Authors: Manuela Pigna
I
shrug my shoulders. “Because I didn’t want to get too tired.”
He
opens his mouth as though he wants to say something, but then thinks again and
closes it. Then he opens it again. He seems incredulous. “You didn’t want… to
get too tired?”
I
shrug again.
“You
didn’t want to get too tired?” He repeats.
“No,”
I dare to respond, but the voice that comes out is tiny. There is something
threatening about him in this moment. In fact, he slowly starts coming nearer
in the water, like a furious triton, and I back up until I find myself with my
back against the floating lane divider. At that point Andrea reaches me and
places his arms on the line behind me, thus closing off both lateral escape
routes and essentially imprisoning me in a sub-species of cage formed by his
body. I swallow.
“You’re
supposed to get too tired Olly!”
Oh
no, I feel a lecture coming on…
“Your
body has to get too tired! We have a body made to move, not for staying in an
armchair and only moving your thumb to change channels!”
“Maybe
mine yes!” I answer back arrogantly.
“Maybe
yours yes, what?”
“Maybe
my body is made for sitting on the sofa changing channels!”
As
an answer Andrea lowers his gaze and, being less than ten centimeters away, it
ends up falling directly on my breasts. Contrary to any of my expectations he
doesn’t look up right away, instead he hesitates for a few uncomfortable, and
totally unexpected, seconds. And, good heavens, a blush of red climbs up his
cheeks.
I’m
completely dumbfounded. Dumbfounded.
He
clears his throat and looks me straight in the eyes. “From what I’ve seen
today, I’d say it isn’t like that at all.”
Lucky
him for staying on the subject; I’ve lost my train of thought in the
conversation completely.
I
take a breath and go under water, moving backwards in order to free myself. I
reappear out of the water on the other side of the floating divider. He stares
at me, but I turn and quickly swim towards the ladder in lane one.
I’m
about to grab the ladder to get out when Andrea places his hand over mine,
stopping me.
“Don’t
forget that I won. Tell me when we can see each other so I can collect my
prize.”
Now
I really regard him blackly. He thought up this farce of a race only because he
wants me to answer all his questions. He wants me to tell him everything, even
those things which I have made obvious I don’t want to tell him. He wants
everything it isn’t enough for him to see me every week at my dead worst, in my
most animal-like and suffering state. He wants to see me completely revealed,
to see everything. And in reality he has no right. He’s only my crumby personal
trainer, not my psychologist or my confidante, or my best friend or Jesus or
anybody at all.
“I’ve
been really busy lately.”
He
takes my arm and comes closer. “You don’t get to go back on your word after a
defeat. You need to pay up when there’s something to pay.”
I
don’t answer.
“I
won and you owe me what we agreed on.”
Seriously,
I hate him. “I’ll send you a message to tell you when I can.” That is, never.
But he can’t read my mind, so he instantly relaxes.
I’m
about to climb the first step and he remains standing there. I turn towards,
waiting, but he doesn’t move.
“Well?”
I say to him.
He
regards me with a sort of lost look.
“I’m
about to get out, turn around towards the windows, go on,” I indicate briskly,
nodding my head in the direction of the windows. He smiles, shaking his head
and turns right around.
I
get out and run for my bathrobe. I put it on and close it, then return to the
edge of the pool. “Ok, you can turn around.”
“You’re
completely out of your mind,” he says smoothly, with a smile on his lips.
“And
you are a damned bully,” I answer combatively.
He
continues to smile and places his arms on the edge of the pool, resting his
chin on his hands and looks me up and down.
Good
grief, he looks like an ad for a swim cap or a swimming pool or anything else.
The point is that he looks like an advertisement because he seems too beautiful
to be real, to be here in the flesh, dripping chlorine, two ridiculous steps
away from me.
“I’ll
wait for your message,” he reminds me as a goodbye.
Wait
and hope,
I think as I wave, and finally leave.
***
Andrea
waits for a good three weeks of my continual excuses before coming into the cafè
one Friday morning like a fury.
I’m
behind the counter, slumping against the coffee machine while I listen to
Madame Barbieri reading me my horoscope, when I see him arrive with a
determined step and a darkened face.
I
straighten up, detaching myself from the 1950’s coffee machine and Madame
Barbieri stops in mid-reading. We silently turn towards him as he stops in
front of me on the other side of the counter. “This evening you’re going out
with me.”
I
quickly lower my eyes, but not before seeing Madame Barbieri turn towards me
with a mute question in her eyes and Rosy, arriving just in that moment and hearing
him, turning to him as though he were crazy.
“This
evening I can’t.”
“The
world has turned upside down…” I hear Rosy grumble.
“Oh
yes, you can,” he replies.
I
look up, reddening a little. “This evening no, we’ll do it another time.”
He
puts his hands on his hips. “No. It’s three weeks you’ve been doing this… Tonight
no, tomorrow ditto, the next time, the next week, the next weekend…” He seems
genuinely angry.
Rosy
widens her eyes, now blatantly staring at him with her mouth open.
Madame
Barbieri has her eyes lowered, turned towards the newspaper before her, silent.
I’m
opening my mouth to say something when he beats me to it. “Don’t say anything,
I don’t believe you anymore anyway. Remember our deal Olly.”
“Heh,”
I puff, crossing my arms.
Rosy
looks at me astonished, she almost looks possessed.
“If
you really have something to do tonight, postpone it. I’ll be by to pick you up
at eight.”
Rosy
looks at him, then looks at me, as though she were watching a tennis match.
“Anyway
you don’t know where I live,” I answer with a half smirk.
“Oh
yes I do. I have my informants.”
I
have to remember to never see Linda and the twins again. “I won’t come down
anyway.”
“I’ll
come and drag you out,” he persists without moving his gaze. When he has that
expression on his face, I know already that I’ve lost.
“I
won’t open the door then.”
He
places both hands on the counter and suddenly smiles. “Fine then, at eight. Be
ready.” Having said this, he turns and leaves.
Before
he goes through the door I yell after him, desperate, “I said no Andrea! I
won’t be ready! It’ll be worse for you if you really come!”
But
he doesn’t even turn around. It’s as though I hadn’t spoken.
I
make an angry gesture and see that Rosy is staring at me, dazed. When I raise
my eyebrows as though to say, “What do you want?”, she asks me seriously, “Are
you stupid or something?”
I
cross my arms again and glare at her. I don’t have to explain anything and I
could care less about having her good will.
“I’ve
always suspected that you weren’t too normal, but now I have the proof. You’re
completely out of your mind. You’re really retarded!” Rosy concludes with an
expression of disgust and almost resentment. I have the suspicion that Andrea
didn’t give her his phone number and didn’t go out with her… Or if he did, it’s
already over. Otherwise they would have greeted each other a bit more cordially
when he came and she wouldn’t be looking at me now as if, given the
opportunity, she’d happily skin me alive. She takes the tray which was sitting
on the counter with an order and goes to wait on the table.
I
take a deep breath. On a similar occasion, on a day not too long ago, I would
have grabbed the first thing at hand, like a croissant or a piece of cake or
anything in arm’s reach, and popped it in my mouth.
Today
I feel the temptation, have the thought, but it almost comes naturally to not
do it. Almost. I’m definitely improving. I take another deep breath and close
my eyes, trying to pass through this energy barrier, because this anxiety and
these unpleasant things that I feel are only energy barriers and they’ll go
away by themselves if I give them the time.
“Why
don’t you want to go out with the Sun God?”
I
open my eyes again, realizing that I’m not alone. I had forgotten that Madame
Barbieri was here and is looking at me with curiosity.
“Oh,
Madam Barbieri…” I begin, taking her by the hand. “It’s not what it seems… It’s
not what you and Rosy might think… It’s not a romantic date.”
She
smiles, and slowly raises her free hand and gives a few pats to mine. “To me it
seems just that.”
I
shake my head. “No, it’s not… You see, it’s the payment of a bet… We had a
race, there was a bet…” I shake my head again. “It’s the payment of a bet,” I
repeat to make things short.
“The
payment of this debt stipulated that it would happen on a Friday night?” She
asks me with half-closed eyes.
“No,
it could be on any day. It was just… an evening,” I conclude miserably.
“Yes,
but our Apollo chose a Friday night…” Madame Barbieri insists. Because she
loves me, she stubbornly sees romanticism where there is only bullying. Because
this is what Andrea is - a bully.
“No,
it wasn’t his first choice… It’s just a coincidence. Any day of the week was
fine for him. I’m the one who kept saying no and probably today he was just
definitively fed up with waiting.”
“Why
did you keep saying no?” She asks me curiously, in a totally different way from
Rosy.
“Because
I don’t want to do this evening… I repeat, it’s not a romantic date. It will be
painful for me,” I answer with shining eyes.
She
squints her eyes again and strokes her chin with a finger. “If it’s so painful
for you, and he knows it...” And while she says this I nod vigorously. “Why is
he so intent on doing it?” Madame Barbieri asks meditatively.
I
stare for a moment at her gold ring with the blue stone which adorns the index
finger resting on her chin. “Because he’s a bully,” I say in the end, looking
up. After which I go and take the order that Rosy is waving at me from the end
of the counter, and think about how we didn’t even finish the horoscope.
10.
Andrea
arrives at eight sharp, precise as ever.
I
have pathetically gotten ready, because ever since I left the cafè I knew it
was useless to keep fighting in that sense. I also thought that he’d keep on
stressing me until this thing was done. So, better to get it over with in a
hurry and close the argument once and for all.
Around
here the end of May is warm, but not overly much. So, I’ve put on a pair of
black, calf length leggings, a very loose and long pink shirt which covers me
almost to the knee - which I’ve rolled the sleeves of up to my elbows – and a
pair of black ballerinas. I’ve left my hair loose. I was really undecided
whether to put on make-up or not, because on one hand, making myself up could
give him the impression that I see this appointment as something romantic, but
not making up might make me feel uncomfortable if Andrea showed up looking too
beautiful, too well dressed or prepared etc. I don’t think he’ll show up
dressed elegantly, but I don’t think he’ll be wearing a tracksuit and gym shoes
either. For this reason, I’ve opted for something in the middle. That is, a
light touch of make-up - there but not there - just a little mascara, lip gloss
and blush.
I
go out the door of the house and walk down the drive looking at his car. He’s
stayed seated inside. He just sent me a written message that he was here
outside and to come out by myself and not make him have to resort to stronger
methods. My mother and I live in a small, two story condominium surrounded by a
small garden. While I walk towards his car I try to breathe and calm myself. It
will be ok and will be over soon. They’re only questions. Ok, humiliating
questions, but just questions, and we’ll be alone. In the end I shouldn’t be
that upset about this evening. I’ve been humiliated repeatedly in my life, so I
ought to be used to it.
When
I get in the car, I quickly take in his clothing and conclude that I did well
to opt for a little light make-up. He’s dressed casually – blue jeans and a
long sleeved black T-shirt, but with a bit of gel in his hair which gives it
that little touch of refinement that would have made me feel uncomfortable.
“Where
shall we go?” He asks after the pleasantries are completed.
“If
you don’t know… As far as I’m concerned we can just go nowhere and not do this
evening.”
He
puffs. “I’m warning you that I won’t put up with this lack of cooperation all
evening… This is the prize for a race that I won fairly. And I also intend to
eat something. Where should we go to eat?”
I
turn to look at him more closely, as I didn’t do before. “I’ve already eaten, I
didn’t get that we were going to eat… And don’t call that farce you made me
take part in a ‘race’.”
He
watches me as he drives. It seems as though he’d like to say something but then
changes his mind. What he says in the end is, “I haven’t eaten and I’m hungry,
so keep me company while I eat.” He cuts off my comment about that ridiculous
race.
“As
though I had a choice…” I grumble, bad tempered.
“Olly…”
He has a tone of warning in his voice and I hurry to say, “Ok, ok. This was the
last one. Let’s get on with it. Shoot the first question.”
We
stop at a red light and he stares at me for a moment before blowing out
theatrically, “My God! You’re a prickly one! A porcupine! A cactus! Full of
thorns and needles… A person is continually getting jabbed with you!”
I
swallow because I already feel like crying and I’ve been in this car for less
than three minutes. On the green we move again and I’m irritated. “Well, who
asked you to get close?” I ask him acidly. “You wouldn’t get poked if you’d
stay in your place!”
Andrea
breathes deeply but doesn’t answer. I believe he’s
trying to calm himself. When he opens his mouth, I see that he’s not going to
let himself be derailed this evening. “Why didn’t you tell me that you knew how
to swim?”
I
take a deep resigned breath. “Because I was afraid that then you would have
suggested it.”
“And
so?”
“And
so I didn’t want to,” I answer acidly.
“I
know, but why?” He has already relaxed. It was enough that he saw that I would
answer him - though with reluctance, I would honor my defeat – to calm him.
“Because
I was afraid that you’d want to come with me.”
“And
why were you afraid that I would want to come with you?” He asks patiently. I’m
hoping to exhaust all of this in him, this patience, before the end of the
evening.
“Because
I didn’t want you to see me in my swimsuit.” I answer hurriedly, a little
astonished that he didn’t get this on his own, after all the motions I put him
through about looking towards the windows, taking off his swim goggles, etc.,
etc. “Next question.”
He
sighs, parks and looks at me. I look around instead - we’ve arrived at a Pizza
Hut. “Oh, junk food? What a surprise…” I comment, ignoring his fixed gaze and
getting out of the car.
I
take a step towards the entrance of the Pizza Hut and I hear him already beside
me, he takes me by the arm and walks with me. I pull away to free myself from
his grip and walk a couple of paces ahead of him. I hear him sigh again. “I’m
already losing patience…”
“Good.
You asked for it.”
Once
inside, I wait for him to choose a table and I follow him. The waitress
materializes in less than two seconds and I observe him as he speaks with her.
In the neon lights of the restaurant his hair seems even more blond, or maybe
it’s the contrast with the black T-shirt which creates this effect. I don’t
know if it’s the lights or, again, the black T-shirt, but his eyes seem even
more blue. He’s perfectly shaved this evening, which shows off his full lips
and white teeth when he speaks or smiles. He extends his arms in his chair and
seems even bigger than usual. He has a nice cologne, I can smell it from where
I sit, even over the strong smell of pizza in here. Or maybe it’s just remained
impressed in my nostrils. The poor waitress stutters while taking his order and
has difficulty keeping her eyes on me when she turns to address me.
“Nothing
for me,” I say, still bad humored, but a little less so - watching the waitress
was almost fun. I sigh, moving my gaze to Andrea who is once again staring at
me and think, what must your life be like in general when you’re that
beautiful? When everyone, wherever you go, reacts to your beauty? What must it
be like? In my opinion, everything must be easier, the people kinder, more
eager to please… Yes, everything must be easier.
As
I think my own thoughts, we are still looking at each other the whole time, in
silence, until he asks in a low voice, “What are you thinking about?”
And
since this is the “Evening of Truth”, I answer, “I was thinking that life must
be easier when you’re beautiful.”
He
raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment. Perhaps the subject doesn’t interest
him because what he says next is, “Did you put makeup on for me?”
I
open my mouth, stupefied. “What? No!” I almost retract on the chair. I knew I
shouldn’t have put on makeup!
“Why
did you make yourself pretty, if you didn’t even want to do this evening?” He
asks.
“I
didn’t make myself pretty!” I protest.
“Yes,
you did. You have makeup, your hair is loose… You dressed up… the lipstick…” As
he runs through the list he looks at each item.
I
remain open mouthed. “I didn’t dress up!”
Fortunately
the pizza arrives to distract him from this argument and I take advantage of it
to move to the attack as soon as the waitress drifts off with a sigh. “Have I
got the right to ask a question this evening or not?”
He
glances at me while he cuts his pizza and begins to eat. “If it doesn’t involve
too complicated an answer… I don’t want to be distracted.”
“How
is it that you know the mentality of an overweight person so well? And then the
book, the book you gave me… It’s almost magic… It’s perfect. How did you find
it?”
He
smiles a half-smile and while he eats, he tells me, “It was for my sister.” He
gestures to offer me a piece of pizza while he’s speaking but I shake my head.
“There’s six years of difference between us, and when she was twelve and I was
in the last year of high-school, she put on quite a bit of weight. I don’t
really know what the factor was that provoked it, whatever it was, she put on
weight. My mother began to take her everywhere to get her to slim down at all
costs.”
At
this point I really can’t resist a heartfelt, “Oh!”
He
shoots me a questioning look, but I make a gesture with my hand to get him to continue.
“My
mother’s attitude was worsening things instead of improving them. And I know
because she – she’s always seen me as a sort of hero...” And saying this he
reddens a little and I can’t help, really can’t help, finding him adorable.
“She confided in me. At that point I thought I would help her. I knew that to
lose weight sports are really useful, and I love sports. I love to move, I have
ever since I was born.”
I
put my elbow on the table and rest my face on my hand.
“So
I suggested she do sports with me and she accepted right away. We started and,
a little at a time as I helped her, I came to love it. I saw her progress and I
was even more enthusiastic that she was. She began to lose weight without even
changing her eating and the more she lost, the more stimulated she was to do
even better. For my part, I began to learn about diet, about the psychology of
overweight people and to look for and find books. Everything I found, I passed
to her. She did everything I told her to do, she was great, and she trusted me.
Of all the books she read, in the end she told me that the best was the one I
gave you. So, out of curiosity, I read it too.”
“Was
it in that moment that you decided to be a personal trainer?” I ask him.
He
puts the last piece of pizza in his mouth and shakes his head. “To tell the
truth, no. At eighteen, nineteen years old you’re not that clear headed, that
immediate. It took me a while longer.”
I
nod understandingly.
He
looks at me, stopping for a second, then adds, “And then I had a sort of
tormented relationship with a girl at that time. I was too wrapped up in my
love life unfortunately. She wanted to leave after high-school and I only wanted
to follow her and not let go of her.”
“Ah.”
But Andrea doesn’t continue. He plays with the pizza crusts on his plate and
doesn’t look up. “And then?” I’m forced to say.
The
waitress arrives and asks if we want a coffee before he can continue. When we
both refuse, she lingers a moment too long and then goes.
Andrea
doesn’t speak again.
“Come
on, don’t leave me hanging for the best part!” I implore without dignity.
He
gazes at me smiling. “Remember it though,” he warns.
I
nod and make a sign with my hand for him to continue.
“She
did, in fact, leave, just as she had always said she would, and I followed. We
went to England. Our relationship, there, didn’t last even a month.”
“Oh!”
He
sits back in his chair, stretches and puts his thumbs in the belt loops of his
jeans. “Yeah but, in the end, I’ll always be thankful to her. If I hadn’t
followed her to England, I may never have met the people I met, done the
courses I did, etc.”
I
nod. “And her? Now?”
“She’s
still there. She married a guy from Cameroon and they have a little girl.”
“Wow!
Quick…”
Andrea
laughs. “Yes, she always was someone running at a thousand miles an hour…”
I
nod again, then another detail occurs to me. “But your sister, what happened to
her then?”
“My
sister had already reached her weight before I left and has kept it since then.
Now she’s a splendid nineteen-year-old.”
If
she resembles him even vaguely I can well imagine what sort of trail of heartbreak
she leaves around.
“You’re
smiling,” Andrea tells me, and I realize that I was again lost in my thoughts.
“I
was thinking about your sister.”
“Would
you like to meet her?” He asks suddenly and I’m a little shocked. Frankly, we
aren’t such good friends for something like that, but it would be impolite to
bring it to his attention…
“Sure,”
I answer, and I realize that, in reality, I would like to know his sister.
“Let’s
go,” he says, rising. “And enough about me.”
I
puff, but follow him obediently.
In
the car I discover that he intends to take me to a place on the banks of the
lake and, when we get to the place where we’re supposed to leave the car and
around me I only see woods, I start to get alarmed. “Andrea, I’ll warn you, I
don’t want to scale any mountains… And I’m wearing ballerinas, I don’t have the
right shoes to walk in the middle of the woods for three hours…”
He
laughs. “Don’t worry, it’s just here. It seems far, but the lake is a few
meters away.”