One Step to You

by Federico Moccia

  She went to her mother’s bedroom. She opened her big armoire. She started rummaging. Every so often she’d remember something. Could that be right for the black skirt? She opened the drawers. She was careful where she put her hands. Things had to go back where they belonged, otherwise her mother would notice. Mothers notice everything, or practically everything. Even Raffaella had overlooked Pallina’s Vespa.

  But never send a mother to buy the same kind of jeans you saw your girlfriend wearing. They’ll always bring you the kind that the biggest loser in the class wears. She smiled.

  A sky-blue angora sweater. Too warm. A silk blouse. Too fancy. A black jacket with a bodysuit underneath it. Too funereal, too somber. But the bodysuit wasn’t bad. Bodysuit under a blouse? Let’s give it a try.

  She shut the drawers again. She started back to her bedroom. She’d left a red sweater on the bed. She’d be caught. She put it back. Would her mother notice? Enthusiasm won out over fear.

  “Who the hell cares!” The threat of punishment vanished, disintegrating in the mirror. Babi stared at herself, puzzled. Bodysuit under blouse, no, and Dani’s skirt doesn’t work with any of this anymore. So much the better.

  But what am I going to wear? Denim overalls? She hastily pulled open the bottom drawer. She pulled it out, faded, short, and rumpled: Exactly the way my mother hates it most. Exactly the way he would love it most, she felt certain. Rapidly, she slipped out of her clothing. In a split second, she was ready. She looked at herself in the mirror. Perfect. She put on the faded jeans shirt, tucked it down into the pants, and then pulled up the suspenders. She flopped down onto the bed, picked up the short gym socks and put them on, and then put on her high-top All Stars, navy blue, the same shade as the elastic headband she found in the bathroom. She brushed her hair and pulled it back. A pair of fish-shaped colorful earrings, looking as if they’d come from the South Seas. She straightened the collar of the shirt.

  Then she started putting on her makeup. The music was pounding at full volume. A black line made her eyes look wider. The gray eyeliner pencil made them look smoky, in an attempt to make them look even more beautiful. Her white teeth were scented with mint. A delicate sheen of pink covered her soft lips. While her cheeks, naturally apple red in color, were tinged to perfection of their own accord.

  Daniela was still on the phone when the music suddenly stopped. As the hallway door slowly opened, Daniela turned around. Babi appeared in the dim light. She took a few steps and then stopped. The glow from the nearby living room enveloped her completely.

  Daniela stopped talking into the telephone. “Wow, you look gorgeous!”

  Babi smiled at her. Then she put on her dark denim Levi’s jean jacket. “Do I really?”

  “You’re superhot!”

  “Thanks, Dani, but your skirt was just a little too serious.” She gave her a kiss.

  Dani watched as she walked away. For a moment, she doubted that this was really her sister. She wondered if she, too, would become so beautiful as she grew up.

  Babi pulled the Vespa out of the garage. She started the engine and put it into first gear. She rolled down the ramp, slipping quickly out into the cool of the evening. Her French Caron perfume mixed with the scent of the native jasmine flowers in a delicate blend. She waved goodbye to the doorman.

  Then, driving in the middle of traffic, she smiled as she remembered Daniela’s opinion. Babi didn’t feel ordinary, as she usually did. She wondered what Step would think of her. Would he like it? What would he say about her denim overalls? And her makeup? And her shirt? Would he notice that it was the same shade as her eyes?

  Her little heart started beating hard. Pointlessly worried. She would very soon have all her answers.

  Chapter 13

  Babi locked the Vespa. Around her, a number of young people were sitting on their scooters or else lazing against a low wall, chatting about a love story gone wrong. Two guys dressed in punk getups were sitting on the steps. One of the two licked a cigarette and opened it, skillfully emptying all the tobacco into his hand. Then he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out something. He looked around. No one was watching. In front of the club door, a big guy with a small earring in his left ear and a smashed-in boxer’s nose was making a group of people wait.

  Babi got in line. Nearby, there were two girls, too heavily made up, wearing light cloth coats. Their companions were two young men wearing fake camel hair jackets. One of the two guys had a golden pin in his buttonhole in the shape of a sax, at least as improbable as the idea that he knew how to play one. One of the two young men was betrayed by his light leather loafers with fringe. The other was undone by the heavy white socks that appeared boldly beneath the hem of his trousers when he reached into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. That Marlboro in his mouth wasn’t going to save them. They weren’t getting in.

  The bouncer spotted Babi and pointed to her. “You.” Babi walked past all the other girls with their poufy, layered hair, a couple that was far too well dressed, and two or three other losers from out of town. Everyone envied her. There was one guy who grumbled, who tried to complain, but only under his breath. In reality, he just wanted to let his buddy hear what he had to say.

  Babi smiled at the bouncer and went in. He decided that he’d chosen well. He went back to gazing grimly at his small flock, his face decisive, his brow furrowed, ready to crush any rebellion. But there was no need. Everyone continued to wait in silence, exchanging glances, but with that half smile that was worth a complete sentence, thinking, We don’t count for shit.

  Two enormous subwoofers were pounding high above the club, putting out a bass line to die for. At the bar, young men and women were shouting at the tops of their lungs, trying to make themselves heard and laughing. A guy with a funny face and little round glasses was sitting perched on the edge of a stool. He was happily chatting with a beautiful girl whose hair was long and blond. In fact, she was waiting for her boyfriend. He seemed not to understand her, or maybe he was just pretending not to. The girl shrugged her shoulders and let him buy her a gin and tonic. He paid for the round. He’d heard exactly what she’d said, but he was hoping against hope that the other guy would simply not show up.

  Babi leaned against the glass. She was looking down at the big dance floor. Everyone was dancing like they’d lost their minds. At the sides of the floor, even the calmer club-goers were starting to be swept away by the beat of the house music.

  She searched for Pallina and the others but she couldn’t seem to spot them. She moved to the left. She really liked Vetrine. You came in and looked down through that glass floor at the people dancing beneath you. Then, if you wanted, you could go down there, too, throw yourself into the frenzied crowd, and be watched by others, a tiny, colorful spectacle.

  Babi gazed down and ran her eyes over the whole dance floor. Two young men were dancing with each other, out of control. A few girls were waving their hands in the air. Another was jumping up and down, amused and laughing with a girlfriend, with their skimpy spandex black-and-white tops and their narrow-waisted shorts. Some had bare midriffs and brightly colored jeans, slightly flared at the leg, fastened with a long handkerchief at the waist. A solitary girl dancing on a podium thrashed away with her eyes closed, with a well-mannered gentleman in a coat and tie doing his best to hook up. A lunkhead who thought he was a latter-day John Travolta, with a headband and a loose shirt, was lit up by the flashing lights every so often, almost invariably high energy and out of control as the smoke poured near and far with a hiss, enveloping one and all. One couple was trying to say something to each other. Maybe he was suggesting a more sensual dance they could try at home with a gentler, softer music. She laughed. Maybe she was going to accept. Or maybe they were talking about something entirely different.

  But no sign of Pallina, or Pollo, or any of their other friends, and especially not him, not Step. Maybe they hadn’t come? Impossible. Pallina would have let her know.

  Then Babi sensed something. An odd
sensation. She’d been looking in the wrong direction. And as if guided by a divine hand, by the gentle push of destiny, she turned around. There they were. In the very same room. Not far away, sitting in a corner at the far end of the club, right up against the last sheet of plate glass. The whole group was there. Pollo, Pallina, the guy with the patch, other young guys with short hair and bulging biceps, accompanied by smaller, cuter girls. There was Maddalena and her round-faced girlfriend.

  And then there he was. Step was there. He was drinking a beer from a clear glass with a colorful trademark emblazoned on it, and every so often he’d look down. He seemed to be looking for something or someone. Babi felt her heart race. Could he be looking for her? Maybe Pallina told him that she was going to be there.

  Slowly, she looked down again. The dance floor seemed blurry behind the glass. No, Pallina couldn’t have told him that.

  She turned her gaze in his direction again and smiled to herself. So strong, with that bad-boy attitude, his hair short, in a fade at the back, his jacket zipped up, and that way he had of sitting, like a confident hero.

  And yet, there was something kind and good about him. Maybe it was the look in his eyes.

  Step turned in her direction. Babi whipped away, frightened. She wasn’t ready for him to see her, so she melted into the crowd and moved away from the glass. She went to the far end of the club where the staircase led down to the dance floor. She pulled her leather wallet out of the back pocket of her overalls. A short, stout guy stopped her. She gave him ten thousand lire. The guy handed her a yellow ticket and waved her through before going back to talking with a young woman wearing her cap sideways.

  Babi hurried down the steps. Downstairs, the music was much louder. At the bar, Babi asked for a Bellini because she liked the taste of peaches. From that corner, she looked up and saw them. Step had stood up, and now he was leaning against the glass, braced with both hands. He was moving his head up and down in time to the music. Babi smiled. He couldn’t see her from there, so she stayed and watched him.

  Behind the bar, a slightly older young woman caught her attention. Her Bellini was ready. Babi gave her the yellow ticket. The young woman handed her the glass, and the Bellini was consumed just as quickly as it had arrived. Without letting herself be seen, Babi went around the dance floor from behind, going over directly beneath them.

  She felt strangely euphoric. The Bellini was starting to take effect. The music took hold of her and she let herself be swept away. She shut her eyes and very slowly, dancing, she crossed the dance floor. She moved her head to the beat, happy and slightly drunk, surrounded on all sides by strangers. Her hair was whipping around.

  She climbed onto one of the higher walls on the side of the dance floor. She clenched her hands and started dancing with her shoulders, mouth shut, dreamily, and then she opened her eyes and looked up. Through the glass, their eyes met. Step was there, staring at her. For a moment, he didn’t recognize her. Pallina saw her too. Step turned to Pallina and asked her something. From down there, Babi couldn’t hear, but she easily guessed at the question. Pallina nodded. Step looked down again. Babi smiled at him and then looked down and went back to dancing, caught up in the music.

  Step moved away fast, indifferent to everything and everyone. Pollo shook his head. Pallina leaped onto her man, gleefully embracing him and kissing him on the lips like any woman in love.

  The bouncer at the stairs let Step pass without paying. He greeted him respectfully and went back to necking with the young woman whose cap was on sideways. Life at Vetrine went on.

  Step stopped. Babi was face-to-face with him. A lunkhead with long hair in a pageboy cut was dancing around her, interested in a potential hookup. Once he saw Step, he turned to go just as he had arrived, acting all casual now. Babi continued dancing, looking Step in the eyes, and in that instant, he lost himself in that sea of blue, in that inviting music. Slowly, his body came to life. He stepped up onto the raised side of the dance floor next to her, and silent and smiling, they danced side by side. Joining their gazes, their hearts.

  Babi moved, swaying. Step leaned in closer until he could smell her perfume. She raised her hands, putting them in front of her face, and she danced behind them, smiling. She had surrendered.

  He looked at her, captivated. She was beautiful. He’d never seen such a naive, innocent pair of eyes. That soft mouth, in a pastel hue, that velvety skin. Everything about her seemed fragile but perfect. Her hair hung free under the headband. They were dancing enthusiastically, shifting from side to side, as he admired her smile. With her forehead, smooth and high, and that petite, narrow nose, and those rosy cheeks, she seemed like a baby doll. Step took her by the hand, pulled her close to him, and caressed her face. Babi looked at him, and for a moment…he trembled at the idea that, if he did anything more, she, fragile dream of china that she was, would vanish into a thousand shattered pieces.

  Then he smiled at her and took her away with him. Carrying her off from that confusion, that frantic crowd. Everyone seemed to spin out of control as they went by. Step led her through that forest of flailing arms, protecting her from sharp human edges, holding her tight, warding off dangerous elbows pointed by the rhythm and pounding footsteps of human joy.

  Farther up, Step carried her behind the glass. Pallina watched Babi vanish with him, her friend finally following her heart.

  Maddalena watched him go, Step guilty only of not having loved her or of ever letting her think that he did. And while the couple, freshly in love, went out onto the street, Maddalena let herself collapse onto the sofa nearby. Sitting there with an empty glass in her hands and something much more difficult to fill inside her. She, mere fertilizer for that plant that so often blooms upon the grave of a withered love. That rare plant whose name is happiness.

  Chapter 14

  Youthful and covered in denim, they were better than a real-life commercial. Riding on the midnight-blue motorcycle, Babi and Step melted into the city, laughing all the way. Talking about everything and nothing, smiling at each other in the rearview mirrors. She, leaning on his shoulder, letting herself be carried along like this, buffeted by the wind and by that new power: freedom.

  Via Veneto, Piazza Barberini, Via Nazionale. They went to the Angeli Theater. They sat upstairs and watched a movie on the big screen. They were thrilled more by the simple chance contact of their bodies than they were by that music video by an American rock star. They didn’t even recognize him, rapt as they were in the same thoughts. And yet he was rich and famous. But right then and there, they were much more important than he could ever hope to be.

  Via delle Quattro Fontane. Piazza Santa Maria Maggiore. Right turn. A small pub. An English guy at the door recognized Step and ushered him in. Babi smiled. With him, she could get in everywhere. He was her key to every door. Her key to happiness.

  She was so happy that she didn’t even realize she was ordering a dark ale, she who couldn’t even stand the lightest of blond beers, so dreamy that she shared a bowl of pasta with him, forgetting her diet. With the words rolled out leisurely, she realized that she was telling him about everything, that she had no secrets from him. He seemed intelligent and strong to her, handsome and sweet.

  They played darts and she hit the target high. She turned jubilantly to him. “Pretty good, huh?” He smiled at her and nodded his head. Babi tossed another dart, but her blue eyes didn’t notice that she’d already hit the bull’s-eye.

  Carried off again. Willingly kidnapped. Via Cavour. The Pyramid of Cestius. Testaccio. Little Vito, dispenser of cheer, was checking the crowd of people waiting at the entrance to Radio Londra. When he saw Step, he waved at him from a distance. He made some of the young people move aside to let him through. Vito raised the rope. Step gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder and then, holding hands with Babi, walked into the club. A few of the girls waiting outside watched enviously as Babi went by, and not just because she’d been allowed in. Frankly, given the guy she was with, they’d have happ
ily waited outside.

  Everyone in the club seemed to know Step. They walked past him, saying hello and slapping him on the back or just brushing close. A few young women walked over to him. Babi felt a strange emotion, new to her. One of the women gave Step a kiss on the cheek and tried to strike up a conversation. Now she knew what that feeling was. Jealousy.

  But Step didn’t even give her the time to realize it. He put a quick end to the conversation with the young woman and dragged Babi out into the middle of the dance floor. They danced together to the pounding beat of the house music. Then, smiling and sparkling like fancy champagne, they drew close in a small, passing toast.

  Later, they exited, sweaty and laughing. They said good night to Vito, as they were once again envied by those who were still waiting outside. They left as they’d arrived, on that roaring motorcycle that they’d parked right in front of the club. They roared uphill in second gear at top speed, savoring the cool breeze of that night in late April.

  When they reached the intersection, they turned left and took the main thoroughfare. Step put the bike into third gear and then fourth. The traffic light at the intersection was blinking yellow. Step went through the light. Suddenly, he heard a screech of brakes. The sound of rubber scorching as it dragged across the asphalt. The sound of fine gravel. A Jaguar Sovereign was coming from the left at full speed.

  The Jaguar tried to brake hard. Step, caught off guard, also braked and sat there, motionless, in the middle of the intersection. The motorcycle coughed and died. Babi held on to him tight. The car’s powerful headlights were reflected in her frightened eyes as it hurtled toward them.

  The snout of the big, wild cat rebelled against the crude application of the brakes, and the car fishtailed. Babi shut her eyes. She heard the roar of the engine being reined in, the ABS perfectly controlling the wheels, the rubber tortured by the brakes. Then nothing.