Rick was not, however, in the market for a full-time live-in. That entailed complications and required a commitment that he had trouble even addressing. He had never lived with a woman, had not in fact lived with anyone since his days in Toronto, and he was not contemplating a full-time companion. As she unpacked, he wondered, for the first time, exactly how long she planned to stay. They postponed the lovemaking until after practice. It was to be a light workout, no pads, but still he preferred to have the full use of his legs and feet. Livvy sat in the stands and read a paperback while the boys went through their drills and plans. There were a handful of other wives and girlfriends scattered about, even a few small children bouncing up and down the grandstand. At 10:30 Thursday night, a city employee arrived and made his presence known to Sam. His job was to turn off the lights.
There were castles waiting. Rick first heard this news around 8:00 a.m., but managed to roll over and go back to sleep. Livvy threw on her jeans and went to find coffee. When she returned in thirty minutes, with two large cups of takeaway, she announced again that castles were waiting and she wanted to begin with one in the town of Fontanellato.
"It's very early," Rick said, taking a sip, sitting up in bed, trying to orient himself to such an odd hour. "Have you been to Fontanellato?" she asked as she removed the jeans, picked up a guidebook with her notes, and returned to her side of the bed.
"I've never heard of it."
"Have you left Parma since you got here?"
"Sure. We had a game in Milan, one in Rome, one in Bolzano."
"No, Ricky, I'm talking about hopping in your little copper Fiat and sightseeing through the countryside."
"No, why--"
"Aren't you the least bit curious about your new home?"
"I've learned not to get attached to new homes. They're all temporary."
"That's nice. Look, I'm not lounging around this apartment all day, having sex every hour, and thinking about nothing but lunch" and dinner." "Why not?" "I'm doing a road trip. Either you're driving or I'll catch a bus. There's too much to see. We're not even finished with Parma yet." They left half an hour later and drove northwest in search of Fontanellato, a fifteenth-century castle Livvy was desperate to inspect. The day was warm and sunny. The windows were down. She wore a short denim skirt and a cotton blouse, and the wind rushed across everything nicely and kept him engaged. He groped her legs, and she pushed him away with one hand as she read a guidebook with the other.
"They make 120,000 tons of Parmesan cheese here every year," she was saying as she looked at the countryside. "Right here, on these farms."
"At least that much. These folks put it in their coffee."
"Five hundred dairies, all in a tightly defined area around Parma. It's regulated by law."
"They make ice cream out of it."
"And ten million Parma hams each year. That's hard to believe."
"Not if you live here. They put it on your table before you sit down. Why are we talking about food? You were in such a hurry we got no breakfast." She put her book down and announced, "I'm starving."
"How about some cheese and ham?" They were on a narrow road with little traffic and soon came to the village of Baganzola, where they found a bar with coffee and croissants. She was anxious to practice her Italian, and while it sounded proficient to Rick, the signora at the counter struggled. "A dialect," Livvy said as they headed for the car. The Rocca, or fortress, at Fontanellato had been built some five hundred years earlier, and it certainly looked impregnable. It was surrounded by a moat and anchored by four massive towers with wide openings for observation and weaponry. Inside, however, there was a marvelous palace with walls covered in art and remarkably decorated rooms. After fifteen minutes, Rick had seen enough, but his lady friend was just getting started. When he finally got her back into the car, they continued north, at her direction, to the town of Soragna. It was situated on fertile plains on the left bank of the river Stirone and had been the site of many ancient battles, according to their car's historian, who could not digest the details fast enough. As she rattled them off, Rick drifted away to the Bergamo Lions and especially Signor Maschi, the very agile middle linebacker who, in Rick's opinion, was the key to the game. He thought of all the plays and schemes devised by brilliant coaches to neutralize a great middle linebacker. They rarely worked.
The castle at Soragna (still home to a real prince!) dated back only to the seventeenth century, and after a quick tour they found lunch at a small deli. Then onward, to San Secondo, famous nowadays for spalla, a boiled ham. The town's castle, built in the fifteenth century as a fortress, played a role in many important battles. "Why did these people fight so much?" Rick asked at one point. Livvy shot him a quick answer but had little interest in the wars. She was more attracted to the art, the furniture, the marble fireplaces, and so on.
Rick sneaked away and took a nap under a tree. They finished at Colorno, nicknamed the "little Versailles of the Po." It was a majestic fortress that had been remodeled into a splendid home, complete with vast gardens and courtyards. When they arrived, Livvy was just as excited as she'd been seven hours earlier when they got to the first castle, one that Rick could barely remember. He gamely plodded on through the exhaustive tour, then finally quit. "Meet me at the bar," he said, and left her alone in a massive hallway, gawking at frescoes high above and lost in another world.
Rick balked on Saturday, and they argued briefly. It was their first dustup, and both found it amusing. It was over quickly, and neither seemed to hold a grudge, a promising sign. She had in mind a road trip to the south, to Langhirano, through the wine country, with only a couple of important castles to examine. He had in mind a quiet day, off his feet, as he tried to focus more on Bergamo and less on her legs. They compromised on a plan to stay in town and finish off a couple of churches. He was clear-eyed and rested, primarily because the team had decided to skip the Friday ritual of pizza and buckets of beer at Polipo's. They had hustled through a quick workout in shorts, listened to more game planning from Sam, listened to yet another emotional speech, this one from Pietro, and finally quit at ten Friday night. They had practiced enough.
Saturday night they gathered at Cafe" Montana for the pregame meal, a three-hour gastronomic fiesta with Nino on center stage and Carlo roaring in the kitchen. Signor Bruncardo was present and addressed his team. He thanked them for a thrilling season, one that would not, however, be complete unless they thrashed Bergamo tomorrow. There were no women present--the little restaurant was packed with just the players--and this fact led to two raunchy poems and a final farewell, a profanity-laced ode composed by the lyrical Franco and delivered in a hysterical style. Sam sent them home before eleven.
Chapter 25
Dergamo traveled well. They brought an impressive number of fans who arrived early and loud, unfurled banners, practiced horn blowing and chants, and in general made themselves quite at home at Stadio
Lanfranchi. Eight straight Super Bowls bestowed upon them the right to go anywhere in NFL Italy and take over the stadium. Their cheerleaders were dressed appropriately in skimpy gold skirts and knee-high black boots, and this proved to be a distraction for the Panthers during the lengthy pregame warm-up. Focus was lost, or at least temporarily detoured, as the girls stretched and jiggled and limbered up for the big game. "Why can't we have cheerleaders?" Rick asked Sam when he walked by. "Shut up." Sam stalked around the field, growling at his players, as nervous as any NFL coach before a big game. He chatted briefly with a reporter from the Gazzetta di Parma. A television crew shot some footage, as much of the cheerleaders as of the players. The Panthers' fans were not to be outdone. Alex Olivetto had spent the week rounding up the younger players from the flag football leagues, and they packed together at one end of the home stands and were soon yelling at the Bergamo supporters. Many ex Panthers were there, along with families and friends. Anyone with a passing interest in football americano had a seat long before kickoff.