“That all depends —” replied Gisella, still very dignified. She, too, always made the same replies.
“Oh, come on, now!” insisted the man in the car. “Depends on what?”
“How much will you give us?” asked Gisella, going up to the car and putting her hand on the door.
“How much do you want?”
Gisella named a sum. “You’re expensive!” he chirped. “Very expensive!” But he seemed inclined to accept. His friend, whose face was concealed, leaned forward and whispered something in his ear. But the fair young man shrugged his shoulders and then turning to us, said, “All right — get in.”
His friend opened the door, got out and went to sit in the back of the car; he then opened the door on my side and invited me to get in beside him. Gisella sat with the blond young man. He turned to her. “Where shall we go?”
“To Adriana’s,” she answered and gave him the address.
“That’s fine,” said the blond. “Let’s go to Adriana’s”
Usually when I was with one of these men I did not know, in a car or elsewhere, I kept motionless and silent, waiting for them to speak or do something. I knew from experience that they are impatient to take the initiative and do not need any encouragement. That evening, too, I kept still and dumb while the car made its way through the city. All I could see of my neighbor, who was designated by the arrangement of places as my lover for the night, were his long, thin, white hands lying on his knees. He did not speak or move either, and his head was in shadow. I thought perhaps he was shy and suddenly felt attracted to him. I had been shy, too, and shyness always moved me, because it reminded me of what I had been like before I met Gino. Gisella was talking, though. She liked to talk politely of inconsequential matters as long as she could, just like a lady in the company of men who respect her.
“Is this your car?” I heard her ask.
“Yes,” answered her companion. “I haven’t pawned it yet … Do you like it?”
“It’s very comfortable,” said Gisella composedly, “but I prefer a Lancia — they’re quicker and the springs are better. My fiancé has a Lancia.”
This was true — Riccardo had a Lancia. Only he had never been Gisella’s fiancé, and Gisella and he had not been meeting for some time now. The young man began to laugh. “Your fiancé’s got a Lancia that goes on two wheels!” he said.
Gisella was very touchy and the slightest remark made her angry. “Look here,” she said resentfully, “what do you take us for?”
“I don’t know — tell me who you are,” said the blond. “I don’t want to make any false steps.”
Another of Gisella’s obsessions was to pass herself off as something she was not with her pick-up lovers — as a dancer, a typist, or a respectable lady. She did not realize that her claims were completely contradicted by the fact that she let herself be so easily approached and always mentioned the money part of the business immediately. “We’re two dancers in the Caccini company,” she said haughtily. “We’re not in the habit of going out with the first man who turns up. But since the company isn’t properly set up yet, we were just going for a little walk this evening. As a matter of fact, I didn’t want to accept your offer — but my friend said you looked like distinguished people. If my fiancé got to know, I’d never hear the end of it.”
The blond laughed again. “We’re certainly two very distinguished people! But you’re two whores off the street … so what’s the problem?”
My neighbor spoke for the first time. “Shut up, Giancarlo,” he said in an even voice.
I said nothing. I did not like being given that name, because of the malicious intention that prompted it, but after all, it was the truth.
“First of all, it isn’t true,” said Gisella, “and what’s more, you’re a creep.”
The blond said nothing. But he slowed down at once and then brought the car to a standstill beside the curb. We were in a deserted and dimly lit side street with houses on either side. He turned to Gisella.
“What if I were to dump you out of the car?”
“Just try!” said Gisella, drawing back. She was very spirited and was not afraid of anyone.
At this, my neighbor leaned forward toward the front seat, and I saw his face. He was dark, with a shock of hair falling over his high forehead, large, dark, bulging eyes, a clear-cut nose, curving lips, and an ugly, receding chin. He was very thin, his Adam’s apple showed above his collar. “Are you going to shut up or not?” he said to the blond, emphatically but patiently, and it seemed to me as if he were intervening in some affair that did not really concern him at all. His voice was neither deep nor very masculine; it sounded as though it might easily break into a falsetto.
“What’s it got to do with you?” asked his friend, turning around. He said it in an odd kind of voice, however, as if he were ashamed already of his own coarseness and was not sorry his friend had intervened.
My neighbor continued. “What sort of behavior is this? We invited them — they trusted themselves with us — and now we’re insulting them!” He turned toward Gisella. “Don’t take any notice of him,” he added kindly. “Perhaps he’s had a drop too much to drink! I’m sure he didn’t mean to offend you.” The blond made a gesture of protest, but his companion stopped him by putting a hand on his arm and saying peremptorily, “You’ve had too much to drink, I tell you, and you didn’t mean to insult her — now let’s go.”
“I didn’t come here to be insulted,” said Gisella quaveringly. She, too, seemed grateful to the dark man for his intervention.
“Of course! No one likes to be insulted — of course they don’t!” he said.
The blond was gazing at them, with a stupid look on his red face, which seemed swollen and bruised in patches. He had round gray-blue eyes and his large red mouth looked greedy and uncontrolled. He gazed at his friend, who was patting Gisella’s shoulder soothingly, and finally burst into sudden laughter. “Word of honor!” he exclaimed. “I don’t understand a thing. Where are we? Why are we fighting? I can’t even remember how it all began. Instead of having a good time, here we are quarreling — word of honor, it’s enough to drive you crazy!” He was roaring with laughter and still laughing turned to Gisella. “Come on, beautiful,” he said, “don’t look at me like that — we were really made for each other.”
“Actually, that’s just what I was thinking,” she said, forcing a smile.
“I’m the nicest guy in the world, aren’t I, Giacomo?” he continued in a shrill voice, laughing uproariously. “I’m everything you could wish for. But you have to know how to take me, that’s all.… Come on — give me a kiss now.” He leaned forward and placed an arm around Gisella’s waist. She pulled her face back a little and said, “Wait.” She took a handkerchief out of her bag, wiped the lipstick off her mouth, then gave him a dry and demure kiss on the lips. While she was kissing him, he twisted his fingers convulsively, pretending to suffocate and turning it all to burlesque. They broke apart almost immediately and he started the car up again with emphatic gestures. “Here we go again! I swear I won’t give you any further reason to complain of me. I’ll be very serious, very well behaved, very distinguished. I’ll authorize you to hit me on the head if I don’t behave well.” The car set off again.
He went on talking and laughing aloud, even taking his hands off the steering wheel to gesticulate, to our imminent danger, all the rest of the way. My neighbor, on the contrary, after his brief intervention, had relapsed into silence in his dark corner. I now felt extremely attracted to him and curiously keyed up. As I think back, I now see that this was the moment when I fell in love with him, or at least, began to associate him with all the things I liked that so far I had never had. Love, after all, needs to be complete and not a merely physical satisfaction; and I was still seeking the perfection I had once thought I could say I had found in Gino. Perhaps it was the first time, not only since I had become a prostitute, but in all my life, that I had met anyone like him, with his manner an
d voice. The stout painter I had posed for in the beginning was like him in a way, of course, but was older and more self-possessed, and in any case I would have fallen in love with him, too, if he had wanted me. His voice and manner aroused the same sensation I had felt the first time I had gone to the villa of Gino’s employers, although in a different way.
Just as I had felt extraordinarily charmed by the orderliness, comfort, and cleanliness of the villa and had thought life did not seem worth living if you could not live in a house like that — so now, his voice and kindly gestures, and all they implied about his character, attracted me passionately. At the same time my physical desire was aroused, so that I longed to be caressed by his hands and kissed by his lips; and I realized that the intense and ineffable mingling of old aspirations and present desire, which is the essence of love and its inevitable accompaniment, was already working in me. But I was also very much afraid he might not notice what I was feeling and might escape me. Driven by my fear, I stretched out my hand toward his in the hope that he would press it. But his hands were indifferent to the clumsy touch of my fingers that tried to entwine themselves in his. I was dreadfully embarrassed, because I did not want to pull my hand away, but at the same time I felt I ought to, since he gave no sign of life. Then as the car turned a corner sharply, we were thrown against one another and I pretended I had lost my balance and let myself fall with my head on his knees. He shuddered but did not move. The motion of the car was a delight; I shut my eyes and thrust my face between his hands to separate them, as a dog does, and kissed them and tried to make him stroke my face in an affectionate caress I could have hoped was spontaneous. I realized I had lost my head and was dimly astonished that a few kindly words could have provoked such turmoil in me. But he did not grant me the caress I so humbly begged for, and after a while withdrew his hands. The car came to a standstill almost immediately.
The blond leaped out and assisted Gisella with mock courtesy. We, too, got out; I opened the front door and we entered the courtyard. The blond led the way upstairs with Gisella. He was short and stocky; he looked as though he would burst out of his clothes, but he was not fat. Gisella was taller than he. Halfway up, he dropped a step behind and taking hold of Gisella’s dress by the hem he pulled it up, exposing her white thighs with the garters around them and her thin little buttocks. “The curtain’s going up!” he exclaimed, in a burst of laughter. Gisella merely pulled her dress down again with one hand. I thought my companion must dislike such coarse behavior, and I wanted him to know that I disliked it, too.
“Your friend’s very cheerful,” I said.
“Yes,” he replied shortly.
“Obviously things are going well for him.”
We entered the house on tiptoe and I showed them straight into my room. Once the door was shut, we all four stood there for a moment, and since the room was small there seemed to be even more of us. The blond was the first to recover his self-possession. He sat down on the bed and began immediately to undress as if he were on his own. He was talking about hotel rooms and private rooms, and telling us of one of his recent adventures. “She says to me, ‘I’m a respectable lady — and I don’t want to go to a hotel.’ So I told her the hotels were full of respectable ladies. ‘But,’ she says, “I don’t want to have to give my name.’ ‘I’ll say you’re my wife,’ I say. ‘One more or less doesn’t matter.’ So we go to the hotel. I tell them she’s my wife, we go up to our room — but when I really get down to things, she starts coming up with excuses, says she’s changed her mind, doesn’t want to, she really is a lady.… So I lose my patience and try to force her. I wish I hadn’t! She opens the window, threatens she’ll throw herself out. ‘O.K.’ I say, ‘it’s my fault for bringing you here.’ Then she sits down on the bed and begins whimpering and telling a long, moving story, enough to break your heart. But if you wanted to know what it was all about, I couldn’t tell you; I’ve forgotten it. I only know that in the end I felt so good that I went down on my knees to ask her forgiveness for having taken her for something she wasn’t. ‘Now, we understand each other,’ I say, ‘we won’t do anything, we’ll just lie down and sleep each on our own.’ So that’s that and I fall asleep at once. But halfway through the night I wake up and look over to her side. She’s gone! Then I look at my clothes and see they’re all rumpled, so I hunt through my pockets and find my wallet gone too. She was a real, respectable lady!” His burst of laughter was so infectious that it made Gisella laugh and me smile. He had taken off his suit, his shirt, shoes and socks, and now stood there in a pair of dove-colored woolen long johns, skintight from the ankles to his throat, which made him look like a tightrope walker or a ballet dancer. His comical aspect was emphasized still further by this garment, which is usually worn by older men, and at the sight I forgot his cruelty and almost felt attracted to him, because I have always been attracted to cheerful people and am more inclined to cheerfulness myself than to gloom. He began to strut, short and bouncing, about the room, as proud of his long johns as of a uniform. Then, from the corner where the chest of drawers stood, he suddenly leaped onto the bed, falling on top of Gisella, who squealed out in surprise, and threw her back as if to embrace her. But then, while still hovering on all fours over Gisella, he lifted his red, excited face with a comical gesture, as if struck by a thought, and looked back at the two of us, like a cat does before beginning to touch its food. “What are you two waiting for?” he asked. I looked at my companion. “Shall I take my clothes off?” I asked.
He was still wearing his coat collar turned up around his neck. “No, no,” he answered with a shudder. “After them.”
“Shall we go into the next room?”
“Yes.”
“Go for a ride in the car,” cried the blond, still hovering over Gisella. “The keys are still in it.” But his friend pretended he had not heard him and we left the room.
We went into the anteroom. I motioned to him to wait for me and entered the living room, where Mother was sitting at the table in the middle, playing patience. As soon as she saw me, she got up and went out into the kitchen, without even waiting for me to speak. So I peeped through the door and told the young man he could come in.
I shut the door and went to sit down on the sofa in the corner by the window. I wanted him to sit down beside me and cuddle me; the others always did. But he did not even look toward the sofa and began to pace up and down the living room, all around the table, his hands in his pockets. I thought that perhaps he was bored by waiting. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ve only got one bedroom I can use.”
He stood still. “Did I say I wanted a room?” he asked me huffily but gently.
“No, but I thought —”
He took a few turns around the room. I could not control myself any longer. “Why don’t you come and sit down here beside me?” I asked, pointing to the sofa as I did so.
He looked at me, then appeared to make up his mind, and came to sit down. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Adriana.”
“I’m Giacomo,” he said and took my hand. This was unusual and again the idea flitted across my mind that he was shy. I let him hold my hand and smiled at him to encourage him.
“So we’re supposed to make love in a little while?” he said.
“Yes.”
“And if I don’t want to?”
“Then we won’t,” I replied lightly, thinking he was only joking.
“Very well,” he replied emphatically. “I don’t want to, I haven’t the slightest desire to.”
“All right,” I said. But actually his refusal was something so new in my experience that I did not understand.
“You aren’t offended? Women don’t like to be turned down.”
At last I understood what he meant and shook my head, incapable of saying a single word. So he didn’t want me. I suddenly felt desperate, on the point of bursting into tears. “I’m not offended at all,” I stammered. “If you don’t want to — let’s wait until your friend’s
done and then you can go.”
“I don’t know,” he protested. “I’m making you waste your time — you could have earned something with another man.”
I thought perhaps he could not, rather than would not. “If you don’t have the money,” I said, “it doesn’t matter. You can pay me another time.”
“You’re a good girl,” he said, “but I’ve got the money. In fact, look — I’ll pay you all the same, so it won’t seem as though you had wasted an evening.” He put his hand into his jacket pocket, took out a roll of notes that looked as though he had prepared them beforehand, and went to put them down on the table, away from me, with a clumsy yet strangely elegant and scornful gesture.
“No, no!” I protested. “Why should you? Don’t even think about it.” But I said it weakly, because, actually, I was not at all sorry to accept his money — it was at least some kind of link with him, and by being in his debt I could always hope to pay him back. He took my wavering refusal as an acceptance, which in fact it was, and did not pick up the money that he had left on the table. He came and sat down on the sofa again, and I put out my hand to take his, although I felt it was an awkward, silly thing to do. We looked at one another for a moment. Then he suddenly twisted my little finger hard with his long, thin fingers. “Oh!” I said angrily. “What’s the matter with you now?”
“I’m sorry,” he replied. He looked so deeply embarrassed that I was sorry I had reproached him so harshly.
“You hurt me, you know,” I said.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. Seized by sudden agitation, he stood up again and began to walk up and down. Then he came to a standstill in front of me. “Shall we go out?” he asked. “This waiting around here really gets on my nerves.”
“Where shall we go?”
“I don’t know — shall we go for a ride in the car?”
I remembered the times I had been out with Gino in a car and replied hastily, “No, not in the car.”
The Woman of Rome (Italia) Page 19
