hall I knock straight into the doorman’s wife, who’s cleaning the floor, and she ends up practically in my arms. More time wasted apologizing and saying goodbye.
At last I get to the car. Impatiently, I order Antonio to drive as fast as he can, and he obeys, with the same grimace of disgust he had last night. I’m indecently late, and I’m trying to find an excuse to give Baldi, but I barely have time to go through all the possible justifications, because we’ve already arrived at the hotel. Baldi is on his second espresso, and he’s crimson with rage.
“I really don’t know how to apologize.”
“Another minute and I’d have gone.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Do you think you can just keep people waiting like this?”
“Please forget this unfortunate incident.”
“And the one yesterday? Should I forget yesterday’s incident, too?”
A moment’s silence, then, fortunately, his face again takes on a more natural colour, and a more indulgent expression. He signals to the waiter. “Let’s get down to business,” he says. “I have a lot of work to get on with this afternoon.”
“Of course,” I reply, taking out the papers. “In the meantime can I offer you something to drink?”
“Another espresso would do me fine.”
“Good. Two espressos please, and make mine a double.”
Baldi immediately gets to the point, but I have difficulty following him. I don’t seem to be able to concentrate any more, my mind seems to be elsewhere. I’m sure the things he’s saying—the figures, the names, the projections—are perfectly clear and logical, he’s a highly competent businessman after all, and yet more than once I ask him to repeat what he just said. Trying to stay calm, he does as I ask. I discover that if I keep my eyes firmly on my watch it’s easier to follow what he’s saying, but eventually he loses patience. “Do you want me to explain it again? Do you think I’m wasting your time? Do you think your behaviour is acceptable?” Now he’s the one glancing at his watch. “I have to go,” he says irritably. “Have your director call me.”
It hits below the belt, but in his place I’d have done the same. He says goodbye coldly and goes.
No sooner have I switched my mobile on again than it starts ringing.
It’s Elena. “It’s nearly midday,” she says. “Signora Campi is waiting for you in the meeting, don’t you remember?”
I feel a sharp pain in my spleen, and my face twists into a grimace. The waiter is looking at me. “Are you all right?”
I leave the money on the table and run away.
Barbara Campi is waiting for me in the doorway of the conference room with her arms crossed. “Six people from the marketing department have been waiting for you for an hour and a half.”
“I’m sorry…” That seems to be the only thing I can say today.
She raises her eyebrows, then gives a sardonic sneer. No, I’m not mistaken, it really is a sneer. It’s almost as if she’s saying, “You see, you male chauvinist, you’re not so infallible. And you still have the nerve to attack us for our miniskirts, our laddered stockings, and the children always waiting for us to pick them up from school.”
I rub my face with my hands, I must look terrible.
“Do you have any idea of the time you’ve made us waste?”
“Believe me,” I reply with a bitter smile, “nobody knows that more than I do.”
She stares at me. “Are you kidding me?” she says. “You never even answered my e-mail, I have to know what you think about the plans for the new promotional campaign…”
I have no intention of putting up with another incomprehensible monologue. “Barbara, please…”
Her eyes open wide. I can’t bear that expression of hers, she’s like the class swot, if we were at school she’d raise her hand to tell the teacher I’d made lots of mistakes. “Are you feeling all right? I just found out you missed the appointment with Righini. God knows when you’ll be able to
At last I get to the car. Impatiently, I order Antonio to drive as fast as he can, and he obeys, with the same grimace of disgust he had last night. I’m indecently late, and I’m trying to find an excuse to give Baldi, but I barely have time to go through all the possible justifications, because we’ve already arrived at the hotel. Baldi is on his second espresso, and he’s crimson with rage.
“I really don’t know how to apologize.”
“Another minute and I’d have gone.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Do you think you can just keep people waiting like this?”
“Please forget this unfortunate incident.”
“And the one yesterday? Should I forget yesterday’s incident, too?”
A moment’s silence, then, fortunately, his face again takes on a more natural colour, and a more indulgent expression. He signals to the waiter. “Let’s get down to business,” he says. “I have a lot of work to get on with this afternoon.”
“Of course,” I reply, taking out the papers. “In the meantime can I offer you something to drink?”
“Another espresso would do me fine.”
“Good. Two espressos please, and make mine a double.”
Baldi immediately gets to the point, but I have difficulty following him. I don’t seem to be able to concentrate any more, my mind seems to be elsewhere. I’m sure the things he’s saying—the figures, the names, the projections—are perfectly clear and logical, he’s a highly competent businessman after all, and yet more than once I ask him to repeat what he just said. Trying to stay calm, he does as I ask. I discover that if I keep my eyes firmly on my watch it’s easier to follow what he’s saying, but eventually he loses patience. “Do you want me to explain it again? Do you think I’m wasting your time? Do you think your behaviour is acceptable?” Now he’s the one glancing at his watch. “I have to go,” he says irritably. “Have your director call me.”
It hits below the belt, but in his place I’d have done the same. He says goodbye coldly and goes.
No sooner have I switched my mobile on again than it starts ringing.
It’s Elena. “It’s nearly midday,” she says. “Signora Campi is waiting for you in the meeting, don’t you remember?”
I feel a sharp pain in my spleen, and my face twists into a grimace. The waiter is looking at me. “Are you all right?”
I leave the money on the table and run away.
Barbara Campi is waiting for me in the doorway of the conference room with her arms crossed. “Six people from the marketing department have been waiting for you for an hour and a half.”
“I’m sorry…” That seems to be the only thing I can say today.
She raises her eyebrows, then gives a sardonic sneer. No, I’m not mistaken, it really is a sneer. It’s almost as if she’s saying, “You see, you male chauvinist, you’re not so infallible. And you still have the nerve to attack us for our miniskirts, our laddered stockings, and the children always waiting for us to pick them up from school.”
I rub my face with my hands, I must look terrible.
“Do you have any idea of the time you’ve made us waste?”
“Believe me,” I reply with a bitter smile, “nobody knows that more than I do.”
She stares at me. “Are you kidding me?” she says. “You never even answered my e-mail, I have to know what you think about the plans for the new promotional campaign…”
I have no intention of putting up with another incomprehensible monologue. “Barbara, please…”
Her eyes open wide. I can’t bear that expression of hers, she’s like the class swot, if we were at school she’d raise her hand to tell the teacher I’d made lots of mistakes. “Are you feeling all right? I just found out you missed the appointment with Righini. God knows when you’ll be able to
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