Chapter 84: Franz: II
Franz woke up first the next morning and immediately rang for service. Before the bell’s echo even faded, their hotel manager Signor Pastrini burst through the door, looking way too pleased with himself.
"Gentlemen," Pastrini announced triumphantly, not even waiting for Franz to ask, "I was right to be cautious yesterday. Just as I feared, there’s not a single car available for rent. Not for the last three days of the carnival, anyway."
"Of course," Franz muttered. "The exact three days we actually need one."
Albert stumbled in, still half-asleep. "Wait, no cars at all?"
"You got it in one," Franz confirmed.
"Man, this ’Eternal City’ is really something," Albert said sarcastically.
Pastrini bristled at the insult to his beloved capital. "What I mean, sirs, is that from Sunday through Tuesday evening, yes, everything’s booked solid. But right now until Sunday? I could get you fifty vehicles if you wanted."
"Well, that’s something at least," Albert said, perking up. "Today’s Thursday. Who knows what might happen between now and Sunday?"
"About ten or twelve thousand tourists will show up," Franz said dryly. "Making the situation even worse."
"Relax," Albert said, throwing an arm around his friend’s shoulders. "Let’s enjoy what we’ve got instead of worrying about what might go wrong."
"Fine. Can we at least get a window overlooking the parade route?" Franz asked.
"A window?" Pastrini looked like Franz had just asked for the moon. "Completely impossible! There was one left, just one, on the fifth floor of the Doria Palace. A Russian prince snatched it up for twenty gold coins a day."
The two young men stared at each other in disbelief.
"You know what?" Franz finally said. "Forget Rome. Let’s do carnival in Venice instead. At least there we can definitely get boats, even if we can’t get cars."
"God, no!" Albert protested. "I came to Rome specifically to see the Roman carnival, and I’m going to see it even if I have to walk around on stilts!"
"That’s the spirit! We’ll dress up in ridiculous costumes and make the best of it."
"So..." Pastrini ventured carefully. "You still want a car rental from now until Sunday morning?"
"Obviously!" Albert exclaimed. "What, you think we’re going to walk everywhere like common tourists?"
"I’ll arrange it right away, sirs. But I must warn you, it’ll cost you six gold coins per day."
"Look," Franz interrupted, "I’m not some millionaire like whoever’s staying in the suite next door. I’ve been to Rome four times before. I know the going rates. We’ll pay you twelve coins total for today, tomorrow, and the day after. That’s still a good profit for you."
"But sir-" Pastrini tried to negotiate.
"Either take it or I’ll go straight to your contact, who’s also my contact, by the way. He’s ripped me off plenty of times before, but he’ll still give me a better deal than what you’re offering, hoping to squeeze more money out of me later. Then you lose the commission entirely, and that’ll be your own fault."
Pastrini’s expression shifted to that peculiar smile locals get when they know they’ve been outmaneuvered by someone who actually knows the game. "No need for that, sir. I’ll make it work. I’m sure you’ll be satisfied."
"Great. Now we understand each other."
"When do you need the car?"
"One hour."
"It’ll be waiting at the entrance in one hour."
True to his word, sixty minutes later a vehicle sat outside their hotel. Technically it was just a hired car that had been hastily upgraded to look semi-private for the occasion, but honestly? The folks would’ve been thrilled to have even this for the final three days of carnival.
"Sir!" their guide called out, seeing Franz approach the window. "Should I bring the car closer to the entrance?"
Franz had gotten used to the exaggerated local terminology by now. He was the "sir," the beat-up rental was "the car," and their modest hotel was apparently "the palace." It was just how people talked around here, always making everything sound grander than it was.
Franz and Albert climbed in and stretched out across the seats. Their guide hopped onto the back platform.
"Where to, sirs?" he asked.
"Saint Peter’s Basilica first, then the Colosseum," Albert announced.
What Albert didn’t realize was that you could spend an entire day just seeing Saint Peter’s, and a whole month studying it properly. They ended up spending the entire day there. As the sunlight finally began to fade, Franz checked his watch. Four-thirty.
They headed back to the hotel, where Franz told their driver to be ready at eight. He wanted to show Albert the Colosseum by moonlight, just like he’d shown him Saint Peter’s by daylight. There’s something special about showing a friend around a city you already know, it feels almost like showing off a lover you’ve had.
His plan was to leave through the northern city gate, circle around the old walls, and come back in through the eastern gate. That way they’d see the Colosseum without having their minds dulled by seeing all the other ancient ruins first, the old government buildings, the victory arches, the temples, the ancient roads.
They sat down to dinner. Pastrini had promised them an amazing feast. What they got was... decent. Acceptable. At the end of the meal, Pastrini himself appeared.
Franz assumed he wanted compliments on the food and started to offer some, but Pastrini cut him off immediately.
"Sir, I’m glad you enjoyed your meal, but that’s not why I’m here."
"Did you find us a car for carnival after all?" Albert asked, lighting up a cigarette.
"No, and honestly, you should stop thinking about that. Here in Rome, things either can be done or they can’t. When you’re told something can’t be done, that’s the end of it."
"That’s not how it works in Paris," Albert said, blowing out smoke. "In Paris, when something ’can’t be done,’ you just pay double and suddenly it gets done immediately."
"That’s what all you French people say," Pastrini replied, clearly annoyed. "Which makes me wonder why you bother traveling at all."
Albert leaned back in his chair, balancing on its back legs. "You’re right, only crazy people or idiots like us actually travel. Smart people stay home in their nice neighborhoods, take their daily walks down the fashionable boulevards, and eat at the same expensive restaurants."
It was obviously true that Albert lived exactly that kind of life back home, in the best part of town, walking the trendiest streets, eating at the one restaurant where you could actually get a decent meal, assuming you tipped well.