He wants it all

by Marilena Barbagallo

  What can be so transgressive in a party? Especially in Venice, during Carnival, where there are masked people and dances in nineteenth-century style.

  “What should I do?” I gave up. I knew it.

  You are stupid!

  “Wait a moment, I have to jump up and down. I have just broken down your apathy again.”

  I don't hear her for a few seconds, while in the background I hear strange noises. Is she really jumping up and down?

  “Emma?”

  “So, let's repeat: I'll come and pick you up at 9 p.m.” She comes to pick me up? Her driver comes. “Wear a nice dress, uhm, the Armani your mother gave you, the black one with the low neckline…”

  “Yes, yes, I remember it.”

  “Bring a mask, something that completely covers your face, so we're free to transgress.”

  “Please, stop repeating that word!”

  “Oh, Ambra, if you only knew where I am going to take you and if your mother knew…”

  “You're worrying me.”

  “Tell me the truth, you'd like to see her boobs explode out of anger.” She laughs, she has such a loud laugh… Gosh, I have to move the cell phone away from my ear.

  “You're a shameless girl!”

  “Completely!”

  “Okay, I'll eat something and then I'll get ready. See you at 9. And don't send a thousand messages: I don't have time to read them. Not even voice messages. The other day, mom heard you say that thing about…”

  “Luca's dick?”

  Thinking of it, I blush out of shame.

  “Exactly.”

  “Oh, gosh!” She laughs again. “I would pay money to have seen Clara's face.”

  “She was horrified.”

  “What a pleasure!”

  “See you, fool.”

  “Okay, see you,” and she makes a raspberry.

  I flop down on the bed and look at the canopy designs. I've looked at them so many times that I know every part of them by heart. It was a busy day. The session with my doctor put me in crisis. I didn't want to admit certain things, certain thoughts, certain desires. But I did and something inside me begins to perceive a renewed sense of lightness. Was it positive to have talked out about that problem?

  If Emma knew, she would find it transgressive, too. I will never tell her. It's too humiliating.

  I suddenly get going and decide to have dinner a bit earlier, just to have time to go crazy in front of the mirror. I am not hungry, but expecting to drink something alcoholic, I prefer to eat anyway or I will repeat the bad rum and coke night.

  I pull the Armani out of the closet. I have never worn it, mom will be happy to see me wearing one of her gifts. She lives for these things: parties, fashion shows, exhibitionism. Instead I'm like daddy.

  Dad.

  I miss him so much. Sometimes I think that now he is dead, he can see everything I do from heaven. When I was younger, he used to repeat that our ancestors follow us from up there and that our actions are seen by them and by God. As a child, I found it reassuring, because I thought that all those eyes could protect me, but now I feel that I might disappoint him. Now he knows what I feel, he knows that crazy feeling - that is rooted in me - he is aware of all my thoughts, and I feel invaded, blocked. It's as if I knew he is watching me and that I must control my actions not to upset him.

  He's dead, he doesn't see you, he doesn't hear you, he is not there.

  However, I don't want to disappoint him, now more than ever. Therefore, I also try to extinguish my thoughts. So I force myself to bury certain impulses sent by my body, certain images created by my mind.

  Once I touched myself, imagining the hands of...

  Forget about it. You'll disappoint him again.

  I grab my dress and put it up to my chest, realizing how long it is. I throw it on the bed and go down to eat something. I avoid mum, hoping to meet her when I'm dressed up all the way, so she can concentrate on how I look, rather than how I feel.

  But, instead, she surprises me.

  When she sees me coming down the stairs, in my long black Armani dress, she comes to me and says,

  “Honey, we have not talked about the session with Venusia yet.”

  I am surprised. I thought she would shout: oh, how beautiful you are in that dress. She caresses a wavy lock and wraps her arms around my shoulders. I see myself in her eyes that are exactly as mine: gold-colored.

  “I'm going out now. Let's talk about it another time.” I tighten the clutch purse and she feels my nervousness. She shakes her head as if she was hurt.

  “Honey, you don't have to tell me what you said!”

  Ah, no? Doesn't she want to know every little detail? I'm rediscovering a new woman.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Only if it helped you to talk about it,” she replies softly.

  Now I look at her with love. She is so beautiful, elegant, she also looks caring. I wish I had half an hour more to tell her how I felt, without going into those details that would kill her.

  “It wasn't easy,” I admit, “but Venusia finally put me at ease and the words came out by themselves.”

  “Are you going back?” she hopefully asked.

  “Of course. We didn't talk much at all.”

  “Did you talk about dad?”

  “I don't think that's the main problem.” I am sorry but that's the truth.

  “Even though Dad died only a year ago, it is not because of his loss if I have nightmares and if I need to find a solution to my illness.”

  “You've accepted his death,” she says with regret.

  I take her hand, noticing that her eyes are filled with remorse. She has never accepted it. She's still so young, she lost her husband too soon.

  “Mom, you can't accept the loss of someone you love.” She looks at me with admiration.

  “Go on, when you speak this way, you remind me of him.” I don't want to get emotional, my make-up would run. I must be strong and give her the illusion that Dad is here to talk to her.

  “When we lose somebody, we don't feel that person far away. We know that with that loss a part of us has left our body, but we also know it's just a part because the rest, the true essence of the person we really love is here.” I gently put my hand on her chest. She clasps it and closes her eyes. Her eyelashes tremble and a tear starts coming down her cheek. “I always feel him near, that's why I have accepted his loss. I have accepted his body is not here, because I know in my soul he is here.”

  “You are just like him,” she whispers, opening her eyes. “Come here,” she hugs me in her arms and I feel sorry for the times I have called her big tits or head of the wealthy women's club. She is my mother, she loves me, suffers with me; I should do more for her.

  She pushes me back and looks at me attentively. She sighs, caresses her neck and, frowning, says: “I wouldn't have worn the pearl necklace, but the solitaire necklace is sober and it doesn't cover your neckline. I would have had my hair done, but I know you don't like to have your hair touched. All things considered… mmh. You are…” Oh, god, she doesn't like the way I look? “You are the most beautiful vision my eyes have ever seen. You look great. You're divine. Let me see the neckline in the back!” She takes my hand and turns me around, as if we were dancing. “Oh, Ambra, you're wonderful.” I take a full turn and I spontaneously tell her what I think.

  “Thanks Mom.”

  “Why?” Sometimes she has a strange way of speaking. She makes me smile.

  “For being my mom.”

  “Oh!” She moves her hand, giving a slap in the air. Then we are interrupted by Irina saying that Miss Rocca's car is waiting for me in the garden.

  I kiss mom and I run to my crazy friend.

  I greet her driver with a nod, noting that he is not the same one as the last time. This one is really hot! Did she change him? Her father must have found out about the relationship with the previous one. Certainly with this new driver he didn't do wrong to Emma.

  I get in a
nd, before the driver takes a seat, I ask her quickly: “What happened to Luca?”

  “He's not here anymore,” she shrugs. She didn't care about that poor guy. “Have you noticed how cool this one is?” she continues enthusiastically.

  “Definitely!”

  The driver gets in and we no longer have the opportunity to talk about him. Emma has a long emerald green dress like mine, only that the split of her skirt seems to have neither an origin nor an end. She has straight dark hair and large green diamond pendants. The lip gloss accentuates the contour of her lips and the black pencil around her eyes exalts the blue of her irises.

  “Where's your mask?” she asks impertinently.

  “You know I hate Carnival. I had no intention of wearing a mask.”

  “That's why I brought one.”

  Oh, no!

  From under her fur coat, she pulls out two masks. Damn it!

  “Emma, I don't wanna wear it.”

  “You have to. Where we are going, it is mandatory.”

  My mouth drops open. What did she say? Mandatory? The word mandatory is among those expelled from my vocabulary. she doesn't want to take me to one of those private clubs for perverts. does she?

  “Emma!”

  “Yes, my friend?”

  “Where the hell are we going?”

  Her ambiguous smile is an answer that scares me.

  She is crazy.

  * * *

  Seven years earlier.

  I regain consciousness thanks to the strong smell of mold and cement. It's really dark. Fortunately I have my hands free and I bring them to the cloth that covers my face. I push it away and it's even darker. My eyes are still blinded by the darkness they have been forced to see; I rub them and, slowly, I can focus on the desolation around me.

  It's a garage.

  The ceiling is high. If I scream, my voice would fill air of despair. I'm going to.

  “Help!”

  I try to stand up but I slip on the grey mold of the rough floor. Everything is grey: grey walls, grey ground, grey dust molecules in the air, my state… grey.

  There is a long window in the top part of a wall, from which light comes through the iron bars. Al least, air and some light come in. I feel I am suffocating.

  “Is there anyone here?” I implore and hear the sentence repeating three times, in an echo that scares me.

  I try to stand up again and the tiny stones beneath me scrape giving me goose bumps. I'm all dirty, and I panic when I start to realize that… I was kidnapped.

  My forearms are reddened, some parts have already become purple. They are fingers, fingerprints on my fair skin.

  “Someone help me!” I shouted again.

  I have the impression that imploring doesn't help. Nobody should be out there and if anyone was there, it would be them.

  I walk but I don't know where I am going. The garage is big, huge. There are pillars here and there, a wooden table and a chair in the corner.

  I cannot believe it has really happened.

  I go to the shutter and I try to open it, as if it was possible to push it up.

  It's blocked. I kick it hard and the dust flies around me, surging above me like a steaming cloud.

  A few moments later, the deafening thud of the gate breaks the silence.

  The outer light blinds me, I see a strong silhouette that shows through the light, absorbs the shades and becomes a black shadow.

  I stare at the dusty boots, the dark pants, a belt that narrows the waistline, then at the bust that extends into a broad chest, the wide shoulders and the massive neck. I lift my head slowly, my eyes with it and... I see him.

  He wears a black ski mask that only shows his eyes.

  Those dark eyes are piercing me like a blade.

  I step back and tremble. I step back and I'm breathless. I step back and I fall into the emptiness.

  5

  KRUM

  After the regenerative wild fuck, I take a shower and get ready. The panther is gone, as I requested. I feel better, but not fulfilled. Oscar's present was appreciated, but I need more to be totally satisfied.

  For years I haven't worn an elegant suit. I feel trapped inside this bunch of cloth. It's a nice night, the stars seem to fall from the sky. I have always liked the stars, I have always envied their brilliance. If I owned a bit of that light, I would definitely feel a better man. Instead, I'm just a man.

  Oscar and Manuel are in the garden. As soon as I reach them, they throw their cigarettes butts on the ground. I suppose I have interrupted them. Suspicious, I squint my eyes and Oscar's sneaky giggle confirms that, yes, I've interrupted them.

  I don't like that they confabulate behind my back. I need to be on the same level and be informed of what has happened in my absence.

  I put hands in my pockets and I stare at them with an inquisitive air. I usually don't need to ask, I always get what I want by staring at my interlocutors, but Manuel doesn't seem to be intimidated at all, while Oscar moves his weight from one foot to the other, obviously anxious.

  So?” I say.

  “Have you talked with the Father?” Oscar asks. I squint again. I don't like his tone.

  “Yes, business as usual.”

  Manuel smiles provoking my nervous system. I'd like to smash his skull on the statue's cock behind him.

  “Didn't he say anything about your new job?” my friend continues.

  “No.” I let off an exhausted sigh. What does he mean?

  “Okay, then let's go,” he puts a hand on my shoulder and, with a fast movement, I dodge him. “What's wrong with you?”

  “Is there something you need to tell me?” My tone doesn't hide my intentions, I am ready to crush his wrist bones if he doesn't start talking.

  “If you have not spoken to the Father yet, I cannot tell you anything.”

  I remain silent. If it is a problem of the Sect, I can't certainly ask Oscar to speak on behalf of the Father. I know the rules and I know perfectly that it is up to Leonardo to inform me.

  I abandon the idea of drilling him with my pretentious look and follow them both to the pier where the boat is waiting to bring us to Venice.

  The dark lagoon begins to be illuminated by the lights of the buildings and the roads that surround it. This timeless city is always fascinating; When you are reaching it, you have the sensation you are penetrating into a painting, becoming part of majestic, immortal surroundings.

  We come to a cove where many gondolas and boats are moored. We jump onto the wooden walkway and we walk to land.

  Oscar and Manuel are chatting. I could care less about their conversation. I button my black jacket and straighten my tie of the same color, walking as if I knew where we were going. I have never liked to stay behind, I always prefer to be ahead.

  “This way,” Oscar corrects me.

  I turn and get next to him, following the narrow gangway that separates the ancient buildings from the water. The smell of mold is always penetrating, but the beauty and magic that Venice emanates overwhelm everything.

  “Where are we going?” I need to know, I don't like surprises, except when somebody says "here's a nice bitch for you."

  To the Arcano!" exclaims Oscar enthusiastically.

  My mouth stretches out a grimace of appreciation. I like that place, it is perfect for me: it's private, intimate, transgressive.

  “We don't have masks,” Manuel says.

  I don't like to wear them, but at the Arcano they are compulsory all year long, not just in the period of Carnival.

  “We can get them at the reception,” Oscar says.

  We come to the Renaissance-style building: an imperious structure that houses a well-known five-star hotel, one of Leonardo's many properties. Right next to the hotel, there is an arch going to a courtyard that houses other buildings inside, including the Arcano.

  We pass the entrance door, whose symbol on the main arch reminds me of Leonardo's family's coat of arms: they are lions that lean toward a stylized star in the c
enter. Inside the courtyard there are already a few people and we hurry to reach the reception that is in an outdoor room, under a colonnade surrounding the courtyard. They hand us the masks and I hurry to get the simplest. It is black and covers only the eyes and part of the nasal septum. Manuel got a red mask, I wouldn't wear under torture. I already feel forced to wear this nonsense. Oscar is wearing a mask that hides the whole face, it is white and has only two holes for the eyes and two more to allow him to breathe. I don't understand how he can wear it.

  We walk down the outer corridor and come into the entrance. People are in line, but we have the privilege to skip it. Advantages we have thanks to our many friends.

  The Arcano is a fascinating place, it is an exclusive and absolutely private club. You can only get in with an invitation and you can only visit it once, unless you become a registered member. We are not members, but we can come as often as we want, since it belongs to one of the Sect's families.

  The music is not too loud, it is strategically placed on low to allow guests to listen to others. There are rivers of champagne, real rivers. The fountain from which the bubbles flow is surrounded by people filling their glasses. They are all dressed up to celebrate Carnival. You can see angels, demons, princesses, fairies, kings, queens and maids. We are dressed up simply as ourselves. Each guest has a mask. It's strictly forbidden to uncover your face, except behind the curtains.

  Curtains. I cannot wait to take my place in my little harem.

  We fill the champagne glasses and reach a corner with free space on the sofas. Before getting involved, I like to look around, study the prey to hunt, choose the toy to bring behind the tent.

  The chandelier, full of crystal pendants, hangs from the high ceiling. It's huge and majestic. There are three floors, it looks like an arena and from the balconies of every floor, you can see what's happening on the ground floor of the hall.

  What's going on?

  Oh, we are in the heaven. Who said heaven is up there? Heaven is down here.

  At the edges of the room there are several openings, small rooms hidden by red velvet curtains. Guests can choose whether to keep their curtains open or closed. I focus on an opening that doesn't hide its content. There is a man inspecting the beauties of a pretty blonde. There are exhibitionists always ready to show up.