It was then that Natsu emerged from the room behind the table. She was in a white chef’s uniform, which set off her dark complexion and black hair spectacularly.
She glanced at the table, which looked as if a swarm of locusts had passed over it. Then she looked around and I stood up without even realizing it. After a few moments, our eyes met. I waved awkwardly. She smiled and came towards me.
“Good evening.”
“Good evening.”
There were a few seconds of embarrassment. I felt the impulse to say that the food was very good, that she was an exceptionally good cook, and other highly original remarks like that. Fortunately, I managed to restrain myself.
“I could do with a cigarette. Do you mind going outside with me?”
I said I didn’t mind at all and we walked together towards the entrance, where all the smokers had gathered. She took out a packet of blue Chesterfields, and offered me one. I said no, thanks. She took one for herself and lit it.
“How long is it since you quit smoking?”
“How do you know I quit?”
“The way you looked at the packet. I know that look because I quit a few times myself. What do you think of the show?”
“Interesting. I didn’t understand the catalogue at all, and I didn’t understand very much of the works. Then an Elton John lookalike who talked like the comedian Lino Banfi asked me if I was Piero’s boyfriend and-”
She burst out laughing. Loudly, with real gusto, which surprised me because I didn’t think I’d been that funny.
“I didn’t think you were so nice when I saw you at work.” She laughed again. “You were like one of those lawyers in American films, the efficient, ruthless kind.”
Efficient and ruthless. I liked that. I’d have preferred “handsome and ruthless”, like Tommy Lee Jones in The Fugitive, but I didn’t mind.
She smoked a little more.
“Did you come by car?”
No, of course not, we’re only five or six miles from the centre of town. Every evening I train for the New York Marathon. I ran all the way here, in jumpsuit and track shoes, and changed before I came in.
“Yes, of course.”
“I’ve finished here. I haven’t got a car, I came in the van with my colleagues. You could give me a lift home, if you like.”
Yes, I’d like that, I said, trying to hide my surprise. She told me to give her five minutes, which was how long it would take her to get out of her work uniform, give instructions to her colleagues about clearing everything away, and say goodbye to the organizers of the evening.
I stood and waited for her at the entrance, with the bodybuilder for company. Every now and again he’d whisper something into his microphone, his bovine eyes busy staring into the depths of nothingness.
Almost a quarter of an hour went by. People came in and out. I should have asked myself what I was doing. I mean, Natsu was the wife of a client of mine who was in prison. I shouldn’t have been here. But I had no desire to ask myself that question.
Natsu came out again. Even in the semi-darkness I noticed that she had spent part of those fifteen minutes doing her make-up and hair.
“Shall we go?” she said.
“Let’s go,” I replied.
14
We drove quickly to the ring road. As we moved onto the ramp, the electronic notes of ‘Boulevard of Broken Dreams’ by Green Day came from the CD player.
I told myself I was a fool and a hothead. I was over forty – well over forty – and I was behaving recklessly and like a bastard.
Take her home now, say goodnight politely, then go home yourself and go to bed.
“Shall we go for a drive?” I said.
She did not reply immediately, as if she was undecided. Then she looked at her watch.
“I don’t have much time, half an hour at the most. I promised the babysitter I’d be home by one. She’s a student and she has classes tomorrow.”
Did you get that? She has to go home to her little girl, because, you idiot, she’s a married woman, with a daughter, and a husband in prison. And in case you’ve forgotten, her husband is your client. Now take her home and let that be the end of it.
“Of course, of course, I just thought… we could go for a drive, listen to some music… Anyway, I’m sorry, I’ll take you home now, you’ll be there in no time… Just tell me the address-”
“Listen,” she said, interrupting me, talking quickly, “this is what we can do, if you like. We go to my place, you drop me and drive around for ten minutes. I pay the babysitter, she leaves, and you come up for a drink and a little chat. What do you say?”
I didn’t reply immediately because I couldn’t swallow. My moral dilemmas were swept away like the dirt in those commercials for sink cleaners. Yes, I said, that’d be great. We could have a drink and a chat.
And maybe a kiss and a cuddle and a fuck.
And then repent at leisure.
We reached her place, which was in Poggiofranco. An apartment block with a garden, the kind we used to envy when we were children, because the kids my age who lived in places like that could go down and play football whenever they liked, without their parents saying anything.
In the Seventies, Poggiofranco had been known as something of a Fascist stronghold, certainly not a place where a child from a left-wing family would have gone. It struck me that their apartment may have been where Paolicelli had lived as a boy. It was an unsettling thought and I dismissed it immediately.
Before she got out of the car, Natsu asked me for my mobile number. “I’ll call you in ten minutes,” she said, and was gone.
I went and parked a couple of streets further on. I switched off the radio and sat there, in silence, enjoying the forbidden, intoxicating sense of anticipation. Just over fifteen minutes later-I had looked at my watch at least ten times – my mobile phone rang. She told me I could come now if I wanted to. Yes, I did want to, I said to myself after ringing off. I left the car where I had parked it, walked a few hundred yards, and in five minutes I was back at the apartment building. When I reached the landing, I found Natsu waiting for me. She let me in and quickly closed the door.
The apartment had the characteristic smell of places where there are children. I hadn’t been to many but the smell was unmistakable. A mixture of talcum powder, milk, a hint of fruit and a few other things. Natsu led me to the kitchen. It was a large, warm, cheerful room with wooden furniture hand-varnished in yellow and orange. I told her I really liked the furniture and she replied that she had varnished all of it herself.
In the kitchen, the smell of children was less obvious, covered by the nice smells of food. I remember thinking how good this apartment smelled, and then I wondered what the bedroom was like, and what it smelled like. I immediately felt ashamed and forced myself to think about something else.
Natsu put on a CD. Feels Like Home by Norah Jones. At low volume, so as not to wake the little girl.
She asked me what I wanted to drink and I said I wouldn’t mind a little rum if she had any. She took a bottle of Jamaican rum from a cupboard and poured some into two large, thick glasses.
We were sitting at an orange-varnished wooden table. As we talked, I touched the surface of the table with my fingertips. I liked the touch of it, rough and smooth at the same time, and the bright orange colour. Everything in that kitchen gave me a feeling of sweet-smelling, light-filled solidity.
“You do know I came to watch you in court, just before Fabio appointed you?”
For some reason, I thought for a moment of saying, no, I didn’t know. Then I thought better of it.
“Yes, I saw you.”
“Ah. I thought that our eyes met once, but I wasn’t sure.”
“How did you come to be there?”
“Fabio told me he wanted to appoint you, so I thought I’d go and see if you were really as good as they’d told him you were.”
“And how did you know I was going to be in court that day?”