it’s also raining.”
“Oh stop it! You’ve been dancing dirty with Tony!” She’s pretending to be angry, but it’s all in good fun. “Do you think you’re gonna sleep together?”
“Okay, you’re about as delicate as a hippo.”
“Then let me ask more politely. Do you think you’ll allow him to end your prolonged chastity with his . . . bowling pin? And stop looking at me like that! He’s obviously into you.”
“I don’t think—”
“Don’t tell me you’re still pining over your hunk of a roommate! He doesn’t want you, sweetie. If he did, after six months of hanging out at home half-naked, you guys would have already done it. He’d find a way to make you understand. And then dive into some other pool.”
“You’re too . . . too . . .”
“I’m only being sincere, Carlotta. You have to get over him. It’s a fact. He doesn’t want you . So he’s probably one of the hottest guys we’ve ever seen, but there are plenty of fish in the sea.”
“And I end up getting a squid.”
I look at my reflection while a lady in a leopard-print sheath dress puts a cigarette out in the sink. Giovanna has a point, I know, but she could at least be less dramatic about it. She continues as she powders her nose.
“That was blunt, but if I’m not, you’ll never see inside another man’s pants again. In any case, Luca is not the guy for you.”
I sigh. My high from the night has been officially grounded. I’m almost tempted to inform her that Armando isn’t the guy for her, either, but there’s really no need, because she’ll figure it out soon enough.
“We’d better get out of this bathroom,” I say, my voice a little muffled. She’s right; Luca doesn’t want me that way. I feel like crying as Giovanna tries to spruce me up and urges me to forget about that idiot who doesn’t know what he’s missing.
I leave and sneak over to the bar, feeling awful. Offended. Lonely. I climb onto a stool and order another cosmopolitan, then another, and down them in two gulps each. The burn travels from my throat to my stomach to my bowels. I stare at the empty glasses, thinking about what a poor fool I am. I’m neither young nor old, neither a virgin nor a whore, neither a teetotaler nor an alcoholic. I’m just a cluster of mediocre cells. My mother’s right. I’m going to look like an idiot at Beatrice’s wedding. I can just see the look on Erika’s face, the way she’ll silently insult me with her smile.
“Hey, don’t overdo it. That stuff is heavy for someone who’s already had a whole bottle of wine.”
Luca’s slightly sharp voice penetrates my thoughts. I look up and see him standing in front of me with his elbows on the counter. He’s looking at my third cosmo—empty—and another glass of something else that slipped down my throat without protest and set my stomach on fire.
“Bring me another?” I say.
“I think you’re done. You’ve had enough.”
“I’m twenty-nine, almost thirty. I’m not driving. I can drink as much as I want.”
“What’s wrong? Did your knight dump you?” I don’t reply. Right now, I hate him, because he wants every other girl except me. “I didn’t know you were going out tonight,” he continues.
“It’s not like I tell you everything I do. I met a nice guy who’s a painter. He said I’m beautiful.”
“I think that’s a good start.” He walks away, and I watch him fill up the glasses of a few businessmen toasting some kind of success. When he turns, he smiles at me. I don’t know whether it’s the alcohol or the tears in my eyes, but my vision is skewed. My world twists as if I were looking through glasses with the wrong prescription, as if he were a total stranger. There’s something abnormal about his smile that I can’t figure out.
“Compliments are a quick, free pass to your underwear,” he says to me and then moves away to the other side of the bar, where he works his magic with his bottles. The Scarlett
“Oh stop it! You’ve been dancing dirty with Tony!” She’s pretending to be angry, but it’s all in good fun. “Do you think you’re gonna sleep together?”
“Okay, you’re about as delicate as a hippo.”
“Then let me ask more politely. Do you think you’ll allow him to end your prolonged chastity with his . . . bowling pin? And stop looking at me like that! He’s obviously into you.”
“I don’t think—”
“Don’t tell me you’re still pining over your hunk of a roommate! He doesn’t want you, sweetie. If he did, after six months of hanging out at home half-naked, you guys would have already done it. He’d find a way to make you understand. And then dive into some other pool.”
“You’re too . . . too . . .”
“I’m only being sincere, Carlotta. You have to get over him. It’s a fact. He doesn’t want you . So he’s probably one of the hottest guys we’ve ever seen, but there are plenty of fish in the sea.”
“And I end up getting a squid.”
I look at my reflection while a lady in a leopard-print sheath dress puts a cigarette out in the sink. Giovanna has a point, I know, but she could at least be less dramatic about it. She continues as she powders her nose.
“That was blunt, but if I’m not, you’ll never see inside another man’s pants again. In any case, Luca is not the guy for you.”
I sigh. My high from the night has been officially grounded. I’m almost tempted to inform her that Armando isn’t the guy for her, either, but there’s really no need, because she’ll figure it out soon enough.
“We’d better get out of this bathroom,” I say, my voice a little muffled. She’s right; Luca doesn’t want me that way. I feel like crying as Giovanna tries to spruce me up and urges me to forget about that idiot who doesn’t know what he’s missing.
I leave and sneak over to the bar, feeling awful. Offended. Lonely. I climb onto a stool and order another cosmopolitan, then another, and down them in two gulps each. The burn travels from my throat to my stomach to my bowels. I stare at the empty glasses, thinking about what a poor fool I am. I’m neither young nor old, neither a virgin nor a whore, neither a teetotaler nor an alcoholic. I’m just a cluster of mediocre cells. My mother’s right. I’m going to look like an idiot at Beatrice’s wedding. I can just see the look on Erika’s face, the way she’ll silently insult me with her smile.
“Hey, don’t overdo it. That stuff is heavy for someone who’s already had a whole bottle of wine.”
Luca’s slightly sharp voice penetrates my thoughts. I look up and see him standing in front of me with his elbows on the counter. He’s looking at my third cosmo—empty—and another glass of something else that slipped down my throat without protest and set my stomach on fire.
“Bring me another?” I say.
“I think you’re done. You’ve had enough.”
“I’m twenty-nine, almost thirty. I’m not driving. I can drink as much as I want.”
“What’s wrong? Did your knight dump you?” I don’t reply. Right now, I hate him, because he wants every other girl except me. “I didn’t know you were going out tonight,” he continues.
“It’s not like I tell you everything I do. I met a nice guy who’s a painter. He said I’m beautiful.”
“I think that’s a good start.” He walks away, and I watch him fill up the glasses of a few businessmen toasting some kind of success. When he turns, he smiles at me. I don’t know whether it’s the alcohol or the tears in my eyes, but my vision is skewed. My world twists as if I were looking through glasses with the wrong prescription, as if he were a total stranger. There’s something abnormal about his smile that I can’t figure out.
“Compliments are a quick, free pass to your underwear,” he says to me and then moves away to the other side of the bar, where he works his magic with his bottles. The Scarlett
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