As a professor in a small New England college, I have been asked occasionally to be a chaperon to some event or other. The ones I liked best were trips to other areas or better still—trips out of the country.
For many years, it had been a practice of the French department, the Spanish department, and the Italian department to offer students a trip to the country of their study, usually around April, when the air and hotel rates were less than during high season.
The students studying Italian under Professor Dominic Amici were always offered the choice of Rome, Florence, or Venice, and they nearly always chose Venice. It was after all one of the most romantic cities in the world. This year, there would be a dozen students going, eight of them girls, four of them boys. In addition to the teacher, two chaperon positions were sought, and I volunteered for one of them. The chaperon only had to pay 50% of his airfare and hotel; the college paid for the rest. I had been to Venice twice before, but I never grew tired of it.
We flew from Boston to Milan overnight via Alitalia, and then a short hop from Milan to Venice, arriving there around noon. The hotel where we would be staying for five nights was a large affair right across the Grand Canal from the Santa Lucia railroad station.
Everyone was tired that first day, so most of us just rested up and then got together around 7 p.m. at a restaurant near the hotel for dinner. The sightseeing would begin the next day.
So the next day, we took a vaporetto water bus from outside the train station all the way down the Grand Canal to the Piazza San Marco. Our Italian guide led us from there to the famous La Fenice theatre and told us about the Carnivale period in Venice when everyone wears a mask and "anything goes." "There is a lot of sex," he said with a smile.
During the course of the day, I began to realize that one of the students, Amelia Wayne, seemed always to be near or beside me. If she was in the process of forming some kind of a crush on me, I did not mind that since she was probably the prettiest girl in the college. She was tall, about five ten, and slender, with long and straight blond hair. She looked more like a model than a student. And from the essays she wrote for my English class, I got the impression that she was somewhat daring and adventurous.
During one of the free afternoons, she asked me if I would be willing to take a walk through the narrow streets with her, since she did not really want to go alone, and I agreed.
"This is a great trip," she said as we were walking. "The only thing wrong with it is that it does not include a gondola ride. I know that professor Amici said they're too expensive, but I brought an extra hundred dollars with me, and I would like to use it for that."
"Then do so."
"But I can't go alone. Would you go with me? I'll pay for the whole thing."
I was very flattered. "Yeah, I guess I could go with you, but I don't want you to pay for the whole thing. I'll pay for half of it. When do you want to do it?"
"Well, I want to do it at night, not in the daytime. I think it would be more exciting and romantic that way. And I don't want the others to know about it because they might be—you know—jealous or something. Tomorrow is our last night here, so what I would like to do would be to slip out after the ten o'clock bed check and go then. I could meet you down in the lobby."
"Well, I'm supposed to prevent you from doing that kind of thing, but I guess if I'm with you, it would be okay."
"Great. I'll meet you there at ten. I know no one else from our group will be in the lobby, and I'm going to tell my roommate that I'm just going down to the lobby to read so I don't keep her awake."
"Okay. Sounds like a plan."
The following night I was waiting for her in the lobby. I had taken the liberty of buying a bottle of Italian champagne for the event. The door to the cage elevator opened, and the most ravishing creature I had ever seen came out. She was a beautiful blond woman in an ankle-length white satin gown, with a white shawl pulled over her head and around her shoulders. You could not see her face, since it was covered by one of those white ceramic Carnivale masks. She held the mask in place by a stick fastened to the side. She walked over to me.
"Ready to go? She asked.
"My God! It's you! I can't believe it. Where did you get that?"
"I brought the gown with me. I told you: This is my fantasy. I planned it ahead of time, and I bought the mask today down near the Rialto Bridge."
"You look spectacular." I looked down. "I feel underdressed." I was wearing tan slacks, a blue sports coat, and an open white shirt.
"You look fine. There's no way you could have known. Shall we go?"
"Yes. I looked her over more carefully, and it became apparent to me that from the absence of any lines, she did not appear to be wearing underwear—either top or bottom.
"Will you be warm enough in that?" I asked.
"I'll try, but it doesn't matter. I see you brought some champagne."
"Yes."
