Page 97 of Two Chances With You

“Yes, I think so. You’re just going to have to reprint those sheets. The ones I took upstairs got a little messed up.”

“The sheets of paper, huh? From what I’ve heard, the guys themselves are ruined, and I don’t just mean physically. It’s a grim story. You’ll see, you’ll come out of this the winner.”

I start my motorcycle. “Thanks, Marcantonio. We’ll be in touch.”

I put it in first and pull away. A winner? In what? I sincerely give not a damn about it. Gin is all I care about.

A little later, I’m at home, and I call her. We talk on the telephone. She’s still in a state of shock. She’s talked with her folks. She’s told them everything. She speaks softly. She hasn’t fully regained her strength. I can hear her speaking an octave lower than usual. But she’s able to tell her side of the story.

I continue listening to her, as calm as I can be for her.

“They told me to file a criminal complaint. You’ll be my witness, won’t you?”

“Yes, certainly.” I find it odd to have changed my role in this. “Sure, from defendant to eyewitness. And on the part of right and justice. I’ll take that.”

I listen to her for another little while. Then I recommend that she drink a nice cup of chamomile tea and try to get some rest. Because I don’t know what else to say. No sooner do I hang up than the phone starts ringing off the hook. I don’t much feel like answering, and after all, Paolo is here, maybe it’s for him.

“Should I take that?” He seems happy to answer.

“Certainly.” He walks past me. I nod and decide to go take a shower. As I’m undressing, I realize it wasn’t for him. I can hear him talking in the living room. “What? And how are they? You say critical condition? Ah, serious but not critical. You were starting to worry me. But how did it happen? What? You want to invite him to appear with Mentana? Ah, with Costanzo? But there must have been a reason…”

From his tone, I can tell that he’s trying to save me. “Well, that’s just the way he is…Ah…Wait, you’re saying you want to present him as a hero? Ah, a sort of knight in shining armor, a workplace vigilante. Well, I can’t speak for him. No, I’m not his agent. I’m just his brother.”

I can’t help but laugh, and I climb into the shower.

The following day, starting at seven in the morning, the telephone starts ringing again. After my shower yesterday evening, Paolo wanted to know every detail about what happened. He held me captive for more than an hour in a sort of interrogation session, though he offered me, instead of the usual glaring lamp in the face, a delicious bowl of spaghetti. My brother is actually a very good cook. There was even a nice, ice-cold beer to go with it. I needed it too.

I’m eating breakfast and watching him now. He’s on the phone. He’s taking notes and answering questions. My brother. He’d definitely be a first-rate agent.

“Ciao, Pa, I’m going out.”

Paolo stands there with the telephone held up in one hand and his mouth hanging half-open.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to see how Gin is doing.”

And he seems to understand on that point. “Yes, of course, certainly.” I see him immediately hurl himself at his sheet of paper. He does a rapid calculation of all his hypothetical earnings. Then he looks at me. And in a split second, he sees it all go up in smoke.

Chapter 37

Gin is feeling better. Her eyes are still a little red, she’s a little beat up, but I assure her that she’s going to be okay. She’s set aside her torn blouse and her bra, put away in a bag. As evidence, she says. I don’t want to look at them. It hurts just to think back on that scene.

I give her a light kiss. I don’t want to meet her folks. I wouldn’t know what to say to them. But they know who I am. “The guy who sent over the bottle of champagne,” Gin told her folks, to help them understand. “They’d like to thank you.”

“Yes, I understand. Just tell them that I have some things to take care of. I have to go home. I mean, tell them whatever you want.”

I don’t want to listen to their thank-yous. Sometimesthankscan be such an annoying word. There are things I don’t want to be thanked for. There are things that just never should have happened. I try to make that clear to them, with courtesy.

Later, I’m at home. Paolo senses that he needs to just let me be. He says nothing to me about appointments or the whole idea of easy money. He doesn’t try to get me to talk to Papà or Mamma. Pictures appeared in several newspapers, and a bunch of people called to say hello. To express their solidarity.

But I don’t want to talk to anyone. I just want to watch the episode. There. It’s ten after nine. The theme music starts up. After just two panels showing the usual credits comes the surprise. The first and last names of the three writers no longer appear. The dancers continue to dance perfectly, smiling and relaxed in spite of everything that’s happened. And anyway, as we all know, the show must go on.

And to think that it’s the last episode. There’s no way it’s not going to air. Market considerations. I have learned a few things. The credits continue to roll. The girls dance. The music is the same. The audience smiles. There’s another surprise. My credit is still there.

My cell phone rings. I see the number. It’s Gin. I answer.

“So you saw your name? I was right. I thought so, but I didn’t tell you. It’s like it means you won’t be in trouble. I’m happy for you.”

She’s happy for me. Shewouldbe happy for me. She’s incredible. She always manages to surprise me. I say goodbye to her. “Let’s talk later, after it’s over.” I hang up.

---