365 Days

by Blanka Lipinska

  Mother was looking at me suspiciously, but I didn’t allow the lie to show, and she seemed to accept my story.

  “All right, you’ve made me a bit calmer,” she said, pressing the butt of the cigarette into the ashtray. “Now, tell me how it was.”

  Dad brought us tea, and I told my parents about Sicily, not skipping the geographical details. Some stories I took from guides I had read. The company I was supposedly working for owned hotels in Venice, too, so I could tell them about Lido and the festival. We sat together for hours and talked until I was too tired to continue.

  When I was back in bed, Mom brought me a blanket and sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “Remember: whatever happens, you’ve got us.” She planted a kiss on my forehead and left, closing the door behind her.

  The next few days, Mom took it as her ultimate goal to fatten me up a bit. She cooked and we drank gallons of wine. When Friday came, I thanked God I was going back to Warsaw. One more day and my stomach would have exploded. It’s good that my parents lived by the forest. I could go jogging every day to burn off all the food that Mom had managed to stuff me with. I put on my headphones and sprinted ahead. Sometimes it took an hour, sometimes more. Throughout all this time, I had the feeling of being watched. I would stop and look around, but never saw anyone. I thought about Massimo—whether he was alive and if he was thinking about me, too.

  On Friday afternoon, I got into my car and drove back to Warsaw. I called Olga, reporting in.

  “Perfect timing! We’re going shopping. I need a new pair of shoes,” she said. “Give me the address and I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

  “No, I’ll come for you. I have something to do on the way.”

  When I arrived at Olga’s, I saw her closing the entrance door and stopping, dumbstruck, in front of my car. She pointed a finger at it, circling the index finger of her other hand above her temple, wide-eyed. As soon as she got in, she cried, “Who gave you that ride?”

  “I told you. Got it with the apartment,” I replied, shrugging.

  “Now I’m really curious how that apartment of yours looks.”

  “Oh, come the fuck on, it’s a regular apartment. And the car’s just a car.” Her reaction got on my nerves, but what pissed me off even more was that I couldn’t tell her the truth. She knew I was lying, and I knew I was making a fool of myself, ignoring the keenness of her intellect. “What’s the difference?” Remember how we lived in that studio at Bródno?”

  Olga burst out in laughter and fastened her seat belt.

  “Yeah, with that crazy lady downstairs who always accused us of having orgies!”

  “That wasn’t entirely unfounded, you know.” I sent her a meaningful look, reversing out of the parking lot.

  “I might have moaned a bit loudly once or twice. Don’t make it a big deal.”

  “Yeah, I remember getting back home earlier than I said once and thinking someone was torturing you.”

  “Oh, right, the little brat that fucked me back then was pretty rough, but his dad had a dentistry clinic.”

  “And he got you all the dental checkups for free.”

  “What he got me was a fuck so goddamn rough I scratched the plaster off the wall.”

  Thank God I managed to change the subject from my apartment and car. For the rest of the way our conversation focused entirely on Olga’s rich sexual life.

  Shopping never failed to improve my mood. We ran from boutique to boutique, buying shoes we didn’t need. After a couple of hours of this crazy marathon, we were sated. Back in the multilevel parking lot, we had to find our car. It took a while, but finally we found it and started packing our stuff into the trunk.

  “New ride?” I heard a familiar voice from behind.

  I turned around and scowled, seeing Martin’s best friend.

  “Hi, Michał. What’s up?” I said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

  “You tell me. Why did you leave us like that? Martin nearly dropped dead—he was so afraid for you.”

  “Yeah, believe me, I know all about just how afraid he was, fucking that Sicilian girl,” I retorted, spinning back around and putting the last bag into the trunk. “He was so concerned that he simply had to blow off some steam, right?”

  Michał froze, staring at me with his mouth agape. I closed the distance between us.

  “What? You thought I didn’t know? He fucked her on my birthday, the fuck!” I spat angrily and walked to the car door.

  “He was drunk,” Michał said, shrugging. I slammed the door in his face.

  “Well, now he’s going to know you’re back,” Olga said, fastening her seat belt. “Nice. Love that kind of drama.”

  “I don’t. Especially when it concerns me. We’ll go to my place, okay? You’ll stay with me. I don’t want to be alone today.”

  Olga nodded and we drove off.

  “Fuck me,” said my friend at the sight of the living room, not bothering to sound civil. “And that friend of yours rented it out to you just like that? And he threw in that car, too? Do I know him?”

  “Oh, come on, it’s more like a favor. And no, you don’t know him. It’s someone I used to work with. The guest bedroom is upstairs, but I’d like you to sleep with me, okay?”

  Olga wandered around the house, swearing once each couple of minutes, discovering new things. Amused, I watched her, thinking about what she’d say if she saw the Titan or the mansion on the slopes of Taormina. I took a bottle of Portuguese wine from the fridge, grabbed two glasses, and joined my friend upstairs.

  “Come, I’ll show you something,” I said, climbing the stairs.

  When I opened the door, she froze. We were on a beautiful, gigantic terrace taking up most of the roof. It had a table with six chairs, a barbecue, some chaises, and a four-seat Jacuzzi. I put the bottle on the table, pouring us the wine.

  “Any questions?” I asked, raising my eyebrows and passing her one glass.

  “What did you do for him to get that? Admit it. I know it’s not your style, but somehow I never got a crib with a roof terrace for fucking anyone.” She giggled, sitting in one of the comfy chairs. We covered ourselves with blankets and watched the flickering lights of downtown skyscrapers. Having people I loved around me did nothing to stop me from thinking about Massimo. Several times I even called Domenico, but he didn’t answer any of my questions, instead asking his own, wanting to know if I was okay. I liked listening to his voice. It reminded me of the Man in Black.

  CHAPTER 13

  When we woke up the next morning and got ourselves more or less in order, I felt surprisingly good. Standing in front of the mirror, I tried telling myself that I simply had to live my life—get all my matters in order and start forgetting about the weeks I had spent in Italy. We had breakfast, rummaged through my closet and the stuff we had bought yesterday, looking for something to wear in the evening, and headed to the spa.

  “You know what? I think I want to have some real fun today,” I said as we left home. “Do we have a hairdresser set for today?”

  Olga sent me a lordly look.

  “Do you think I know how to do my hair on my own? Sure we have,” she said with a laugh as I locked the door.

  Our visit to the spa was something of a ritual we indulged in every so often. Peels, massages, facials, nails, hairdresser, and finally makeup. When the time came for the penultimate point on our list, I sat down in the chair, and Magda, my stylist, rubbed a strand of my hair between her fingers.

  “What do you want me to do, Laura?”

  “Blond.” I said simply. Olga jumped on her chair. “A bob with the back shorter and the front a bit longer.”

  “What?” Olga cried out so loud that all the other women turned their heads to look at us. “Are you out of your fucking mind? You’ve gone crazy!”

  Magda laughed, running her hand through my hair. “It’s not damaged, so the hair should be fine.”

  “You sure about that?”

  I nodded and Olga collapsed back to th
e chair, shaking her head with disbelief.

  Meanwhile, to make up for the delay caused by my whims, the makeup artists arrived and immediately went to work.

  “Ready,” Magda said after two hours, looking satisfied with her work.

  The effect was breathtaking. The color of ripe wheat complemented my sun-kissed skin and black eyes simply perfectly. I looked young, fresh, and tasty. Olga stood behind me, ogling me with one brow raised.

  “All right, I was wrong. You look fucking awesome. Now come on. We have a party to go to.”

  She grabbed me by the arm and pulled me to the car.

  We parked in my apartment’s underground garage and took the elevator upstairs. I pushed the key into the lock and turned it. I turned it twice, though I remembered locking it with only one rotation. After having a bottle of wine and changing into something less comfortable than our joggers, but at the same time infinitely better looking, we looked at ourselves in the mirror. We were ready.

  For the night I picked a sexy black set: a high-waist pencil skirt and a tightly fitting long-sleeve short top. I left a two-inch gap between the top and the skirt, subtly exhibiting my stomach muscles. The outfit was topped off with black short-nosed stilettos and a studded clutch bag of the same color. Olga decided to emphasize her natural assets—large breasts and beautiful, full hips—by putting on a snug nude dress. She also wore high heels and grabbed a clutch bag, after throwing on some gold accessories.

  “This night is ours,” she said. “Just keep an eye on me. I’d like to return home with you.”

  I chuckled and pushed her outside, following in her wake. The biggest advantage of the life Olga was leading was that she knew most bouncers, managers, and owners of the local clubs.

  We got into a taxi and drove to one of our favorite venues downtown. The Ritual, 12 Mazowiecka Street, where we used to eat and drink, and I’d like to say pick up guys, but I usually left that to my friend.

  When we got out of the car, there were at least a hundred people queuing outside the club. Olga ostentatiously passed the whole crowd, making her way straight to the red line, and kissed the woman standing guard at the entrance.

  She unpinned the rope blocking the passage inside, and later we were both in, greeted by the owner’s wife, Monika. She fastened VIP armbands on our wrists.

  “You look gorgeous,” Olga said to the woman, who waved a hand dismissively, but smiled.

  “You always say so.” The cute brunette laughed and shook her head. “That’s not going to stop me from buying you shots!” She winked at us and nodded for us to follow her.

  We climbed the stairs and sat at a table. After instructing the waitress, Monika disappeared.

  “Drinks are on me today!” I called, trying to outshout the music and pulling the credit card Domenico had given me from my handbag.

  It was about time I used it. I only really needed one thing.

  I waved at the waitress and ordered. A while later, she came back with an ice-filled bucket with a bottle of Moët Rosé. Seeing that, Olga jumped to her feet.

  “Nice!” she cried, grabbing a glass. “What are we drinking to?”

  I knew what I wanted to toast, and why I picked that specific champagne.

  “Us,” I said, sipping.

  I wasn’t drinking to me or to Olga. It was Massimo I was thinking about, and the 365 days that had never happened. I felt sad, but at the same time strangely calm—a part of me was accepting my new circumstances. After downing half the bottle, we went to the dance floor, moving to the rhythm, fooling around. My gorgeous shoes weren’t exactly comfortable, so after three songs, I had to go back to the table. On my way there, I felt someone putting their hand on my shoulder.

  “Hi!” I turned around and saw Martin.

  I jerked away and stood rigid, glaring at him hatefully.

  “Where were you all this time?” he asked. “Can we talk?”

  I could see the photos Massimo had shown me. Back then, all I wanted to do was to rip Martin apart, but I stopped caring.

  “I have nothing to say to you,” I replied, and turned my back on him, heading toward my couch.

  He wouldn’t surrender that easily, though, and a second later he caught up with me.

  “Please, Laura. Just give me a moment.”

  I sat down and glowered at him, sipping my champagne silently. That taste made me feel stronger.

  “You can’t tell me anything I don’t already know.”

  “I talked to Michał. Please, let me explain. I’ll leave you be after that.”

  Despite all the anger and revulsion I had felt after seeing those photos, I decided he deserved an opportunity to tell me his version of events.

  “Okay, but not here. Wait a minute.”

  I went down to the dance floor and caught Olga, explaining the situation. She wasn’t surprised or angry. She had already managed to find a replacement for me in the form of a charming blond-haired man.

  “Go!” she called. “I don’t think I’m coming back tonight, so don’t wait up.”

  I went back to Martin and nodded at him, signaling that we could leave now.

  When we were outside, he led me to the parking lot and let me in his car.

  “You’re not here to party, I assume,” I said, stepping inside the white Jaguar XKR.

  “I came here for you,” he replied, and shut the door.

  We drove across the city, and I knew where he was taking me.

  “You look amazing with that haircut, Laura,” he said quietly, looking at me.

  I ignored him. His opinion was of no interest to me. I kept my eyes trained on the vista behind the window.

  Martin pressed a button on his garage gate control, and we drove inside. He parked the car, and we took the stairs up. When I stopped by the door to his apartment, I nearly fainted. Even this place, not once seen by the Man in Black, reminded me of Massimo.

  “Want something to drink?” Martin asked, going to the fridge.

  I sat down on the sofa, feeling uncomfortable. I had a strange feeling that I was acting against the will of Massimo, breaking his ban by seeing Martin. If he saw us together now, he’d kill him.

  “I think water will do best now,” Martin decided, handing me a glass. “I’ll tell you everything, and you’ll do whatever you want.”

  I settled on the couch and gestured for him to start.

  “When you ran away, I realized you were right. I went after you. One of the hotel staff stopped me at the reception, saying there was a serious malfunction of something in our room and that they needed my key to get inside. When we finished checking the alarm, it turned out it was only an error in the system and that everything was fine. I ran outside and looked for you until it got dark. I was sure I’d find you. I thought you hadn’t gone far. That’s why I didn’t go back for my phone immediately. And when I finally got back to call you, there was that letter in my room. All the things you wrote… they were right. I fucked up.” Martin dropped his head and started to play with his fingers. “I ordered drinks to the room and called Michał. I don’t know if it was because of all the worrying, or the hangover from the day before, but I felt drunk after the first one.”

  He raised his eyes and looked into mine.

  “Believe it or not, I don’t remember anything else. When we got up the next day, Karolina told me what I did. I wanted to throw up.” Martin took a deep breath and dropped his head again. “And when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, reception told us we had to leave the hotel because our credit cards bounced. So we left the island. That whole vacation was cursed. Everything went wrong.”

  When he was finished, I hid my face in my hands and sighed. I knew everything he was saying sounded absurd, but with a little intervention on the part of Massimo, it could all have happened. All of a sudden, I wasn’t sure who I was angrier with—the Man in Black for engineering this farce, or Martin for allowing himself to be mixed up in it.

  “Does that change anything?” I asked after a whil
e. “That you don’t remember sleeping with that girl? Besides, the truth is that our expectations for our relationship were just too different. You wanted to have your cake and eat it, too, and I’ll always need more attention than you’re willing or able to give me.”

  Martin slid off the couch, kneeling in front of me.

  “Laura,” he said, taking my hands, “you’re right. You’re absolutely right. But during those weeks I realized how much I loved you. I don’t want to lose you. I’ll do anything to prove to you that I can change.”

  I stared at him, dumbfounded, feeling the champagne I had had rising in my throat.

  “I don’t feel too good,” I muttered, getting up from the sofa and stumbling toward the bathroom.

  I threw up long enough to completely empty my stomach. I was sick of that day and that conversation. I left the bathroom and tried putting on my shoes.

  “I’m going home,” I called, pushing my feet into the stilettos.

  “Not going to happen. You can’t go like that,” he said, snatching my bag from my hands.

  “Martin, please!” I was growing impatient. “I want to go home.”

  “All right, but allow me to drive you.” He wouldn’t accept my refusal.

  We drove out of the garage and he turned his head to look at me, a silent question in his eyes. Right, he didn’t know my new address.

  “Turn left,” I mumbled, waving a hand.

  “Then go right and straight ahead.”

  Ten minutes later, we arrived.

  “Thank you,” I said, grabbing the handle, but the door didn’t budge.

  “I’ll walk you to the door. I’d like to be sure you’ve arrived safely.”

  We took the elevator up. I really needed to be alone by now.

  “It’s here,” I said, pushing the key into the lock. “Thank you for your help. I’ll manage on my own now.”

  Martin didn’t want to hear it. As soon as I opened the door, he tried slipping inside with me.

  “What the fuck are you doing? Don’t you get it? I don’t want you around anymore!” I growled, stopping at the door. “You said what you wanted. Now leave me alone. Bye.”