“Then what were we going down to Naples for, can you tell me that?”
“Maybe to have a weekend by the sea before it gets cold?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Oh. Obviously I missed something.”
“I’m sorry, but hadn’t you noticed I’ve been particularly affectionate to you in the last few days?”
“Actually, I had, and I wonder what happened to the woman who brought me coffee in bed this morning. Could you put her on? She must be there somewhere.”
“Don’t be a bastard, Nico.”
“Giada, I don’t follow you. I really don’t see the connection between this fit of temper of yours, Naples, your affectionate behaviour and the fact that we’re supposed to be mending our relationship.”
“Nico, why do you think I’ve been so nice to you lately?”
“I don’t suppose a simple answer like ‘just to be nice’ will do, will it?”
“No, not really.”
Nico screwed up his eyes. He felt tired. He would have liked to just drop the receiver on the armchair and go out without even closing the door. “So tell me, because I can’t figure it out,” he said with a sigh.
“I’ve been especially nice to give a boost to our relationship.”
Nico again tried to find a connection between the alleged crisis in their relationship, Giada’s affectionate behaviour, and their weekend in Naples, and for a moment he felt as though he was part of a show he hadn’t even known existed. He waited a few seconds, moving his fingers over his closed eyelids.
“I’m sorry, Giada,” he said at last. “Isn’t there anything you women can do without all this mental masturbation?”
“Go to hell, Nico.”
For the second time in barely a handful of minutes, Nico heard the phone being slammed down on him. This time, though, he felt a hint of childish satisfaction.
Nico put the receiver back calmly, then wondered again what he should think about this story of Piero, whether he should feel annoyed because it had already caused problems for him with both his agent and his girlfriend, or whether he should thank him for having brightened up his day from one moment to the next. He also wondered why Giada had got so hot under the collar about this story of the monkey and their weekend in Naples. He wondered if it might be the result of some hormonal upheaval, some typical women’s problem, like premature menopause.
He turned, picked up his address book from the little table, leafed through it and, with the receiver wedged between his head and his shoulder, dialled another number.
“Good afternoon, surgery.”
“Could I speak to the doctor, please?”
“Who shall I say is calling?”
“Her ex.”
“One moment, please.”
For some reason, Nico felt pleased to have introduced himself as the doctor’s ex. After a few moments, someone came on the line.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Chiara, it’s Nico.”
“Hi, Nico. Do you usually call people at work and introduce yourself as their ex?”
“No, it’s the first time I’ve ever done that, but I like it. I think I’ll do it more often.”
“There’s an idea. How are you?”
“Not bad. Listen, Chiara, is it possible for a thirty-year-old woman to have an attack of premature menopause?”
“Nico, to begin with, it’s not possible to have an attack of menopause, plus I think it’s rather unlikely at the age of thirty. Why?”
“Just wondering. And listen, that time we went to Paris together, did we go because we needed to mend our relationship?”
“No, we went because we wanted to visit Euro Disney.”
“Was that all?”
“Yes, that was all.”
That was all. Nico seemed to hear a Rossini aria playing around those words. There still existed women who could say them.
“Chiara,” Nico said, “how come you and I split up?”
“You met someone else, Nico.”
“Oh, so I did. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry. I met someone else, too.”
“Oh, good. And how was it?”
“Fine. Actually, we got married. We have two children now.”
For a moment, Nico envied this man he didn’t know, and saw himself happily married with a family. Then part of him wondered if that was why he had gone and found someone else — though he couldn’t remember who.
“Really?” Nico said. “That’s wonderful. I don’t suppose there’s any chance of us getting back together, then?”
Chiara laughed. “No, I don’t think so. But if you want to come over for dinner, I’d like that.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Silence.
“Girlfriend problems?”
“Yes, but that’s not the only thing. A friend of mine has started acting like a monkey.”
“What?”
“A friend of mine has started acting like a monkey.”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean he’s started grunting and acting like a monkey. Sounds to me as if he’s gone mad.”
“Shit,” Chiara said. Nico heard her apologising to someone and asking them to wait another moment. Then she said, “I’m so sorry, Nico.”
“Yes, I know, it’s really weird. But who knows, maybe it’s better this way.”
“Yes, maybe,” Chiara said, sounding unconvinced.
Nico and Chiara were silent for a moment.
“Nico, I’m sorry, but I really have to go. I’m in the middle of a consultation.”
“You mean, while we’ve been talking, you’ve been staring at a patient’s pussy?”
“Yes.”
“What a great job you have. Is it a nice one?”
“Bye, Nico.”
“Bye, Chiara, take care.”
As he put down the receiver, Nico heard Chiara laugh. It was always a nice feeling, making a woman laugh.
NICO SPENT MUCH OF THE TRAIN JOURNEY in the bar with a beer in front of him, staring out at the trees and hills and tunnels and roads parading past him. He was trying not to think of anything — not Angela, not the phone call he was expecting from Star Films, not how he would pay the bills and the rent if it didn’t come, not Giada, not the weekend in Naples, not the coffee she’d brought him in bed that morning, not that final “Go to hell”. Above all, he was trying not to think about Piero. He didn’t want to spoil that tangible, if weird, story — assuming it was all true — with some pointless fake image from his own imagination.
When he reached his destination, he got in the first taxi he found and gave the driver the address of Piero’s house.
“Is that your house?” the driver asked as they set off.
Nico took his eyes off the stream of people outside and looked at the driver in the rear-view mirror. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“The address. Is that your house?”
“No,” Nico said. “A friend of mine’s.”
The driver nodded and glanced at Nico in the mirror. “A pity,” he said. “It’s a good address.”
Nico gave a little laugh. “Yes, a pity,” he said. When you really got down to it, seeing how things had turned out, he wasn’t convinced it was such a pity, but there you were.
“He’s started acting like a monkey,” Nico said.
The driver looked at him again in the rear-view mirror. He had deep-set black eyes surrounded by dozens of lines. He must have laughed a lot in his life.
“What do you mean?” the driver asked.
“My friend. This summer he started acting like a monkey, and hasn’t stopped. I’m going to visit him, to see if he’s getting back to normal.”
The driver looked at him again in the rear-view mirror. “They think of all sorts these days,” he said after a few seconds.
Nico threw him a glance and wondered what he meant. He was almost on the verge of asking him, but then he told himself that some things are better left as they are, and anyway he didn’t much feel like talking. He looked out of the window again. The taxi had already left the centre of town and was starting to drive up into the hills, and the faded light of late afternoon gave everything the intense, vaguely melancholy air of a grand finale.