Not My Type

by Anna Zarlenga

  My laughter fades and the smile disappears from her face.

  ‘That’s not a good idea,’ she warns, but she doesn’t move away.

  I shake my head. ‘But I want to do it.’ I whisper, putting my lips to hers.

  14

  Sara

  This is just a game to him.

  That’s what I think when I feel his lips touch mine. And yet, damn me, I don’t pull back.

  In the back of my mind, the rational part, my one lonely brain cell is warning me that this is a huge mistake. But it is very much a solitary brain cell, drowned out by all the others which are in full-on hormonal crisis mode.

  I don’t listen to it any more because I don’t want to listen to it any more.

  Teo gently holds my face with one hand and wraps the other around my waist. Instinctively, I rest my hands on his shoulders, tilting my head and abandoning myself the sensations I am feeling. He tastes like liquorice, fresh and spicy. He tastes of everything that is wicked and it’s driving me crazy.

  I can feel his fingers playing with my earlobe and with a few loose strands of hair.

  He caresses me, falling on my neck, his touch warm yet somehow sharp as a blade. It is amazing how pleasure can be painful. Painful, considering we are kneeling on the gravel and I don’t care a damn. My hand, resting on one of his shoulders takes on a life of its own and begins tracing a circular pattern travelling upwards, towards his neck, tearing out a groan that I can feel resonating in my mouth. I drink it in deeply, mixing my breath with his.

  Then reality hits, insistent and distressing. What the hell is happening? He wasn’t supposed to kiss me. The professor was supposed to kiss me, or at least that was what I’d hoped.

  The professor!

  The memory of the person with whom I arrived this evening immediately halts all my momentum and puts this game of tonsil tennis which has got out of hand into perspective. I pull away, but not without giving him a little bite on the upper lip. I lose myself in his eyes for a moment, wide open, seeming to ask me what it is happening. Obviously I have no idea, and in fact, I suspect it’s probably better not to know.

  I pull away quickly – so quickly that Teo loses his balance and almost ends up flat on his face, at risk of ruining his beautiful nose.

  ‘Sorry, I can’t keep the professor waiting,’ I apologise, although I suppose it might seem from my tone that I enjoy seeing him on his knees and bewildered.

  Teo’s eyes are blurred with surprise and a hint of… excitement? I don’t even believe it if I have it in front of me: he is pretending to get an advantage, but if he thinks he can make a fool of me he’s mistaken.

  ‘Next time bring some mints with you,’ I say mockingly. Then I leave abruptly, but not fast enough to avoid hearing his comment.

  ‘Viper!’

  I turn around, as I cross the threshold. ‘I know,’ I whisper, winking at him. Where all this spirit I suddenly seem to have is coming from I don’t know. Hell, I’ve always been strong and independent, but with Teo I have truly achieved superbitch status.

  When I arrive back in the room, the professor greets me with a relieved sigh.

  ‘Where have you been? I was talking to Dr. Portinari and when I turned around to introduce you, you were nowhere to be seen!’

  ‘Professor, I…’

  ‘Do you feel well? You seem a little red in the face.’

  His observation brings everything back into focus. I quickly check my dress to make sure all my buttons are in the right place.

  ‘I’m fine. I’m just excited.’

  What a ridiculous excuse! But he seems to believe me, because he smiles at me and squeezes my shoulders slightly. The butterflies that I thought would fly around like crazy in my stomach seem to have gone to sleep. Strange evening, even stranger mood. Perhaps the stress is getting the better of me.

  ‘It’s nothing to worry about. Dr. Portinari is very interested in your… er… in my article. It would be really helpful if you can discuss some questions with him. Now where is he hiding? I seem to be losing sight of everyone this evening.’

  ‘About that, professor…’

  ‘Ah, Professor Costa, here we are again. Is this the brilliant scholar you were telling me about?’ A plump and jovial man interrupts us.

  The professor takes my hand and intertwines his fingers with mine. An unexpectedly intimate gesture that surprises me, but not in the way that I would have liked. I feel my ears burning and I bet that someone is watching and is furious with me.

  Go to hell! I will not be a plaything to feed his ego. He certainly doesn’t need me, and I don’t need him. The professor on the other hand, does. I am fundamental to him, that’s why he gives me all the most important and complex tasks.

  Like writing his articles for him.

  Still holding tightly to my hand, he nods to the man and pushes me forward.

  ‘Dr. Portinari, let me thank you again for your interest in my research. My job often remains on the sidelines because it is aimed at a rather select audience, but I think it is still fundamental to understand the importance of the meaning we give to words. But since I’m not one to brag about my work, I’d like Dr. Sara Doria to tell you about it instead.’

  ‘Hello, doctor,’ Portinari greets me with a broad smile. ‘I’m genuinely curious to hear how you find work with a scholar of this calibre.’

  Meanwhile, a small crowd has gathered around us. They seem interested in what I’m about to say.

  Ok, time to go on stage.

  I approach Portinari and hold out my hand. I have to raise my head a little to meet his eyes. I hear a bitter laugh and I already know who it comes from: I’m sure he enjoys nothing better than seeing me look silly because of my height. I ignore him, breathe deeply and answer the editor’s smile.

  ‘Good evening, Dr. Portinari. Indeed work with Professor Costa is an rewarding experience. He is an extremely scrupulous scholar and I believe that his work to be fundamental. It is difficult to find a more conscientious person and the article… he is writing is the proof.’

  A low murmur tells me I am on the right track. But I also hear a cough. Can a cough have a sarcastic tone? I would have said not, but it seems I was wrong.

  ‘Studying signs, as they are produced and interpreted, is not easy, but… the professor has done an excellent job on this article, in particular …’

  ‘Tell me, Dr. Doria, could you explain to me how you would interpret the expression “arse face”?’

  A subdued laugh, mixed with indignant grumbling, sounds from the back of the room. No mystery about who asked this stupid question: only an arse face would ask a question about an arse face. I have to ignore him.

  ‘That question is not relevant. We were saying, I… uh… the professor’s research …’

  ‘Come on, doctor, let’s make the evening a bit more interesting. Explain to us the meaning of ‘arse face’ … Or should we get the professor to explain it to us?’

  ‘Unheard of!’ exclaims an elderly guest. The Professor, meanwhile, is white as a sheet.

  He is trying to destroy me, there’s no other explanation.

  The problem is that I can’t kill him with a carefully-aimed shoe because I don’t think etiquette would allow it.

  ‘I would say that the meaning, in this case, is perfectly suited to the author of the question.’

  Absolute silence. Teo’s smiles at me mockingly.

  ‘Are you saying I’m an arse face?’

  You can wipe that smile of your face, I threaten him silently with a look. ‘I see that my explanation has served a purpose, Mr. Pagani.’

  ‘You certainly know how to use that mouth, Dr. Doria.’

  There is a ripple of laughter, and, oddly, some applause. The crowd gathered around us look from me to Teo as if we were two cabaret actors.

  The professor coughs, embarrassed.

  ‘Splendid, shall we go to the table?’ he suggests, with a look that implies he does not want a reply. And suddenly I realise t
he colossal fool I made of myself in front of all these people. Goodbye dignity. Goodbye professor. Goodbye teacher’s desk.

  My suspicions prove immediately to be justified, because my companion pulls me by the elbow and leads me to a secluded corner.

  ‘Doctor, you can give me an explanation for the grotesque scene I have just witnessed?’

  I cringe because yes, I let myself get carried away and sunk down to the same level as that boor and there’s nothing I can do but apologise. Me. Apologise. The only thing that makes my tongue dry up.

  ‘I couldn’t let him ridicule me. I had to do something!’

  ‘Too bad it didn’t help. Your words made you as ridiculous as his. Didn’t you hear the laughter? We are the laughingstock of the entire hall,’ he replies, losing his usual composure. ‘Who knows what this will do to my reputation?’

  I open my mouth to beg him and lose my last remaining shred of dignity, but a commotion behind me interrupts us.

  ‘Now you will do as I say, or I really will disinherit you!’ I hear a voice exclaim.

  Turning around, I see Teo being dragged along by a man as tall as he is, but older: if it weren’t for the white hair he would be his spitting image. Teo advances in jerks, half dismayed and half cocky as always.

  ‘Professor Costa, you must forgive my son,’ the man begins, approaching us. ‘There is no excuse for how he behaved, I can only say that I will assume full responsibility. Tell me how I can repay you. I’m truly mortified.’

  ‘What a fuss for a couple of words. I livened up the evening a bit, didn’t I?’ Teo mutters defiantly. And suddenly, I can’t stop myself. My foot darts out and stamps on his, with determination and malice. No one notices, or if they do no one reproaches me.

  ‘Will you stop that?’ I blurt out, unable to hide my anger.

  Teo moans, unable to retaliate, his eyes wide with pain and anger.

  The professor studies him carefully. ‘Where have I seen you before?’ he asks, observing me too. I pray that he won’t remember, but naturally my prayers are not heard.

  ‘You’re the student from the other day!’ he exclaims.

  I pray to any god that might be listening to open a chasm in the floor to swallows me whole!

  Teo’s father is immediately on the alert. ‘What else has this miscreant been doing?’

  The professor is about to speak and sacrifice me to public shame, but perhaps someone up there has taken pity on me after all.

  ‘Gentlemen?’

  Dr. Portinari approaches us again. He doesn’t seem angry, but I could be wrong.

  ‘My dear Dr. Portinari!’ exclaims the professor ‘Please let me explain…’

  ‘First, let me congratulate you on the show,’ he says happily, and mine and the professor’s jaws drop in unison. You can almost hear the crack of bone joints dislocating.

  ‘I… we… you…,’ the professor stammers, completely off guard.

  ‘I love the idea of explaining your ideas through comic bickering. It’s a great way of making a difficult subject more appealing,’ he continues with conviction.

  ‘Right?’ I reinforce, taking the ball and running with it. ‘And it was all the professor’s idea!’

  He emerges from his torpor and realises that he has to play along. ‘Quite! Like I always say: we must try and make research more accessible to ordinary people. I must say that the doctor’s interpretation was impeccable.’

  ‘Impeccable indeed,’ agreed Portinari, looking at me. ‘It was totally convincing. Anyone would think you were arguing for real!’

  ‘Hey, I deserve credit too!’ intervenes Teo. I would like to rip his eyebrows with my bare hands, I swear.

  ‘I quite agree. Mr. Pagani, I didn’t know you had an actor son.’

  Mr. Pagani is noticeably in some difficulty, but like the professor he soon rallies and takes the opportunity to dig himself out of a hole. ‘Well, my son actually has many hidden talents.’

  ‘Well hidden,’ I think to myself. Have we got away with it? I’m not so sure.

  ‘It would be interesting to see some more funny discussions like it,’ says Portinari hopefully, and I wonder if he has any idea of ​​the colossal foolishness he is nurturing.

  ‘Oh, but this is just a taste,’ says Teo, surprising us all.

  ‘Really?’ asks Portinari.

  ‘Really?’ we all ask in chorus.

  ‘I have just created the Semiotic Diversions format, which will be produced by us very soon. And the star of the show: Dr. Doria. Tell him, Pops.’

  Senior Pagani stares for half a second, but then he is master of himself again. ‘Sure. We have invested a lot in this project.’

  ‘But this is marvellous!’ Portinari squeaks, hopping on one foot. And the doctor has agreed, has she?’

  Four pairs of eyes stare at me and I realise I am trapped. Again.

  ‘Yes,’ I reply in a faint voice, cursing my luck and the evil man who seems to be influencing it lately.

  15

  Teo

  Sara was right, I am a total arseface.

  The idea was to embarrass her boss, but it all went wrong, the way that it usually does whenever she’s involved. I can’t seem to stick to anything I set out to do. I didn’t want to kiss her again, but I kissed her, I had ruled out chasing after her and… now I have an urgent need to do it. Because of the plan, I mean. The plan has undergone some variation and I decide that I am like Caesar, committed to formulating new strategies against the Gauls.

  Except I’m not fighting against a country, I’m fighting against one tough woman who will fall. Oh rest assured that she will fall, as sure as my name is Teodoro Pagani!

  ‘So, where are you at with the format?’ my father barges into my office as usual. These days he’s more annoying than a leech. I suppose I’ve only myself to blame: I spoke without realising what I was saying.

  ‘You know I have no idea how to write a format,’ I say, and it’s true. I don’t even know where to start.

  ‘Well, you’d better figure it out, and quickly. It’s your idea, and we’re on a tight schedule. We need to shoot the pilot. You almost made us a laughing stock a few nights ago, and then by some unknown miracle you had an idea. An idea that you will now develop adequately if you don’t want to lose credibility. The time has come for you to show everyone what you can do.’

  I pirouette on the swivel chair. ‘If you like the idea so much, why don’t you write it?’

  ‘Because I’m not going to do your job for you. It’s your idea, and your responsibility to carry it forward. And if you don’t, I will kick your arse.’

  Oh, very nice! So it’s a full-scale ambush!

  ‘Is this is just an excuse to send me away and have a clear conscience? You would do this to your only son?’

  My father shakes his head, laughing. ‘You don’t understand, Teo. I don’t want to send you away and I’m not trying to make your life difficult, but it’s time for you to grow up now. I’m sure you can do something. You should have more faith in yourself.’

  He leaves me alone to reflect on my bad luck. Bad luck that, in truth, I made for myself. I could have just kept quiet and instead I opened my mouth to offer an unexpected loophole to that woman. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but then… Wait a minute!

  She has a moral duty to help me, doesn’t she? When you get right down to it, she is the inspiration for the format, so she will have to come up with something to make people laugh out of her bland subject matter.

  Without thinking, I grab the phone and… damn it! I don’t have her number.

  Ok, Plan B. Two birds with one stone. I’ll go to her and I will bribe her with feelings of guilt and… a surprise.

  *

  It’s late afternoon when I arrive at the university. The air is starting to cool and the traffic is so bad I crawl long at a snail’s pace for the entire journey, making me swear several times. Damn it, instead of driving all the way out here, why didn’t I just call Silvio and scrounge her numb
er from him? It would have been much easier, but no.

  Anyway, if I’m going to model myself on Caesar I should do things with a certain dramatic flair.

  Muttering under my breath I manage to find, God knows how, an empty parking space. The charges are extortionate, but that’s OK, there are always sacrifices to be made when undertaking a grand enterprise.

  I feel at my most charming today, and the admiring glances from the girls milling around the faculty confirm it: I bet they wouldn’t turn down a ride on my carousel of delights.

  Sorry, gorgeous, for the moment my weapon is sheathed; enlisted on a mission with a higher purpose.

  I must look like a maniac hanging around in front of the exit like this. I don’t know anything about her timetable, I could wait here all evening in vain, but if I know her, she is one of those people who bury themselves in their work until their colleagues shoo them from the building. And in fact my patience is rewarded, because about three quarters of an hour later I see her among a group of students, heading towards the exit. Observing her, I notice that she seems quiet and withdrawn. She’s just standing there without addressing a word or a smile to anyone, aloof, proud and… thoughtful?

  The distracted frown that wrinkles her forehead is clear. I feel an uncontrollable desire to approach and smooth it with a finger and… wait! How is she suddenly so close? Because my legs moved on their own, attracted by the insane desire to touch her. To win the battle, yes? Let’s make that clear. She is still the least sensual being on Earth and for me this is still only a matter of principle.

  I feel uneasy, so much so that I hide behind a convenient tree, placed next to me by the god of lucky escapes. A god in my own image, no doubt about it. This is the second time I’ve found myself trying to spy on her from afar. It’s becoming a worrying habit. I don’t feel like Caesar any more. I feel like a lunatic, and it’s ridiculous: I’ve never had to follow anyone.

  All of them have fallen willingly at my feet before now. And so let’s go back to the question of principle…