An Astrological Guide for Broken Hearts

by Silvia Zucca

  7

  * * *

  Aries of Darkness

  No, I haven’t fainted. I am completely conscious, and I can hear everything going on around me perfectly. I may even be too conscious, because it seems to me that sounds are actually amplified. Unfortunately, however, I can’t see a thing.

  “I think I need to sit down for a second.”

  “Come on, my car is right here.” Wolf pulls me tightly to him to hold me up as we make our way somewhere. He leans me against a car, and I can hear the sound of the door opening.

  “Sit down, here.”

  Fuck, what if my vision doesn’t come back? Shit . . . I might as well face it: I will never see a man again in my life!

  I hear him giggle. “Come on, it will come back soon enough. Besides, why are you so worried about men? I’m here.”

  Oh Jesus, I was thinking out loud again.

  Are those his lips I can feel on my mouth? “No, wait . . .”

  “Oh, come on, just a kiss.”

  “I don’t exactly feel at my most alluring right now . . .”

  But he kisses me again and I feel his hand on my knee.

  I gather my strength and get up. But, of course, I slam my head right into the car door and only manage a couple of steps before I collapse to my knees and have a close encounter of the third kind with the asphalt.

  A pair of hands grabs me just under the armpits. “What happened?”

  That is Davide Nardi’s voice, and he’s angry.

  “I . . . I can’t see.”

  “What the hell did you do? Did you give her another drink, you jerk?”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize she was this far gone.”

  Someone lifts me from the ground, and my face is suddenly sticking to smooth and fragrant fabric. I realize it’s leather; it’s Davide Nardi’s leather jacket.

  “OK, you can go now,” he barks.

  “Wait!” I turn back toward Wolf and yell, “What sign are you?”

  I don’t hear his answer and soon after, Davide takes me away.

  Damn, Debra Winger was certainly not blind when Richard Gere picked her up and carried her out of the factory in his arms in An Officer and a Gentleman. I feel like I’m at the movies when the idiot sitting in front of you gets up and makes you miss the most romantic scene. But this time I’m the idiot and I only have myself to blame for drinking enough to cause me to miss out on this fabulous, cinematic rescue. Tio did tell me to stop drinking!

  “Who is Tio?”

  “What?”

  I feel Davide sit me down on a bench. He stays by my side as my head keeps collapsing onto his shoulder.

  “You mentioned someone called ‘Tio.’ What a crazy name.”

  “Oh, why do I keep thinking out loud?”

  “What?”

  “No, yes . . . Tio is a friend of mine. He had warned me not to drink too much tonight.”

  I feel something wet and cool against my forehead and pull my head away.

  “It’s only a wet handkerchief,” he explains. “Your blood pressure must have dropped.”

  “You’re not laughing, are you?”

  “Who, me? No, I swear . . .” But I hear it in his voice.

  “I am at death’s door; Hannibal Lector could make a delicious pâté with my liver, and you’re laughing! But, of course, what else could I expect from someone like you?”

  I feel him stiffen. “What do you mean someone like me?”

  No, Alice, stop. What was in that cocktail, kryptonite? “I mean that your role requires you to see everything with a sense of detachment.”

  “I get it. How do you feel? How’s your vision?”

  I still can’t see anything. Meanwhile, my stomach is incubating some kind of Alien. “I think . . .” I mumble, lifting my head. “I think I have to throw up.”

  I stagger as I get up, and he grabs me by the arm, brushing my hair from my face right before everything comes up.

  “I’m sorry.” I am the queen of making bad impressions.

  As soon as I finish throwing up, the fog clouding my eyes rolls away. I still can’t stand very well but at least I can see.

  The moment I turn around, I find Davide in front of me, less than a foot away. Oh god, can I please go back to the dark? He’s holding my hair behind my neck so I won’t throw up on it. He looks tense.

  I blink, and he realizes that I can see him now.

  “Hello.” He flashes a half-smile that twists his mouth to the side a little. Oh, why does he have to be so sexy when I still have the taste of stomach acid in my mouth?

  I must be cursed. How do I always end up in these situations? And with Davide of all people? What is it about him? Where can I file a formal protest against fate?

  Davide smiles and bites his lip. “You are crazy,” he remarks. Then he lifts me up as if I were a can of spray paint, and sets me down, straight. He cleans my lip with a tissue and asks, “Better?”

  As I nod, I burst into tears. I am a disaster, at work, with Carlo, and with all other men. I am alone, with zero prospects. Oh, god, all he needs now is a crybaby!

  “Hey, why did you ask that guy for his zodiac sign?” Davide asks as he helps me to sit down again.

  Should I tell him about Tio’s theories? Because I really do believe that there’s something in zodiac signs.

  I explain that someone like Tio could really help clear things up for people. In a period of crisis like this, there’s a real need for it. They should talk about it on television. And even offer a useful service to citizens, explaining relationships between people by using the alignment of the planets. I tell him that I have been trying it out for myself, and it works. I feel like the Marie Curie of zodiac signs, conducting field experiments with no protection. Real science is being done. Almost.

  I hear him laugh. “An astrological guide, huh?” He crouches in front of me and lifts up one of my feet. That’s when I realize that I am barefoot. My mismatched shoes are in his jacket pocket. He slips them on my feet, one by one, and for a moment I almost feel, to quote Pretty Woman, like I am “Cinder-fuckin-rella.”

  “Do you think you can walk?”

  8

  * * *

  Libra Wednesday

  I’m trying to keep up my relationship with Jane Fonda and after a Sunday spent napping to recover from my drunken escapade, today I get up early to exercise. I even arrive at work ahead of schedule. I have successfully freed myself from all unnecessary stress and anxiety.

  The only thing bothering me is that my phone must be having connection problems, because I still haven’t heard from Luca.

  I still can’t figure out what happened to him, although during my hangover yesterday, I was able to brood over it at length and, of course, get the opinion of my two best friends.

  From Paola’s point of view: I have properly exercised my rights as a woman, although perhaps I should have tried to understand Luca’s point of view, think about what happened to him, and maybe find out if he needed help. She is sure that, if I had had the chance, I would have been empathetic to his problems, and this would have brought us even closer together. So, in her opinion, there has to be a reason for his disappearance. I should instead concentrate on analyzing how I felt when I was with him until he contacts me, because he will contact me. Paola chides my promiscuous behavior, because kissing one man and leaving with another—neither of whom were my date—is not my style and definitely doesn’t give the impression of being a stable person interested in a long-term relationship. I don’t fully agree with this point, given that Wolf planted one on me and I didn’t kiss him back. And I’m not sure that Davide actually brought me home, but if he did, thank God, nothing happened . . . Or at least, I don’t think it did.

  From Tio’s point of view: Aries hurt the tender feelings of the romantic Libra that I am, behaving in keeping with his rough nature and trying subtly to invert the roles and let himself be chased. He left me alone and has no excuses, neither as a man nor as a zodiac sign. It would
be better if he were never to call again. My acting aloof gets a thumbs-up. To sum up, I made it clear to him that he’s not the only man on this Earth, by kissing another guy and going home with yet another (again, this is a point I’m contesting). My behavior, according to Tio, was perfectly in line with the mood of a Libra: an air sign that is somewhat inconsistent. Even if Luca were to find out about the kiss and about my return home, it would be a point in my favor because he would see me as hard to get, and because I would avoid scaring him by making him think that I want commitment right off the bat.

  I warm my face in the ray of sunshine filtering through the window, and for a second I stand mesmerized, watching Davide park his motorcycle, take off his helmet, and run a hand through his disheveled hair. I follow him with my gaze until I feel the tip of my nose against the glass. At that exact moment, I realize that there’s no way to avoid him . . . unless I manage to camouflage myself among the ornamental potted plants.

  I sneak down the corridor, flattening myself like a ninja against the wall, and I try to duck into the first office I find, but the door is locked.

  “Alice!”

  Caught just as I put my hand on another doorknob.

  “Um, good morning.” God, what should I call him now? Mr. Nardi? Davide? Darth Vader?

  “Everything OK? I mean, are you all right?”

  I wrap my arms around my chest. “Yes, fine, thanks.”

  “I’m really sorry I didn’t get in touch yesterday.”

  Now I’m the one looking bewildered. Suddenly I feel uneasy, because I can tell there’s something in his eyes, something I don’t remember.

  “No problem,” I mumble, staring at my shoes.

  He sighs. “But I wanted to talk to you. I mean, it would have been the right thing to do after the other night . . . before we saw each other at work.”

  Immediately, I feel the blood drain from my cheeks. What does he mean, “after the other night”?

  All right, yes, I made a complete ass of myself with him, blackout drunk and vomiting right in the middle of Milan, but the way he puts it and with that fire in his eyes, it seems like quite a different story . . .

  The truth is that I don’t remember anything after being Barefoot in the Park with him.

  Oh god, maybe we spent a passionate night together and now he feels guilty because he thinks he took advantage of me.

  Davide cracks a smile. “Anyway, I’m sorry I didn’t call to make sure you were OK, but I didn’t have your number.”

  I examine him again from head to toe and let out a sigh of regret for remembering absolutely nothing. “Well, that . . . we can work on,” I say, flashing a smile, and adding, why not, a wink.

  He frowns. “Sure, but there’s no need. Meet me in my office in an hour, will you?”

  I would not have expected this turn of events. Of course, Paola would not approve, and I should tread carefully, given his position at the company. I am playing with fire. Sleeping with the enemy! I must take the opportunity to explain that it was all a mistake, that I was not myself because of the alcohol and so on. Oh god, thank goodness I showered this morning.

  As I head back to my office, I stop and turn again. He’s already halfway through the door.

  “Davide?”

  “Yes?”

  “What sign are you?”

  He smiles and winks at me.

  “Excellent! That’s my girl.”

  • • •

  For the next hour, all I can do is check the clock, approximately every three minutes, and try to ransack my brain for some detail about my acrobatics between the sheets with Davide. Nothing.

  Raffaella enters the office, more beautiful than ever. “Hi, sweetie. Have you recovered?” she says, and the heads of my two coworkers pop up from their desks and stare at me.

  “What happened?” they ask.

  “Oh, nothing, I just wasn’t feeling too well.”

  “Alice is a fish,” she explains, elbowing me. “You should see how much she drinks.”

  Welcome to a meeting of Alcoholics “not so” Anonymous. “Oh, no, just a couple of glasses . . .” I murmur, hoping to shoot it down.

  Raffa doesn’t seem to listen to me. She sighs, looks around, and for a second, has an expression of melancholy.

  “Is something going on?” I ask her.

  “Nothing.” But she smiles as if she has a secret. “Actually, it’s something great . . . but I can’t talk about it.”

  When I look at the clock, I realize that there are just ten minutes until my appointment with Nardi. Davide . . .

  I run to the bathroom with my heart dancing the Macarena. I need to freshen up and calm down.

  As I’m about to go out, Tio’s horoscope arrives.

  The day begins with the Moon in your sign, but it’s no guarantee of tranquility. Tension is high, both from a business and an emotional point of view. News is on the horizon but the wind that brings it doesn’t exactly correspond to your expectations. It promises to be an interesting month in your job, but today it is specifically your feelings that put you under pressure.

  Oh, Tio . . . you can’t imagine what is about to happen.

  I head upstairs. My heart is thumping in my ears.

  I reach Davide’s door and put my hand on the handle, trying to build up the courage. “May I come in?”

  Davide is standing in front of the window. And when he turns around the sun casts golden highlights through his hair.

  Then Raffaella and Mr. President also turn to look at me.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  Davide takes a step forward. “Please, Miss Bassi, take a seat.”

  I swallow and fix my gaze on Raffaella. Even she doesn’t seem too sure what’s going on.

  Then, it hits me: They’re going to fire me!

  The reality is that I’ve made a fool of myself, I’ve shown my worst sides: irresponsible and reprobate.

  I take my place and await judgment.

  “Davide has spoken a lot about you, Miss Bassi,” begins Mr. President.

  Oh really? Let me guess, instead of calling me Sunday, Davide called Mr. President and told him about my behavior. How sweet . . . “Yes, but I can explain. It’s not something that happens to me every day.”

  “I imagine, and a more detailed explanation was exactly what we were hoping for. As you know, we can’t invest money in people without a guarantee.”

  Clearly, he is talking about the salary that he is going to deprive me of.

  “Mr. President,” Raffaella interjects, “it seems a bit reckless to me. Simply based on some barroom chat . . .”

  Damn, I never thought our friendship ran this deep.

  “Raffaella, I’m not saying that your plan isn’t good, but it’s very expensive and the network can’t afford it right now,” says Davide.

  Wait, now I am totally lost. Please, someone explain what we are talking about.

  “In fact,” continues Mr. President, leaning on my shoulder. “Alice’s idea is much more on target. It’s young and fresh, and no other network has ever done it. It’s experimental and completely in line with the image that we want to create to attract a broader audience.”

  I make eye contact with Davide, and it seems as if his lips are just barely forming the hint of a smile. “If you are prepared to work hard for the next couple weeks, we can be ready to shoot the pilot episode of An Astrological Guide for Broken Hearts at the end of the month.”

  9

  * * *

  Working Libra

  On average, I have gotten four hours of sleep each night this week. The rest of the time, I spent here—where I still am—in the Delta studio.

  I feel like I’m in an episode of the Twilight Zone, and suddenly knowing someone’s zodiac sign is more important than knowing someone’s blood type after they’ve had a car accident. “We need five units of Capricorn, nurse, or we’ll lose him!”

  The atmosphere is electric, overflowing with adrenaline . .
. and with sweat. The truth is, we have reason to be on overdrive, because in the blink of an eye, we have had to create a complete television program, the sets, and everything that goes into it. It’s become so bad that any time we may have for our own lives, which for some includes the small matter of personal hygiene, has reached an all-time low.

  Today, I am sporting a beautiful braid, which makes me feel like Lara Croft and hides the fact that I won’t be winning a L’Oréal competition anytime soon.

  Hair notwithstanding, I have made an effort, wanting to make a good impression for the first show that bears my name as a creator. I’m wearing a nice gray suit and brand-new Christian Louboutin shoes, which cost me almost all of my newly earned bonus. Sadly, while my wallet shrank, my feet continue to swell.

  From the production room, Luciano yells, “Alice, look, the guests are here!”

  The network can be blamed for this, as it decided to add the genius element of “reality” to the program. In addition to the big-name guests—experts in the astrological and other fields—there will be twelve competitors, one of each sign, and we will follow their progress week by week. When it comes to fresh and modern ideas, we really know how to stand out.

  “Alice! Damn it, we’re missing the Steadicam! I know you’re a ‘writer’ now, but we do need someone to monitor everything.”

  “Ferruccio, please, don’t you start, too!”

  “I would gladly never have started. At this hour, I would normally be at home watching a movie. But instead, we are all here to do your show.”

  I invoke the Zen calm that the yoga class from last year was supposed to teach me, and I wonder if I missed the fundamental classes. “Wax on, wax off,” I repeat to calm myself down. In a half hour, the theme song will be starting. “Ask Enrico,” I respond curtly. After all, isn’t he the production manager?

  Ferruccio laughs in my face. “Good one. If only I could find him!”

  I walk away, promising to look for Enrico.

  “And remember to print the schedules!” yells Luciano.