‘I don’t want to listen to this any more, leave me alone,’ she replies, taking her hand from mine and… shit! I do not like this feeling.
Because I don’t like losing control, you understand. I grab her fugitive hand again with both of my own and pull her towards me, making her lose her balance. She falls with her head against my chest and I take the opportunity to squeeze her shoulders and bend down to look her straight in the eye.
‘The truth is that I’m fucked without you,’ I confess.
Man, I don’t know what we’re talking about anymore. Ah yes, the format.
She doesn’t seem impressed at all. ‘Get fucked then. I’m sorry, but I don’t see why I should help you.’
‘Because I helped you too.’
‘Since I met you, you have done nothing but get me into trouble.’
‘I made your life more fun!’
‘You’ve made life impossible for me! I’d rather break my word and risk losing my chair, but I have do have my dignity to maintain. I’ll apologise to everyone and settle things. My things, not yours. You can go to hell, and your company with you.’
‘Then who would make internships available for your students?’
Here I am again in strategy mode, this time using the weapon of threat.
‘You can’t afford to stop internships! It would be harmful to you,’ says Sara, raising an eyebrow. Another misfire.
‘Maybe you’re right, but maybe it’s also true that I enjoy putting you in difficulty and I’m always looking for new ways to do it.’
My hand moves up from her shoulder to her cheek. The memory of our last kiss hits me like a thunderbolt and I tremble a little. Mind and body can play cruel tricks, sometimes. My thumb describes small circles on the smooth skin and I feel a slight shiver pass through her too.
‘Go out with me,’ I whisper, almost without realizing it. I had prepared a convincing speech and now I’ve ruined it all with a single sentence that fell out of my mouth from I don’t know where.
‘You are bipolar,’ is her answer. I’m actually offended by this observation.
‘People normally reply with a yes or a no,’ I observe, trying to hide my irritation. But she doesn’t soften in any way.
‘And what’s the normal response to someone you insults you one minute, calling you ugly, and the next minute asks you on a date? What sane woman would accept?’
‘I never said you were ugly,’ I protest.
‘Sure you did. At my sister’s wedding.’
Of course. She’s right. I did. And I meant it too.
‘Ok, I said you were ugly, but now…’
‘Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind. You just want to bribe me.’
‘You have a high opinion of me,’ I consider, frowning.
‘Forgive me, but your personality is so transparent that I can hardly do otherwise.’
Our faces, meanwhile, are moving ever closer. Well, I am moving ever closer, bending towards her. The last sentence she said was barely a whisker from my lips and, for pity’s sake, I’ll have to tell her to change perfume because whatever she’s using is too strong. It makes my head spin and it’s not pleasant. All for nothing.
But generals cannot surrender under any circumstances. They must sell their lives dearly.
‘I really do want to go out with you,’ I insist. ‘The Nutcracker is much nicer if you have someone to see it with.’
A flash of interest takes her. ‘The Nutcracker?’
Bingo! A crack in the fortifications. ‘Yeah… I’ve got a couple of tickets for Saturday. I love ballet and…’
‘You love ballet?’ she echoes in disbelief.
I adopt my poker face and try not to laugh. ‘Sure, why not? I grew up on bread and Nureyev.’
She finally smiles at me. Now – now she is going to fall.
‘I can hardly believe it,’ she whispers, still unconvinced.
‘Well, if you want to test my good faith, we could talk about it on Saturday, sitting in our private box.’
I feel her falter. ‘What stage?’ She finally asks.
‘We’d have a great view… and I can use my contacts to get you backstage.’
As if as I had suggested that she meet the Rolling Stones, Sara lights up and hops from one foot to the other, with the result that her perfume overpowers me again in waves, forcing me to retreat a little to a safe distance. I can’t afford to lose my head now.
‘So I could meet the dancers?’ she enthuses.
‘If you like…’
She has fought well, but now she is about to surrender.
‘This doesn’t mean I’m going to help you with the format.’
I smile at her. ‘Of course, I understand,’ I lie.
‘And I will not facilitate you in any way with your semiotics examination.’
‘Clear,’ I consent.
‘Ok. I accept. On one condition. I’ll meet you there.’
‘Can’t I pick you up?’
She shakes her head vigorously. ‘l forbid it. This it’s not a date. I’m just taking advantage of you. ‘
‘Dr. Doria, I am shocked. I thought you were incorruptible,’ I observe, chuckling.
‘And I am. Don’t get any ideas about it. In this moment I am merely applying a bit of healthy selfishness.’
‘As you wish,’ I concede, exulting inwardly.
You don’t know it, baby, but this is just the beginning. You will break, you will beg me, you will love me. And I will finally be satisfied.
16
Sara
It’s a terrible idea. Going out with Teo is a terrible idea, but I couldn’t say no to the ballet. I’ve been searching high and low for tickets. Could I really have turned down an opportunity like that?
I couldn’t, of course, yet now here I am in the back of a taxi headed for the San Carlo, with a thousand unresolved doubts running through my mind. I’m wearing simple pants and a blouse. Both in black, to disguise my hips a little.
But then… why do I care if my hips are showing or not? I’m not trying to impress him!
I’m so preoccupied with these incoherent ramblings of mine that I don’t even notice that we have arrived at the entrance of the Galleria Umberto.
‘Twenty euros, madam,’ prompts the taxi driver, ushering me out of cab. I observe the comings and goings of people gathering under the dome to demolish sugar-dusted sfogliatelle or grab a coffee. I wonder what plans they have for the evening. Perhaps they are going to the ballet, or to a restaurant, or taking a stroll along the seafront.
Our rendezvous is under the arcades, in front of the theatre. ‘People will think we’re secret lovers,’ an amused Teo told me when we arranged the location. I swear I don’t know how an idea like that jumped into his mind. We are not lovers, secret or otherwise.
There he is, leaning against a column. He is perfectly groomed, and even looks halfway intelligent, with a watchful eye trained on the bustling crowd of people, and the cars that blare their horns and light up the road.
‘Hey,’ I begin, a little uncertain how to continue. What do you say to someone you hate but have decided to tolerate for one night?