Catherine Macleod arrives in Perugia without a hotel reservation. She's been driving from Venice to Rome along the Apennine Road, and finding herself fatigued in the afternoon, she decides to stop in Perugia for the night. This is the height of the travelling season, and the man at the tourist office shakes his head doubtfully when Catherine tells him she needs a room for the night. But he does find her a room in a small hotel near the cathedral, explaining to her how pleased he is the Italian she speaks is almost perfect. "Remarkable," he says. "Quite remarkable, signorina. Americans who speak Italian are usually burdened with a horrible accent. Enjoy your stay in Perugia." Of course he's exaggerating. Her Italian is good, but not quite good enough to be outstanding. She lived and went to school in Rome for several years as a young girl, and reviving her knowledge of the language hasn't been difficult.
Before long, exhausted, Catherine is finally alone in a small room whose only charm is that its single window provides a pleasant view of some nearby rooftops. Catherine throws the shutters wide open and strips off her clothes. It's mid-afternoon and the heat is oppressive. There is no bath, only a shower stall, and she makes immediate use of this to refresh herself after the long drive from Venice. When she comes out of the shower, she dries her body with a towel, and then she stands naked before the mirror to blow dry her short blonde hair. She's pleased with herself. She has a good tan produced by hours of hard tennis in Venice with some of her colleagues at the U.S. Consulate. Catherine loves Italy, loves being back as a grown woman, but after four months she's had only a single romantic adventure, and that one an affair of only one evening with a British stewardess who seemed embarrassed the next morning. One evening in four months, Catherine thinks. Surely, there's more in Italy for her than that!
She finally switches off the hair dryer and replaces it in its case. After that she stands before the mirror again, and she dabs a bit of mentholated lotion on each of her breasts. A trick taught to her by an old lover. She slowly rubs the lotion into the skin of her breasts, especially around the nipples, and soon the pleasant warmth causes her nipples to erect like firm pink turrets. She thinks her breasts are too small, but her nipples have an aggressive attitude that more than one woman has found exciting. A compensation. Each breast is hardly a handful, but the nipples are a compensation. Catherine imagines a woman nibbling at them. She envies women who can lift their breasts high enough suck them.
Catherine is aroused now, and she thinks about masturbating. But she decides to put it off until later. She is still standing in front of the mirror with her fingertips gently twisting her elongated nipples, when a key turns in the door lock and a chambermaid walks in with a pile of towels in her arms.
When she sees Catherine, the girl stumbles and drops the towels.
"Oh! I'm so sorry, signorina! I thought the room was empty!" The girl scrambles on the floor after the fallen towels.
Unwilling to further embarrass the poor girl, Catherine hides her amusement and instead hurries to close the door to prevent anyone passing in the hall from seeing her own nakedness.
She then crouches beside the chambermaid to help her retrieve her towels.
When all the towels are gathered, they both rise, and the girl blushes as she seems to realize for the first time that Catherine is totally naked. She glances at Catherine's breasts, and then at her neatly trimmed blonde bush, and then she quickly looks away.
"I was very clumsy," the girl says.
"It doesn't matter, really. I do need the towels."
"Shall I come back later?"
"No, of course not. Just do what you came to do."
"I should change the sheets on the bed."
"Then do that also. Please."
Catherine wonders if she ought to cover herself with a robe. But the sun is still high and it's much too warm in the room. They are both sweating from the heat, the chambermaid with a visible film of moisture on her upper lip. She's quite pretty, maybe twenty, with a stocky body and bright dark eyes.
Since nakedness in Europe is not what it is at home, at least not between people of the same sex, Catherine compromises: she finds a clean pair of white jockeys and she slips them on.
Meanwhile, the chambermaid is in the bathroom arranging the towels. Catherine stands at the dresser mirror brushing her hair, and when the girl comes out of the bathroom and begins changing the sheets on the bed, Catherine says:
"Are you from Perugia?"
The girl glances at her. "No, I'm from Assisi."
"And I'm from New York."
