Johansson doppelgänger hands him a note. I bet she’ll be the lucky girl of the evening. He reads the note, and she speaks into his ear. I ask a different bartender for another drink. This guy has long hair that I’d just love to tear out and wear instead of my crazy curls.
He looks at me apologetically, then shrugs his muscular shoulders. “I can’t. Your tab’s closed.”
I look at him askance. “What does that mean? Give me a drink!” My voice comes out distorted, as if I’m yelling underwater. The bartender glances at Luca, and then I understand. Luca must have told him not to serve me anything else. This infuriates me. I’m considering climbing on top of the bar to make a speech about my legitimate right to be hung over when I hear a voice behind me. I turn around. Tony Boni is smiling at me.
“There you are! Armando and Giovanna are gone,” he tells me.
“They were fighting.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. I think it was about nipples? Giovanna’s, I mean.”
“Ah . . .”
“Apparently some guy was staring at them too much? But what was he supposed to do? They were out in plain sight, calling out hello. So the guy was just being polite by responding. Armando really shouldn’t take offense.”
“Shall we go?” Tony asks me, offering me his arm.
“Yes!” I reply immediately, jumping off the stool like a monkey.
I stumble and he grabs me with an “Upsy-daisy!” He steers me toward the coat check, and I don’t look back.
It’s cold outside, bitterly cold. The streets are brushed with a layer of shiny ice that crunches beneath my heels. Tony takes my hand, which is fine by me because I’m afraid I might fall over. We walk over to the parking lot. I wrap my scarf around my neck and take a deep breath, feeling the chill enter my nose and cleanse my brain.
“Do you want to do something else together?” he asks me. “Otherwise I can just take you straight home?”
“Of course! The night is young!” He doesn’t seem to notice my sarcasm. The parking lot isn’t very crowded, and the car windows are fogged with ice and the quiet. Tony continues to talk, but I’m not listening to a single syllable.
Suddenly, something unexpected happens. He stops right in the middle of the parking lot. Embraces me like an octopus and plants a kiss right on my mouth. It’s not really a friendly kiss, either. His tongue pierces the barrier of my lips, manages to break through the stronghold of my teeth, and finally, moist and heavy, it meets my tongue, swirling it around. I don’t participate much in this exhibition—things are getting hazy.
And then suddenly, I push Tony away and vomit onto the pavement, splattering his shoes. I suppose it’s because of the kiss, but also the after-dinner vodka and the wine at dinner, and perhaps even the sparkling wine from last New Year’s. It’s not a pretty scene. All things considered, he’s nice about it. He offers me his handkerchief and helps me climb into the car. Then things get fuzzy—there are lights, and some wind coming in through the open window, and an awkward, embarrassing silence. He drops me off at home; I doubt he’ll ever so much as point a finger in my direction again.
I climb the stairs with the agility of a potted shrub and vomit again, crying now, into the toilet this time. I rinse my face under cold running water and emerge with my hair soaked, my mascara smeared everywhere. I feel my unhappiness all the way down to my toes.
I undress, dropping layers around the apartment, and to conclude this unforgettable evening, I fall asleep with my head on the kitchen table—in the exact spot where Sandra smashed her thighs a few nights ago. As I drift off to sleep, I vaguely wonder if I ever remembered to disinfect the table.
I wake up to the sound of footsteps on the stairs. My eyes fly to the clock on the wall. It’s five thirty in the morning. Shit! Luca must be coming back from the bar with that girl. They’re probably
He looks at me apologetically, then shrugs his muscular shoulders. “I can’t. Your tab’s closed.”
I look at him askance. “What does that mean? Give me a drink!” My voice comes out distorted, as if I’m yelling underwater. The bartender glances at Luca, and then I understand. Luca must have told him not to serve me anything else. This infuriates me. I’m considering climbing on top of the bar to make a speech about my legitimate right to be hung over when I hear a voice behind me. I turn around. Tony Boni is smiling at me.
“There you are! Armando and Giovanna are gone,” he tells me.
“They were fighting.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. I think it was about nipples? Giovanna’s, I mean.”
“Ah . . .”
“Apparently some guy was staring at them too much? But what was he supposed to do? They were out in plain sight, calling out hello. So the guy was just being polite by responding. Armando really shouldn’t take offense.”
“Shall we go?” Tony asks me, offering me his arm.
“Yes!” I reply immediately, jumping off the stool like a monkey.
I stumble and he grabs me with an “Upsy-daisy!” He steers me toward the coat check, and I don’t look back.
It’s cold outside, bitterly cold. The streets are brushed with a layer of shiny ice that crunches beneath my heels. Tony takes my hand, which is fine by me because I’m afraid I might fall over. We walk over to the parking lot. I wrap my scarf around my neck and take a deep breath, feeling the chill enter my nose and cleanse my brain.
“Do you want to do something else together?” he asks me. “Otherwise I can just take you straight home?”
“Of course! The night is young!” He doesn’t seem to notice my sarcasm. The parking lot isn’t very crowded, and the car windows are fogged with ice and the quiet. Tony continues to talk, but I’m not listening to a single syllable.
Suddenly, something unexpected happens. He stops right in the middle of the parking lot. Embraces me like an octopus and plants a kiss right on my mouth. It’s not really a friendly kiss, either. His tongue pierces the barrier of my lips, manages to break through the stronghold of my teeth, and finally, moist and heavy, it meets my tongue, swirling it around. I don’t participate much in this exhibition—things are getting hazy.
And then suddenly, I push Tony away and vomit onto the pavement, splattering his shoes. I suppose it’s because of the kiss, but also the after-dinner vodka and the wine at dinner, and perhaps even the sparkling wine from last New Year’s. It’s not a pretty scene. All things considered, he’s nice about it. He offers me his handkerchief and helps me climb into the car. Then things get fuzzy—there are lights, and some wind coming in through the open window, and an awkward, embarrassing silence. He drops me off at home; I doubt he’ll ever so much as point a finger in my direction again.
I climb the stairs with the agility of a potted shrub and vomit again, crying now, into the toilet this time. I rinse my face under cold running water and emerge with my hair soaked, my mascara smeared everywhere. I feel my unhappiness all the way down to my toes.
I undress, dropping layers around the apartment, and to conclude this unforgettable evening, I fall asleep with my head on the kitchen table—in the exact spot where Sandra smashed her thighs a few nights ago. As I drift off to sleep, I vaguely wonder if I ever remembered to disinfect the table.
I wake up to the sound of footsteps on the stairs. My eyes fly to the clock on the wall. It’s five thirty in the morning. Shit! Luca must be coming back from the bar with that girl. They’re probably
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