Read Online The Purple Room by Mauro Casiraghi - Free Book Online

I’ll explain myself if you
have the time.”
    “Why are you being so formal, Sergio?”
    “Were we less formal before?”
    “You don’t remember?”
    “Sadly, no.”
    I tell her about the accident and the memory loss. Simonetta is
incredulous.
    “You’re telling me you can’t remember anything we said to each other at
the wedding?”
    “Nothing at all. I only know what I can guess from the photos.”
    “And what have you guessed?”
    “I took some pictures of you at the reception. When you noticed, you got
mad. Is that right?”
    “Furious. Keep going.”
    “Then we made up. You offered me a slice of cake.”
    “The other way round. The cake came first. Then we made up.”
    “What do you mean ‘the other way round?’”
      “I mean, I dumped the cake
down your shirt. And you started eating the whipped cream off your jacket, just
to prove you didn’t give a shit.”
    “Why did you dump cake on me?”
    “You were being rude.”
    “Did I come on to you?”
    “Yes.”
    “Was I drunk?”
    “Quite. Want to know how we made up?”
    “Of course.”
    “Near the end of the reception, when everyone else was dancing, I saw
you in the bathroom. You were so pale. You had your head under the faucet. I
thought you’d had too much to drink, but you told me it was the whipped cream.”
    “That’s true. I can’t stand it. I’m practically allergic.”
    “But you ate it anyway. Just to prove a point.”
    “Let’s skip that part. What happened after the bathroom?”
    “We went out to the garden for some fresh air.”
    “And I took another picture of you there?”
    “Yes. And you were much more charming.” A pause. “You really don’t
remember anything else?”
    “No.”
    “You’re sure?”
    “I’d give anything to remember. Am I missing something important?”
    “Well, I don’t know.”
    “Simonetta, please. What happened?”
    She takes a deep breath, then says, “You kissed me.”
    I struggle to remember the feeling of that kiss. I can’t.
    “And how did it go?”
    I get the feeling she’s smiling into the phone.
    “You want to know how I reacted?”
    “I bet you slapped me.”
    “No.”
    “So we kissed.” Silence. “Is that right? We kissed?”
    A sigh.
    “Sergio, the man who answered the phone is my husband.”
    I look down at the last photo, the one in the garden. You can see she’s
wearing a ring.
    “Okay, I get it. He saw us, and all hell broke loose.”
    “No, he wasn’t at the wedding. Luckily. But you understand why I
couldn’t accept your invitation.”
    “What invitation?”
    “You asked me to spend the night with you. At your hotel.”
    “Did you come?”
    “Of course not.”
    “So we didn’t spend the night together?”
    Another pause.
    “No.”
    “We didn’t even walk into a
bedroom together?”
    “No.”
    “Did we go anywhere else? Somewhere with purple walls, maybe?”
    “Absolutely not.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Yes.”
    I feel empty. I’m back to square one. And I thought I was so close.
    Simonetta sighs over the phone.
    “When we said goodbye at the restaurant, you said you wouldn’t forget
me. I hoped you’d call, but not to tell me that you’d forgotten me.”
    “I’m sorry,” is all I can manage to say. “I wish we had met under
different circumstances.”
    “So do I,” she says, “but that’s how it is.”
    “Goodnight, Simonetta.”
    “Goodnight, Sergio. Take care of yourself.”
    I tell her I’ll do my best.

 

 
    7

 
 
 
 
 
    The ants are hard at work under the stone table where I dropped my
glass. They’re drawn to the sugar in the orange juice I was adding to my vodka.
    I drank a lot last night. I went and looked at Michela’s childhood
pictures after talking to Simonetta. Big mistake. It only took me five minutes
to break down crying. I started pouring myself drinks, but it didn’t help. The
tears kept flowing, and I couldn’t stop them. I called Roberto and woke him up.
Hearing me like that scared him,