by Lucy Scala
With my free hand I scratched my head, trying to collect my thoughts. “I don’t know… Maybe we could use this puppy,” I continued, looking determined. “After all, children are more attracted to puppies than to adult dogs.”
I lifted him, holding him under two front legs, as in the Lion King scene.
He squirmed, stretching all four limbs and sporting a hairless belly.
Fiamma shook her head a few times, pursing her lips. “Mia, I thought you were smarter…”
This comment, funny and unexpected, made me a laugh. “Please, continue, teacher,” I said, amused.
Casper took a few steps forward, as if he was trying to eavesdrop. He had good reason, as he was the subject of the dispute. “You said there’s a little boy on the mend after a long illness, a child waiting for a transplant and a third with autism…”
I tried to put the puppy in the padded basket, but he resisted, pushing his wet nose under my chin. I would hold him in my arms for a little longer. “Yes, and where exactly are we going with this?”
She smirked. “For a child, forced in to hospital for treatment, I think it is easier to relate to a dog that has suffered as well.”
“I have no idea if that is the case. I think it would be better to see a dog that is bursting with health,” I said.
“But for that there’s Bubu!” She went on, convinced. “Imagine being a sick child, forced to live locked up in a hospital room. And suddenly you see a battered dog. One of those that you wouldn’t dream of taking home, but that at the same time makes you feel tenderness. Would you not want to take care of it and rejoice in seeing it recover?” she stared at me. “Wouldn’t you want to heal with it?”
Her speech was so convincing that I felt stupid not to have thought of it before. I looked at Casper, eagerly sniffing the wire mesh that separated us. “Want to join us?” I asked with anticipation.
He held up a paw and laid it against the bars of the cage, small tufts of hair sticking out from under his dark paws.
Poor thing, it was disarming to see him in that state, but we knew that the Maremma shepherd in him would be back soon.
Fiamma leaned against the wall, watching the whole scene. “Casper is a dog that you can easily spoil. Antonio has already been a victim of his ‘give me a biscuit’ look.”
“I can imagine. Almost every dog would sell itself for such a delicacy,” I went on, drawing a dog biscuit from my pocket.
The puppy stared at it with eyes full of desire, trying to reach it with his mouth wide open and displaying small sharp teeth.
“No, go and sit down without making a fuss,” I ordered, fighting against that little body so full of energy. “You have to learn good manners. Now it’s not your turn. And then look at you, you’re still too little for them.”
The puppy crouched, giving me a sad look. “Look at him? He’s trying to make us feel guilty.”
“Dogs are all born actors. They have the ability to imitate our behaviour… Look at him now, how he’s trying to win us over with his eyes.”
I shifted my attention to the leash on the shelf. “I agree, and I would say that the young man definitely deserves a walk. Right, Casper?”
I opened the cage door and he stuck his nose out, scanning the environment outside. Casper took a step toward me. His bones were no longer sticking out, and in two weeks he would be fully recovered.
Yes, Casper would be the second candidate.
Chapter six
The following morning, I woke up before the alarm rang, but stayed wrapped up in the duvet for a while, before going down for breakfast.
As I sipped milky coffee from my grandmother’s favourite cup, there was a knock on the door. A little early to be the postman, according to my calculations.
“Who is it?” I asked, approaching the door.
“It’s Diego.”
His voice startled me. Heck, my hair was collected with a plastic clip, I had no makeup and, even worse, I was wearing threadbare pyjamas in a teddy bear print. I looked down at my dog muzzle slippers.
“Do you have something to tell me?” I asked, trying to fix my rebellious mass of hair.
“If you let me come in, maybe we can talk calmly. And I need my jacket.”
“Uhm… Do you have to come in?”
“Not necessarily, if you want you can come out,” he said, with a note of sarcasm.
“No, I can’t come out,” I replied drily. “I just woke up and I haven’t had time to get dressed,” I added. “Come on, open it!” he continued, with his usual annoying insistence. “I have croissants, they’re still warm, we can have breakfast together.”
“Do you think you can bribe me with croissants? I don’t remember having invited you.” I wasn’t going to give in.
“Ok, I’m inviting myself…” he admitted resignedly. “What shall I do, shall I leave them on the the doorstep? It’s a shame, they’re really very good.”
“Swear you won’t tease me,” I said seriously.
I felt a chuckle from behind the door. “I promise I will not laugh.”
I looked at myself again, my appearance was terrible. Maybe Diego was the type who would have appreciated the potential sensuality of my chastity pyjamas.
As soon as he crossed the threshold, his mouth widened. He was holding back a laugh with obvious effort. Too bad the result was clumsy and his grimace all but appealing.
“Oh God, no… Please, please. Get out!” I cried, trying to throw him out.
“Be careful, you’ll squash them,” he said, placing the bag of croissants on the table in the hall way.
“You’re an asshole,” I said, crossing my arms and pouting.
I tried to open the door again, but his body prevented me. “Did someone get out on the wrong side of the bed, today?” he quipped. I snorted and went to get changed. “You might as well have a seat.”
I accompanied the words with an eloquent gesture. “I’ll be down in a minute. If you can, set the table for breakfast. You’ll find everything you need in the cupboard in the living room,” I said, climbing the stairs.
While I was trying to retreive a green V-neck sweater and a pair of jeans from the chaos in my wardrobe, I heard Diego clattering around in the kitchen with cups and saucers. I brushed my hair and when I was ready I stared at myself in the mirror. Out of spite, I made him wait at least another ten minutes, then went downstairs.
The table was lovely. Diego had taken a rose from the bouquet of flowers he had given me the night we ate together and placed it on the table; two hot steaming cups of coffee were standing on the colourful place mats and beside each one was a plate with a freshly baked croissant.
“Wow,” I whispered in a faint voice.
“Sit down,” quipped Diego, pulling out a chair for me to sit on.
I indulged.
“I discovered a family run café that sells home made pastries. Try it,” he said, with a wink. I squeezed the croissant between my finger and thumb, sank my teeth into the soft dough and tore out a large bite. The taste was intense. The outside was fragrant and crisp, and the softness inside was sweetened by a cherry jam heart. I let out a small sigh of pleasure.
“You like it, don’t you?” asked Diego, watching me. “Very much. My God, it’s a bomb!” I exclaimed with satisfaction.
“Be careful, I see a smile on the way.”
“That’s not true,” I said.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re really bad at telling lies?”
“Has anyone ever told you that I’ll end up reporting you for stalking?”
Diego shook his head, amused. “Stalking? But if we live just a few metres away! You’re all malicious, you women. As soon as a man shows you some special attention, you’re immediately ready to categorize him as a sleaze-bag.”
“There must be a reason! Who knows what your reputation’s like in Gallipoli. Better luck in Turin, right?”
At these words Diego’s expression changed with unexpected rapidity. “Like I said, Mi
a, being bitchy doesn’t suit you. Anyway, you’re wrong, my life is perfect here. I don’t need to prove anything to anyone,” he confided, taking the cup of hot milky coffee to his lips.
Was it a trap or was he serious?
“I didn’t mean that, I meant that life is too short to fossilize oneself in one place. Maybe one day I’ll decide to revolutionize my life and change city. Who knows, maybe I’ll go to Apulia.”
“Are you kidding? Have you ever been there?”
I shook my head. “Unfortunately, not… I have never had a reason to.”
“Then you need to find one.”
Diego’s mobile gave a short beep and the display flashed for a few seconds.
“Nothing important, only site notifications.”
“What site?”
“I was invited to sign up on a chat site to get to know new people. My colleagues recommended it at work, you know, between men…”
“Aren’t you a little old for such childish things?”
“Okay, maybe you’re right, but I wanted to try without obligation. In a few days I received several contacts. You can enter a location, gender and age and the site gives you a list of people registered that match the search criteria. You should do it yourself, maybe you can find a Prince Charming to melt your heart of stone.”
“Nice. Was it worth it?” I asked, giving way to curiosity.
“Oh, I would say so. See for yourself…”
I looked over his shoulder at the screen. The photos showed a smiling girl with long blonde hair and dark glasses.
I frowned and chuckled. “I’ve seen better,” I said with a shrug. “Sweet doll?”
“Yes, that’s her nickname.”
“Oh my God, are you kidding?” I continued seriously. “How old is she? What’s her name?”
Diego shrugged. “Maria, I think…”
“Diego!” I said, shocked. “So, let me understand, you’re chatting to a girl who calls herself ‘Sweet doll’ and you know nothing about her?”
Diego smiled. “Not all women are frozen like you, kitten. She’s a lawyer and she’s a very intelligent woman, in addition to being beautiful. And we have a date tonight.”
“But it’s irresponsible. You know nothing about this person, she might be completely different from the photo. Maybe she’s good at using Photoshop.”
Diego looked up at the sky. “Mia, I’m a cop. It’s not that easy to take me for a ride!”
I glanced at Diego’s profile on the screen and tried to read the conversation. There was a tiny photograph in which you couldn’t see much. It was understandable, he wanted to arouse curiosity.
I bit my lip. “Anyway, I have a date too, you know? I’m seeing someone.”
Diego didn’t bat an eyelid. “You amaze me. So, you’re not only good at pushing people away.”
“No, I only push away those who believe a smile is enough to end up in bed.”
Diego put his elbows on the table and leaned toward me. “There’s no reason to get so het up. We said we’re friends, right?” he smirked.
“Indeed. So your love life isn’t going as well… as you say?”
“What’s that got to do with it… this meeting site is just a way of arranging dates easily.”
I slumped in the chair, with my hands resting on my knees. I had to resist the urge to give him a sermon, but then I couldn’t control myself. So I kicked him under the table, out of spite.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Diego stretched out his leg and rubbed his shin.
“Sorry, this ugly tic never leaves me.”
“This is serious, you should sort it out.”
“There is no cure, it comes when you least expect it.”
“You know, if I was a suspicious person I would think that you were doing it on purpose.”
We talked a little longer, then Diego got up and helped me clear the table. I rolled my sleeves up and started washing the cups and saucers.
Diego sat in the chair, busy stroking Bubu, who looked at him with half-closed eyes, enjoying that moment of total attention. The idea of being in his place occurred to me, but I sent it packing.
To be honest, his presence was positively surprising me. “You like classics…”
“Excuse me?” I answered, confused.
“The Picture of Dorian Gray is one of my favourite books,” he said, running his fingers along the back of the cover.
“I didn’t know you could read.”
“And I didn’t know you liked to read. You have many books, where did you find the time to read them all? Oh right! I had forgotten that you’ve been single for ages.”
“Everyone enjoys themselves as they wish to and reading is one of my favourite pastimes.”
“That explains many things. I can imagine your evenings alone, sitting in this chair with a book in hand, hoping that at least the protagonists in the novel will have sex.”
“What did you say?”
“See? Just the word makes you shake.”
“I have no problem with sex. I like it, and very much indeed,” I said defensively.
At that point I wondered if I really wanted to be friends with Diego.
“I can imagine,” he said with a laugh.
“You know what I think? That all this showing off of yours, only confirms the fact that you suffer from an inferiority complex. But don’t feel bad, you definitely have other qualities. You know how to do various things that others can’t for example…”
Diego gave me a contemptuous smile. “Don’t be ridiculous! I’m good at everything.”
“You’re just confirming what I just said,” I pointed out. “One can’t say anything to you, you’re so sure of yourself you can’t take any criticism. Why do you always have to be the centre of attention? Is there something that doesn’t satisfy you? I’m certain that’s the problem.”
“I’d better go,” he announced. “My shift begins soon.”
I walked him to the door and felt his eyes on me. “Thank you for breakfast.”
Diego touched my chin with his finger, moving a lock of unruly hair. He was trying to be clever. He walked over to kiss me, and we were so close now that only our breath separated us. He tilted his head and his lips brushed my cheek. I drew back instinctively, and pushed him away. “See you soon then.”
He took a step back and then laughed softly. “Are you angry with me, kitten? I was just saying goodbye.”
I turned my head sideways and stared at him. “Don’t you have to start choosing a restaurant to take your unknown girlfriend to?” I asked drily.
Diego stared at me with a seraphic expression. “Sweet, Mia, very sweet.”
I bit my tongue to avoid adding something acidic.
“See you, kitten.”
“I hope not.”
A wry smile appeared on his lips. “I find your sense of humour a little abrasive,” said Diego. “Keep practicing.”
His arm stretched out towards me, but he lowered it before touching me.
I watched him as he walked away. Then closed the door.
*
I had half a day available and I decided to dedicate it to myself. I wrote down a short list of things to do in my notebook.
A few, but fundamental ones. Point number one: hair. It was years since I had changed the cut or colour of my hair. At eleven o’clock, I arrived beaming at my hairdresser’s salon.
“Hello, darling,” Marzia, the owner, greeted me with a warm embrace that printed bright red lipstick on my cheeks.
“You’re in perfect shape,” she added, giving me an admiring glance.
I made a little grimace. “And you’re a good liar,” I said, hugging her.
Marzia looked at me and nodded to the left with her head. I peered over her shoulder and noticed blonde hair, perfect and shiny as usual: that bitch, my sister. What a strange coincidence.
“Oh, here we go…” I said, through clenched teeth.
“Today she’s very sharp and gossips more than usual,”
said the hairdresser. “Don’t let her see you,” she added, sitting me on a chair in front of a silver framed mirror. She pressed her foot on the pedal and the chair rose a few centimetres, she let my hair slide through her fingers and began to observe it with an almost worried expression.
I looked at her reflection in the mirror, waiting for the verdict.
“So, what shall we do?” she asked, putting her hands on my shoulders.
I stared at her hesitantly. “Actually, I don’t know. I was hoping for your advice. I trust you,” I said eventually.
“I’d go blonde,” Lucy began, moving closer to me. “Men prefer it.”
“Ah, you’re here as well…” I said simply, pretending to have only just noticed her.
Lucy gave a wry smile and pushed her long hair behind her shoulders.
“I’m sorry to have to correct you, but blonde is out now,” Marzia informed her, smiling. “The trend this year is red.”
My heart did a little somersault with happiness.
“You know, I was thinking of putting in a few darker highlights. Taking your copper as a base and slightly thinning it, keeping the length. What do you think? Oh, I forgot. We can straighten it, you’ll make everyone envious.”
“Do whatever you want with me,” I nodded happily.
While I was relaxing, among dozens of tinfoil sheets, my sister was pretending to read a magazine, watching me secretively. It maddened her not to have all Marzia’s attention to herself. She walked over, sitting down in the chair next to mine.
“Haven’t you got anything better to do today?” I asked her vaguely.
“No, apart from shopping. But I can wait for that. I’m really curious to see what will come out!” she exclaimed, pointing at my head.
Bitch, as usual. She had inherited our mother’s every gene.
Marzia arrived with a colour chart, held up a sheet of foil and watched carefully.
“Run, girl. We have to wash it straight away,” she ordered, dragging me towards the sink.
While the hot water ran through my hair, her fingers massaged my scalp gently. I let myself go with the pleasant feeling.
Marzia rinsed the remaining colour out and, after putting on some conditioner, wrapped my hair in a towel.