Chapter 44

The Magician

The air of Venice was full of excitement in that summer of '51. Because of the great beauty in Palazzo Labia, the splendid palace frescoed by Tiepolo, finally restored and repurposed for life by the new owner, the Mexican Bestegui. Since the invitations with the words "In costume of the eighteenth century, Masks or Domino," all, Venetians-foreigners-tailors-shoemakers-hairdressers, had sunk into eighteenth-century studies and discussions.

My problem had been solved: I would impersonate Diana the Huntress out of an eighteenth-century painting. Draped in light sparkling white and silver, sparkling quiver with bow and arrows, sandals with short spool heels, my costume in addition to committing little footage and expense would have allowed me to move and dance in casual freedom.

But the costume mattered to me. It mattered very much to me that half of Europe was gathering in Venice, which promised to be the brightest season in years. Dejected, bewildered, after waking up in a bed not mine, I was now sitting in a hotel room, waiting.

And to think that just the day before I had been so happy... One of my best friends had come as a guest to Calle del Rimedio for a few days and I had planned...