In Over Her Head by Elsie Russell - Parnasse.com

tough spot cleanable polyester, and furnished with quirky nineteenth
century reproductions of eighteenth century Venetian Rococo styling.
Two double beds of faux marquetry occupied most of the room.
Penny entered the floor to ceiling dark green marble bathroom.
In a row were bidet, toilet tub, of sturdy white porcelain. She stepped
under the elephant shower and shampooed her scalp squeaky clean in
no time. The water from those aqueducts tasted pretty good, but she
hoped this wasn't like Mexico and squirming with vengeful bacilli. She
would have to ask him if it was more than dog worthy.
She came out wrapped in a towel "The tub is big enough for
two, why dontcha hop in and I'll scrub you pink like me?"
The particle board armoire was open so he could watch a
soccer match of red and gold jerseys against light blue. No answer.
Glassy eyes following the running red and gold guy, a light blue
jumped up and butt his head into the ball, sending it over the red guy,
through the goal. Live game. Sandro grunted in disgust.
"What's Lazio?" she asked. They were winning.
No answer.
Penny eased her fresh pink body on top of him. Remote in
hand, he upped the volume, one eye on Rome going under, hoping the
cheers of Lazio would drown out the sounds because Beatrice occupied
the room next door. But as soon as he'd killed the TV they heard her
knocks and her bracelets on the door.
"Momentino!" he yelled, out of breath with one hand on
Penny's bottom, the other with the remote.
"Bambini, Andiamo! Are you ready, it is getting so late!"
"Si Mama!" They both sighed in relief.
Downstairs at the bar, Beatrice waited, glass of champagne in
hand, wrapped in a massive chinchilla coat that had seen better days.
Ula wickedly ran her finger down Beatrice's sleeve.
"Another hand me down from Gala, Beatrice?"
Beatrice marched out and they all trailed after her down the
Corso, the main drag, to the Via Condotti. She hesitated, glancing up
the street at the end of which could be seen the Spanish Steps. But
instead of heading there, she rearranged her coat and led everyone in
the opposite direction, into a narrow winding maze that had not
changed since Roman times and was better equipped for Vespas and
donkeys than cars and throngs of tourists. Green intellectual types
wove their bicycles in and out over the worn-slick square black
cobblestones. Beatrice in her determined fury click-clacked away on her
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