‘Teo!’
‘When did you become so moralistic? Are you telling me that your wife, in all the time you were engaged, has never given you a b-’
‘Will you stop it? Everyone is looking at us,’ Silvio hisses, pulling me aside. ‘It’s none of your damn business what Sonia and I do, and I certainly don’t think that all our relatives want to hear about it. Can you please shut up and stop talking bollocks, just for once?’
I look carefully at what remains of my former ally of the Saturday night hunting grounds. What a pitiful end! I’m determined never to let it never happen to me.
*
At the table, for the moment, Sara is nowhere to be seen, and the suspense is killing me. Now I’ve mentioned the broom closet, the thought of an impromptu shag is seeming more and more appealing. ‘Why be bored when you can get laid,’ that’s my motto. I wonder if this Sara is easy enough to just give it up on the spot, or if I’ll have to subject her to my charm for half an hour? I wouldn’t usually have to waste more than ten minutes, but you have to account for circumstances. Weddings are not my usual hunting ground.
I sit alone at the table, feeling slightly awkward and still wearing sunglasses.
‘You’re funny,’ a little boy with curly hair and freckles boy has appeared at my elbow. He looks at me as though he were carrying out an x-Ray of my soul. It’s creepy. I move my chair away slightly: I hate kids.
‘Bartolomeo-Jacopo! It’s rude to stare at people!’ his mother scolds him.
Bartolomeo-Jacopo! Poor kid, his teenage years are going to be rough. I know what I’m talking about, with a name like Teodoro. Turning myself into Teo took all the effort and the determination that a fourteen year old can muster.
But who can Bartolomeo-Jacopo transform himself into? Not that it matters to me, of course.
‘But Mum, he’s staring at me too!’
‘It’s not nice to tell lies, Bartolomeo-Jacopo,’ I tell him. Whatever happened to respecting your elders?
‘But you are staring at me!’ he insists.
‘Am not!’
‘Are too!’
‘Excuse us. He’s a very stubborn child, aren’t you Bartolomeo-Jacopo?’
What a name! This is how a mother can ruin your life. Bartolomeo-Jacopo. A future serial killer, for sure. I can’t help but laugh.
‘What’s so funny?’ demands Bartolomeo-Jacopo.
I wipe away the tears and try to catch my breath. ‘Here, let me give you some advice, kid. When you get to high school, don’t let anyone call you BJ.’
The mother flushes purple with embarrassment, but Bartolomeo-Jacopo does not bat an eyelid.
‘Why not?’ he asks me.
Ah… blessed innocence! ‘Well, my young friend, when a man and a woman love each other very much…’
‘Bartolomeo-Jacopo, lets go to the bathroom,’ the mother interrupts us just in time, for some reason not appreciating my life lesson.
‘But I don’t need to go to the bathroom…’ he protests.
‘Yes you do,’ she snaps, pulling at his jacket.
‘I hope you gave him a middle name!’ I call after them as they disappear into the bathrooms. I imagine they will change tables when they come back.
Good. I will be left in peace with Sara. Perhaps then I can start enjoying myself.
‘Here, young lady, this is your table,’ I hear at my back.
I rub my hands: my tasty morsel has arrived, ready to be savoured. I’ve worked up quite an appetite.
‘What are you doing here?’ Her voice is not I expected at all; it doesn’t soothe my ears, or caress me like velvet. It is more like the shrieking of a crow that wants to tear out my eyeballs. Reality dawns: it’s that cow with the glasses.
I turn around slowly, praying I’ve made a mistake, but my ears have not deceived me. There she is, in all her glory: a dark blue dress that not even my grandmother would wear, no jewellery, hardly any makeup and a ridiculous pair of glasses with a huge crack in them. My fault, perhaps, but that doesn’t help.
‘I said, what you are doing here,’ she insists.
‘Eating. Or at least, I would like to eat. But so far I have only seen salmon canapés. And I prefer caviar.’
The girl glares at me with the one eye that can be seen from her intact lens. She doesn’t seem at all happy see me. Well, the feeling’s mutual!
‘But why are you doing it here?’
‘Because it says on the table planner that this is where I should sit,’ I say carefully, as if I were talking to a deaf person.
‘I’m going to throttle Silvio!’
‘That’s something we can agree on,’ I reply. If two plus two still equals still four, that is…
‘Sara!’ I hear a voice calling. And there it is. I understand now. Silvio must die.
Thus summoned, the bridegroom appears among us.
‘Here you are! I believe you two have already… interacted, but I didn’t get chance to officially introduce you. Sara, I would like you to meet my good friend Teo.’
‘I have already had the pleasure,’ she hisses, with the air of someone about to tip over the edge and give him a good kicking. Another thing we have in common.
‘Well! Then I’m happy you two have met. Enjoy the rest of the evening, guys!’ he says, walking away.
I grab him by the arm. ‘Interesting, is she, Silvio?’
He gives a little smile. ‘Sorry Teo, I couldn’t just couldn’t risk you ending up in a closet with one of the bridesmaids. I had to take… precautions.’
‘Sitting me next to a hag?’
I’m sure the person in question can hear everything, but I don’t care: this is a huge betrayal!
‘Be nice for once, Teo!’ my former best friend reproaches me with a pat on the shoulder.
And then he leaves. Leaves me alone with a woman that no-one would touch if she had a bag on her head. A horrible woman who’s bad-tempered to boot.
This is my idea of hell.
4
Sara
I can’t imagine a worse day than this!
Here I am, alone at the table with a moron who looks at me as if I had leprosy, and on top of it all, I have a terrible headache from wearing chipped glasses.
I would kill my brother-in-law if it didn’t mean making my sister a widow.
‘I’ll make him pay for this!’ I mutter.
‘Oh, believe me, I’ll make him pay for it, too,’ whatsisname has the nerve to reply. What did he call himself? Teo?
I can’t be bothered to answer. My patience levels are at zero right now. I haven’t even been able to console myself with food because I missed the buffet while I was looking for my sister. Wedding guests are worse than locusts when they catch sight of a free meal – by the time I arrived, it was all over.
‘Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s bad manners to wear sunglasses at the table?’ I reproach him.
‘You’re wearing glasses, too.’
Wow. Horrible and stupid. ‘Obviously I’m wearing glasses. I need them to see. Although I will say they were more useful before you smashed them up.’
‘Oh don’t exaggerate! And anyway, I’m not taking my glasses off because if I did I would be too irresistible.’