonardo. We over heard all the
conversation you had with Mr. Rossinato. We are here on behalf of the
Sheraton Corporation to discover what this hotel has high turnover and poor
customer satisfaction reports, only when it comes to Mr. Rossinato. We have
noticed that the staff is competent and attentive, which is what we
want. The food is good but not what it was. Mr. Rossinato is telling the
chef what should be on the menu. He is an award-winning chef; you do not
tell. He is about to quit, which we want to avoid." Chris and Tom did not
know what to say, not that the did not agree. "I was amused by what you
said to Mr. Rossinato, Mr. Wentworth. I have never seen some one brough to
heel in such a kind way. We were prepared to terminate Mr. Rossinato
tomorrow, but we do not want the staff to think that it was your doing. Any
suggestions?"

"You have been here how long?" Lucretia answered on week. "So, the staff
has seen you around. They have seen you being nosey, asking questions,
checking on things." Lucretia nodded again. "Have a staff meeting
tonight. I know not all of the staff is here. But introduce yourselves,
give praise, and then state what you found and what you are doing. Just say
the you observed Mr. Rossinato's interactions with Tom, and that was the
last straw. That you were going to wait for more evidence but he is
terminated immediately." Lucretia nodded. "I assume you have a new manager
ready to move in?"

Lucretia laughed. "We have, and we will take your advice. Thank you for
your time. As a thank you, here is a gift certificate for any Sheraton in
the world." With that they left.

"Let's finish this wine, shower and dress. It is casual--jeans are fine."
Tom said has he downed the last of his wine.

Chris decided to were the black braided leather jeans with a white bulky
knit sweater, might as well advertise American designers. Tom went for more
casual tweed dress slacks by Armani with a heavy purple cashmere
sweater. Florio whistled at them as they left the elevator. "We have a seal
of approval. I think the car just pulled up.





The limo pulled up in front of the hotel, glistening black like a panther.
A young man stepped out of the back of the car and introduced himself as
Nicolo's nephew Luciano. The It's a pleasure to see you again, gentlemen
car smoothly pulled away. Luciano was talkative, but also reserved. He
pointed out the sites. Chris and Luciano talked about La Scala and how
Chris missed the opening season, which would be in a few weeks.

They were met at the door again by the same young man, but dressed in
designer jeans and a heavy denim coat. He graciously opened the door to the
villa. "È un piacere rivedervi, signori. [It's a pleasure to see you
again, gentlemen.]" He said with a slight dip of the head. "Hai fatto
scalpore ieri sera e vedo che sei pronto a farlo di nuovo. [You made waves
last night and I see you're ready to do it again.]"

Chris laughed, "Thank you, but we wear what is designed for us like any
good model." Luciano translated for Chris. "Un buon modello indossa i
vestiti. Voi, signori, fatevi indossare i vestiti." Chris frowned not sure
if this was a complement.

Luciano politely translated for Tom, "A good model wears the clothes. You
have the clothes wear you." Luciano laughed. "This is a high
complement. You wear fashion like it is part of you. They are not cold
items but expressions of yourself. Most fashion shows, at least here in
Europe, do not want to see a person behind the design. But it is people
that wear the clothes. You both are gifted to not only flatter the fashion
be convey sentimentale with how you walk, or glance over the crowd. You are
fashion setters."

Chris thanked the young doorman as Luciano led them to an ornately carved
staircase to the right of the front door instead of through the ground
level. "The pianoterreno is for entertaining and business. The one above is
for family." Luciano explained as they entered the hallway on the second
floor. "Tonight, is family." He walked down a short hallway that ran along
the outside wall of the building, past Roman and Baroque sculptures,
Neoclassical art and a large contemporary sculpture of a woman looking in a
mirror. Chris wanted to stop and study, but Luciano kept a brisk pace. This
was his home and the objects were daily sights. He opened a
fourteen-foot-high gilded door and nodded for Chris and Tom to enter. The
room was grand but not as overwhelming as Chris expected. The room had
massive tapestries and painting and the furniture was grouped in two
sections. One around a table and the other setting in front of a
fireplace. A group of about six people was gathered in front of the
fireplace chatting and drinking. All heads turned as the group turned to
see the new commers, welcoming smiles on their faces. They all stood and
moved behind the furniture eager to greet the guests.

"La mia famiglia, posso presentarvi il signor Wentworth e il signor
Greenwood." Luciano said as he bowed slightly to the oldest man in the
center of the group. He was tall and distinguished.

"Mr. Greenwood and Mr. Wentworth, welcome to my home. My family and I are
happy that you could find time to grace our table. Please call me Cesare. I
am the captain of this hoard." Chris and Tom shook hands and insisted that
they be called Chris and Tom since tonight was family. Cesare smiled. "Next
to me is my wife Lucrezia, my daughter Rosalinda and Leo with two of their
children, Tomas and Aurora." Leo both shook hands, Rosalinda greeted with a
peck on each of their cheeks. Tomas, struck out his hand like a warrior,
while Aurora curtsied and giggled. "Next," Cesare continued, "is my son
Norberto and his wife Irene, and of course you have met their son Luciano."
Norberto and Irene insisted on hugs. Luciano did a small wave. "Finally,
you have met my nephew, Nicolo, last night but not his sister Zarina."

"It is a great pleasure and honor to meet all of you," Tom said with his
warmest smile. "Chris and I have enjoyed what we have seen of your lovely
city. After we are married." That announcement seemed to be a surprise to
Norberto and Irene. "We hope to find time for a honeymoon and want to spent
more time in Milan."

"I particularly want to return to view a performance at La Scala and visit
Verdi's tomb, since I learned recently that he might be a relative." That
statement caused even more surprise. Whether or not it was that an American
liked opera or the relationship to Verdi, Chris could not determine.

Cesare motioned everyone to sit. Tom and Chris sat next to Cesare while Tom
sat next to Lucrezia with her beside her husband. "Chris," Nicolo turned
toward Chris. The others watching the conversation intently. "Since you
mentioned the relationship to our divine Verdi, I did a genealogical check,
and indeed you and the Verdi share the same grandparents. Your ancestors
are cousins to Verdi, which may explain your gift of music."

Chris sat thoughtfully for a second. "I appreciate the knowledge and my
momma will be thrilled to have proof, but I am abjectly humbled by the
knowledge. His music is touched by God, but his soul is very human."

"Very true. He is considered one of Italy's greatest treasures right up
with Milan's Last Supper." Zarina interjected. Her smile at Tom was
flirtations although her eyes were on Chris. Her hands played with the edge
of a silk scarf that wrapped around her neck and hung long.

"Alas," Chris sighed. "I have had so little time to explore the great
culture of not only Milan but all of Italy. And we leave tomorrow for
Paris. I would love to have you, Zarina, show me Milan. I know you are an
expert of the lesser known Milan" Zarina flushed slightly at the complement
and said that she would adore showing such a handsome and accomplished man
around Milan. She winked at Chris adding that not only the great art works
but the more robust lively side of the city.

"Tom," Lucrezia, "I understand that your Grandfather is Lord Greenwood."
Tom nodded, "I met him and your grandmother." She stopped to calculate,
"maybe forty-one, no forty-three years ago here in Milan. They were a most
charming couple. I am not certain on how your father ended up in the
States." Tom briefly told how his dad fled to avoid the horrors of
Thistledown after his mother died and started a very successful career in
Hollywood.

The young man from the front door brought in a tray with beverages and
finger food. "Thank you Abdullah, you, as always, are most timely. I have
not even offered my guests drinks. Would you obtain their requests and
prepare them?" Cesare smiled. "Abdullah works for us while he attends the
University. He is just starting his studies in art history. He wants to be
a museum curator." Cesare said with pride. "His mother has been a cook for
us for over thirty years. You will meet her later."

Abdullah asked for drink orders and refills for the others and then offered
the food items on the tray. It was the antipasto course of two bruschetta,
marinated baby eggplant, ascolane (fried stuffed olives) and warm arancini
(rice balls filled with cheese).  The conversation was mostly about fashion
with gentle prodding by the individuals about the world of Tom and
Chris. They were fascinated by Chris and Jazzabel and Louis and
Chaz. Nicolo particularly asked about Chaz's design. Soon, both Tom and
Chris had their cell phones out showing pictures. Abdullah returned to
announce Primo in the dining room.

Cesare told Tom that they were using the family dining room rather than the
more formal one. He hoped they did not mind being casual. Aurora latched
onto Tom's elbow as her escort. Not to be over shadowed, Tomas bolding took
Chris's. No one said a word of objection. The casual family dining room was
more ornate than almost any restaurant Chris had ever been in. The ceiling
was a trompe-l'oeil of Orpheus's apotheosis. The carved trestle table with
high back chairs, Chris was sure were from the Renaissance. The floor had
several Oriental rugs and the walls were bright with modern paintings.  The
table was set with brightly colored yellow, green, and gold dinnerware with
whimsical cutlery. "We decorate this room to suit our fancy and not any
design sensibility," Nicolo said as he pointed to the spots where Tom and
Chris would sit. Tom at one end of the table to the right of Cesare, and,
as expected, Chris was at the other end to the left of Lucrezia.

Abdullah and Graziella, another servant in the house, served the Primo
course. A rich, handmade egg noodle served with truffles and cheese. Crusty
bread was served for dipping into the rich butter sauce. "This is amazing,"
Tom said, "It is so simple but rich and flavorful. What kind of cheese is
it?" Cesare smiled with pride as he said it was a Robiola Rocchetta, which
they make on their own farm from goat, cow and sheep.

"The wine is excellent with this dish," Chris added, "is the wine from your
own vineyard?"

"Si, the vineyard is on the same farm in the Piedmont. This wine is a
Trentino. We only produce three varieties of wine for family and friends
only."

"I wish we had time to visit your farm. We just bought a house in Los
Angeles. We have enough land to develop a small vineyard, and Tom's father
also has a small vineyard. So, viticulture is fascinating to me." Chris
took another sip of the wine. "Is this a blend?"

Norberto smiled wider. "Si, yes a blend. Trentino is a careful blend of
white grapes. I would love to have you visit, perhaps for your
honeymoon. We have a beautiful guest house overlooking a valley and a
waterfall."

Cesare nodded at Chris. "You have found Norberto's passion. He takes
primary interest in our farm. First quality hams, truffles from our oak
forest, and fresh eggs and other meats supply our tables at family events."

Chris raised a glass to Norberto. "You are a modern Virgil with your love
of the farm. Umida solstitia atque hiemes orate serenas, agricolae [Pray
for a wet summer and a dry winter, farmers]." The quote from Virgil brought
smiles around the table.

Plates were removed and the secundi presented: hazelnut breaded lamb ribs,
oven-baked potato and onion flavored with saffron served with a barole,
again from the family vineyard.

"Will you be attending the Milan show next February?" Nicolo asked Tom and
Chris.

"The plans right now are for both of us to attend, but I am afraid that
events will prevent us from attending." Tom said with a meaningful look at
Chris.

"But your capos must know that everyone in Milan is waiting for you to
return. You have breathed vita into this event." Lucrezia said with her
hand grasping Chris's. "You must come. You and Tom are so delightful that
we would perish if you did not appear."

"You know that we are forbidden to talk business," Zorina said. Rosalinda
continued. "What you wore last night and again tonight, has impressed us
with the quality of design. We wanted you two to find several American
designers, unknown, and we will sponsor a show. We would hold it here. We
already talked about it with Zio," Zorina continued, "We want to keep the
audience small, the tickets highly sought after and prized."

Chris looked at Tom for guidance but got none. "Tom and I are honored, and
Dreamweavers will be more than happy to coordinate on our end, but I am
having surgery at the end of January and will be unable to travel for a few
months." The look of concern on everyone's face touched Chris deeply. "It
is major surgery, but nothing life threatening. It is something that I have
put off doing for far too long. Now I have a more stable life with Tom." He
laughed at the idea that his life was stable. "Perhaps stable is the wrong
word--vita radicata--more grounded."

"Ah," Cesare nodded sagely. "ora effettuerai la transizione verso un nuovo
corpo -- bene [you are making the transition to a new body -- good]." Chris
looked shocked although no one else at the table did. Tom sat looking
clueless, which made Chris smile. "It is documented on the Internet that
you are trapped in a female body, so good to fix it now."

Irene broke the silence, "My daughter, or rather son, has insisted on
wearing men's clothing and acting as boy since she was three. It has been
very difficult for him. But he is now 12, and we need to decide what is
best for Sophia, although he prefers Stefano. It is so confusing for
me. What must it be like for her; menses will start soon."

"It was very traumatic for me. I attempted suicide." The collective gasp
silenced the room. "My parents did not know what to do, got terrible advice
with even worse consequences." All eyes were on Chris. "Things are very
good between my parents and me, but you are being proactive and supportive
of his needs. The world does not understand and are so tied into gender
roles that any deviance is mortal flaw. My suggestion is to find a good
doctor who can put him on hormone treatment to delay the onset of menses
until he is old enough to decide how completely male he wants to be. Not
all people with gender dysphoria opt for surgery."

"Thank you Chris for your candor and insight. Once I knew you would be here
for dinner, I wanted to talk to you in private because this is so
personal. I did not know how; you relieved Norberto and me of much
worry. Thank you."

"So, dude, where did you get the cool jeans?" Tomas asked, unaware of the
heaviness in the room.

"They were made for me by a friend who owns a young people's fashion house
called Slackers."

"How can I get me these threads?" He whispered to Chris soto voce "They
will help me find il pulcino." His mother Rosalina, smack him on the back
of the head. "You are only thirteen and too young for that."

"Why? I have erections and shoot sperma"

Zarina could not contain herself and burst out into laughter. Soon the
entire table joined except Tomas, who sulked with his arms crossed.

"Tomas," Chris said, "If a pulcino want to be with you only because of what
you wear, run very fast from her. She is after your wallet--portafolio."
Laugher followed that comment with agreement with Chris.

Plates were cleared. "We will have dolce and espresso in the Ariosto Room."



The Ariosto Room was down a hallway and a right from the dining area. The
room was slightly longer on the hallway side. It had three large windows
that overlooked the courtyard Chris and Tom walked through the previous
evening. The entrance wall, with heavy wood double doors has three frescos,
Chris assumed were based on Ariosto' poem "Orlando Furioso". Chris walked
over to admire the frescos. "Are you familiar with the poem?" Cesare asked,
putting a hand on Chris's shoulder.

"I read some of the poem in translation, my Italian was never good enough
to read poetry in the original, despite the best efforts of my tutor,
Professor Brandierie."

Cesare eyed Chris carefully, "You have read more than most Italians. You
studied Italian with Brandierie? He taught here in Milan and Venice until
Il Duce began his purge of academia. Piero was a patriotic firebrand and
was very vocal about the state of Italian politics then. He left when he
was still a very young man. He built himself an impressive reputation as a
scholar. You were privileged to study under him."

"When I last saw Pete, which was about six months ago, he still had a fire
going about Italian politics. He was very kind to me. We are friends."
Chris smiled and went to sit next to Tom.

"It is a small world," Chris leaned in to Tom to whisper. "The elderly man
who taught me Italian, Latin and about Italian culture is claimed by Milan
and by Venice." Graziella offered a demitasse of espresso and a plate of
sweets. Abdullah followed with a glass of golden passito. Chris tried to
balance the coffee cup plate, dessert plate, and wine on his lap until he
noticed everyone placing the wine glass on the floor next to their right
foot.

Norberto grinned at Chris. "We are family and are less formal." He lifted
his cup in toast to Chris and Tom. "Sei una famiglia [You are family]."
Chris felt the sincerity of the statement.

"Yes, thank you for making us family. One can never have too much family."
He glanced over at Tomas and Aurora, who were bickering. "Even when they
are annoying?"

"That is how we prove we are family because we accept la sciocchezza,
foolishness of them."

"I know that too well. Chris here has not met all my cousins." Norberto
laughed along with Tom and Chris.

Aurora, then Tomas, sat on the floor in front of Tom and Chris. They did
not say anything , but just kept poking each other. Luciano walked over and
stood behind them. "My darling cugino are curious about your life in
America." Luciano, pulled over a chair and sat, obviously interested
too. Soon, the whole family was gathered around. And the questions flew in
both English and Italian.

"No, Chris and Tom were not married, yet, but did live together."

"They had two homes: a condo in New York City and a house in Los
Angeles. On almost 2 hectares." They were impressed and Tom's phone floated
around with pictures of both places. Nicolo asked about the designer for
the New York place. Chris explained that Chaz was in the process of doing
the L.A. home. Rosalinda asked about the stained glass window. Chris again
explained about Slim and his work now being available in Ariel's Rome
gallery. Plans were made to visit Rome in the next two weeks.

"Is it true that you perform in a club di spogliarello," Tomas asked with
all the seriousness of someone thirteen. The adults gasped.

"No Tomas, I do not perform in a strip club. It is a night club that is
primarily for gay men, but the crowd is very mixed. The owner is a very
talented drag queen." Aurora translated quickly; Tomas grinned shyly but
only nodded. "He asks me to come up and play piano with him. We have a
contest who can stump the other on knowing a song. So far we are even."
Nicolo and Luciano both had their phones out and passing around. Chris
heard himself on both phone speakers. He never wanted to sing again.

Cesare tapped his wine glass to get everybody's attention. "Chris è
un musicista di grande talento con musica popolare ma classica. Ieri ha
giocato per noi. Magnifico [Chris is a very talented musician with popular
and classical music. Yesterday he played for us. Magnificently]."

"Rumor has it," Nicolo stood demanding attention, "that Chris has a music
video coming out soon. The rumor is that it is brilliant." All eyes turned
to Chris for confirmation.

Chris looked at Tom. Tom whispered to Chris that it was 2:00 PM in L.A.. He
pulled out his phone and sent a message. The questions switched to other
topics. Tom's phone bussed; he looked at the message and smiled. "We have
been given permission to share Chris's music video. It will not be released
to the public until December, so this is a special thank you from us to
you." Tom was all smiles as he thought of the new Italian and European
market this preview would generate.

Nicolo, we need to hear this in the media room and not on the small screen
of a phone. The chatter of excited Italian led to the second floor (3rd
American) and a well-designed media room with comfortable chairs, a full
bar, an electronics booth at the back, a stage with violins guitars, lutes,
mandolins on pegs along the wall. On the stage was a harp, cello,
harpsichord and piano. It could seat about twenty people. Nicolo and Tom
went to the electronics booth while Chris went on stage. He paused
enviously at the piano. "This is not the finished music video." Whispers
circulated. the group thought it would only be a recording. "The video
needs some special effects added and the audio finally adjusted. Tom gave
Chris the thumbs up. "The video features a new artist that Dreamweavers is
cultivating. This is Cecelie's first music video. It is her music and
lyrics. I am just the background musician." Chris stepped off stage and
took an empty seat between Cesare and Lucrezia. Chris whispered to Lucrezia
that this is the first time that he has seen this edition. The lights
dimmed. A stark full moon lit Death Valley faded in. The ground rushed
forward to anchor on Cecelie in black, with the over-size leather jacket
open to reveal a black T-shirt. The piano slowly broke the silence, she
looked into the camera, emotional pain on her face and sang. Her voice was
so pure and solid that it sent goose bumps up Chris's arms.

"Lessons, what grief we must endure to learn the lessons

For love can be cruel with its passions.



Your kindness was in your smile

But that was your style....





The song ended with the focus on Chris pixilating into glitter blown away
on the wind. There was a beat of silence and the coyote howled. Cesare
handed a handkerchief across Chris to Lucrezia, who was softly
sobbing. Like several other in the family. The lights came up to
silence. Nicolo stood and started clapping and yelling "Bravissimo" Like
crystals shoved out of the ground everybody stood clapping and yelling
"Bravissimo". Chris was facing the family crying uncontrollably. Tom came
to Chris and pulled him into a firm hug. He had his phone in his hand,
streaming to Dreamweavers-West, East and Central. The clapping
subsided. Tom gestured for everyone to be seated. "I and Chris are humbled
by your response. This video has been circulated to a select few in Los
Angeles and New York to positive responses, but nothing like yours. The
President of Dreamweavers, Stu Ringer, is on the phone and would like to
say a few words of appreciation. He is connected by Bluetooth, so he should
appear on the screen." Tom stood next to Chris, who was still shaking.

"I will be brief." Tom groaned at the cliché start. "I deeply
appreciate your reception of our most recent discovery Cecelie. She is an
artist of great talent and has a great future. If you ask Chris or Tom, we
respect those who are under contact to us. Artistry does not flourish
unless it is nourished, respected, and valued. That is the core value of
Dreamweavers... Tom is not only a talented model, but also shrewd
businessman. And our Chris is not only a top model, phenomenal musician,
but also a canny judge of talent. He is the one the urged us to sign
Cecelie. One of his main roles is talent acquisition. What has this to do
with you. As you have likely heard, Dreamweavers is looking at expanding to
Europe with its headquarters in London since Tom has family ties in
England. You are in positions where you see underappreciated talent. We
want to be known for being innovative, perceptive and open to all new
talent. Chris and Tom have started building the talent we need to meet the
needs of Europe. We want Dreamweaver--Europe to be European but without out
all the stodginess that history can impose." Nicolo yelled, "Cazzo si
[Fuck, yes]." He was shushed by Rosalina. "Thank you for that vote of
confidence. I will leave you now." Stu signed off.

Chris was suddenly surrounded by people graduating him on the music video;
another crowd was around Tom asking questions about
Dreamweavers--Europe. At midnight, Tom and Chris begged their leave as they
had a train to catch at 6:30, Tom said.



Staff had already packed their luggage and set everything by the door,
except what they were going to wear. Chris grunted in appreciation and fell
into bed asleep, leaving Tom to undress him.