In fact, I take advantage so much that I don’t notice when the kiss ends, and I stay there I am, lips parted and eyes closed.
‘Hey, Sleeping Beauty! The demonstration is over,’ she says, pulling me by the ear.
My eyes open wide, shocked.
‘Nothing special,’ I inform her. An obvious lie.
‘Same here,’ Sara replies cheerfully, and she seems much more sincere than me, which bothers me more than it should.
Until today, I have never met a woman who was able to resist one of my kisses.
Still, she kissed me, if we want to be precise.
‘Do you think, now that we have satisfied our curiosity, we can go back to the party?’ she asks me.
I would like to tell her that, perhaps, I would like much more to stay here. To admit it aloud, though, would be too humiliating.
‘Sure,’ I mumble, realising that I’m still holding her hand.
Come to think of it, maybe it’s not such a bad idea to go back inside. Perhaps a little alcohol will make me come to my senses.
Best avoid the prosecco, though. Poor quality booze is to blame for this strange feeling. I’m sure of it.
6
Sara
Three months later
Mondays ought to be struck from the calendar, that much seems obvious to me. I don’t know why someone didn’t do it years ago, I think to myself, gazing at my cup of coffee as if it might offer some words of comfort.
‘I don’t think your telekinetic powers are working,’ says Eleonora’s voice, rousing me from my trance.
‘Hmmm?’
‘You’ll never move that cup with the force of your mind. I’d try using your hands instead.’
I manage a smile. ‘I’m really flagging this morning.’
‘Why, for God’s sake? With a new semester starting next week, and the opportunity to inspire enquiring young minds all over again…’
I give her an eloquent look. ‘Young minds messed up by the world of social media. Their engagement with their studies gets worse every year. I’ll be communicating with them using pictures before long.’
‘Hey, don’t knock it…’ she says with an ironic smile. ‘We’ve got to move with the times, stay open to new methods of of teaching!’
‘Call me old-fashioned, but I like to think that the most important part of teaching is actually knowing your subject.’
‘You’re just old-fashioned, babe,’ teases my colleague.
It’s true though, that I’m having more and more difficulty with the new courses. It’s proving increasingly difficult to find bright and motivated students, despite the fact that enrolments for the Communication Sciences degree have been growing exponentially. As a result, I find myself holding lectures in front of bigger and bigger audiences. This year we had a flood of applications after we lowered the requirements of the entry tests. My instinct tells me this is going to be a tough year.
‘I’m exhausted before I’ve even started,’ I confess, and in that same moment Professor Costa enters the room. I jump to my feet and smooth down the fabric of my skirt. The professor wears his usual, far-away expression – the look of a man who spends his evenings poring over heavy, complex tomes. For me, there’s nothing sexier.
‘There you are, Dr. Doria. I’ve been looking for you.’
I try not to seem too flustered and pay attention to what he is saying. All in all, this day is taking an interesting turn. I can see Eleonora grinning to herself. She knows exactly what’s going on in my mind.
‘How can I help, Professor?’
‘Well, I need to present a research paper to ‘The Traces of Man’ magazine at the end of the month. And you know know how much I admire your eloquence and insight.’
I gloat inwardly. ‘Thank you Professor. That’s certainly an honour coming from you,’ I mumble, trying to concentrate while my hormones perform a wild rumba. That unkempt beard and dreamy expression, like some doomed poet! It makes me go weak at the knees.
‘And so I thought I would entrust the article to you.’
‘Really?’ I ask, startled. ‘The Traces of Man’ is a leading periodical in our field. And he wants me to write for them?
‘Really?’ echoes Eleonora, as surprised as I am. She is in the last year of her doctorate and hoping to land a contract at the end of it.
The professor runs a hand through his hair. ‘I can’t think of a better person. The name on the article will be mine, naturally. ‘
My excitement fades immediately: I should have known it was too good to be true.
‘Naturally,’ says Eleonora with obvious sarcasm. The professor shoots her a sideways glance, putting his folder of notes on the desk with a resounding thud.
‘This work for me will stand you in good stead, Dr. Doria. Don’t forget they’re about to hold a competition for a professorship. This will certainly be an opportunity to get noticed. And something to add to your resume, too, why not?’
‘I’m sorry, professor, but what use is the article to Dr Doria if her name doesn’t appear on it?’ Eleonora intervenes. She isn’t one to mince her words, and if she’s not careful she can kiss that contract goodbye.
The professor’s cold look confirms my fears. ‘Let me evaluate you. I will be on the committee.’
And there it is. Technically it’s bribery. I know Eleonora wouldn’t agree to it, but at the end of the day what am I being asked to do wrong? Write an article? I can easily write an article, especially if it will facilitate my entry into the university.
At thirty, an achievement like that is almost impossible, but I might actually manage it!
‘That shouldn’t be a problem, Professor. I’ll get to work right away and have it with you by the end of month.’
He nods approvingly, and my heart skips a beat. I need to calm down and stop acting like a little girl.
‘Very good, doctor. I should also remind you that the Semiotics course begins on Wednesday and you have the second group, the one with surnames running from P to Z. Tomorrow we’re expecting the marked exam-papers from the autumn session…’
‘I thought I had the group from A to O?’
‘I had to change it. The course days of the first group are more compatible with my commitments. I’m busy with my yoga class on Wednesday.’
‘Riiiiiight…’ Eleonora mutters disparagingly, earning another dirty look.
‘Well, I think that’s everything. I suggest we return to our commitments. Good day.’
‘Good day to you too!’ I say eagerly, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear.
‘Oh, and I’ll be in my office, if you can bring me those notes I gave you to review.’
‘Of course.’
‘I’ll be expecting them,’ he concludes, walking away.
I curl up in my chair with a sigh, but I already know that Eleonora is looking at me. Turning around, my intuition is confirmed by two eyes full of disapproval.
‘You know he’s taking advantage of you, don’t you?’ she asks.
‘I know.’
‘And that he treats you worse than a stupid secretary?’
‘I know.’
‘And that he takes the credit for your research and sits in office playing Sudoku, while you do all the work?’
‘I know!’ I burst out, exasperated. ‘But what else can I do? I really want the opportunity to carry out my research here. And he didn’t ask me to do anything so very terrible. He’s quite an understanding person, at the end of the day.’
Eleonora shakes her head in exasperation. ‘You also know that’s a load of rubbish, don’t you?’
I sigh, taking my head in my hands. ‘What is it, ‘you know’ day today or something? There’s no need to remind me of my pathetic condition. It’s not my fault if I can’t think straight when he looks at me like that. There are things that cannot be explained, which are not completely rational.’
‘I know, I know. I’m not judging you. Although I really don’t understand how you can be attracted to a
man who is fifteen years older than you. They do say that the logic of love transcends human understanding, but it’s one thing to have a crush on an authority figure, and quite another to let him treat you like doormat. And that’s what you’re letting him do, babe.’
‘I know, but all my defences just melt away when it comes to him. I’m not a shallow person: physical appearance just doesn’t matter to me. I’m drawn to his charisma and his voice. I don’t care what he looks like, or how old he is.
‘You’re a strange person, Sara. And that’s not an insult, just an observation. But no one should put up with that sort of treatment.’
I give her a bitter smile. ‘Maybe I don’t think I can do it without his approval.’
Eleonora jumps to her feet. ‘You? Are you serious? You are the most intelligent woman I know. You’re smart, fun and witty. You are tough. You deserve better.’
‘Wow, is that a proposal?’ I ask, smiling.
‘Of course not!’ she replies quickly. ‘Don’t try and change the subject like you always do. I just wish that you would take a look around you. You deserve someone who understands you and appreciates you for what you are.’
The memory of two blue eyes comes into my mind for a second, but I push it away quickly.
‘Most men are superficial and vain. They’re only interested in physical appearance. What I want is for someone to look beyond my glasses and appreciate what I have to give.’
‘And you think the professor is this someone?’
‘Why not?’ I reply dreamily. ‘He just needs to realize that I’m powerless to resist him.’
‘You’re a desperate case.’
‘What’s so wrong with admiring a man for his intelligence and charisma?’
‘Pfft! You beat him hands down at both! Although I may need to deduct a couple of points from your IQ for becoming infatuated with him.’
I laugh, not at all offended. ‘My brain functions are intact. I only have problems with lucidity when I see him. Once he’s gone again I’m almost back to normal.’
‘Then it’s not love. Love should make you feel suspended in the air twenty-four hours a day, don’t you think?’ she muses, sitting back down and crossing her legs.
‘Who says I want love? Maybe I’m just looking for an adventure.’
Eleonora covers her ears. ‘Please tell me you didn’t just say that. Just the thought of it makes me feel queasy. How can you feel physical desire for this guy?’
‘Body and mind are closer than we think, you know? Intelligence can be really sexy. It’s not all about physical appearance.’
‘Well fine, but you’re talking about getting freaky on the professor’s desk. Only you could be attracted to that human sloth!’
I burst out laughing and get up to retrieve my notes from the printer.
‘Do you think I should unfasten my blouse?’ I ask jokingly. Not that it would work, because he always has his head buried in a book, but I like to tease Eleonora about it. She pretends to be scandalised.
‘You’ve got a screw loose.’
‘It’s the secret of my genius.’ I say with a wink.
Eleonora shakes her head, resigned. She knows perfectly well that when we have a disagreement, I will always be the winner.
The person able to beat me has yet to be born.
7
Teo
It’s not easy being me.
Everyone is constantly harassing me to do stuff, to work hard. And creating the illusion of being busy is a full time job.
That’s why I need so many distractions, you see – to combat the stress.
‘Baby, do you want a chocolate covered strawberry?’ The girl lying next to me pouts her full lips at me.
‘Thanks, er…?’ I trail off, doubtfully.
‘Ramona!’ she replies sulkily.
‘Right! I thought you were called Debora,’ I explain, helpfully. I hope she’s not offended.
‘Debora is in the bathroom with Natalia,’ she says. Shit, how many of them were here last night? I must be more stressed than I thought. Plus, I now have to take up the slack for Silvio. ‘It’s a dirty job,’ as they say, ‘But someone’s got to do it.’
Natalia and Debora walk out of the bathroom, completely naked. Damn. I’ve definitely still got it. When I choose who to take to bed, I choose well.
‘Good morning girls. How about a nice breakfast?’ I ask in my most persuasive voice, stretching lazily on the bed.
One of them runs her tongue over her lower lip, eager.
‘Yes please. What’s on the menu?’ She looks me over from head to toe, her eyes hungry with desire.
‘I didn’t mean me making it for you, I meant you making it for me! I’d like a brioche, freshly squeezed orange juice, and a black coffee. Two sugars. Thanks!’
All three of them jump to like well-programmed robots, but I also have another appetite, and that can’t wait.
‘Hey! Come back!’ I call, turning to the girl who wanted to taste me earlier.
She turns back immediately and gazes at my body with a look full of promise.
‘Why don’t you come here and give me an appetiser?’
She needs no further persuasion and straddles me with the poise of a gymnast. I grab her hips and do the thing I do best. The thing that makes me feel better.
A few hours later, relaxed, fresh from the shower and with a new shirt that fits my body perfectly, I am ready to face my working day.
The production studio I work for is located in the hills, in the most affluent part of Naples. We make shows for foreign broadcasters. It’s mostly stuff that’s available to stream online, but it has a pretty good following. We are rich. Disgustingly rich. And consequently so am I. The secret to my success? The company belongs to my father. What’s the point of privilege if you can’t take advantage of it? That’s my philosophy. All I need is my monthly salary, my insane sports car and a constant supply of women. My life is absolutely perfect.
I park in my reserved spot and put my sunglasses on. October in Naples is still very hot and the sun is blinding. Also, it’s almost one o’clock. I’ve arrived just in time for my lunch break. After my triple round between the sheets I can hardly tire out my mind and my body with mere work. Besides, I’m the boss, aren’t I? I can do what I want.
When I walk past, the staff step aside. I feel like Moses parting the Red Sea and it feels great. Nothing beats power and success. Apart from sex, obviously.
I settle down at my desk and begin to mull over the various ways in which I might make myself seem busy today.
Before I’ve had time to stretch out my legs, the phone rings. I ignore it, frowning: nothing is important enough to distract me from my idleness. But it seems that the blasted thing has decided to make my day impossible, because it continues to ring like crazy. Apparently I can’t ignore it. Not least because the display informs me that it is my father.
‘Dad, hi!’ I begin.
‘Get your arse in my office, right now!’ orders the voice at the other end. If there is one voice that can make me jump to attention, this is it.
‘I’ll be there right away,’ I mutter hastily.
‘You’d better,’ he retorts, slamming down the receiver.
Everything is under control. Sometimes my father tries to turn me into a conventional worker, but in the end, he always gives in to the inevitable: I am not a conventional worker, I am the son of the boss and I intend to exploit it to to the utmost.
Consequently, I’m not particularly worried as I enter his office. It should take a few minutes at most to make him give in and let my continue my parasitic life. A life that fits me perfectly.
‘Hey, Dad! You’re looking great today. Is that a new tie?’ I decide to begin with flattery, which is usually all it takes.
‘This is no time to be discussing my tie!’ he thunders, his tone rather harder than normal. Ok then. Today he is in a bad mood, and I’ll have to work a little harder to bring him round.
‘Hey, don’
t upset yourself! Do you want me to go and order something good at the bar?’ I propose. That usually wins him round.
‘Stop messing around, Teo. You’ve got some explaining to do.’
Apparently the situation is more complicated than I thought. I’m still not unduly worried, but at this point it will be better to indulge him by pretending to collaborate.
‘I’m all yours, boss. Ask me what you want. ‘
My father drums his fingers on the desk and then produces a pile of invoices from a drawer.
‘Three thousand euros, Teo. For a dinner?’
‘It was a business dinner,’ I point out, reasonably.
‘For four people? What did you eat, the goose that laid the golden eggs?
I flash him my famous smile, the one I inherited from him. ‘I was trying to ingratiate myself with the client.’
His slams his fist down hard on the desk, making it vibrate.
‘You went to a brothel with a Czech producer and you want me to pay for it!’
Damn, I’ve never seen him like this. ‘It’s wasn’t exactly like that. I took the producer to dinner along with a couple of girls. I can assure you they weren’t prostitutes, at least not by profession. As for their talents, well… is it a crime to have fun?’
‘It’s not a crime until you get your hands on my money. Then it becomes a fraud against the company.’
This is getting out of hand.
‘Try not to get upset, it’s not good for your blood pressure,’ I tell him, trying to seem considerate.
‘My blood pressure is fine. And it would be even better if I didn’t keep having to sort out your mess. Don’t think I don’t know you sit in there doing nothing all day.’
I put my hand on my heart, all startled innocence. ‘How can you say that? You know I have dedicated myself completely to the company.’
‘That’s a joke! How have you dedicated yourself to the company? Running after every woman you pass in the street? Spending every night at clubs and exclusive parties? Is that what you call working?’
‘It’s a very effective way of advertising the business,’ I reply firmly.
Not My Type Page 4