He thought I was a strong woman, self-confident and with a great sense of irony. I seldom let him see my many fragilities. I wanted appear the successful woman he expected and deserved.
I remember when one time after making love he told me: “I like your voluptuous body. You have the beauty of a Renaissance woman.” I felt paralyzed by that sentence. He touched my most vulnerable spot. My looks and my body were still my weakness, although he kept telling me I was fantastic. After hearing this, I forced a smile, but I was frozen. I locked myself in the bathroom to cry. Really, at that moment I couldn’t stand him. I wished that his penis would shrivel up. Then I rinsed my face and returned to the bedroom looking imperturbable. I was repeating to myself like a mantra, I am a strong woman, I am a strong woman, I am strong woman… no silly comment about my looks can defeat me…
I was in love and forgave him everything, also the fact he didn’t see my fragilities. Actually, I protected him from my faults, because this is what love does.
Sometimes, when we had dinner out, we played a game – we rated women in the restaurant on a scale from one to five. I gave the rating and Niccolò decided if he could seduce them or not.
“I have a great talent to make desperate women fall in love,” he confessed one evening when we were especially drunk.
“Congratulations!” I laughed, but somehow I was affected by his words. I never told him my true feelings. I wasn’t a loser. I didn’t want to scare him, to rush him. I was waiting for him to make the first move. I was waiting for him to be ready, to feel sure, to understand that he really wanted to spend the rest of his life with me.
Yet in the meantime I applied to my company for a transfer to the agency in Milan. As soon as it was approved, I began to look for a small apartment to rent.
I hid all my plans from Niccolò. I wanted to surprise him. I thought he would be extremely happy.
*
The red line of the subway smelled horrible, like a cattle car. Standing, trying to keep my balance and not lean on anything so I could keep my white pants immaculate, I looked at my reflection in the window. I was making sure that my perfection didn’t fade away in that stinking mess.
I got out at Porta Venezia. I stood a few minutes on the station platform looking for a mirror in my handbag. I checked my make-up – impeccable. I fixed my hat and my hair and walked toward the escalator.
My new shoes really started to hurt. Because of the heat, my feet had begun to swell. My stride was anything but sexy. I looked more like a constipated dinosaur than a pretty woman.
Just out of the subway station, I was assaulted by a blast of extremely hot air. I walked towards the bar with slow and unsure steps, smiling in order to hide the pain – almost like gangrene in my poor feet! Once inside, I collapsed on a chair exhausted and slowly, trying not to attract attention, I removed my shoes.
Niccolò arrived fifteen minutes late. He was beautiful, tanned, relaxed. He wore one of his elegant tailored shirts with the monogram initials that were one of the things that made me fall in love with him.
He came to the table, smiled at my bare feet and kissed me on the cheek. He joked, “Beautiful shoes!”
“Thank you. They’re new and really hurt!”
“But it’s worth it!”
“I think so.” I replied, not completely convinced.
“So, what’s the reason for a sudden visit during the week? Did you miss Milan so much?”
“I missed you!” I gave him a smile of complicity and called the waiter to order our drinks.
In the past few weeks I had been very busy organizing my new life, so we saw each other much less. To obtain my transfer to Milan, I had to finish all my pending files and work at weekends.
“I have big news!” I said.
“Me too.” He replied.
“Good. Let’s order two glasses of champagne.”
Niccolò stared into my eyes and suddenly seemed serious and curious.
“So, what’s your big news?”
“I am moving to Milan!”
“How? When? What about your job?”
“I’ve been moved to a position in the agency here in Milan.”
“Wow, it is big news. Where will you stay?”
“I found a pretty, small apartment in Porta Romana neighbourhood. I’ll move this weekend.”
“Unbelievable!”
“I would have wanted to find something closer to you, but the real estate market in the area didn’t offer much. What was available is out of my budget! To see you I’ll have to take the subway.”
“Well, once in a while you can make the effort…” He smiled.
“Once in a while? I’m afraid I’ll have to do it every day!” I laughed and took his hand.
He pulled it away.
At that precise moment my stomach tied up in knots, almost as if I sensed danger approaching. Something was going wrong.
Niccolò stared at the corner of the table. “We must talk… about this.”
Here it was, the damn Code. The man I loved to death began to use the Code.
The Code is a series of words, sentences, ways to say things, gestures, looks, that couples use, sometime unconsciously, when things begin to go badly.
I can’t give you what… It’s not you, it’s me. It’s better for both of us. I can’t see you this way any more. I can’t do better. I keep disappointing you. These are the timeless basics of the Code.
Niccolò chose a very banal, “we must talk…”
After those words an endless silence followed.
The waiter put our drinks on the table and I just stared at mine like it was a meteorite fallen from the sky. I couldn’t raise my eyes. I took all the courage I had, swallowed, tried to remember I was a strong woman, a goddess, all that bullshit and looked up at Niccolò.“What do you want to talk to me about?”
He stared at me for a little too long, concentrating on my forehead and hair, then he had a sip of champagne and said:
“About Anna.”
“Who?”
“Anna. Your friend Anna.”
What the fuck did Anna had to do with me? Niccolò, the champagne, the reserved table, the unbearable heat, my new sandals that hurt, my running make-up, and my move to Milan?
“Anna?” I asked looking into his eyes.
“Yes, Anna.”
“Do you know Anna?”
“Yes, you introduced her to me a couple of months ago. We were at that boring book reading you dragged me to. She was there too. Don’t you remember?”
Yes, I remembered.
Some friends organized a reading of short stories in a very nice small pub. We spent the evening drinking wine and trying not to laugh too hard. It was embarrassing, they were very bad. Anna came later and sat at the table next to us. I had known her for a few years. She was a friend of a dear cousin of mine with whom I spent many summers at a beach in the Marche region. Anna was a few years younger than me, tall, blonde, skinny, with a very sweet smile. Her features were so perfect that a touch of mascara was enough to make her look wonderful, while we common mortals need hours in front of the mirror. We cover our faces with layers of foundation, then powder and eyeshadow, blush, lipstick, to present the best possible version of ourselves.
That cursed evening I introduced her to Niccolò. They exchanged a few words, then talked a little more at the bar and eventually she left. And now I found her in the middle of a conversation that was taking a turn for the worse, while my champagne grew warm and I began to feel sick to my stomach.
“Ok, I introduced Anna to you two months ago, sure,” I said, trying to control the trembling of my voice. “But what does she have to do with us, right now?”
“Well… I don’t know how to tell you this. We have always been a great team. You’re a strong woman and I adore you for that. You are able to control your emotions, you’re self-confident. You are not shy and not afraid of aging. I have been single for a long time, you know, I have become a curmudgeon. I am already thirty-
six, not a kid any more…”
“Yes, I think I know you pretty well…” (For sure more than he knew me.)
“Look, it’s mainly thanks to you and to our long talks and beautiful moments together that I finally realized something – I have missed someone to love.”
My legs started to shake.
“And I believe I found the right person for me… Anna.”
Let me see if I get this. I need a moment to take stock of the situation: I meet an incredible man. I fall madly in love with him. We are getting along perfectly. Sex is fantastic. I leave my city and my job for him and finally he decides to love, seriously… another woman! He fell in love with another woman! He fell in love with Anna.
I grabbed my glass of warm champagne with my shaking hand and felt a terrible sense of vertigo. I tried to take a sip. Then I put the glass back on the table, almost spilling it. I felt a cold shiver through my spine, in spite of the Milanese heat.
“Are you ok?” He asked, looking at me, perplexed.
It was at that moment that this strong woman stopped worrying about perfect make-up, white pants, her hair, or what people think, and began to sob just like a little girl.
“Coco, my god, what’s happening?”
“What’s happening?” I tried to mumble through my tears and sobs. “Really? You are telling me you didn’t get it?”
I looked at him. Was it possible that my ideal man was in reality an idiot and now he was here killing me with words! Was it possible that for this whole year he didn’t realize what he meant to me?
“I didn’t want to hurt you. I know how much you care about me, but things happen. Love comes and we can’t choose when and whom to fall in love with. Do you understand?”
It was official. He was an idiot.
“How can you expect me to understand? What about me? What about us?”
“Rebecca, sex between us was fantastic and we were perfectly in tune, but you are a free spirit. You are fun loving, independent and strong. You like living on your own. You’ll always be number one, even without the romance. I had a great time with you, but then I fell in love with someone else. I couldn’t help it. That’s all.”
At that precise moment I realized I didn’t understand anything! While I loved him from the first moment we met, he was just looking for company and waiting for the woman of his life. While I spent months thinking we were building something important together, he used me as a protection against loneliness, waiting for true love. I really didn’t understand anything. Maybe I was the real idiot, not him.
Niccolò, unable to stop my river of tears, said the most stupid thing a man can say after having broken a woman’s heart into pieces. “Don’t worry. I don’t want to lose you. We’ll remain good friends. You are important to me.”
I turned slowly towards him. I looked horrible with mascara running down my face. I stared at him for a long time, trying to stop sobbing. In a weak voice I finally admitted: “I love you.”
Niccolò backed away, suddenly stony faced. He looked at me and shook his head.
“No. It’s not possible! You’re wrong.”
“Wrong? I loved you from the first moment I saw you. I loved you for this whole fucking year!”
“No… no. You’re upset now because you’re losing me as lover… You don’t love me, you’re confused. You would have told me. You always affirmed to be independent. You told me you didn’t need protection and sweet talk.”
“Yes, I told you that because I didn’t want to pressure you, scare you, rush you. You seemed independent too, and I didn’t want to force myself on you. I simply wanted you to come naturally to the realization that you loved me.”
“But this is crazy! It’s silly…”
I burst into tears again. He wasn’t only breaking my heart; he was telling me that I was stupid.”
“But I… I… ” Exhausted, I began to stammer.
“Rebecca, why didn’t you tell me about your feelings? I don’t think it would have eventually changed anything. I believe that ‘spark’ in order to fall in love was missing in our relationship. But if I had known you loved me, I would have acted differently. If I had known I was more than a special friend, a confidante for you, I would have broken off our relationship long before today. Anna has nothing to do with our friendship. Please, try to understand me. I didn’t decide to fall in love with her. It just happened. If it happened to you, I would have accepted it. Love doesn’t allow alternatives. I hope one day you will be my friend again. I hope one day soon we can be friends again – we make such a great team.”
A great team. Now I began to understand the meaning of a great team for him. You were a great team when you went to bed with a man without feeling anything, without involvement, without making things complicated. When you allowed the man who stole your heart to fall in love with a friend you barely remembered. A skinny friend at that!
I stood up, barefoot, grabbing my sandals in my hand. I couldn’t wear those torture tools for another minute! I looked at Niccolò with an empty and desperate gaze.
“Where are you going?” he whispered, with the same warm voice I loved so much.
“You broke my heart, Niccolò.”
“I didn’t want to. You know it. But don’t exaggerate now.” Yes, he was an idiot. A cruel idiot. “In a few days it will pass, Rebecca, and you’ll understand that you never really loved me. We had fun – that’s all. You will come back to me and we’ll be wonderful friends again.”
“Goodbye, Niccolò.”
I stared at him as if it were the first time I saw him. I didn’t recognize the man whom I had adored until an hour ago. I turned and started walking. Niccolò didn’t move, but kept calling in a loud voice, “Rebecca, where are you going? Come back here.”
I didn’t know what to do, where to go. Considering that the street asphalt was scorching and I was bare foot. I couldn’t go far. I just turned the corner and sat on the kerb, careless of my white pants. I took off my hat, crushing it in my hands. I hoped he would re-think all of this. I hoped he would realize it was impossible to live without me and he would run to me to hug me tight and keep me with him forever.
He didn’t come. He didn’t run after me.
After half an hour that seemed like an eternity, I stood up with great effort and slowly began to limp toward the subway station. Young people outside bars, with aperitif glasses in hand, stared at me as if I were a ghost. I went down into the subway to wait for the train. Then I got on in my filthy dirty pants and collapsed into a grungy seat.
The few passengers in the empty smelly car, who stared at me with tears running down my face, couldn’t imagine they were looking at the unhappiest woman in the world.
2
New City, New Life
I had been living in Milan for a week. A week that seemed like a whole year.
I didn’t hear from Niccolò. In some moments of weakness, I thought of calling him or sending him an e-mail, but I didn’t do it. I was too wounded and fragile to risk another humiliation.
Immediately after our last surreal conversation, I returned to Venice. There I was on the train, leaning against the window, tears streaming down my face – tears that not even the icy air conditioning could dry.
I reached home on foot, completely oblivious of what was going on around me. I barely knew where I was and didn’t know what was happening to me. I couldn’t stop shamelessly sobbing. I didn’t care about people staring as I walked along the canals. The wet mascara had turned my face into a bizarre carnival mask.
When I got to my house, I climbed the stairs slowly and at my apartment door I let myself slide down onto the floor. I couldn’t stop crying. I never thought I could produce so many tears. You would think that by now my tears would have drained every ounce of water from my poor tired body. Maybe it’s because I religiously consume two litres of water every day as an alleged guard against cellulite.
My apartment was silent and messy. I was renting a small place on the Cannareggi
o neighbourhood, since my ex-fiancé and I had put the place we bought together up for sale. At the moment the apartment seemed the perfect hide-out. An empty space where there were no memories of men who had wounded me.
I undressed, removed my make-up and slipped into bed. I spent two entire days in bed, getting out only to go to the bathroom or to eat some butter cookies that I kept hidden in my kitchen. I always hid sweets, so I wasn’t tempted. But it was an emergency now. A tornado had wrecked my insides. I had to cure my broken heart. My self-esteem was completely destroyed. I needed sweets!
When our hearts are shattered, we lose any sense of time. It doesn’t matter what time it is or what day of the week. The only thing we care about is what we’re feeling inside. Small splinters seem to pierce the heart. There is an acute feeling of loss, of absence – a longing for the return of love, of something whole – but it rarely happens. We feel our throats closing, we are sleepless, unable to breathe.
Time has stopped and we keep going back to the past to analyze what happened. We search for answers in small details. We try to understand if things could have gone another way, if we had acted differently. If we had said something different. When we suffer for love, we are like animals in a cage, animals that have known freedom and lost it. We feel empty, hopeless. All that appeared important now seems lost.
Love is wonderful when overwhelms us. It empowers us – we feel cheerful, attractive, carefree, happy – in one word it makes us feel immortal. Yet when it ends, we are left alone to endure the pain of still loving that person who maybe never loved us. It’s like a sudden and violent death. The euphoric mood becomes desperation. The enchantment becomes a nightmare.
I checked my telephone continuously hoping for a message. Maybe Niccolò had changed his mind, telling me he regretted his decision, that he realized I was the woman to love, not a skinny Anna with a pretty face. But nothing. Total silence.
Coco Chanel Saved My Life Page 2