The Girl with the Crystal Eyes (17 page)

    Marconi
tries playing the melodrama card. They say it works, with women. 'I'm totally
in love with her,' he says in his best soap-opera voice, looking down at his
feet. 'Marta and me have been together three years, but she cheats on me every
time she goes out. I know she does, but I can't leave her. And no one has the
courage to tell me the whole truth about what she gets up to.' Then he pretends
he's walking away.

    'Wait,'
he hears behind him. 'OK, sit down,' she says, suddenly sympathetic.

    She
leads him towards a mirrored corner where a large velvet armchair invites
people to escape from the crowds of people.

    'My
boyfriend used to cheat on me too, and he didn't waste any time in dumping me,
that shit. But what did you want to know?'

    'I'd
like to know how far she went. Did you just kiss?'

    'We
danced. We eyed each other up, as you do, then she moved towards me and started
to brush against me. I took her by the hand and… but I didn't know she was
spoken for.'

    'Don't
worry about it. You couldn't have known. But what else did she do?'

    'We
sat down - here, in fact. This is my favourite spot because it's so intimate -
and we started kissing. She kisses really well, but you'd know that better than
me. Things warmed up a bit… I'm not exactly an iceberg. And when she started to
bite my neck, I whispered to her to follow me. We went into the bathroom… and
it'd be better if I didn't tell you anything else.'

    Marconi
struggles to hide his own arousal. He realises that he's as hard as those other
men before they died. That isn't a reassuring thought. He tries to cover the
fact by taking off his scarf - because of the heat - and draping it across his
lap.

    'No,
carry on.' He ought to press her to reveal details about what the suspect looks
like, rather than about their sexual activity in the loos.

    The
girl, who doesn't seem to need any encouragement, takes his hand in a gesture
of support and rests it on her thigh, which is left uncovered by the split in
her skirt. Just at that moment the tattooed man walks past.

    
He
is definitely a biker
.

    Marconi
tries to hide by lowering his head between his hands:

    'Samantha,
just forget about him. He's got different tastes.' The man then bursts out
laughing. 'He likes dogs, not cats.' And he laughs again. 'He doesn't play
football, he prefers a bat.' He sounds like he could go on forever.

    Marconi's
erection has gone. And he breathes a sigh of relief as he hears the laughter
from that heavily built, leather-clad jerk moving away. One problem solved.

    She
starts talking again, her eyes fixed on his. She articulates every word
clearly, omitting not a single detail. She explains how she pushed the other
girl gently against the pink wall of the bathroom, how she lifted her dress and
slipped off her black panties. And she talks; she talks on without ever
breaking eye contact with Marconi. Every pause leaves him hanging on those
full, seductive lips, and the story they are relating.

    He
feels aroused a second time, burning with desire. He is aware that he is
gripping her hand, and he forces himself to speak in an attempt to shatter the
spell of her story.

    'Thanks.
You don't know what you've done for me,' he says, slightly hesitant,
rearranging his scarf. 'You know, I gave her that dress for her birthday,' he
then adds, like an accomplished actor.

    'You've
got great taste. I love oriental-style dresses, and black and red are my
favourite colours. If I were her, I wouldn't let a man like you get away. I'll
tell you a secret: the touch of satin drives me wild,' she says, as if trying
to recreate the magic of a moment before.

    'How
naive I was to fall in love with someone like her. It was her eyes that struck
me the first time I met her in Piazza Maggiore. I was sitting in Neptune's shadow,
when she walked by and glanced over.'

    'Yes,
I know that look. Two crystal-blue eyes that seem to see right inside you.'

    'And
you? You'll think I'm a masochist, but I'd like to know what it was about her
that attracted you.'

    The
girl briefly closes her eyes as if to conjure up an image.

    'Her
blonde hair against that pale skin, the full mouth… I liked everything about
her, including that fantastic hairpin of hers. Imagine, she wouldn't even let
me touch it. It must be very important to her.'

    'I
don't think I've ever seen it.'

    'Come
on, you must remember it, it's so beautiful. It's like a ceremonial dagger,
inlaid with two red stones at the end.'

    Marconi's
eyes light up.

    'A
dagger?'

    'I couldn't
think of a better word. It was a type of metal hairpin. Don't tell me you can't
remember it. I once saw something similar at Montagnola, but it couldn't even
compare with hers.'

    'Who
knows who gave it to her. But, you know what I say? After this evening, it's
not my business any more.'

    
With
that hairpin she probably skewered a human eyeball.

    'Let's
have some fun. What did she tell you her name was?' he then asks her, holding
his breath.

    'She
didn't tell me anything about herself. You know, we didn't talk very much… But
I want to give you a piece of advice: why don't you get your own back? You'll
feel much better.' She watches him languidly.

    He
reckons that it has been too long since he last had sex. A good fuck, not like
the one with Sabrina that evening. But then he controls himself and declares
that he'll have to finish with his girlfriend first. He can't wait. He gets up
and leaves her sitting there, slightly stunned, on the red velvet sofa.

    Make-up
smeared on her eyes - a mess, like the bed she is stretched out on. A dishevelled
doll: naked, fucked and abandoned. He has gone out again this evening. He
didn't say much. 'You're beautiful, but what have you done? You don't even look
like "you".'

    
Why
not? What is 'me'?

    
Why
can't this girl be me, and the girl in a tracksuit and no make-up only a
version of me that I put on like a disguise every so often? Why not?

    
Who
decided what I am? How have I ended up like this? Imprisoned in a character I
don't particularly like.

    
Yes,
I hate myself.

    
Because
of my insecurity, because of my fear. Yet I can't change. This is how I am
.

    The
slip is now just a heap of fabric lying by the end of the bed. It has stopped
being an instrument of seduction. She hugs her teddy bear and seeks out the
flesh under her fingernails.

    
When
I taste the sweetness of my blood, I'll stop. I don't want to dream tonight. I
just want to see darkness.

    Darkness
that swallows her up.

    She
lies still and breathes deeply. She thinks about how he made love to her.

    
He
put himself inside me by just pulling my knickers to one side. He didn't even
take them off. He felt heavy on top of me, burning me inside
.

    He
stung, like his coarse stubble. He smelled like he always smells before he has
a shower. It was over quickly, too quickly for the pain to turn to pleasure.
But do women ever enjoy sex?

    
In
the magazines they say they can, but I don't believe it
.

    It's
a lie. One of the many lies they write. Like 'surprise him and he'll be yours
forever' or 'conquer him in the kitchen' or 'pretend you don't care and he
won't be able to resist you'.

    
If
he comes home and I pretend I don't care, he'll go out again in five minutes.
It's complete rubbish. And I'm an idiot to fall for it.

    She
has smeared on her face the moisturiser they said would give her perfect skin.
She spent twenty-five Euros on it and her skin is still red. On the cold floor,
there's a lace slip that isn't a lace slip any more: it's just a shapeless
piece of material.

    
As
soon as he finished he went to wash my smell from his body. And he shaved.

    
I
still smell of him, yet I'm here alone.

    'I
need to see Mariangela,' Eva says, sounding serious.

    'She's
busy. You can speak to me.'

    'Roberto,
I need to speak to Mariangela. If I'd needed to speak to you, I would have said
so.'

    'At
this precise moment, you should be busy at the scanner, getting those images
ready which I asked you for,' he replies, annoyed.

    'The
sooner I speak to Mariangela the sooner you'll have your scans.'

    'Well!
Listen to that determination!' he jeers at her.

    'Enter,'
says the voice behind the frosted-glass door.

    The
girl goes in and stands by the desk.

    'What
is it, Eva, that's so important you need to interrupt me in what I'm doing?'
asks the woman, somewhere between surprise and annoyance.

    'Mariangela,
you know I respect you, but I've worked here for two years now and no one's
given me a chance to show what I can do. Obviously, I don't want you to hand
over a publicity campaign to me on trust - I just want a chance.'

    'You
know it's Sonia and Roberto who -'

    'Sorry
to interrupt, only I don't want to waste your time. I've had another job offer
- from a competitor, I mean. If you're not going to give me a chance to get
more involved, I'll have to accept it. All I'm asking is for you to give me a
try.'

    'A
try in what sense?'

    'The
new campaign for mobile phones. I'd like to be able to present my ideas as
well, and then the client can decide. If they choose Sonia or Roberto that's
fine, but I'd like to be considered a bit more from now on.'

    'OK,
but this mustn't take you away from the other things you're supposed to do.'

    'You
can take that for granted. Thank you for having faith in me.'

    'Now,
off you go. And shut the door behind you,' says Mariangela, reminding her who's
in charge.

    There,
she has given herself a birthday present; she has persuaded Mariangela to give
her a chance. She knows that from now on the woman will make her pay dearly for
it, but that doesn't matter; she now has her chance.

    Roberto
gives her a surly look as she comes out of the boss's office, walking unusually
tall.

    The
day seems lighter to her now. Like the first few months of working there, when
she used to complete her tasks quickly, full of hope, dreaming that soon she
would see her own adverts around town, and she would be able to stop and stare
at them, with her nose in the air and her heart smiling.

    Leaving
work, Giulia, as usual, talks non-stop while they walk to her birthday
surprise.

    'We're
here. Come on. I know you don't drink much, but I'll buy you one anyway - the
barman's great - and then you can open your present.' Giulia has a voice like
honey, the one she uses when she wants to be sure of getting
yes
as an
answer.

    The
bar is near the Two Towers, rather hidden, but it must be fashionable because it's
full of young people. They're crowding around outside as well, making a racket.

    
Good,
it's really close to the bookshop, thinks Eva, so I'll be able to go and have a
wander round it afterwards.

    They go
in. It's very bright, with African paintings on the walls and ebony statues
dotted here and there. The barman really is cute: short hair, serious, and he
doesn't look like he puts on airs, which in itself is extremely unusual.

    'What
can I get for you?'

    'Two
glasses of white wine. It's my friend's birthday,' Giulia chirps to attract his
attention.