Training in Love (19 page)

“Of
course.”

“I
already know him,” I say simply, with an eloquent look.

Madame
Barbieri gazes at me intensely for a moment and then nods. “It would be useless
anyway.”

“In
what sense?”

She
chuckles and pats my hand. “Sooner or later you’ll understand what sense on
your own.”

After
these enigmatic words, we hear a cry of joy from Silvia, who has finally beaten
Letizia and I see that the game has finished. I take advantage of it to stand
up and come over to the table. “Shall we go?” I say to Andrea, who is on his
feet before I finish the sentence.

“What
time does Rita arrive?” I ask Madame Barbieri, who is still on the sofa.

“Between
eleven and midnight usually.”

I
look at the time and it’s only ten-thirty. “If you like, I’ll take Andrea back
and then return until Rita gets back,” I propose, but Madame Barbieri is
already shaking her head. “I have my friends with me, don’t worry Olivia dear.
It’s not the first time Rita’s gone out… There really is no need.”

Andrea
is already pointed in the direction of the door and I take a last look at the
living room, where no-one is giving the least indication of getting up to
accompany us to the door.  “But someone come to lock the door… I won’t rest
easy if you don’t!”

“I’ll
come!” Exclaims Miss Letizia, getting up with an effort. “That way I may get a
look at his other side…”

I
say goodbye and walk through the corridor laughing behind Andrea.

When
we’re outside and we hear the key turn, Andrea sighs. I believe it’s a sigh of
relief. In fact, in the car he says, “I’ve never been so embarrassed in my
whole life!”

I
just laugh.

“Was
this your idea?” He asks glancing at me.

“Hmm.
Let’s say that one day I was complaining to Madame Barbieri about not having
anything to fill in Tuesday and… she suggested a dinner, then the card game
with her friends came along later while we were chatting about what we could
do.”

Andrea
shakes his head, looking straight ahead out the windshield, while I head
towards the cafè. “I can’t tell you the stuff that woman told me while you were
sitting on the sofa…” He sighs, putting a hand on his forehead. “You can tell
she’s a relative of that guy!”

“Hey!
Miss Letizia is really nice. It’s not her fault that her nephew is a disgusting
person!” I hurry to defend her, because I really do like her.

“About
that,” Andrea begins, sitting up straight in the seat. “Maybe we should
consider the idea of organizing a meeting…”

“With
who?” I say quickly and aggressively, very aggressively.

“It
would be a way of closing the circle…” He doesn’t let himself be intimidated.

“Andrea,”
I take the opportunity of a red light to turn around almost completely towards
him and glare at him. “I could care less about your psychological theories
about this crap! I’m not interested in any closure of any circle! That circle
has been closed for some time, thank God!”

He
stays silent and I go with the green light. After a little, when we are almost
to the cafè where he left his car, he dares to say, “Not even if I were there
when you see him?”

“No!”

“But
if I were there, at least I could punch him if it were necessary…”

I
stop the car still running near his in the deserted parking lot. “Andrea, don’t
do anything. I’m serious. I’m not joking. This, I would not forgive… it would
end our work relationship immediately if you did something like that. I’m
serious.” I regard him harshly, and then repeat it, slowly, accenting each
word, “I would not forgive you.”

He
looks at me a second, then nods. “Ok.”

And
he says it in such a convincing way that I believe him immediately. I breathe
deeply, trying to calm and relax myself. “Ok.”

When
I see that he isn’t giving any sign of getting out of the car, I ask, looking
at the windshield, “You know what I don’t understand?” I pause, but he doesn’t answer.
“Why we’re here, three days into my Week of Power, and we’re still talking
about me, about Donato Poggi and the closure of my circles?” I turn to look at
him. He regards me silently, with a hand resting on his left leg and the other
arm extended, as far as is possible, on the door.

I
turn off the car. “Let’s talk about you for a change. About your circles to
close.”

“But
I don’t have any circles to close.”

“Neither
do I,” I promptly reply, and he raises his eyebrows, but makes no other
comment.

We
remain silent for a while, looking at each other in the darkness of the car,
even if there is a streetlight in the parking lot of the cafè which casts a
vague light on us, without leaving us completely in the dark.

“What
would you like to know?” He asks after a little.

I
lift my shoulders and turn towards the windshield, thinking. “I don’t know,
considering that Donato Poggi represents the absolute most embarrassing moment
of my life, tell me about yours.”

“The
most embarrassing moment?” He asks, and I turn to him, nodding.

He
is quiet, thinking.

“So?”
I press him.

He
glances at me, but doesn’t lock eyes with me. Immediately he looks straight
ahead, a little at his hand and a little at the window. “I was thirteen…” He
stops, launching me another darting glance.

I
don’t say anything, waiting for him to go on alone.

“I
was thirteen years old and… and I was in the bath… I was masturbating,” he says
quickly without looking at me and I can’t help but open my mouth in surprise, but
I don’t make a sound, because clearly, the story isn’t finished. “And suddenly
my mother came in.” When he finishes the sentence and finally looks up, he
finds me with both my hands covering my open mouth.

After
the first seconds of astonishment I burst out laughing, muting the sound with
my hands, but the fact that I’m laughing is undeniable.

Andrea
makes a face and grumbles, “I’m glad that the most humiliating moment of my
life makes you laugh…”

“No,
no…” I start without controlling myself very well. Little bursts of laughter
come out spontaneously between one word and another. “It’s just that… that…” I
stop, take a deep breath and finally manage to calm down. He casts a sideways
glance at me, swallowing from time to time. I believe he’s uncomfortable. It’s
the absolute first time I’ve seen him like this. When I’m sure of myself, I
start talking again. “Oh Andrea… You are good at everything, right? You do
everything well, even the smallest thing, true?”

He
jerks his head up and looks at me. “What has that got to do with what I just
told you?”

I
smile shaking my head a little. “I asked you for the most humiliating moment of
your life and you… didn’t back down. It was really humiliating… God!”

He
regards me for a while, then whispers, “You’ve done it too.”

“Yes,
I’ve done it too,” I reply smiling.

“It
was right.”

I
nod, and for a bit we stay like that, without speaking, looking at each other, the
interior of the car, outside, the dark, deserted parking lot.

“Anyway,
it’s not that serious, on the contrary, it’s almost something classic I’d say,”
I break the silence.

He
laughs softly. “Believe me, the fact that it’s almost classic did not make it
any less humiliating at the time… For a week I couldn’t bring myself to look my
mother in the face.
And at the time I
went on thinking that I would never be able to again.”

Another
small laugh escapes me. “I believe you… It must have been really bad,” I
remark, then attempting to console him I add, “But you’re not alone, I think
that’s happened to a lot of people. Maybe there are more people it’s happened
to than people it hasn’t happened to.”

“Really?
So it happened to you too?”

I
laugh harder. “Ah no, to me certainly not. We have already established that
from a sexual point of view I’m a desperate case… I meant, speaking about
normal people.”

“You
are normal, Olly, quit looking at yourself as someone so… so… Oh!” He suddenly
exclaims serious and almost frustrated. My desire to laugh evaporates in a
second.

“You…”
He begins, then stops. He puts a hand in his hair. “I know what you think, how
you see yourself, but… but I think that we all have - some more and some less -
moments of deep insecurity, of unease, a sense of being inadequate.”

I
lift my eyebrows and turn to better see him. “Even you?” I ask softly.

He
looks at me almost irritated. “Well excuse me, why wouldn’t I?”

For
a second I hesitate, but then I decide to answer truthfully, “Because you’re
beautiful?”

He
looks away, now decidedly irritated. When he speaks, however, he looks at me
again. “Do you see that you don’t get it?”

These
words hit me almost physically, and instinctively I move back a little because
in my life I’ve been told everything, but not that I was less than intelligent.

He
observes me for a second. “See Olly, what just happened?”

“What?”
I ask in a small voice.

“You’re
used to thinking of someone’s physical appearance as the biggest problem one
can have, but it’s not that way for everyone. As a consequence, you’re used to
thinking that people with a pleasant appearance don’t have any problems, but
who told you it’s like that? Haven’t you ever thought that other kinds of
problems exist? Other kinds of awkwardness?”

I
remain silent, swallowing, because, in reality, no, I’ve never thought about
it.

“You
take for granted that other people treat you like an intelligent person and
that, if they make some nasty comment, it has to do with appearance. But maybe
those who have a nice appearance get nasty comments on their intelligence, or
other things, and I assure you, those aren’t at all pleasant either!”

I’m
speechless, and in keeping with the topic, feel slightly stupid in this moment
for having such a narrow view of things.

“And
not only that…” Says Andrea with heat, taken by the subject, but then he stops
suddenly. He looks away and passes a hand through his hair, finishing by
scratching the nape of his neck. He doesn’t meet my eyes when he starts talking
again. “All my life I’ve heard people call me beautiful. Sometimes… sometimes I
ask myself if anyone has ever noticed that there’s a human… a human being here
inside.” He swallows, but doesn’t look at me. “Girls… sometimes, some of them,
I don’t think they’ve even noticed what my personality is like. They make me
feel almost… I don’t know how to explain it… almost like a shell.”

I
don’t say anything more and remain immobile, in silence, overcome by
astonishment.

He
doesn’t turn to look at me until, recovering from this little shock, I touch
him. I delicately take his nearest forearm and he turns his face and stares at
my hand. “Andrea,” I call him softly, but he doesn’t move his eyes from my pale
fingers. “You are beautiful both inside and outside, you really have to believe
me.” I swallow, hoping he’ll look up, but he doesn’t. “You’re honest,
disciplined, constant and courageous… If there is a problem you face it, you
don’t go around it. You’re determined. If you set your sights on something, you
get busy and go to work. You set yourself to it and don’t wait for it to fall
from heaven. You’re intelligent.” When I say this he finally looks at me in
silence. When his eyes meet mine I instinctively let his forearm go and rest a
hand on his cheek letting my little finger slide under his ear and my thumb on
his cheekbone. I caress him slowly with my thumb. “You are not a shell.” I
swallow. “You have no idea…” I take a deep breath, shaking my head lightly. “At
practically every workout, when I arrive, when we begin… I wish I were like
you.”

He
gazes at me, unmoving. I sigh and we stay like that for a few moments. Then,
when I finally realize what the hell I’m doing, I shift to pull back but he moves
to stop me. He grabs my wrist and I pull back even more, trying to pull away my
hand from his face, but his grasp tightens and doesn’t let me go. My heart
begins to beat fast and, fearing that he may feel my crazed heartbeat from my wrist,
I want to take away my hand even more. I jerk back hard, but instead of letting
me go, he lets his grip slide form my wrist to my hand. His thumb caresses my
palm slowly, in a circular motion and I pull back even more, flattening my back
against the door behind me. His eyes don’t leave mine – I think my heart is
about to explode in my chest. I can’t help it, I’m not used to this tension, to
these emotions, and when he makes a little movement with his torso towards me,
out of my mouth come the words, “Tomorrow I have to get up early. I… I have to
go.”

He
stops himself. He pulls slightly back without dropping his gaze, and finally
lets my hand go. He doesn’t say anything, while I swallow, feeling terribly
awkward.

When
he puts his hand on the handle of the door, he turns just for an instant and
asks in a colorless voice, “Tomorrow?”