An Italian Fable takes place before, during and after World War II, when fictional hero Mark O'Brien, an OSS spy, meets with real-life figures Franklin Roosevelt, Winston Churchill, Benito Mussolini, Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, and Pope Pius XII before switching places with his look-alike cousin, Irish Monsignor Tom Shaw during the war. After the war, FDR makes him Commander-in-Chief, Allied Forces, Italy, where he begins a 5-year partnership with post-war Italian President Alcide DeGasperi that dramatically changed Italy.
An Italian Fable
By Charles Fairfax SpeerAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2009 Charles Fairfax Speer
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4389-8617-3Chapter One
Grand Hotel Duomo, Milan, April 1923
Whenever Mark thought of Elena, it always began the same way, with his private elevator ride down to the hotel ballroom. Mark's Harvard Business School buddy Andrea D'Este, was throwing a 19th birthday party for his younger sister Elena, who had just returned from finishing school in Geneva.
Her birthday bash was already in full swing, with an army of vociferous young people, great snacks, and free flowing booze. A 20 piece orchestra and several vocalists were going all out to compete with famous American recording artists such as Duke Ellington, Bing Crosby, Louis Armstrong, and Billie Holliday, while showing a dancing preference for George Gershwin and Cole Porter numbers from their current Broadway musicals.
Mark O'Brien, a somewhat taller version of Gatsby's Robert Redford, surveyed the scene and it wasn't hard to spot Elena, all six foot plus of her in low heels, dancing a sensuous, fanny-revealing rumba to Begin the Beguine with her elder brother, a Ben Affleck look alike. Mark snaked his way through the mob to their side and shouted above the din.
"Andy! This must be your baby sister!"
"Marco! Glad you could join us! Elena, I'd like you to meet my Harvard B-school buddy, Mark O'Brien. He owns this hotel."
Mark stood transfixed before this dream of young womanhood, her eyes locked upon his, while her smile spread as butterfly wings in the aurora of a spring dawn. Her golden hair was trimmed short, flapper-style, close to the back of her lovely swanlike neck. Her huge sea-blue eyes were an ocean a man could drown in, framed by ample light brown eyebrows, an aristocratic straight nose, and prominent cheekbones, all enhancing a somewhat roundish face supported by a firm chin. - the image of a teenage Charlize Theron.
Her tall slender body was caressed by a dazzling white tasseled short shimmy dress, with well-rounded breasts held high like two perfect hand-sized grapefruits, kissingly close together. Her ample hips and perfect derriere supported long chorus girl legs that seem to extend forever.
For the first time in his life, Mark was speechless. He had just been hit by an avalanche. But he recouped long enough to take her hand, and begin dancing to a slow romantic Cole Porter number.
"Why did you call my brother Andy?" Elena asked, gazing deeply into his blue eyes.
"Well, you have to understand Elena that in America, Andrea is a girl's name. So, before the other guys could begin teasing him unmercifully I started calling him 'Andy Desty', a typical wild west name that would keep him out of trouble. Of course, it didn't take Andrea very long to pick up on our American nicknames, so pretty soon he began calling me 'Marco', for Mark O'Brien. We played soccer together on a Harvard club team, partied together, and have gotten along famously ever since; Got the picture?" Elena gave him a quizzical look.
"Mark, my Swiss school unfortunately did not teach American jargon, but I'm a quick learner, and dying to know all about your wild west. There is still a wild west, is there not? I should otherwise be so disappointed."
Mark glided Elena into their sixth straight dance and gave her the news.
"The wild west disappeared 30 years ago, Elena, when Wyatt Earp retired" he said regretfully. But we can watch Tom Mix movies together and you'll get a general idea of what the old west was like-good guys in white Stetsons and bad guys in black.
"Elena, this is the first time I've danced eye to eye and cheek to cheek with a partner. I like it a lot."
"So do I, Mark." Elena said wistfully, seeming to defy gravity as she floated like a weightless ballerina in his arms. "All of my dancing partners 'til now have been somewhat shorter than I, which tends to leave me with back pains at the end of the evening. We've been dancing for more than an hour; I have no back pains, but I do believe that people may be staring at us."
"Why would anyone notice the only 6 foot plus, blond haired, blue eyed young couple in Italy?" Mark jested.
Elena proffered another of her extraordinarily beautiful smiles.
"I'm so pleased to see that you have a sense of humor, Mark O'Brien. I like that in a man.
Mark was quick on the uptake.
"Why don't we get a breath of fresh air on the terrace?" he suggested. Without waiting for a response, he grasped her arm and guided her to his penthouse elevator.
"Buona sera, Luigi. La terazza, per favore."
"Subito, Dottore."
They exited upon the most marvelous panorama Milan has to offer. Piazza Duomo lay brightly lit beneath them, with the Duomo Cathedral's star-haloed Madonnina, poised gloriously atop, directly across from Mark's 10th floor terrace.
"Oh Mark, this is spectacular!" Elena exclaimed excitedly. "How did you ever? ..." Her voice trailed off while she took in a vista unique in this medieval city.
Mark's quartet began playing a repertoire of romantic Italian melodies, while his butler brought out very old Dom, Beluga caviar, fresh Belon oysters, and truffled pate 'de foie gras.
The scene was set, and Mark wasted no time in continuing their intimate dancing, which quickly became much more than cheek to cheek. His first move was to take Elena into his arms and kiss her tenderly on her full lips. He marveled at the depth, warmth, and tenderness of her response.
It was as if he had just dived into a bottomless pool, where there was no escape, only complete surrender. They danced, kissed, petted, and occasionally sipped and snacked for the next couple of hours. The chimes of the Duomo cathedral signaled midnight, and Mark whispered into Elena's lovely ear what he had been dreaming of since their first eye contact.
"I'm going to marry you, Helen of Este, so we might as well get used to the idea. I've loved you from the first instant I laid eyes on you," He announced decisively. With that simple statement he lifted her effortlessly into his arms, and carried her inside to his bedroom suite.
"Mark caro, I love you madly as well." Elena declared dreamily, "You swept me off my feet during our very first dance. But be gentle, caro, I've never ..." and her voice trailed off again. Mark sensed what to say.
"I'll be gentle, tesoro, so gentle you'll hardly feel a thing," he murmured soothingly.
"Not that gentle, Mark!" she responded quickly, pulling away abruptly to face him. "I want to feel everything!"
A few minutes later, as they began to explore each other's naked bodies, Elena had second thoughts.
"Mark! You're so heavy!"
With a seemingly effortless flick of his strong arms, Mark lifted Elena into his lap.
"Is this better, tesoro?"
"Oh, this is just lovely, caro," Elena purred, as she tried to figure out what to do next.
Mark then pulled her onto him. Her breasts now hung directly over his lips as he cupped them in his hands, and alternated between nipples while he kissed and circled each with his tongue, until they were fully erect. Then he playfully nibbled away with his lips, pulling them out and then suddenly popping them back, to the sound of Elena's squeals and moans of pleasure.
When she could take his nibbling no longer, Elena instinctively pulled away, sat upright on his manhood and quickly guided him with her hands, first up and down, and then in slow circles...
