Joe kissed her outstretched hand. “Eccellenza,” he murmured. He straightened up. “You know my friends. Signorina Mara Benetti, the star of my movie, and my assistant, Signorina Marissa Panzoni.”
The contessa nodded. “Very beautiful children,” she said, then turned back to Joe. “You are fucking with both of them?”
Joe laughed.
“Don’t be embarrassed. You should be proud. I would love to see the three of you making love. It would be most exciting.” She leaned from her chair and ran her hands across each girl’s body. “Beautiful, beautiful,” she murmured. “So firm and strong and sexual.”
The two girls were used to it—but then, they knew the contessa better than Joe did. “Thank you, Eccellenza,” they answered in unison.
The contessa snapped her fingers. A footman came toward them with a small covered silver sugarbowl, which he opened before them. Quickly the contessa picked up a tiny gold spoon and took two big snorts in each nostril. She then offered it to them.
Joe took it first. The coke exploded in his head. It was top quality. The coke that Joe bought on the streets in Rome was like shit next to this. This was a real buzz.
Mara snorted it cautiously, but Marissa was like a steam shovel—four heavy snootfuls in each nostril. Her eyes lit up like electric bulbs. “Mamma mia!” she laughed. “I think I’m coming already.”
The contessa laughed and put her hand under Marissa’s dress. “It’s true!” she shouted, taking out her fingers and licking them. “You’re soaking wet.”
Mara looked down at the contessa. “Pardon me, Eccellenza, have you seen Maestro Santini this evening?”
The contessa gestured with her hand. “He is downstairs with his American girl. She has no class, very common. I left them downstairs with the hoi polloi.” She turned to Joe. “Do you think his movie will make some money?” she asked. “I have invested one hundred thousand of my dollars into it.”
“I think you have a good chance,” Joe said loyally. After all, he had a stake in that movie too.
“Has he paid you?” she asked shrewdly.
“Not yet,” he answered.
The contessa laughed. “He is such a crook, not even a charming scoundrel. He told me that he had paid everybody off.”
Joe was silent.
The contessa turned to Mara. “And you? Has he paid you?”
Mara nodded. “My gentleman friend arranged that.”
“That makes sense.” The contessa nodded. “He will not have any trouble from your friend.”
“He even owes me twenty thousand lire,” Marissa added.
“Cheap,” the contessa said. “Cheap.” She turned to the footman. “Give the signorina ten thousand lire.”
“No, Eccellenza,” Marissa protested. “It is not your responsibility.”
“You are my friend,” the contessa said firmly. “And also you have a very sweet pussy.”
Another footman brought a tray of champagne and they all took one, while still another footman came with a tray of cigarettes. As Joe lit the first cigarette, the heavily perfumed hash oil laid on the tobacco came through the room.
The contessa laughed. “It’s a lovely party.” She turned to one of the footman. “Lock the doors to my suite. We’ll have our own party.”
Mara hesitated. “Eccellenza, I must beg your pardon, but my gentleman friend would not approve of this for me.”
The contessa laughed. “He will not object, my dear. After all, I am his sponsor in Rome. He knows that you were joining me. Wasn’t it his idea that he give you his limousine?”
Mara stared at her.
The contessa smiled. “Enjoy a cigarette and relax. Then we will all have dinner together. I will have your breasts for dessert. I will lick them as if they were the sweetest Devonshire cream.”
Joe glanced around the room. So far only themselves and the contessa were in the private apartment. A moment later two couples entered from a rear door. The men were dressed in Indian turbans, short brocaded vests and blousy harem cotton pantaloons tied by a string around the waist. The girls were wearing harem-type softly twisted brassieres and beribboned, flared silk skirts that revealed their bodies from legs to waist. Soft music came from between the curtains, and the room lights began to dim.
“We can change our clothes here,” the contessa said huskily. “We have more costumes for all of us.” She looked at Mara and Marissa. “Each of those men have cocks at least twenty centimeters large, and all of them, the men and the women, are trained in the eastern arts of pleasure.”
She reached for the sugar bowl and took two more snorts from the golden spoon, then rose from her chair. Her dress had not been fastened, and it fell to the floor as she moved forward. Her body was large and firm. Slowly one of the men began to wrap a costume around her.
Joe turned to the two girls. They returned his glance silently. Then he picked up the sugar bowl and helped himself before he began to undress. Marissa followed suit immediately, and a moment later Mara began to slip her dress from her shoulders.
The contessa raised her champagne glass. “A la dolce vita!”
31
IT WAS ALMOST eight o’clock in the morning when they left the contessa’s palazzo and got into the car. “We can have some coffee at my hotel,” he said. “The kitchen is already open.”
Mara looked at him. “I think I’d better go right home.”
“We could all use some coffee,” Joe said.
“I’ll drop you off,” she said. She lit a cigarette. “It’s been a long night.”
“As you like,” Joe said.
Mara looked at them. “You won’t tell my friend what we did?”
“I don’t know anything,” Joe said. “I don’t even know him.”
“He is very jealous,” Mara said. “If he thought that I had been with another man he would kill me.”
“And what about the contessa?” he asked.
“He knows about her,” she said. “Besides, women don’t count.”
“Okay.”
The limousine pulled up in front of his hotel and he and Marissa got out. “Thank you,” Joe said.
“It’s nothing,” Mara answered. “Will you stay in town this month?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“I will call you,” she said. “Ciao. Ciao, Marissa.”
The limousine drove off, and they went into the hotel. He placed his order for breakfast with the concierge before he went up to his apartment. Marissa was out of her dress and into an old army surplus T-shirt before he had even taken off his jacket.
“Jesù Cristo!” she said. “That contessa is too much.”
He took off his shirt and threw it on a chair. “She’s something else.”
“I never knew anyone could eat pussy like that,” she said. “One time I thought her tongue would go through my cunt to my asshole.”
He looked at her. “You liked it?”
“She was the best. I heard that lesbians were the best, but I never believed it until now.”
There was a knock at the door and the waiter brought in the tray with coffee and rolls. She waited until the waiter had gone. “She left me forty thousand lire, not twenty.”
“Not bad,” he said.
“She gave you something,” Marissa said. “I saw her.”
Joe laughed and took out a small wax-paper bag. “Cocaine.”
“She’s a real lady,” Marissa said. She filled the coffee cups. “Was she a good fuck?”
“I’m not complaining,” he said.
“My cunt is so sore,” she said, “it burns when I pee.”
He laughed and sipped his coffee. “It’ll get better.”
She looked at him. “Do you want me to sleep on the couch?”
“You can sleep in the bed,” he said. “Just don’t wake me up if you have to move around.”
“I’ll be quiet,” she said. “Do you have any plans for tomorrow?”
“I might look for a car in the afternoon,” he an
swered. “There’s an Alfa convertible I have an eye on.”
“You’d better take me with you,” she said seriously. “You’re American, they’ll steal your eyeballs. Let me do the talking and it will cost you less.”
“I’ll think about it when we wake up,” he said. He dropped the rest of his clothing and crawled naked into bed.
She looked down at him. “Do you mind if I shower? I have to take off my makeup and get the shiny sprinkles off me, or they stick all over the bed.”
“Go ahead,” he said. “But turn out the lights in here. I want to sleep.”
“Okay,” she said. The lights went off and she closed the bathroom door behind her. A moment later he heard the soft running of the shower. He closed his eyes.
La dolce vita, he thought. The contessa was right when she called it that. It would make a good title for a movie, but not for him. It really was another world. He could enjoy it, but he could not begin to understand it. Then he was asleep.
* * *
THE SOUND OF voices came through the closed bedroom door. Slowly, he opened his eyes. Marissa was not there. He heard her voice from the living room. He sat up and put on his wristwatch. It was four o’clock in the afternoon. He lit a cigarette and listened to the other voices—a man’s and another woman’s.
Quietly he went into the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face and slipped on a bathrobe. Still barefoot, he opened the bedroom door.
Marissa, Mara, and a man he didn’t know were seated at the small table; the waiter had just served coffee. “Buon giorno,” he said.
The man sprang to his feet. He was a strong-looking man of medium height, his black hair slicked back in the fashion of the time, with dark brown eyes, a large Roman nose over full lips, and a square chin. He bowed, smiled to Joe. “Signor Dottore,” he said.
Joe looked at him, then at Marissa. Mara spoke quickly. “This is my friend, Franco Gianpietro. He has much honor and pleasure to meet with you.”
Joe nodded and held out his hand. “It is my honor.”
They shook hands European style, pumping hands up and down twice. The man said something quickly in Italian. Marissa translated. “Signor Gianpietro apologizes for the intrusion. If you want to return to bed, he would be pleased to come back at your convenience.”
“It’s okay,” Joe said. He gestured. “Please sit down.”
The Italian nodded. “My English is not too good,” he said. “But with permesso, I will try.”
Joe smiled. “It’s very good.” He took the coffee that Marissa had placed before him and leaned back in the couch. The coffee was strong and black. That woke him up. “What can I do for you?” he asked.
“You are a very important scrittore,” Gianpietro said. “Mara tells me that you are the best in America.”
“She is very kind,” Joe said.
She smiled. “Vero. True.”
“Santini is a prick,” Gianpietro said.
“I won’t argue about that.” Joe laughed.
“Mara thought that you perhaps write a movie for her. She feels that Santini screwed her in this picture, he gave all the good scenes to the American girl.” Gianpietro looked at him.
“It would be an honor,” Joe said. “But there are some problems. One, I have no producer; two, I have no story suitable for her.”
“The producer I can obtain,” Gianpietro said. “And maybe there is a magazine story that she read might be good for a movie. It is a well-known story in Italy, has been very well received. La Ragazza sulla Motocicletta.”
“I know the story,” Marissa said. “It’s good. It’s about a girl from a poor family who steals a big motorcycle, then runs all over Rome fucking and stealing in order to feed her family. It has an exciting ending where the police chase her through the streets in the city, and she is killed because she will not run over a little child that was crossing the street.”
“It sounds interesting,” Joe said. “But I’d have to read the story. Is there a translation around?”
“I can do one for you in a day,” Marissa said.
Gianpietro nodded. “With me, you would get all your money. I am a man of honor, not like Santini. Also, I have heard that you would like to spend August in the south of France. I have a large villa just outside of Nice where Mara and I will be. There is a nice guest house, and you could live there in comfort. I even have a car for your personal convenience.”
“That sounds good,” Joe said. “But I would have to read the story first. Perhaps I am not the right writer for it. I don’t know that much about the people here.”
“Mara and Marissa can tell you everything you need to know,” Gianpietro said. “And I know how much fees you command. I will pay you the thirty-five thousand and expenses in full when you’ve finished the script. You don’t have to wait for the movie to be made.”
“You are more than generous,” Joe said. “But I do think I should read the story first. I don’t want to cheat you and say I can do it if I can’t.”
Gianpietro looked at him for a moment, then took a roll of bills out of his pocket. Slowly he counted out a number of one-thousand-dollar bills. “That’s twenty thousand dollars,” he said as he finished counting and replaced the roll in his pocket.
“What’s that for?” Joe asked. “I haven’t agreed to do the script yet.”
“This has nothing to do with the script. This is the money I collected from Santini for you.”
Joe stared at him.
“It’s okay,” Gianpietro said. “The contessa asked me to take care of it.”
“But Santini wouldn’t give it to me,” Joe said. “He said he did not have the money.”
Gianpietro smiled. “It’s surprising how quickly a man like this finds that he has the money, especially when you squeeze his balls a little.”
Joe looked at him, then picked up the money and put it in his bathrobe pocket. “Thank you.”
Gianpietro nodded. “I have given a copy of the story to Marissa, and perhaps Tuesday night after you’ve read it we could have dinner and discuss it.”
“It will be my pleasure,” Joe said.
Gianpietro rose and Mara joined him. She looked at Joe. “You will make a very big star of me. More of a star than that putana.”
He kissed her on the cheek and shook hands with the Italian. “Tuesday night for dinner,” he said.
He turned to Marissa after they had gone. “Did you know anything about this?”
“I heard Mara and the contessa speaking, but we were all kind of spaced out so I didn’t think anything about it.” She laughed. “Maybe we got lucky.”
He looked at her silently. “You sure you didn’t put them all up to this?”
“I’m just nothin’ but your nigger secretary. Nobody would pay any attention to me.”
“I’m not that sure,” he said.
She changed the subject. “The American Express office is still open,” she said. “We better get over there and you can turn your money into traveler’s checks. It’s too much cash to carry around.”
* * *
IT TOOK MARISSA almost two days to translate the story and only two hours for Joe to read it. He threw the manuscript on the table and stared at it. Then he looked at Marissa. “It’s pure shit,” he said. “There’s no way I can write this script.”
Marissa lit a cigarette. “There must be some way you can save it.”
He shook his head. “No way. It’s pure pulp. On top of that, it’s not even entertainment. It’s childish.”
“Gianpietro will be disappointed.”
“I’d rather he be disappointed with the truth than lead him down the garden path. He’s not stupid. Sooner or later he would figure out that I took him for the money. I would not like him to get angry with me. I don’t think I’d like him squeezing my balls a little.”
“You’ll have to be very diplomatic,” she said. “He’s got his mind set on making Mara a star.”
“I’ll explain it to him. We have to find a bette
r vehicle for her.”
“You know what you’re doing,” she said, disappointed. “There goes our spending the month on the French Riviera.”
“I’m going anyway,” he said. “My agent is coming over in a couple of weeks.”
“I’m going to have to sweat it out here in town,” she said, meeting his eyes.
Joe smiled at her. “You’re a fucking hustler. I guess you think I’ll feel sorry for you.”
“Don’t you? Just even a little?” Her eyes were wide. “How would you feel if you were stuck here?”
“Hustler!” Joe laughed.
“I have an idea,” she said.
He looked at her.
“Why don’t you tell him that we’ll spend the two weeks with them and try to come up with a story that would be right for all of us?”
“That’s a real con,” he said.
“Not really,” she said. “Who knows? You might come up with something that will work.”
“You’ve gotta be joking, you know that cunt can’t act. I wouldn’t know what would work for her,” he said.
“You said you don’t need the money,” she pointed out. “Tell him it’s for free, all you promise is to try for two weeks. All it will cost him is the house expenses, which he is spending anyway.”
“And you get your vacation?”
“Of course,” she said. “And it wouldn’t cost you anything. Also, you don’t have to pay me any salary.”
He laughed. “You want it that bad?”
She met his eyes. “Yes. For a girl like me, the French Riviera is the top of the world. Who knows what opportunity I may find? All the rich people are there. I might get very lucky.”
Joe looked at her seriously. After a moment he said, “Okay. I’ll suggest it to him. But if it doesn’t work, don’t blame me.”
She kissed his cheek. “I won’t blame you. And I’ll get off your back at the end of the two weeks, but you’ll have to be careful.”
“Careful of what?” he asked.
“Mara,” she said. “She’s got the hots for you and he has to stay in Rome during the week and only comes over on the weekends.”
“What makes you think that?” he asked in surprise. “She’s not stupid. She knows on which side her bread is buttered.”
The Storyteller Page 22