After he had finished eating and the table was cleared, the owner brought over coffee. Carter typically drank very little coffee back home, but he was in Rome now, so he had chosen to drink as the Romans did. The coffee, like everything he had tasted that night, had a rich, vibrant flavor. When the owner returned with il conto (the check) and refilled his cup, Carter had drunk it without a second thought. By then things were not quite so busy in the trattoria, so while he sipped his coffee, the owner took advantage of the lull to chat with him for a few moments. Speaking only in Italian, as he had promised, he introduced himself as Michele and asked Carter for his name.

“Carter?” said a smiling Michele when he told him. “You mean like the president?”

“Yes,” chuckled Carter. “But it’s my first name, not my last.”

“So, tell me Signor Presidente,” Michele had asked, “how was your dinner?”

“It was my first here in Rome,” replied Carter, “and it was excellent.”

“Grazie,” said Michele. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. You see, you came to the right place first. So, how are you enjoying your stay so far? Have you had a chance to see any of the sights yet?”

Carter had explained that he had seen very little so far, but that he had at least discovered the Trevi Fountain that evening by accident.

“Ah, la Fontana di Trevi,” said Michele. “I hope you tossed in a coin.”

“Actually, I didn’t,” Carter admitted. “Should I have?”

“Of course, you must!” exclaimed Michele. “Don’t you know that if you throw a coin in the Trevi Fountain, you are guaranteed to return to Rome someday?”

“No, I didn’t know that,” said Carter.

“Then again, if you’re feeling cheap,” Michele went on, “you can always just throw in a gettone.”

A gettone was a token for the pay phone. Michele explained with a straight face that tossing one in the fountain would guarantee that Carter would only have to make a telephone call to Rome one day, which would be far less expensive than airfare from America. At that the trattoria owner had burst into hearty, contagious laughter at his own joke. Carter could not help but laugh along with him.

Later, after paying for his dinner and promising Michele he would tell all his friends about his little trattoria, Carter had strolled back to his hotel with a full stomach and a contented disposition. Once back in his room, he had lain on his bed for a time, consulting his map and guidebooks to plan out his activities for the next day. Then he had turned off the light, closed his eyes, and lain in the darkness, meditating on what had been a very pleasant first night in Rome.