One Day in Italy, This Happened…
I am sitting at a café smack in the middle of fashion central in Capri, Italy. This was the area my boyfriend, Tom, and I were in when we decided we couldn’t wait a second longer to eat and plopped down at one of the quaint little tables lining the pedestrian filled path running beside the restaurant as well as Dior, Prada, and countless others designer boutiques. Since neither my boyfriend nor I were that into fashion and were much more into the gorgeous views seen from every edge of the island, it was an interesting place to stop for us, but the area was opulent and pretty and seemed good for people watching.
As I pour another packet of sugar into my entirely too tart lemonade, I peer at all the people walking by us in interest, wondering which of them are curious tourists and which of them are actually here to shop. (Well, for some of them, it was easy to tell they were here to shop due to the designer sunglasses and arms loaded up with designer bags.)
My attention is diverted from my lemonade as a boy about the age of ten comes running through the crowds with a backpack strapped to his back. He stops right in front of the restaurant we are seated at and greets the Italian serving us. I watch in interest as he goes inside and I see him drop his bag, greet more of the people working inside and position himself at a table. He was apparently related to someone working here. How amazing to grow up on such a beautiful and luxurious island. I wonder where his school…
My thoughts on island living fade suddenly as I see an extremely handsome older man cutting through the crowd, smiling and calling to someone in greeting. He has silver hair and a simple button down shirt that is unbuttoned halfway and just looks expensive. He has to be at least 50, if not older, but has the air of a 25 year old. He was impossible to miss. He stops close to our table and gives air kisses to the man he had been greeting and that’s when I notice the other two people he is with.
Both of them are wearing sunglasses. One of them is pretty buff, but besides that, not that attention-grabbing. The other man, however, is deeply tanned and is wearing a simple, plain t-shirt. After they finish talking with the man they had greeted, the trio begins walking past us. I forget about Mr. Handsome and instead study the tan man’s profile as he walks by with the stride of someone important. That looks like…No can’t be. I shake my head.
Tom leans over. “That guy looks a lot like Armani,” he whispers.
“That’s what I was just thinking!” I exclaim. “But it can’t be.”
We watch as the back of his head moves farther away.
“He does have a house here, though…” I add thoughtfully.
“And that one guy definitely looked like he could be a bodyguard,” Tom said, referring to the buff guy. “And the other one just looked rich.”
I nod in agreement just as two girls who are walking in the opposite direction of the trio of interesting men stop close to our table and begin squealing. They start talking in fast Italian to each other, looking over their shoulder, giggling, and then they change their route and begin quickly walking back the way they had just come. Toward the trio.
“That had to have been him!” I say incredulously. “Those girls would know and they sure seemed excited about something going that way.” I gesture over my shoulder.
“It sure looked like him,” Tom says. “Too bad we won’t ever know for sure.”
Too bad. But we still like to talk about the time we saw Giorgio Armani in Capri. That is, the time we’re pretty sure we saw Armani in Capri.
