Broken Hearts On Boulevard Unirii novel Chapter 21

Luciana enjoyed the Chinese food but found it difficult eating with chopsticks, as she had never been to a Chinese restaurant before.

"Luciana," I asked. "Are you happy to see us again?"

"Of course," she answered."The truth is that I didn't believe you would come back, and certainly not so fast. I hardly had time to miss you at all." She laughed.

"What about Mirella? Have you called her yet?" she asked.

"No. I haven't had a chance yet," I lied.

"Are you planning to call her?" she inquired.

"What difference does it make to you?" I replied with a smile, so as not to sound too brutal.

"I met her by chance recently in a department store and she asked me if I had any contact with anybody of the group," she told me.

"I don't have her phone number. She didn't leave it with me," I lied once again.

"I'll give it to you. She asked me to keep in touch."

Luciana retrieved the phone number from her cell phone and wrote it down on a napkin.

I took it from her and looked at the number. It seemed as though it was the same number that I had received from Fabrizio, but I was not sure.

When we got home, I took the note and compared the phone numbers. There was a mistake by one digit. Is the new number the correct one? Perhaps I just called a wrong number and I drew the wrong conclusions, I thought. One thing was for sure, Mirella had given me as a farewell letter a blank piece of paper, a sheet of paper with nothing written on it.

I woke up early next morning and quickly got dressed. Fabrizio was still asleep when I left the apartment. I walked about one hundred meters down Brezoianu Street and arrived at the entrance to the park. In front of me I saw one of the most beautiful buildings I had ever seen. It was an old house with a most magnificent entrance, with sculptures adorning the roof and around the windows. All along the front of the house, there were French balconies on each floor. As Angelo had told me, affixed to the upper balcony there was a large sign with a phone number on it, and in large letters it said Da Vanzare, similar to the Italian "For sale". As I rang the bell it dawned on me that there was no name on the sign.

"No. I cannot go by myself looking for apartments and real estate agents want high commissions. I don't have the means to pay anything. I live on less than fifty dollars a month," he said with downcast eyes.

"May I see the apartment?"I asked.

"Yes, of course," he said, and he got up to show me the apartment.

My face dropped when I saw the way the man lived. On one of the living room walls, there was a beautiful carved marble fireplace. Inside the fireplace there were pieces of antique chairs with expensive upholstery. The man burned expensive furniture to heat the apartment. I didn't want to ask where all the furniture came from, so as not to hurt his feelings. I decided to investigate further.

The bathroom and toilet looked like a pigsty. The rusty taps were leaking water, and there were layers of excrement stuck in the toilet. Even the walls, where the remains of hand-painted ceramics were visible, were filthy with layers of dirt.

I left the bathroom in disgust and went into what was supposed to be his bedroom. On the floor there was a soiled mattress laying on a pile of carpets with a blanket, that I wouldn't use to cover a cow in a barn, rolled up in the corner.

I bade him goodbye and told him that I would be in touch with him. I did ask him if he would kindly remove the "for sale" sign for one week.