Coco Chanel Saved My Life (9 page)

I should stop feeling incomplete without a man, stop feeling guilty. I wasn't a silly little princess waiting for her Prince Charming. I was a determined woman, wearing a very small dress size, with an interesting job. I had everything I needed. I just had to believe it.

As soon as I got home, I waved to Mrs Leoncini, the funny lady who lived on the first floor. As usual, she was watering her plants on the balcony. When I entered my apartment, I celebrated my little victories with a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon and a piece of chocolate that I had hidden – in case of emergency – behind my wall of shoe boxes. At times I don't need much to feel happy.

On the Saturday morning – after buying the new dress – I tried on all my clothes to see if any of them needed alterations.

I was in front of the large mirror in my bedroom and slipping in and out of dresses, pants and skirts. Some of them were perfect, because of my old habit of buying clothes too small for me, and others needed alterating by a seamstress.

I was so in love with my new, skinnier body that I couldn't stop, smiling, dancing and trying out different poses in front of the mirror.

The apartment was silent. The sun timidly crept through the open window, illuminating the wooden floor.

Suddenly I heard a loud shout coming from the stairs. “Ramooon, where are you? Ramoooon!”

I went to the door and listened, trying to understand what had happened. A woman was desperately looking for Ramon and didn't stop shouting. I opened the door and saw Claudio in the hallway, wearing shorts and with a cup of coffee, talking to our downstairs neighbour.

“What's happened?” I asked.

“Mrs Leoncini has lost her parrot.”

Claudio had told me that Sofia Leoncini used to be a famous opera singer and had performed in very important theatres all around the world. Something apparently went wrong, and now she lived alone, watering her plants and playing the piano by herself in the evening. almost everyone in the building was convinced she was crazy.

It was then that I learned she lived with an
ara
ararauna
, a big blue and yellow parrot, and that it had escaped somewhere in the building.

“I'd better I go check on Cat,” Claudio said, “I wouldn't want him to decide to have a parrot for breakfast today!”

“Yes, it would be even a bigger drama!” I added.

“Beautiful skirt.”

I didn't realize that I had walked out of my apartment half dressed: underneath my light blue pajama t-shirt, I was wearing the elegant long skirt I'd been trying on!

“Thank you. Oops… I was in the middle of a private
fitting
!”

“You're so beautiful, Coco! But now I've really got to run and check on Cat.” He blew me a kiss and disappeared inside.

In the meantime, Mrs Leoncini was still desperately crying and calling for Ramon. From the fifth floor someone yelled that he had seen the parrot on the roof top and was trying to attract him with some crackers.

“My Ramon doesn't like crackers!” Sofia said full of dignity.

Then she disappeared and I heard her whispering: “My little baby, don't be scared. Come to your mommy.” Her voice was so sweet that I was almost seriously moved. But the parrot had no intention of coming back to his
mommy
. Perhaps this hour of freedom had given him the illusion that he could survive in the metropolitan jungle of Milan.

“Come on! Come here!” Mrs Leoncini's voice was less sweet at this point. We were all stood holding our breath, waiting for the end of this crazy adventure.

Suddenly Ramon opened his wings and landed on Sofia's arm, shouting with his croaky voice, “Argentinaaaaa”.

As if we all agreed, we burst into a long applause, and Mrs Leoncini, coming down the stairs with Ramon on her shoulder, thanked everybody – as if she were the star of a premiere at La Scala. When she got to my floor, she smiled at me.

“He gave you quite a fright!” I said.

“I thought I had lost him forever.”

“He's a beautiful bird.”

“He's not only a bird, he's a companion.” (I thought of my belief that only pirates had parrots for companions). “The thing I envy most about him,” she continued, “is that he can fly. If I had wings, I would have flown far away from here.”

“Oh yes, if we all could fly, we wouldn't have any parking problems!” I tried to be funny, but immediately realized it was better to shut up. Sofia looked at me quizzically, then she smiled and said goodbye.

I went back to my apartment to cheerfully continue playing with my clothes.

*

I was meeting Emma and two other friends in Corso Como for lunch. I put on my beige pants, a black shirt and sandals. Then I took a Chanel
pochette
with me. – Actually, I hated clutch bags. Coco Chanel added thin chains to her clutch bags exactly to avoid this torment for women. Great invention! – Finally, I put a barrette with a camellia in my hair and ran to catch the metro.

It was already mid October but fall hadn't yet arrived. It was still summer, with tanned people sitting in outdoor cafes or strolling, holding ice-creams. I arrived at the restaurant a little early, so I used the time to explore the Corso Como store, where they sold clothes by different designers, accessories, objects of design, perfumes and books. I smelled the leather of a bag that cost my entire monthly salary, and got lost among amazing shoes. Then I went to sit at a table in the lush garden, to wait for my friends. I looked around at the people sitting at the other tables. They were very beautiful: elegant, trendy and discreet. They seem to summarize everything I liked about this city: fashion, culture and understatement.

Emma arrived a little late, chatting with friends that I may have met before but had forgotten. Both wore mini-dresses and had perfect tans.

“Rebecca, it's great to see you!”

“My name is Marta,” said the one with very blonde hair.

“Serena!” said the other, a red-head.

We ordered our lunch and kept chatting. Emma was very excited because that week her studio obtained a big job and they promised her a raise.

“And you, Rebecca? Emma told us that you're a wedding planner,” Serena said, as the waiter brought our appetizers.

“Yes, I just started a few weeks ago…”

“It must be exciting to organize wedding receptions, and fun too, right?”

“Yes, if we forget the bride's anxiety, the groom's stinginess and the pushy mothers-in-law who always have to have the last word!”

“Oh, but it must also be a very romantic job… Right?” Marta added, “organizing a big party for two people who love each other, helping them celebrate, giving them ideas for wedding dresses, cakes… it must be sweet!”

“Actually, at least until now, all the couples I've met who come to our agency, seem to be happy and very much in love. Except for the understandable stress of a wedding, they really look genuinely moved and excited.”

“I did everything by myself for my wedding,” Serena said, “but – I confess – it was very stressful, plus the anxiety of having to decide who will be invited and who will not. It's a royal pain! In the end everything went well, but if I had it to do all over again, I would definitively use a wedding planner.”

“Well, you can for your next wedding!” Emma said, laughing.

“Oh, my god, no!” Serena was laughing too. “It was a struggle finding my husband and getting my head together. Believe me, I don't want to start over any time soon!”

“Speaking of
getting your head together
,” Marta said, “do you know who decided to stop being the most wanted bachelor around?”

“Who?” Serena asked, full of curiosity.

“Niccolò!”

I could hear a loud thud inside me, and in matter of seconds my stomach was in knots. Emma stared at me with a worried look.

“I can't believe it!” Serena continued, obviously amused. “Has the legendary Nic decided to settle down?”

“It looks like he has found the woman of his dreams – at least this is what people are saying…” Marta had a sip of white wine before continuing with more gossip that seemed really important to her. I wondered if she too had been one of Niccolò's victims.

“They already live together. It must be something serious, if
Mr Single
is sharing his precious space with a woman.”

I had lost my appetite by now and struggled to hold back my tears. Since I had forbidden Emma to talk about him, I hadn't heard any news. I preferred not to know what he was doing and who he was seeing. I wanted to forget about Niccolò's existence.

But the two tanned, silly girls didn't have a clue. They simply picked the wrong situation to share this gossip. And this came up now because I am a wedding planner. I hated my work!

Emma kept looking at me, her face tense. She had been so good to protect me all this time from the additional pain of knowing about Niccolò's life, and now she felt deeply guilty.

“Do you know Niccolò?” Serena asked me.

“We used to be friends a while ago… but I lost track of him.” I said with a shaking voice. I didn't know how else to answer.

Marta heard the tension in my voice and looked at Emma. Thanks to my friend's glance, she understood, and immediately changed the subject.

I kept staring at my plate, still full of untouched food. I drank a sip of water and found the courage to look up. Emma was smiling at me sweetly. Just a few days before, when talking on her comfortable sofa, she had told me: “Don't try to be strong at all cost. Nobody is asking you to. If you feel like crying, cry. If you want to abandon yourself to melancholia, let yourself. If you feel angry and want to break plates and glasses, do it. Just know that at some point, you'll run out of tears, anger and nostalgia, and you will be ready to smile again.” At that moment I remembered her words. I forced myself to eat the fantastic pear and walnut salad still left on my plate. I didn't want to allow the past to ruin such a beautiful day.

Emma's friends left after lunch. I stayed a little longer with her, walking in Corso Como.

“I'm sorry Coco,” Emma said, still feeling guilty for what just happened.

“Don't worry… I know that writing him off completely is a long, painful process. And I'm convinced that soon or later I'll meet him again somewhere. I only hope on that day I'll be less fragile… and have a blunt object handy!”

“Ha, ha…” Emma laughed, and we changed the subject. We talked about shoes, her funny lovers, the travels we wanted to plan, Milan, and her job. Slowly I began to forget the episode at lunch and my heart resumed its regular pace. Somehow it began to be less painful or at least the pain didn't linger. Probably it is true that time helps.

Before parting, Emma asked about Etienne. “What about the blonde, blue-eyed errand boy? Did you give him back his letter?”

“Well, I was going to, but it didn't feel like the right moment.”

“Do you need a
right moment
for this? After all, you're not the woman who asked him to marry her!”

“I know, I know… I feel guilty. I don't know why, but that letter touched me deeply. I wouldn't want him to think that I read it.”

“But you did!”

“Hmm, sure. But if he doesn't know, it's as if it never happened.”

“What am I going to do with you? You're hopeless!” She kissed me and left.

Later that afternoon, I went back home. While I was searching for the keys in my handbag, I saw Mrs Leoncini on her balcony. She was singing and seemed happy. She had rollers in her hair, hidden by an elegant silk scarf. There was something in her queenly style and her eccentricity that cheered me up.

I decided to be nice and asked her, trying not to shout from the street, “Mrs Leoncini, is everything all right with your parrot?”

She focused on my face, probably trying to remember who I was.

“I'm Rebecca, your third floor neighbour. We met this morning when you lost your Ramon.”

She smiled, pleased by my interest about the whole episode. “All good, thank you!” she said with a deep voice.

“Very happy to hear it!” I said.

She smiled at me again. She had to be a very lonely person.

“I was going to make a cup of tea for myself. Would you like to join me?”

Her invitation caught me by surprise. I didn't plan to have tea with this eccentric lady, but I didn't want to look rude. Also, honestly, I didn't have anything better to do.

“Thank you, I'd love to!” I shouted, realizing that yelling on the street was a Venetian habit, not something appropriate for my new life in Milan.

I entered the building and went up the stairs to her apartment. When I rang the bell, I heard her cheerful, musical voice, “I'm coooming!”

When she opened the door, she was radiant. She had put on a flashy dressing gown with a neckline of feathers and high-heeled slippers studded with little diamonds. Her glasses hung round her neck on a thin pearl chain. I thought she had changed just for me, and felt touched.

She invited me to sit in a little parlour with walls covered in photographs of her concerts. On a little table in a corner I saw several brass plaques with her name; they had to be awards she won during her career as an opera singer. There was a damask sofa with lot of pillows, and nearby was the perch, where the notorious Ramon was sleeping. I smelled a good familiar scent in the air.

“I apologize for the mess; I didn't expect guests.” I didn't understand why people in Milan had to apologize for their houses being untidy; houses that, in my opinion, were always in perfect – almost pathological – order!

“Please, no worries, your house is very charming. Would it be rude to ask you what that wonderful scent is?”

“Of course not, darling, it's
Gardenia
of Chanel.”