An Astrological Guide for Broken Hearts

by Silvia Zucca

  “Tio, does Andrea’s Bother Dow that you are a couple?”

  “Well, of course not.”

  I give him a gentle pat on the hand. “I would work on that probleB first.”

  “Work! What a big word for someone lying on their desk.” Raffaella appears behind him.

  “Acid yellow was so last year,” I say through closed teeth, because I might have a stuffy nose and a head amid clouds of Vicks VapoRub, but that doesn’t blunt my memory of everything else. “I’ve just goD a cold.”

  “Ah! At least some of my prayers are being answered,” says Raffaella. “Are you happy now that Alejandro abandoned me, Alice? Is this enough for you?”

  “Ow!” Tio gives a glint of a smile and hums, “The Sagittarius strikes again . . .”

  When she leaves us, presumably to join Cristina in the bathroom and found the “Virgo” Suicides Club, Tio cries, “Ah, men!” and casts me the sideways glance of someone who is still seeking a glimmer of a conversation—about my imaginary Leo, I suppose.

  I roll my eyes. “Well, ADdrea is different,” I say, changing the subject.

  “And I’m happy. I’m happy that he’s not one of those guys who promises the Moon and then gives you such a beating that all you can see are stars. Lions in sheep’s clothing . . . ”

  “Haha. FuDDy.”

  “I’m serious, perhaps because I’m a man too . . . Call it a sixth astrological sense or whatever you wish, but I know how to recognize an idiot at first glance. The one who just came in, for example. He is a moron, one hundred percent, guaranteed. Look how he goes strutting around with that smile like a door-to-door salesman, and then turns around. . . . There he is, punctual as a pimple for a first date, anxious to look at anything that vaguely resembles a pair of tits. I’d be curious to see the face of the chick who snags him. Poor fool.”

  “Oh, shit . . .”

  “Did you see him?”

  From the other end of the loft, the “idiot” who just wandered in yells: “Muffin!”

  28

  * * *

  Lions for Geminis

  I remain motionless as Tio turns toward me. To call his expression severe would be like saying that Nero made quite a mess of Rome.

  “Oh, Giorgio . . . Hi. What are you doing here?!”

  I imagine the screeching strings from Psycho playing in the background.

  “I came because I knew you needed me, babe.” He empties a bag from the pharmacy onto a nearby table. “Handkerchiefs, sprays, thermometers, cough drops, and . . . Oh! Pads. Always protects like nothing else, Muffie.”

  “How thoughtful . . .” Tio comments, arms crossed.

  To confirm that my astrological chart must look like a Picasso painting, the glass door opens and Nardi bursts onto the scene (I decided that from now on I will exclusively call him “Nardi”), aiming directly for me, without looking at anything or anyone else.

  “How are you?” he says, after having taken me by the arm and led me away from the others.

  I look around, worried, and note that in my absence, Giorgio has clung to Tio. “I have a cold,” I respond rather vaguely.

  “Alice, I’m sorry.”

  “I’ll get over it.”

  “I don’t mean the cold.”

  “Deither do I. I’ll get over it.” I wonder what this man still wants from me, because this conversation should not be happening.

  “I thank you for wanting to Bake Be relive all the Bagnificent discoBfort of the last tiBe, but I assure you that there’s Do Deed. I reBeBber it perfectly without a suBBary of the Bost paiDful BoBents.”

  “I just wanted to tell you that, if I didn’t care about you at all, if I didn’t hold you in such high regard . . . I think I would have taken advantage of what you feel.”

  This really makes me lose my temper. It hurts my pride to hear him speak of emotions (only my emotions?) that seem not to concern him at all.

  “There was odly wod kiss. As far as I’B codcerded, it’s water udder the bridge. I’B here to work, and I thidk you are, too.”

  I walk away and my heart drops into my stomach as I see Giorgio run toward Mr. President with an outstretched hand and the sycophantic smile of the most consummate actors.

  “Giorgio, for the love of God!” I summon him, grabbing him by the shirt. “I Bust work. You caD’t be here.”

  “You’re so beautiful when you play the career woman, Muffin. Ah, I should have married you, not that bitch!”

  Oh, no . . . when Giorgio starts in with “that bitch of my ex,” he can go on for hours.

  “. . . If I’m bankrupt, it’s all her fault . . .”

  And he’s not totally lying, because his ex-wife is exactly like him. His kindred spirit is now trying to strip him of every asset down to his last sock to make him pay for his extramarital adventures, online poker, and the strip club, where a private investigator’s camera filmed him during an evening of joie de vivre that makes Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas look like a home movie.

  To make matters worse, Davide passes by me, trying yet again to extend one of his magnetic glances.

  “Muffin, at least take the medicines,” exclaims Giorgio, piercing me with a decongestant stick as if I were a skewer. “Otherwise, you’ll just toss and turn in bed and snore like last night.”

  Unfortunately, Davide is still looking at me. He is speaking with Mr. President, but I see him shoot glances in my direction. I feel so helpless, I want to die.

  After giving Giorgio a dirty look, Tio glances in the direction of Davide and the president, and then at me.

  “Now I get it,” he says. “You thought that I wouldn’t put two and two together, knowing the sign and everything else?”

  This time I hesitate.

  “Alice, I don’t enjoy telling you that people’s astrological charts are incompatible; believe me. But here it is crystal clear. Seeing you together can’t help but convince me that your Leo could be your undoing.”

  My eyes fill with tears, and my throat closes completely.

  “Tio, I aB iD love. It’s terrible, I Dow.”

  He stares at me, wide-eyed, for a moment and then puts a hand on my forehead. “It must be the fever. Don’t worry, I’m not going to let you drown this way! I will save you!”

  29

  * * *

  Catch Leo If You Can

  We’re finally in the meeting room, and the atmosphere has turned as serious as if we had suddenly changed the set and were working in a bank instead of a television network.

  There are no more faces, discussions about scripts, jokes, or creativity around that oval table. My show is dissected algebraically, transformed into segments of equations that correspond to time slots, advertising, and shares.

  While Mr. President speaks, explaining the wondrous world of television with the aid of a pointer, Davide’s eyes—I mean Nardi’s—don’t leave mine.

  I try with all my might to stop myself from reading something into it. Regret. Lust. Tenderness. Pain.

  I’m telling myself that they are just mirrors for what I feel—for what only I feel.

  He didn’t want to take advantage of my feelings.

  I can’t trust anyone but myself. Perhaps not even myself, since I’ve always made the wrong choices and the wrong character judgments about the men that I’ve met.

  Written on the sheet in front of me is the name of the program that I have created, An Astrological Guide for Broken Hearts.

  Why do I always choose the wrong men? Maybe the right one is out there somewhere, perhaps closer than I think, but all I’m doing is pushing him away, not giving him a chance to come any closer.

  Mr. President is still speaking. “Since everyone who deals with Astrological Guide is present, I think we can make a short digression to talk about the final episode.”

  Davide lowers his eyes for a second, as if searching for something on the sheets in front of him, but doesn’t take long enough for it to be plausible.

  “Yes, so we thought that the final e
pisode of Astrological Guide deserved a special event . . . A truly exceptional guest.”

  “Professor Klauzen,” interrupts Mr. President impatiently. “From the Klauzen clinics, is now world-famous for his method of programming births.”

  “Gee, it won’t be easy to get him in the studio for an interview,” says Tio.

  “Klauzen is a very particular person, as well as an extremely busy doctor. He won’t come to us, so we will have to go to him. We will record an interview, and Marlin and Nardi will be the ones to go to Paris and do it.”

  “Why not me?” exclaims Tio, quite resentful.

  “Because you will have other things to prepare for the show here and because with Marlin, we will be able to avail ourselves of a women’s clothing sponsor and shoot videos of her and the product around the city.”

  I watch my friend glower with envy, but he takes the blow with style. Dating Andrea seems to have its merits.

  “Since Nardi knows the professor personally, he will accompany Marlin to Paris.” Mr. President smiles, satisfied. “And you can view it as a reward, Davide, since much of the network’s success is the result of you and your vision.”

  Davide nods without smiling. “Thank you, Mr. President.”

  “You have done an excellent job, Nardi. We will miss you.”

  Immediately, I feel the blood leave my body. It tucks itself away, compressing itself god knows where, before starting to scream through my veins again all at once.

  Davide is leaving.

  I knew that his assignment was temporary, but I had no idea how or when it would end. And just now I realize that, in all probability, after he goes to Paris, I will never see him again. An icy chill runs through me, and I know it is because of the hole in the center of my soul.

  I make an effort to get up, but something happens. It seems that my feet sink into the floor and the plasterboard walls fold in on top of me. The table lurches toward me, and suddenly I am surrounded by nothingness.

  30

  * * *

  Crouching Leo, Hidden Gemini

  The room is dark around me. It is my own room. My dear little room with the desk, the storage units over the bed, and the display cabinet with all my toys. A slow sigh escapes my lips, and I feel relieved.

  “You have a face like . . .”

  From the other side of the house, I start to hear voices.

  “Paola, calm down. I understand that, like a good Cancer, you feel like a mother hen, but Alice will be fine. It’s just a fever.”

  “No, she doesn’t just have a fever! First, this stupid thing with zodiac signs and now him!”

  “Please, let’s not drag astrology into this, OK! Let’s distinguish between friends and enemies. If you put me on the same level as this . . . this Leo guy, I swear I will kill someone.”

  “Tio, you’ve just come into Alice’s life now; you have no idea what this idiot has done.”

  “Hey, I am right here! The idiot has a name, which is Giorgio. And also a zodiac sign, which is Gemini.”

  “Tio, this pathetic excuse for a man is a Gemini. For what it’s worth, I still remember his mega-birthday pool party, and it was at the beginning of June.”

  “So, you remember that, huh?”

  “Oh yes, I remember it. Just like I remember those two women that I found you with in the Turkish bath.”

  “Can I offer you coffee? Or perhaps chamomile is better,” asks my mother.

  I start to regain consciousness when I hear my parents’ voices.

  Now I remember. I passed out because I was sick, and the meeting room was hot; because Giorgio has come back into my life with a vengeance; because Carlo is marrying Cristina, even though he’s in love with someone else; because Tio gives me advice on which zodiac signs to date, but he himself doesn’t understand the man of his life; because I shouldn’t have fallen in love with a Leo with such a disastrous astrological chart . . . And because Davide is leaving.

  “Muffin! Are you awake?”

  “Stupid idiot, you woke her up!” cries Paola at the door.

  Instinctively, I pull the blanket up to my nose, because while I no longer fear a telling off from my mother, Paola is much more dangerous. Only when she grabs him by the arm do I notice that Giorgio has a swollen and reddened eye.

  “When someone has a concussion, you shouldn’t let them sleep, don’t you know that, Paolie dear?”

  “You’re the one who’s had a concussion since the day you were born. And don’t you dare call me Paolie, Muffin, unless you want a stiletto to the jugular!”

  “It’s just a touch of the flu,” intervenes Tio. “Part of the Negative Transit—”

  “Enough of this nonsense! There’s no wonder that she’s lost her mind with all the crap you’ve been feeding her for months!” cries Paola.

  “I was only trying to help her, since her radar for men works about as well as a Chinese kitchen robot. Let me remind you that you made her go out with that Aries colleague of yours, Luca, who dumped her not even halfway through the first date.”

  “And you did excellent work with Alejandro. Bravo.”

  “I told her that it was a bad idea to go out with that underdeveloped tango dancer. Never trust a Sagittarius, not without checking his astrological chart.”

  “I’m sick of you two!” blurts out my ex-boyfriend. “I’m here with Alice now. My dear gypsy with the crystal ball, I recall that you didn’t know what to do when Alice practically had a heart attack a little while ago; you were crying like a little girl. Miss Praying Mantis here wasn’t even there; she only showed up later to make trouble.”

  “Whereas you, my dear Gemini-ex-Leo, you arrived just in time to take a punch from Nardi. My only regret is that I wasn’t the one to give it to you.”

  I reemerge from the duvet, putting out my antennae like a timid snail. Did I hear right? Why would Davide ever punch Giorgio?

  “Um . . . Excuse me for interrupting, but . . . Does someone want to tell me what happened?”

  And then, they begin.

  Paola’s version: Florence Nightingale’s Call to Arms

  I was at my mother’s house helping her to make lasagna, when I received Tio’s call.

  I tried to calm him down on the telephone. “Tio, Tio, what’s going on? I can’t understand you if you cry. Take deep breaths. Good boy. Breathe!”

  “It’s Alice! I . . . I don’t know what to do anymore. Help me, Paola! Only you can save her.”

  And when I arrived . . . God, I wondered if my strength would be enough to save everyone. I pushed my way through the screaming crowd until I found you, in Tio’s arms.

  He was in such a state of shock that I had to slap him. “Now listen here, you have to let go of her. I’m here. I’ll handle it. OK?”

  Ah, men, they can’t hold up at all when someone is ill.

  “Then, once they called the ambulance,” my best friend continues, “I saw him. I saw that imbecile ex of yours bashing people all over the hall. A shameful spectacle.”

  “Shameful, indeed!” interrupts Giorgio. “There are people who don’t have the slightest idea of the basic rules of hand-to-hand combat.”

  Giorgio’s version: Rambo Apocalypse . . . Now!

  Milan. Shit. I’m back in Milan.

  I sniff the air, feeling in my bones that something is wrong.

  There are two women, civilians, eyeballing me, but I spy something at nine o’clock. It’s a brute well over six feet tall carrying you away.

  I yell, “God forgives, I do not!” in Chinese, of course. Then, I’m on top of him.

  Once I’ve torn you from his grasp, I desperately try to revive you, giving you mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and cardiac massage.

  “And he was likely to break your ribs, if Nardi—who was trying to carry you to the bench by the window—hadn’t punched him.”

  “And I punched him back!” says Giorgio. “ ‘In town, you’re the law,’ I told him. ‘Out here, it’s me.’ It’s a quote from Rambo. I know it by heart. A
nd obviously I shout it in Chinese, Muffin. You know when I’m angry, I always speak Chinese.”

  Of course, Giorgio speaks Chinese . . . and Lithuanian. It’s true that at first glance he may seem like an idiot, and he really is. But like a cross between Rain Man and the Six Million Dollar Man, he has acquired abilities that, however exceptional they might be, are completely useless in someone like him.

  Paola believes his brain should be donated to science, but as soon as possible, to do the world a favor.

  There was a time when these quirks made him exceptional in my eyes; more than my white knight, he was my knight in shining multicolor. It took months of Paola therapy to bring me to my senses.

  “But I mean, how? How could you take someone like this back?” Tio jumps in, pointing to Giorgio. “After everything I taught you.”

  Tio’s version: Space, The Final Frontier . . .

  Julian Date: 2,456,402.92. Latitude: 45.28, Longitude: -9.12. Planet: Earth.

  The behavior of the Libra had already begun to worry me in recent weeks. Especially because she herself had confessed to having gone out with a Leo with Libra Ascendant, a man with an astrological chart that, in dynamic combination with hers, could have potentially disastrous results.

  So, this morning, after having carefully checked her horoscope, I decided to face her head-on, with the intention of easing the Negative Transit and letting her feel my support.

  I’m not one to dramatically mistake someone’s zodiac sign, but the Libra had been busy muddying the waters, giving me the wrong date on purpose, and my Mercury in Taurus must have done the rest, making me obstinately blind.

  Angry with her, I hadn’t given too much weight to the excessive load of the Square of the Sun in Negative Transit with her Birth Moon that actually made her faint.