'The sooner I speak to Mariangela the sooner you'll have your scans.'
'Well! Listen to that determination!' he jeers at her.
'Enter,' says the voice behind the frosted-glass door.
The girl goes in and stands by the desk.
'What is it, Eva, that's so important you need to interrupt me in what I'm doing?' asks the woman, somewhere between surprise and annoyance.
'Mariangela, you know I respect you, but I've worked here for two years now and no one's given me a chance to show what I can do. Obviously, I don't want you to hand over a publicity campaign to me on trust - I just want a chance.'
'You know it's Sonia and Roberto who -'
'Sorry to interrupt, only I don't want to waste your time. I've had another job offer - from a competitor, I mean. If you're not going to give me a chance to get more involved, I'll have to accept it. All I'm asking is for you to give me a try.'
'A try in what sense?'
'The new campaign for mobile phones. I'd like to be able to present my ideas as well, and then the client can decide. If they choose Sonia or Roberto that's fine, but I'd like to be considered a bit more from now on.'
'OK, but this mustn't take you away from the other things you're supposed to do.'
'You can take that for granted. Thank you for having faith in me.'
'Now, off you go. And shut the door behind you,' says Mariangela, reminding her who's in charge.
There, she has given herself a birthday present; she has persuaded Mariangela to give her a chance. She knows that from now on the woman will make her pay dearly for it, but that doesn't matter; she now has her chance.
Roberto gives her a surly look as she comes out of the boss's office, walking unusually tall.
The day seems lighter to her now. Like the first few months of working there, when she used to complete her tasks quickly, full of hope, dreaming that soon she would see her own adverts around town, and she would be able to stop and stare at them, with her nose in the air and her heart smiling.
Leaving work, Giulia, as usual, talks non-stop while they walk to her birthday surprise.
'We're here. Come on. I know you don't drink much, but I'll buy you one anyway - the barman's great - and then you can open your present.' Giulia has a voice like honey, the one she uses when she wants to be sure of getting yes as an answer.
The bar is near the Two Towers, rather hidden, but it must be fashionable because it's full of young people. They're crowding around outside as well, making a racket.
Good, it's really close to the bookshop, thinks Eva, so I'll be able to go and have a wander round it afterwards.
They go in. It's very bright, with African paintings on the walls and ebony statues dotted here and there. The barman really is cute: short hair, serious, and he doesn't look like he puts on airs, which in itself is extremely unusual.
'What can I get for you?'
'Two glasses of white wine. It's my friend's birthday,' Giulia chirps to attract his attention.
'Congratulations! I'll get you some special nibbles as well then.'
'I melt when he speaks. Have you ever seen such a hunk? God, I'll dream about him tonight.'
'You could stop telling everyone it's my birthday,' Eva says.
'Come on, don't be your usual sulky self. Life smiles on those who smile at it… or something like that.'
Giulia is always in a good mood when she can spot a new conquest on the horizon. She likes to find a fresh object of desire fairly frequently: once she gets what she wants, she has already lost interest in it, and is looking for something new. She is in a permanent state of euphoric non-happiness.
'Here we are,' says the barman. 'The sandwich with the little coloured flag is for the birthday girl. It's got a special filling, with a dressing I invented myself.'
'Thank you.' Eva feels embarrassed.
'Don't be a flirt. Hands off -1 saw him first,' Giulia says, pretending to be joking. She hands her the shiny black parcel that she has been holding and exclaims 'Happy birthday.' Everyone turns to look at Giulia and she covers her mouth to pretend she didn't reveal it on purpose, that it just slipped out. She's always over the top.
'But you shouldn't have,' Eva tells her.
'At least open it, then you can say I shouldn't have.'
The birthday girl scratches off the Sellotape with her fingers. She does it carefully; the paper is so nice that she doesn't want to spoil it. It's like the wrappers of those toffees in the fuchsia tin with the picture of a lady and a cavalry officer on the lid, the sweets her grandmother used to give her every Christmas when she was a girl. The lady held a lace parasol and wore a bonnet. Eva can still remember her as if she had the tin in front of her. How soft and sweet they were, those toffees. They used to melt in her mouth… Her favourites were the long, thin caramels.
'Come on! You're taking ages!'
'OK.' Eva tears off the paper and reveals a white cardboard box. She waits a second before raising the lid, just like when she was small and paused before unwrapping her favourite caramels. Then she gives in to curiosity and lifts the lid abruptly.
A dress - a dress the like of which she has never seen before.
'But were you all in on this together?' she says, thinking of her sister's present.
'So, you like it, then? I bought one the same for me. Just so I'm not jealous of any of my friends, I've learned a trick: if I buy them a present, I buy one for me as well. That way there's no problem.'
'Thank you. It's stunning,' Eva says, even though she doesn't think she'll ever wear it. She plays with the flag from the sandwich, twisting it between her fingers.
'Promise you'll wear it.'
'I don't know, but it really is beautiful, Giulia.'
It's as if the whole world is telling her that she's a woman, and she can't hide the fact any longer. Her periods, which have been starting early for a while now, perhaps even they want to remind her. Tell her that she should stop pretending that all she needs is a pair of jeans, heavy combat boots and a hood pulled over her head to hide her from the world.
A world that seems to her to resemble a huge cock. A world that, as far as she can see, isn't the shape it ought to be. It's not round any more, it's a big cock.
The dark keeps her company as she goes home. She looks down at her feet, as usual, concentrating ort the scuffed toes of her shoes. She has bought a book. The heroine is a woman detective; the story is set in Bologna.
Today I got lots of presents. She keeps her gaze on her shoes, racing along quickly to carry her home - to her Miew.
She has just turned the corner of Via dell'Inferno when a dodgy-looking figure suddenly appears.
He has a red scarf wrapped tightly round his neck and is clutching something in his hand. For an instant Eva feels as strong as an ox. The blood is pounding in her temples like a hammer, and a strange heat spreads throughout her body.
* * *
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
'Hello?'
'It's me.'
'Who's speaking?'
'Viola. Sorry to disturb you.'
'Oh. Hi Viola. No, you're not disturbing me.'
'Thank you for the other day. It probably seemed odd but I didn't want my boyfriend to know…'
'I understand. It's not a problem.'
'Is someone dead?'
'What?'
'The photograph, the blood.'
'Viola, I can't talk about this. Especially not like this, on the phone…'
'I understand. Listen, below my flat there's a cafe, and if you like we could meet there in half an hour.'
'Perfect.'
The girl wanders round the room in bare feet. The bad weather is almost over; it will soon be replaced by longer, sunnier days. She loves it when it's cold. For various reasons.
She pulls on a pink stretchy top and a pair of jeans. She has put on weight, a kilo. She can see it in her breasts - they're enormous.
She hates her tits. Too big. Far too big.
I
t's as if they call out to men, as if they say look at me, I'm female.
Female.
She doesn't even like the word.
It makes her think of sex.
It makes her think of people having sex.
Every day.
Having sex every day.
When it's her period, she doesn't like having sex, but… Marco tells her that he likes it, that she smells female when she bleeds. Female.
She hates that word.
She has always hated it.
She changes again. She puts the pink top back in the wardrobe; it's too tight. She opens the door of Marco's side of the wardrobe and takes out a black- and-green checked shirt.
There's not much time before their meeting. She is nervous.
Partly because she has had that dream again.
Roses bathed in blood. Cut roses. Death.
It's three o'clock on the dot. Perhaps he's already waiting for her.
She runs down the stairs. Marconi is sitting at a table. He feels relaxed and flirtatious - a rare occurrence, it doesn't happen often. He has ordered a coffee, no sugar.
'Hi,' she says, while still in the doorway.
'Hi.'
It feels like their first meeting.
'Do you want something to drink?'
'No thanks.'
'What did you want to tell me?'
'I've changed my mind - I'll have a caffe macchiato. With hot milk.'
'OK.' Marconi raises his arm to call the barista.
'There's no waiter service here.'
'What?'
'You have to go to the counter. Better still, I'll go.'
'No, wait, I didn't understand. I'll go.'
Viola looks out of the window. She smells Marco's domineering odour on the shirt. She hugs herself, clasping her hands round her arms and imagining that she is touching him. There is something in the pocket over her breast. She reaches in and feels something smooth.
'Here's your coffee, miss.' Marconi bows to her like a waiter. He's in a good mood, which he hardly ever is. 'It's hot today, isn't it?' he adds, sitting down again.
'Yes, too hot - and it's only the end of March.'
'I like the heat.'
'The eyes are the same.'
'What?'
'The eyes in the photograph. They're the same as in my dream.'
'I thought so, from how you reacted the other day.'
'They looked like they belonged to a person in my dream, but instead it's just a soft toy. Only a soft toy. Such a lot of fear for a teddy bear.'
'Well, yes.' 'You don't know what a weight you've lifted from me. I mean, I'd much rather it was a teddy bear. I recognised the floor as well, and the toilet in the background. Now I understand what it was. It was a toilet.'
'But what is it you do with your life?' And he smiles at her with his eyes.
'I survive, not much more than that,' and she smiles, too. Then she passes her hand over the pocket and hears whatever it is crunching. She can't wait any longer. She has found something. Perhaps a note from another woman. Perhaps she won't be able to pretend any longer that nothing's wrong. She tries to work out what it is, feeling the shirt pocket with her hand.
Marconi watches her. She looks sad.
'I'd like to get a job.'
'They always need shop assistants in town. Have you tried to find anything?'
'Not yet. I'm slow in just making a decision, so imagine how long it takes me to actually do something.'
'So… he's your boyfriend?'
'Yes.' They stop talking. He plays with the teaspoon. She keeps feeling the pocket to work out what is hidden inside.
'OK. I have to go now.'
'Can I walk with you?'
'Better not.' She says goodbye to him so she can be alone with whatever it is that's inside the pocket.
* * *
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Today's the big day,' says Roberto, ironically.
He has no doubt about it: he's going to humiliate her again. And he'll punish her as well, for not staying in her place like he said she should.
He also feels sure because the client is a friend of Mariangela's husband, and because of that he always listens to her advice. Therefore, even if Eva produces something halfway decent… but then she isn't any good. There's no doubt about that either. All she's capable of is doing the scanning.
'Eva, they're waiting for us in the presentation room. The client is already here,' he informs her while he adjusts one of his awful ties, this one in shades of acid green.
The girl sits down, frowning, at one end of the long table of light-coloured wood.
Roberto is next to her, with a slight, affected smile on his lips. She hates him when he smiles like that, with his thin lips.
People whose lips are too thin are wicked, her grandmother always used to say to her.
There are two folders: her yellow one and Roberto's green one. She's sure it's just a coincidence, but she can't help noticing how it matches his tie.
Sonia is working on another project. At the last second they palmed off on her a newspaper ad promoting a beauty salon, partly because Roberto doesn't like having too many people under his feet when he wants to win over an important account.
Mariangela picks up the yellow folder and looks through it along with the client, a man of about fifty with a red face and a shiny nose, thin brown hair and a white-and-blue striped tie. She is speaking intently and he is nodding.
Then she takes the other proposal and starts talking to him quietly once more. The client nods again. 'I prefer the second one,' the man finally says.
Mariangela smiles, pulling back her lips until she is grimacing like a porn star. Perhaps she's thinking about the bonus she's now going to give Roberto, who is overjoyed about winning. An extra fuck.
'I'm sorry for Eva. She's new, and to build up her confidence I wanted her to have this opportunity, but there's no comparison is there, Guidetti? The second is much more immediate, more colourful, funny, right for young people and for the next Christmas campaign,' she concludes, articulating her words clearly.
'You have a look too, Giulia, seeing as you're here.'
Giulia doesn't even pretend to look at the two proposals and immediately says: 'The second one's much better. On a different level altogether. That girl in the Jacuzzi talking on her mobile is completely wrong.'
At that, Roberto's expression, darkens. He jumps imperceptibly in his chair, and, unable to stop himself, fixes Eva with a stare that is somewhere between questioning and threatening.
She turns away while he thinks: Don't say anything, just don't. But she does.
'There must have been a mistake when the proposals were labelled. Look for yourselves: on the back of the design with the mobile phone snowboarding past the older models there's my signature. I don't know how it happened, but the two folders must have got mixed up. And now, as they say, give us youngsters a chance!'
Everyone looks at her - stunned - and she starts to talk to Guidetti, explaining her ideas in detail and the message she wanted to convey. No one can take it away from her now: the advertising campaign is hers. Soon she'll see her posters around Bologna, as she had dreamed, and every time she sees one she will imagine Roberto's face.
The shouting coming from Mariangela's office provides background noise during the last hour of the working day.
'That bitch. That fucking cunt. You shouldn't have let it happen!'
Then Mariangela speaks - no one can hear what she's saying - then Roberto again: 'Fuck. Fuck!'
Then nothing again.
'She swapped them, the bitch! I can't believe it. Fuck, I can't believe it.' Silence, then the sound of something crashing on to the floor.
Eva is enjoying it. She's loving every moment. A real orgasm of pleasure, like you get from chocolate, the same rush when you eat something that's so good you lick your lips and the taste fills you up and you try to stop it melting away.
Mariangela, however, won't be having an
y orgasms for a long time. He's very touchy is Roberto.
* * *
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
''Tommasi, today's Friday and we're going to check out the market at Montagnola.'
'I thought the council did that sort of boring job.'
'We're trying to find the weapon used in the last murder, and we'll have a look round.'
'What? We're looking for an antique pistol at Montagnola?'
'No, I mean the hairpin used to spear the man's eye.' Marconi doesn't explain any further.
'OK,' is all Tommasi replies. Something crops up every time his boss says 'we'll have a look round', and they both know it.
Last time he said it, they found themselves in the middle of a shoot-out between a Ukrainian prostitute's pimp and a rather particular client: an ex- security guard who had got it into his head to take her off the street and marry her. They were there, just having a look round, in the area where the tobacco factory used to be. The shooting had started, and the woman - in a micro-skirt and high heels - was screaming. Her fingers were in her ears, and she was running backwards and forwards, unsure whether to side with her client or her pimp.
At Montagnola, Marconi makes sure he studies each and every stall, even though they all look much the same to him. And he doesn't like the smell of incense, either. It stings his nose and makes him sneeze. Tommasi follows a step behind, as it's so crowded that they can't walk side by side.
Every time Marconi halts, because he thinks he has just seen something that looks like a metal hairpin, without fail Tommasi bumps into him and says: 'Sorry, Inspector.' And Marconi replies, without fail: 'Don't call me inspector when we're undercover, you idiot.'
Sometimes they're just like a pair of comedians.
Marconi isn't very good at scanning the stalls - his eyes are too well trained in spotting criminality. He notices the actions of the Moroccan who is pretending to shake the rather dazed-looking Rastafarian's hand, but in fact is passing him a spliff. He sees the little punk who is walking too close to a boy with a rucksack, so he can open the zip a bit more every time the boy slows down. He would like to do something but then he remembers that it's not his business, that he's here to look for something very specific, something that perhaps will be able to provide some answers regarding the mysterious girl who goes round Bologna killing predatory men.
The Girl with the Crystal Eyes Page 11
