Giancarlo had every intention of letting it do so. What did he care? It would not be the first time in his tenure at the college that he had hidden behind his voice mail. Lots of people he knew did the same.Then, however, his determination to avoid the call began to waver. What if it really was Sheffield calling? By avoiding him, Giancarlo knew he would only be postponing the inevitable. Sooner or later he would have to confront the issue head-on, instead of politely dancing around it, as he had been doing. Perhaps the time had come, he thought, to make it absolutely clear, in no uncertain terms, that he would not play at the concert, and damn the consequences. Knowing Sheffield’s resilience in such matters, he realized that even an outright refusal would probably not put an end to it. Most likely the dean would simply retreat for a while to formulate some alternate strategy to win him over. A firm no at this juncture was only a temporary fix, but it would buy Giancarlo a little time, and hopefully allow him, at least on this day, to finally eat his lunch in peace.

A fifth ring.

Giancarlo let out a groan of consternation. It occurred to him that it might not be Sheffield at all, but possibly Patricia. He had been promising to have lunch with her one day soon—and indeed he had been looking forward to doing so—but for some reason even he did not understand, he kept putting it off. He felt bad about it, and would not have blamed Patricia if she was calling to voice her displeasure over his managing to avoid her another day. If it was Patricia calling, Giancarlo knew that the least he owed her was the courtesy of answering the phone. Whoever the caller was, Sheffield or Patricia, Giancarlo dreaded the thought of the conversation that was about to take place, but he could think of no remedy for it. Before the telephone could ring again, he took a deep breath and picked up the receiver.

“Giancarlo Rosa,” he said.

No answer came.

“Hello, Giancarlo Rosa here,” he said again.

He heard a garbled sound, like static on a radio, but still no one replied.

“Hello?” he said a final time.

“Professore?” came a voice over the line just as Giancarlo was about to hang the phone back up. “Are you there?”

It took Giancarlo a moment before he recognized the voice.

“Ayyy, Signor Quinn!” he exclaimed. “Is that you?”

There was a moment of silence.

“Where are you?” said Giancarlo. “Are you back in America already ?”

“Yes, it’s me,” said Carter.

Another delay.

“No, I’m still in Italy,” he answered to the second question.