Page 53 of Two Chances With You

“Hey, I’m not even your lover yet, and you aren’t married. So what’s the problem?”

“Shhh.” Gin shuts the door and then runs out of the room. I sit there, in silence, not certain about what to do next. I hear the distant sound of a door opening and then closing. After that, nothing. Then more silence. Five minutes, and still nothing. Eight minutes. Nothing. I look at my watch. Fuck, it’s been nearly ten minutes. What should I do? Well, by now I’m sick of this.

I get out. Softly, softly I push open the armoire door. I peer through the crack. A few pieces of furniture and a strange silence, at least strange to me. Then suddenly the corner of a sofa. I push the armoire door open a little farther. A carpet, a vase, and then her leg, crossed over her other leg. Gin is sitting relaxed on the sofa, her head tilted against the sofa back, smoking a cigarette. She’s laughing in delight. “Hey, living legend, you sure took your time. What have you been doing, locked up in the armoire? You’ve been having fun with yourself, haven’t you?Egoïste!”

Fuck, she tricked me. I lunge out in a single leap and try to catch her. But Gin is faster than me. She’s just crushed out her cigarette and she takes off at a run. She slams into the corner of a door, almost slips, and falls on a carpet that crumples beneath her foot, but she recovers in the curve.

Two more leaps and she’s in her bedroom. She whips around and tries to get the door shut. But she’s not fast enough this time. I’m holding her by the shoulders. Gin tries to resist for a moment and then gives up the effort. She lets go of the door and throws herself onto the bed with both feet raised in my direction. She kicks, laughing like a lunatic. “Okay, sorry, living legend. No, let me make thatepicStep. In fact, just plain Step, Step and nothing more. Step perfect as he is. Come on, I was just kidding. But at least when I kid around, it’s funny, not like you.”

“Why?”

“Yours are grim! The story about how you murdered a girl while you were at her house all alone. Come on!”

I stalk around the bed, trying to pierce her web of defense, but she follows me as I go, kicking upward. Quick and alert, she follows my moves, lying on the bed and revolving, never once losing sight of me. Then I dodge to the right, try to feint, and lunge at her. I dart beneath her guard, and she immediately tucks her arms in and raises them in front of her face. “Okay, okay. I give up. Let’s make peace.”

“Of course we can make peace.”

She laughs and presses her cheek against my left shoulder. “Okay…” She gives me a little smile and comes toward me. And then she lets herself be kissed, soft, tender, and warm. And she kisses back, too, sliding and returning up between my lips with attention and care, with dedication, with passion, and with her entire being.

I open my eyes for a moment, and I watch her navigate like that, so close to my face, so caught up, so involved, so determined. No, this time she doesn’t have any tricks up her sleeves or concealed in her small pockets.

I shut my eyes again, and I let myself go with her. Together we journey, little surfers on our own same wave, soft tongues, hand in hand, laughing and shoving only to embrace once again. Lips playing like bumper cars, trying to shove their own way in, to fit together properly.

Then Gin starts to shake a little. I continue to kiss her. She shakes a little more. What is this, unrestrained passion? She pulls away from me. “Oh my God, I’m sorry.” She bursts out laughing. “I just can’t hold it in. You locked in the living room armoire for eleven minutes and thirty-two seconds, I just can’t even think about it. Forgive me, please, just forgive me, but it’s too rich.” And she hops off the bed before I get a chance to get a grip on her. “But you are a good kisser, if that’s any consolation.”

I lie there, sprawled on the bed. I brace myself on one elbow and continue staring at her. It’s rare to find such an attractive young woman who’s also funny and fun to be with. In fact, hold on, I got that wrong. So fun, funny, and very pretty. No, I still don’t have it right. And so very…beautiful. But I don’t tell her that.

“You know what the most incredible thing is? That we’re going to be working together every single day for who knows how long, and since things do come back around in this life,you’llbe there, andI’lltease you.”

“Oh, isn’t that nice. You threaten me. How did you want tonight to go? That I’d show you the apartment, that I’d offer you a drink…” Gin does a falsetto voice. “Would you care for something, Stefano? An aperitif? And some potato chips to go with, perhaps…” And she does a perfect staging of a fake laugh. “Ha, ha!”

I decide not to respond. I look around the room. A few teddy bears and plush dolls, photos of Ele, or at least I think it’s her, and then a few other girls and two or three cool-looking guys.

She notices. “Those are advertising models. We worked with them, and nothing more.” Gin doesn’t miss a trick.

“Who asked you?”

“You were looking a little worried.”

“Absolutely not. I don’t even know the meaning of the word.”

“Oh, of course, I was forgetting what a tough guy you are.”

I get up and take a walk around the room. “Do you know that you can figure out everything you want to know about a woman by looking in her closet? Let me see!”

“No!”

“What are you afraid of, a skeleton in the closet? Holy shit, how much clothing do you own? And all of it’s brand-new! This stuff still has the price tags on it. And it’s all designer stuff. Well, look at you, signorina! Gifted and prosperous and dressed to kill, eh?”

“You see what a fool you are? You don’t keep up with the times. This is all stuff I don’t have to pay for.”

“Yes, there she is, the influencer working for some designer line.”

“No. I just use YOOX. I order everything online on this special outlet site. You can find all the leading designer labels. I pick what I want and have it sent to my home. I wear it for a couple of days, taking great care not to damage it. I make sure I keep the tag in place. Then I send it back before ten days is up, informing them that I’m not happy with my purchase, maybe because the size was too big.”

I continue sorting through her clothing. There’s all sorts of things, tops by Cavalli and Costume National, a Jil Sander long skirt, couture dresses, a couple of D&G handbags, a cashmere sweater by Alexander McQueen, a denim Moschino coat, an amusing checked jacket by Vivienne Westwood, a Miu Miu blouse, a pair of Miss Sixty luxury jeans…

She’s something else. She’s pretty, she’s funny, and she’s shrewd and ruthless. She knows how to live large. And look at the scam she’s come up with. YOOX lets her wear an ever-changing assortment of clothing, always in fashion, without spending a euro. I like it.

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