by Anna Premoli
“If we must dance, we’ll do it by the rules. I’ll lead,” he said, pulling her closer. Feeling less resistance from her, Ryan began to move across the room, where the middle had emptied as if by magic, taking her with him. All eyes were fixed on them and all present held their breath. Ryan did know how to dance and was actually pretty good at it, Amalia soon realized to her surprise. Of course, he wasn’t a graceful dancer, but his technique was good. He moved harmoniously, with rhythm, taking precise steps. It was evident that someone had taught him the basics. There was only one small problem: the district attorney was annoyed and was making no effort to hide his lack of enthusiasm.
“I don’t bite, you know,” she whispered in his ear, moving closer.
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” he said with a wry smile, his hoarse voice giving her goose bumps.
“Really, I’m harmless,” Amalia insisted. Then she made the mistake of looking up. To find Ryan staring at her with that strange look in his eyes again – that look which appeared to want to say something and yet didn’t at the same time. Amalia decided it would be wise to lower her gaze and act as if nothing had happened. As far as she was concerned, denial continued to be a winning strategy.
“Yeah… As harmless as a hurricane,” she heard him say sarcastically.
“Look who’s talking…”
“I never said I was objective,” he confessed, “but that’s hardly the point.”
“No, it never is. Or rather, you never are. I wonder why I always end up bearing the brunt of all our arguments. We always have to go back to our salad days at university or discuss my bank account or my trust fund or some other thing. Why do we never talk about you?” she asked.
Ryan swung her around a little, to try and break the contact and make her turn her head, hoping to end this line of conversation. He didn’t think there was much to talk about. “Because there’s nothing interesting to say about me,” he replied cryptically, catching her round the waist again.
Amalia looked at him, unconvinced by his answer. “Well, I don’t believe you. Don’t underestimate yourself, my dear. I’m sure we can find something worthy of an argument.” The song finally came to an end and Ryan couldn’t wait a second longer to get away from her. But not before he had expressed his feelings.
“Just to make it clear, we have nothing to argue about, and even if there were something, the two of us would have nothing to talk about. We lead different lives, live in different worlds – on different planets. And I suggest that we each go back to our own.”
And so saying he turned his back on her and walked away.
10
Lydia had been watching that girl standing in the corner for too long. To be precise, since her handsome dancing partner had abandoned her in the middle of the floor without giving her a second glance. Which was nothing short of bizarre, because Amalia was not the kind of woman a man would normally just leave standing there alone. After more than eighty years of experience Lydia could safely say that girls like Amalia usually had to fight off suitors, and that whole marathons would be undertaken in order to get near them.
There was something elegant in Amalia, an understated yet distinct elegance, that she played down but failed to completely hide. It was more than evident that she came from a very wealthy, cultured family.
“So, my dear, are you having fun?” Lydia asked as she approached her.
Amalia looked at her in surprise, unable to conceal a certain embarrassment.
“Oh yes, of course – it’s a wonderful party,” she congratulated her.
“All thanks to you. You were very sweet to offer to volunteer.”
A slight hint of a blush appeared on the girl’s cheeks. “Well, to be honest, I have to make a confession: we aren’t actually volunteers. We were ordered to come,” she murmured.
Lydia looked at her doubtfully. “Ordered? What is it, hard labor?” she asked, laughing at the idea.
“Not exactly. But kind of. We were ordered by the court to do community service,” she revealed, feeling the need to unburden herself of the fact. Lydia looked like the kind of person who could handle worse.
“My God, and what the heck did you two ever do that was bad enough to deserve this fate?!” the old lady asked without batting an eyelid.
Amalia laughed. This spirited old bird had a real sense of humor, she had to admit. “We screwed up a plea agreement and got into an argument in court.”
“Well, doesn’t everyone do that? I mean, argue. That’s the reason we have courts, isn’t it? To get our lawyers arguing,” said the birthday girl.
“Of course. But apparently you’re supposed to at least fake some kind of decorum. Even in court. And Ryan and I really did cross the line of what’s acceptable. But is it really that obvious that we are lawyers?” asked Amalia, amazed that she had been unmasked so easily.
Lydia was pretty forthright and spoke her mind. “I guessed it about five seconds after I first saw you. You both just have that way about you. You act like lawyers. My second husband, God rest his soul, was a lawyer, so I was able to spot you immediately. I have a radar for that kind of thing.”
Amalia smiled. “Just out of curiosity, what did your first husband do?” she asked.
“Oh my dear, he was a musician. Never marry a musician, remember that,” she advised her. “Too many dreams and too many disappointments. And they have a bad habit of always blaming you for everything. A lawyer is a much better husband. Lawyers always blame the judge and never their wives – a perfect situation.”
Amalia burst out laughing at all this wisdom. “I think I’ll probably make do without a husband. Musician, lawyer, whatever – I’d much rather not have one at all,” she confided once she had regained her composure.
“You’ll miss out on one of life’s great experiences though. You can’t possibly know anything about men, not without having been married to at least a couple of them. I recommend at least three, but even one would be alright… but always an odd number, remember that.”
Amalia decided to remain in ignorance of the reason for that rule. “Don’t worry, there aren’t any men at all on the horizon at the moment. If you happen to see any decent ones, make sure you give me a shout.”
“What about that handsome feller you were dancing with a little while ago?” Lydia asked casually.
Amalia’s expression suddenly became serious.
“Who? Ryan?”
Just the way she pronounced his name should have been warning enough.
Lydia didn’t miss her tone of her voice but was not one to give up that easily.
“Yes, him. A nice guy. A lawyer. I would say he’s pretty much perfect.”
“Oh…” was all Amalia managed to utter. “Oh yeah, really perfect! And anyway, I’m sorry to tell you that he’s outside your range of experience: Ryan’s an assistant D.A., and like all those who work for the prosecutor’s office he has this habit of dumping all the blame, not on the judge but on the lawyer for the defense. Which, of course, would be me,” she said, pointing to herself. “So I’m sure you can see where the problem lies?”
Lydia looked at her sympathetically.
“May I ask who seems to be winning in this clash of the Titans?” she asked curiously.
“Who? Nobody, of course! I think I can say without a doubt that we are both losing, big time.”
There was something very liberating about attending a strange woman’s birthday party at an old people’s home in a remote district of Brooklyn on a Saturday afternoon. Something that gave her an irresistible desire to tell the truth to someone who, just for once, could never use it against her. Either in court or elsewhere. It was actually something quite rare in her world.
“Well, anyway, it looks to me as though the assistant district attorney isn’t immune to your charms, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
It might well have been true, but to be honest, it wasn’t very reassuring.
“I think you are right, but I’m not going to chase aft
er a man who can’t stand being close to me. And he’d prefer to be a thousand miles away from me.”
Lydia looked at her doubtfully.
“Darling, that’s a typical male reaction. It’s called fear. This is where our superior female capacity at grasping the important things comes into play.”
But Amalia didn’t want to know.
“Well, it’s something that I don’t really want to grasp. That man is full of unsolvable problems, and my own are more than enough for me. My resolution for this year was to reduce my stress levels, which are already in the red, and believe me, Ryan has managed to raise them to unprecedented levels since he moved back to New York. And it’s still only the beginning of the year! At this rate I’ll probably fail my next medical, and I’m only thirty-three! So do you see my problem?”
Amalia looked absolutely convinced of what she was saying – so much so that Lydia had to resort to drastic measures. She had hoped it wouldn’t be necessary. Lydia pretended to stumble over some balloons on the floor and then staggered in the direction of the refreshments table. Amalia tried to steady her, just as Lydia expected her to, but ended up wearing the contents of a large jug full of the stickiest, pink juice that the world had ever seen, which Lydia had somehow contrived to knock over her. And Amalia really hated pink.
“Oh dear!” said Lydia, looking at Amalia as the poor girl turned into a wet, sugary candy, and everyone else froze as if by magic to stare at her. The room began to echo with the hum of alarmed voices, but fortunately Steffany was ready to step in and save the day.
“Amalia, whatever happened to you?” she asked, handing her a cloth that was barely big enough to mop up the pool forming at her feet. She grabbed it instantly, trying somehow to dry herself. How much of the stuff had there been in that jug?! A quart?
“Everything’s more or less ok…” she said with a sigh as she tried not to lose her patience. She was seriously beginning to suspect that someone had put the evil eye or something similar on her – just lately she seemed to be the injured party in a shocking number of genuinely grotesque accidents. “Oh my dear, I’m so sorry,” said Lydia softly.
“Don’t worry, I’m starting to get used to this kind of thing,” Amalia assured her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Ryan had approached them but didn’t dare cross the threshold of safety that he, in all probability, had imposed on himself. ‘The coward’, she thought.
“I feel so guilty. I am so careless. You must excuse me, but at my age my sense of balance tends to play nasty tricks on me.”
“Believe me, it happens at my age too, so don’t worry about it too much,” replied Amalia, feeling stickier by the minute. She felt like a lump of marzipan waiting to be rolled into shape.
“Young man, come over here!” bellowed Lydia, turning towards Ryan. For a couple of seconds he remained immobile, trying to work out how he could avoid obeying her, but faced with a request from an old lady he had no choice other than to go along with her wishes.
“Are you okay, ma’am?” he asked solicitously – which infuriated Amalia, who was not only the only one of them to have been put out, and quite badly at that, but who was also being ignored.
“I’m fine, thank you,” said Lydia. “But I’m afraid that this beautiful young lady has gotten totally soaking wet because of me.”
“Amalia is used to accidents. I’m sure that she’ll manage to get over this one,” was his answer. And not in the least bit polite. The injured party glared at him belligerently. He received the message loud and clear but chose to ignore it.
“I’m so sorry but would you be so kind as to help her? Do you live near here?” she asked him with the utmost innocence.
“Who, me?” The dismay on Ryan’s face was clearly visible.
“Do you live near here?” Lydia asked him again. If she went on like this, they’d be nicknaming her ‘Bloodhound’ before long. And to think that Ryan had mistaken her for a harmless old lady… Never mind being harmless, she had a purpose in mind and was pursuing it big time. A remarkable strategist, you had to admit.
“Quite near,” he said evasively.
“How near?” Steffany intervened as well. Now it seemed that everyone had it in for him.
“Err… Three blocks away…” he muttered in a low voice, hoping that Lydia was a bit deaf. Lydia’s hearing was so good she could have picked up ultrasound as well.
“Perfect!” she exclaimed. “So if you would be kind enough to accompany my saviour to your house? A shower and a change of clothes – and you will be able to return for the rest of the party,” she added as an afterthought, with a cunning smile.
Amalia turned pale. “There’s really no need, I’m fine as I am, really.”
But Steffany objected as well. “No, you’re not! You’re completely drenched! You really need to take a shower and get changed. I would offer you our facilities, but we’ve been having problems with the water. They’ve been adjusting the system and there is no hot water until tomorrow morning…” she explained.
“It’s no problem, Amalia can go home. I can clean up here, I swear, I’m perfectly capable of doing her job too,” Ryan suggested, hoping in that way to get Amalia and the other two off of his back in one fell swoop. He would quite happily have licked the sticky pink gunk off the floor until morning if it meant he could rid himself of the blonde at his side.
“But I want to see Amalia afterwards!” said Lydia.
Amalia looked at him as if to say ‘don’t blame me, it’s not my fault’.
Ryan knew that he had little hope of winning with this trio against him so he resigned himself to throwing the towel in. After all, at the end of the day it was only a shower.
“Ok, ok, I hear you! Amalia, would you like to go to my house to clean up and change? I live within walking distance from here,” he said with all the enthusiasm of someone on their way to the dentist’s for root canal work.
Meanwhile Amalia had decided to punish him.
“If I absolutely must,” she said reluctantly, arching an eyebrow.
Ryan sighed and stalked off towards the exit. Amalia went to follow but was almost immediately stopped by Lydia, who whispered in her ear: “Don’t forget – make the most of this opportunity.”
And actually even gave her a knowing wink!
Oh my God, was Amalia’s only thought – she had the worrying feeling that she was falling into a trap.
*
The trip to Ryan’s house was swift and silent. The host was in an awkward position and made no effort to conceal his discomfort – it was obvious that Amalia needed to get cleaned up, but he wasn’t willing to collaborate without expressing his evident displeasure beforehand. All of his evident displeasure.
Amalia didn’t really understand what the hell he was so worked up about. Did he think that she was going to jump on him? She was almost tempted to try and reassure him that she wasn’t, except that it was absurd to even try to joke about it. Even if Ryan was actually still able to recognize a joke when he heard one.
She remembered that at university her fellow students spoke of him as a brilliant person and great fun. Not that he had ever been with her. Even if he once had a sense of humor, he must have used it all up by now. She remembered how determined Ryan had always been at law school, though, his eyes always blazing with light and vitality.
Now, however, it seemed that no trace of that energy remained. Amalia was well aware that the change was not new and was not attributable to her. Not entirely, at least. Of course, she made him particularly nervous, and given the chance he would have wiped her off the face of the earth, but whatever the problem was, it had to have far more distant roots.
Ryan turned in front of an anonymous tower block, quickly pulling a ring of keys from his jacket. Then he opened a creaking, wooden door and headed for some stairs down a hallway. Not a particularly salubrious place, judging by appearances.
“Fourth floor, no elevator,” he announced, without even turning to look at her.
He accelerated as they approached the fourth floor as though he was trying to put some distance between them, but she managed to keep up. She paused for a moment, staring at his morose face as he opened the door and made way for her.
“Welcome to my kingdom,” he said harshly. His obvious resentment showed no sign of diminishing. “The bathroom is down there on the right. I’ll get you a towel and then I’ll try to find something you can wear.”
He disappeared from her sight at the speed of light, and before Amalia could utter a word. As she was now alone, she couldn’t help but look around, trying to acclimatize herself to her surroundings. It was without doubt the most sparsely furnished apartment she had ever seen in her life. The front door opened onto a room whose emptiness made it seem even bigger than it actually was. In the middle of it stood a lonely couch, probably a recent purchase, in an uninviting grey color. There was a large television on top of a rickety cabinet, proof that the inhabitant of this castle was male. Amalia firmly believed in the rule that a man’s television was indirectly proportional to the size of something unmentionable which was located somewhere south of his belt. Men were all the same, deep down. In any case, the size of that appliance gave her great hope.
“Well you’d never guess that you’ve only moved in here recently,” she said sarcastically when he re-appeared holding a towel. A grey one. A very fashionable color around these parts, she thought with amusement.
“I didn’t invite you round here so that you could stick your nose into my stuff or pass judgment on the furniture,” he pointed out irritably. “In fact, to be precise, I didn’t invite you here at all.”
Just the thing to say to make a guest feel at ease. Amalia frowned.
“Of course – especially because there is practically nothing here to criticize. Very, very minimalist, Mr District Attorney,” she teased, exasperated by the way he was treating her.