I’m completely dumbfounded. Dumbfounded.
He clears his throat and looks me straight in the eyes. “From what I’ve seen today, I’d say it isn’t like that at all.”
Lucky him for staying on the subject; I’ve lost my train of thought in the conversation completely.
I take a breath and go under water, moving backwards in order to free myself. I reappear out of the water on the other side of the floating divider. He stares at me, but I turn and quickly swim towards the ladder in lane one.
I’m about to grab the ladder to get out when Andrea places his hand over mine, stopping me.
“Don’t forget that I won. Tell me when we can see each other so I can collect my prize.”
Now I really regard him blackly. He thought up this farce of a race only because he wants me to answer all his questions. He wants me to tell him everything, even those things which I have made obvious I don’t want to tell him. He wants everything it isn’t enough for him to see me every week at my dead worst, in my most animal-like and suffering state. He wants to see me completely revealed, to see everything. And in reality he has no right. He’s only my crumby personal trainer, not my psychologist or my confidante, or my best friend or Jesus or anybody at all.
“I’ve been really busy lately.”
He takes my arm and comes closer. “You don’t get to go back on your word after a defeat. You need to pay up when there’s something to pay.”
I don’t answer.
“I won and you owe me what we agreed on.”
Seriously, I hate him. “I’ll send you a message to tell you when I can.” That is, never. But he can’t read my mind, so he instantly relaxes.
I’m about to climb the first step and he remains standing there. I turn towards, waiting, but he doesn’t move.
“Well?” I say to him.
He regards me with a sort of lost look.
“I’m about to get out, turn around towards the windows, go on,” I indicate briskly, nodding my head in the direction of the windows. He smiles, shaking his head and turns right around.
I get out and run for my bathrobe. I put it on and close it, then return to the edge of the pool. “Ok, you can turn around.”
“You’re completely out of your mind,” he says smoothly, with a smile on his lips.
“And you are a damned bully,” I answer combatively.
He continues to smile and places his arms on the edge of the pool, resting his chin on his hands and looks me up and down.
Good grief, he looks like an ad for a swim cap or a swimming pool or anything else. The point is that he looks like an advertisement because he seems too beautiful to be real, to be here in the flesh, dripping chlorine, two ridiculous steps away from me.
“I’ll wait for your message,” he reminds me as a goodbye.
Wait and hope, I think as I wave, and finally leave.
***
Andrea waits for a good three weeks of my continual excuses before coming into the cafè one Friday morning like a fury.
I’m behind the counter, slumping against the coffee machine while I listen to Madame Barbieri reading me my horoscope, when I see him arrive with a determined step and a darkened face.
I straighten up, detaching myself from the 1950’s coffee machine and Madame Barbieri stops in mid-reading. We silently turn towards him as he stops in front of me on the other side of the counter. “This evening you’re going out with me.”
I quickly lower my eyes, but not before seeing Madame Barbieri turn towards me with a mute question in her eyes and Rosy, arriving just in that moment and hearing him, turning to him as though he were crazy.
“This evening I can’t.”
“The world has turned upside down…” I hear Rosy grumble.
“Oh yes, you can,” he replies.
I look up, reddening a little. “This evening no, we’ll do it another time.”
He puts his hands on his hips. “No. It’s three weeks you’ve been doing this… Tonight no, tomorrow ditto, the next time, the next week, the next weekend…” He seems genuinely angry.
Rosy widens her eyes, now blatantly staring at him with her mouth open.
Madame Barbieri has her eyes lowered, turned towards the newspaper before her, silent.
I’m opening my mouth to say something when he beats me to it. “Don’t say anything, I don’t believe you anymore anyway. Remember our deal Olly.”
“Heh,” I puff, crossing my arms.
Rosy looks at me astonished, she almost looks possessed.
“If you really have something to do tonight, postpone it. I’ll be by to pick you up at eight.”
Rosy looks at him, then looks at me, as though she were watching a tennis match.
“Anyway you don’t know where I live,” I answer with a half smirk.
“Oh yes I do. I have my informants.”
I have to remember to never see Linda and the twins again. “I won’t come down anyway.”
“I’ll come and drag you out,” he persists without moving his gaze. When he has that expression on his face, I know already that I’ve lost.
“I won’t open the door then.”
He places both hands on the counter and suddenly smiles. “Fine then, at eight. Be ready.” Having said this, he turns and leaves.
Before he goes through the door I yell after him, desperate, “I said no Andrea! I won’t be ready! It’ll be worse for you if you really come!”
But he doesn’t even turn around. It’s as though I hadn’t spoken.
I make an angry gesture and see that Rosy is staring at me, dazed. When I raise my eyebrows as though to say, “What do you want?”, she asks me seriously, “Are you stupid or something?”
I cross my arms again and glare at her. I don’t have to explain anything and I could care less about having her good will.
“I’ve always suspected that you weren’t too normal, but now I have the proof. You’re completely out of your mind. You’re really retarded!” Rosy concludes with an expression of disgust and almost resentment. I have the suspicion that Andrea didn’t give her his phone number and didn’t go out with her… Or if he did, it’s already over. Otherwise they would have greeted each other a bit more cordially when he came and she wouldn’t be looking at me now as if, given the opportunity, she’d happily skin me alive. She takes the tray which was sitting on the counter with an order and goes to wait on the table.
I take a deep breath. On a similar occasion, on a day not too long ago, I would have grabbed the first thing at hand, like a croissant or a piece of cake or anything in arm’s reach, and popped it in my mouth.
Today I feel the temptation, have the thought, but it almost comes naturally to not do it. Almost. I’m definitely improving. I take another deep breath and close my eyes, trying to pass through this energy barrier, because this anxiety and these unpleasant things that I feel are only energy barriers and they’ll go away by themselves if I give them the time.
“Why don’t you want to go out with the Sun God?”
I open my eyes again, realizing that I’m not alone. I had forgotten that Madame Barbieri was here and is looking at me with curiosity.
“Oh, Madam Barbieri…” I begin, taking her by the hand. “It’s not what it seems… It’s not what you and Rosy might think… It’s not a romantic date.”
She smiles, and slowly raises her free hand and gives a few pats to mine. “To me it seems just that.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s not… You see, it’s the payment of a bet… We had a race, there was a bet…” I shake my head again. “It’s the payment of a bet,” I repeat to make things short.
“The payment of this debt stipulated that it would happen on a Friday night?” She asks me with half-closed eyes.
“No, it could be on any day. It was just… an evening,” I conclude miserably.
“Yes, but our Apollo chose a Friday night…” Madame Barbieri insists. Because she loves me, she stubbornly sees romanticism where there is
only bullying. Because this is what Andrea is - a bully.
“No, it wasn’t his first choice… It’s just a coincidence. Any day of the week was fine for him. I’m the one who kept saying no and probably today he was just definitively fed up with waiting.”
“Why did you keep saying no?” She asks me curiously, in a totally different way from Rosy.
“Because I don’t want to do this evening… I repeat, it’s not a romantic date. It will be painful for me,” I answer with shining eyes.
She squints her eyes again and strokes her chin with a finger. “If it’s so painful for you, and he knows it...” And while she says this I nod vigorously. “Why is he so intent on doing it?” Madame Barbieri asks meditatively.
I stare for a moment at her gold ring with the blue stone which adorns the index finger resting on her chin. “Because he’s a bully,” I say in the end, looking up. After which I go and take the order that Rosy is waving at me from the end of the counter, and think about how we didn’t even finish the horoscope.
10.
Andrea arrives at eight sharp, precise as ever.
I have pathetically gotten ready, because ever since I left the cafè I knew it was useless to keep fighting in that sense. I also thought that he’d keep on stressing me until this thing was done. So, better to get it over with in a hurry and close the argument once and for all.
Around here the end of May is warm, but not overly much. So, I’ve put on a pair of black, calf length leggings, a very loose and long pink shirt which covers me almost to the knee - which I’ve rolled the sleeves of up to my elbows – and a pair of black ballerinas. I’ve left my hair loose. I was really undecided whether to put on make-up or not, because on one hand, making myself up could give him the impression that I see this appointment as something romantic, but not making up might make me feel uncomfortable if Andrea showed up looking too beautiful, too well dressed or prepared etc. I don’t think he’ll show up dressed elegantly, but I don’t think he’ll be wearing a tracksuit and gym shoes either. For this reason, I’ve opted for something in the middle. That is, a light touch of make-up - there but not there - just a little mascara, lip gloss and blush.
I go out the door of the house and walk down the drive looking at his car. He’s stayed seated inside. He just sent me a written message that he was here outside and to come out by myself and not make him have to resort to stronger methods. My mother and I live in a small, two story condominium surrounded by a small garden. While I walk towards his car I try to breathe and calm myself. It will be ok and will be over soon. They’re only questions. Ok, humiliating questions, but just questions, and we’ll be alone. In the end I shouldn’t be that upset about this evening. I’ve been humiliated repeatedly in my life, so I ought to be used to it.
When I get in the car, I quickly take in his clothing and conclude that I did well to opt for a little light make-up. He’s dressed casually – blue jeans and a long sleeved black T-shirt, but with a bit of gel in his hair which gives it that little touch of refinement that would have made me feel uncomfortable.
“Where shall we go?” He asks after the pleasantries are completed.
“If you don’t know… As far as I’m concerned we can just go nowhere and not do this evening.”
He puffs. “I’m warning you that I won’t put up with this lack of cooperation all evening… This is the prize for a race that I won fairly. And I also intend to eat something. Where should we go to eat?”
I turn to look at him more closely, as I didn’t do before. “I’ve already eaten, I didn’t get that we were going to eat… And don’t call that farce you made me take part in a ‘race’.”
He watches me as he drives. It seems as though he’d like to say something but then changes his mind. What he says in the end is, “I haven’t eaten and I’m hungry, so keep me company while I eat.” He cuts off my comment about that ridiculous race.
“As though I had a choice…” I grumble, bad tempered.
“Olly…” He has a tone of warning in his voice and I hurry to say, “Ok, ok. This was the last one. Let’s get on with it. Shoot the first question.”
We stop at a red light and he stares at me for a moment before blowing out theatrically, “My God! You’re a prickly one! A porcupine! A cactus! Full of thorns and needles… A person is continually getting jabbed with you!”
I swallow because I already feel like crying and I’ve been in this car for less than three minutes. On the green we move again and I’m irritated. “Well, who asked you to get close?” I ask him acidly. “You wouldn’t get poked if you’d stay in your place!”
Andrea breathes deeply but doesn’t answer. I believe he’s trying to calm himself. When he opens his mouth, I see that he’s not going to let himself be derailed this evening. “Why didn’t you tell me that you knew how to swim?”
I take a deep resigned breath. “Because I was afraid that then you would have suggested it.”
“And so?”
“And so I didn’t want to,” I answer acidly.
“I know, but why?” He has already relaxed. It was enough that he saw that I would answer him - though with reluctance, I would honor my defeat – to calm him.
“Because I was afraid that you’d want to come with me.”
“And why were you afraid that I would want to come with you?” He asks patiently. I’m hoping to exhaust all of this in him, this patience, before the end of the evening.
“Because I didn’t want you to see me in my swimsuit.” I answer hurriedly, a little astonished that he didn’t get this on his own, after all the motions I put him through about looking towards the windows, taking off his swim goggles, etc., etc. “Next question.”
He sighs, parks and looks at me. I look around instead - we’ve arrived at a Pizza Hut. “Oh, junk food? What a surprise…” I comment, ignoring his fixed gaze and getting out of the car.
I take a step towards the entrance of the Pizza Hut and I hear him already beside me, he takes me by the arm and walks with me. I pull away to free myself from his grip and walk a couple of paces ahead of him. I hear him sigh again. “I’m already losing patience…”
“Good. You asked for it.”
Once inside, I wait for him to choose a table and I follow him. The waitress materializes in less than two seconds and I observe him as he speaks with her. In the neon lights of the restaurant his hair seems even more blond, or maybe it’s the contrast with the black T-shirt which creates this effect. I don’t know if it’s the lights or, again, the black T-shirt, but his eyes seem even more blue. He’s perfectly shaved this evening, which shows off his full lips and white teeth when he speaks or smiles. He extends his arms in his chair and seems even bigger than usual. He has a nice cologne, I can smell it from where I sit, even over the strong smell of pizza in here. Or maybe it’s just remained impressed in my nostrils. The poor waitress stutters while taking his order and has difficulty keeping her eyes on me when she turns to address me.
“Nothing for me,” I say, still bad humored, but a little less so - watching the waitress was almost fun. I sigh, moving my gaze to Andrea who is once again staring at me and think, what must your life be like in general when you’re that beautiful? When everyone, wherever you go, reacts to your beauty? What must it be like? In my opinion, everything must be easier, the people kinder, more eager to please… Yes, everything must be easier.
As I think my own thoughts, we are still looking at each other the whole time, in silence, until he asks in a low voice, “What are you thinking about?”
And since this is the “Evening of Truth”, I answer, “I was thinking that life must be easier when you’re beautiful.”
He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment. Perhaps the subject doesn’t interest him because what he says next is, “Did you put makeup on for me?”
I open my mouth, stupefied. “What? No!” I almost retract on the chair. I knew I shouldn’t have put on makeup!
“Why did you make yourself pretty, if you
didn’t even want to do this evening?” He asks.
“I didn’t make myself pretty!” I protest.
“Yes, you did. You have makeup, your hair is loose… You dressed up… the lipstick…” As he runs through the list he looks at each item.
I remain open mouthed. “I didn’t dress up!”
Fortunately the pizza arrives to distract him from this argument and I take advantage of it to move to the attack as soon as the waitress drifts off with a sigh. “Have I got the right to ask a question this evening or not?”
He glances at me while he cuts his pizza and begins to eat. “If it doesn’t involve too complicated an answer… I don’t want to be distracted.”
“How is it that you know the mentality of an overweight person so well? And then the book, the book you gave me… It’s almost magic… It’s perfect. How did you find it?”
He smiles a half-smile and while he eats, he tells me, “It was for my sister.” He gestures to offer me a piece of pizza while he’s speaking but I shake my head. “There’s six years of difference between us, and when she was twelve and I was in the last year of high-school, she put on quite a bit of weight. I don’t really know what the factor was that provoked it, whatever it was, she put on weight. My mother began to take her everywhere to get her to slim down at all costs.”
At this point I really can’t resist a heartfelt, “Oh!”
He shoots me a questioning look, but I make a gesture with my hand to get him to continue.
“My mother’s attitude was worsening things instead of improving them. And I know because she – she’s always seen me as a sort of hero...” And saying this he reddens a little and I can’t help, really can’t help, finding him adorable. “She confided in me. At that point I thought I would help her. I knew that to lose weight sports are really useful, and I love sports. I love to move, I have ever since I was born.”
I put my elbow on the table and rest my face on my hand.
“So I suggested she do sports with me and she accepted right away. We started and, a little at a time as I helped her, I came to love it. I saw her progress and I was even more enthusiastic that she was. She began to lose weight without even changing her eating and the more she lost, the more stimulated she was to do even better. For my part, I began to learn about diet, about the psychology of overweight people and to look for and find books. Everything I found, I passed to her. She did everything I told her to do, she was great, and she trusted me. Of all the books she read, in the end she told me that the best was the one I gave you. So, out of curiosity, I read it too.”
Training in Love Page 11