Page 105 of Two Chances With You

Then she pulls away but she doesn’t go far. She looks into my eyes and smiles. “I’m so happy to see you. What are you doing here though?”

But she doesn’t give me time to reply. She laughs and talks, she talks and laughs. She seems to know all about me. She knows where I’ve been, what I did in America, what I studied, the new job I have.

“And then you got back to Italy at the beginning of September. On the third, I think, to be exact. And you didn’t even call to wish me a happy birthday. You didn’t remember, did you? Oh, that’s okay, I forgive you.”

And so Babi continues, laughing. September 6 was her birthday, and I remembered that day perfectly, as always. Just like every year, even in America, like every other thing that had anything to do with her, the finest things and the most painful ones.

“And then you worked on a television show, and then I saw the articles in the newspapers. With those photos. All to save that young woman. What was her name? Well, right now, I can’t remember. Anyway, I tried to reach out to you, but…”

Luckily, she goes on. Without asking her name again. Ginevra. I ought to call her. I need to call her. I told her that we’d talk later on.

I turn off my cell phone. I turn around—I do it instinctively—and I see Guido smiling at me. He sees me looking at him, and he gives me a wink. He’s the treacherous Candlewick, and I’m the stupid Pinocchio in the hands of a Blue Fairy. Good or wicked? And I watch him turn and leave, shutting the door behind him and leaving me all alone. Alone with her, with Babi, alone with my past.

Babi takes my hand. “Come with me. Let me introduce you to my friends.” And she drags me along, more of a woman, more confident, more mature.

“Okay, so this is Giovanni Franceschini, the proprietor of Caminetto Blu. Now this is Giorgio Maggi. Come on, you must have heard of him. He owns that big real estate firm that works in commercial and home transactions throughout Rome. You know the one, it’s going great guns. It’s called Casa Dolce Casa.”

“No, I don’t know it. I’m sorry.” And I smile and shake hands as if I cared anything about all this. And then there are other names, other stories. Business titles of young pseudo-noblemen of this society where titles have been abolished. At least, as far as I’m concerned.

“And then this is Smeralda, my best and closest friend!” Babi approaches me, like a purring cat and then suggests in a warm voice, speaking right into my ear, “Let’s just say that she’s taken Pallina’s place.”

And she laughs. All I can think about is the smell of her Caron perfume. I look at her, and I’m tempted to ask her, “So who’s taken my place?” But I remain silent.

I watch her as she continues this strange dance of introductions. And she laughs and tosses her head back, and then there are billowing waves of hair and perfume and again her laugh.

And I feel every last ounce of my grief and sorrow. Everything I don’t know, everything I didn’t experience, everything I now lack. And always will. How many arms embraced you to make you who you are?

I go back to watch that black-and-white movie of us that lasted for two years. A lifetime. Far away, long ago. Outside on the balcony, smoking a cigarette, carving my cheeks with my fingernails, calling to the stars for help. Then following that smoke as it rises into the sky, high, higher, and beyond…

How many times was I lost in that dark blue sky, carried up there by the fumes of the alcohol, by the hope of encountering her again? Up and down, ceaselessly. Along the constellations of Hydra, Perseus, and Andromeda…And on down all the way to Cassiopeia. First star to the right and straight on till morning.

And every star I met, I would ask, “Have you seen her? I beg of you. I’ve lost my star. Where could she be now? What can she be doing? And with whom?” And all around me, the silence of all those stars, embarrassed for me. The irritating noise of all my despairing tears. And I, too stupid to stop searching, to stop hoping for an answer. Give me a reason why, a simple reason why.

What a fool I am. This is known. When a love ends, you can find anything, anything but the reason why.

Chapter 43

Hey, Step, are you listening to me?” Babi asks.

“Certainly,” I lie.

“I’m so happy to see you but why didn’t you call me when you got back?”

“Well, I didn’t know…”

“What didn’t you know?” She laughs, covering her mouth. “Whether I was alone?” She looks at me. Now her eyes are more intense.

“I want something to drink.” And I quickly manage to find a bottle of rum. A Pampero, the finest. I pour myself a glass and toss it back.

I go back to her, and we sit together on a sofa. She looks at me and laughs. “You’ve had a lot to drink, haven’t you?”

“Yes, I’ve had something to drink.”

And time passes. I don’t know how much time. And she tells me everything, everything she decides to tell me. And before I can ask her how many arms embraced her to make her who she is, the evening is over. Finished just like my bottle of rum. “Ciao, Carola. Ciao, guys.”

And everyone says good night, kisses are exchanged, appointments are made, and people remind each other of future plans. And then we’re standing in front of the main door. Alone, just minutes later.

“What are you doing now?”

---