Page 25 of Two Chances With You

The guy takes a sip of his aperitif. He greets someone he knows who happens by. Then he wipes his mouth with a paper napkin. He smiles. He’s obviously proud of the power he enjoys, his decisions, the fact that he was able to hire an aristocrat just to work as a graphic designer on his television productions. “Well, I hope you’ll enjoy working with him. Now, no question, he’s certainly a bit of a pain in the neck…”

So he was the guy from the first phone call.

“But he’s very scrupulous and precise in the work he does.” Romani finishes his aperitif. “Here he is. He’s arriving. It’s Marcantonio.”

A strange hybrid of Jack Nicholson and John Malkovich comes walking along toward us, smiling and smoking a cigarette. Receding hairline, with short hair, cut above the ears, and long sideburns caressing his cheek and curling at the end like a comma. A handsome smile, a cunning glance. He flicks the cigarette away into the distance and then practically pirouettes as he spins to sit in an unoccupied chair next to us. “Well, how’s it going? I was a bit of a pain in the neck on the phone, wasn’t I?”

He doesn’t give Romani a chance to reply.

“But it’s my strongest asset. Squeeze the life out of people, slowly but relentlessly. Chinese water torture, drip drip drip, until it corrodes even the hardest metal. It’s all just a matter of time, as long as you’re not in a hurry, and I never am.” He pulls out a sky-blue pack of Chesterfield Lights and sets it down on the table with a black BIC lighter on top of it. “Marcantonio Mazzocca, a penniless aristocrat well on the way to restoring the family fortune.”

I shake his hand. “Stefano Mancini. I think I’m your assistant.”

“Assistant, what an ignoble term they’ve come up with, just to pigeonhole us, each and every one.”

Romani interrupts him: “You may find it ignoble, but he’s going to be your assistant. Well, time for me to leave you two. Explain everything clearly to him because he’s starting work next Monday. We’re on the air in just three weeks. And everything is going to have to be perfect!”

“Oh, it’s going to be perfect, boss! I brought a logo for the credits, if you’d be so courteous as to give it the once-over…” and he hands him a small file folder that’s appeared as if by some miracle from an inside pocket of his lightweight jacket.

Romani opens it.

Marcantonio watches him, relaxed, appearing confident of the work he’s done.

Romani is pleased, but then he notices. “Um, I think the logo should be a slightly lighter color, and then…Get rid of these flourishes, these arrows, here. I want everything lighter, cleaner!” Then Romani walks off with the file folder under his arm.

“He always wants to put in his own two cents. It makes him feel more important. And we just play along,” Marcantonio says. He lights another cigarette. Then he relaxes, slumps back in his chair, reaches into his pocket and pulls out another file folder. He opens it. “Et voilà.”

It’s the same design, with the logo a little lighter and without the arrows, just like Romani asked.

“You see? Already done!”

Chapter 10

How did your meeting go?”

No sooner do I walk in the door than Paolo is bothering me with his curiosity.

“I think it went well.”

“What do you mean, ‘I think it went well’?”

“I mean that I think it went well, that maybe I made a good impression.”

“By which you mean what?”

“That I start next week!”

“Perfect, that’s how I like to see you! We need to celebrate. Let me make you a fabulous dinner. I’ve become a wizard in the kitchen. You know, while you were away, I took a cooking course at Costantini…”

“Not tonight, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Now I’m to my bedroom, and he appears in the doorway. “Look here.” He has a clear plastic bag in his hand. He looks at me in surprise. “Wait, what, don’t you recognize them? They’re morselletti! Those cookies that Mamma always used to make you, with honey and hazelnuts. Come on, how could you have forgotten them? She always used to put them on the radiator for us, to soften them, and then we’d eat them like crazy when she let us stay up to see the Monday night movie.” He pulls one out. “Come on, I can’t believe you don’t remember them.”

I walk past, bumping him as I go. “Sure, I remember them, but I don’t want one now. I’m going out to dinner.”

Paolo is disappointed. He stands there with the morselletto in one hand, watching me put on my jacket and grab my keys.

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