by Ian Fox
“Wednesday evening,” Simon replied in a friendly voice. He smelled the aroma of spaghetti with Bolognese sauce. Resigned to his fate, he glanced at the pan on the stove. The hunger he had felt earlier evaporated. He decided to go first to the bathroom to throw some water on his face.
“Where are you rushing off to? We’ve got to talk.”
“About what?”
“About the dinner, of course. I’m not sure if you’ve any idea who Carlo Vucci is.”
While walking away, he said, “I heard he has quite a bit of money and that he’s involved in some shady business. To tell you the truth, I don’t like him.”
His reply caused her to flush. Simon was always suspicious of people with lots of money. In his opinion, they were all cheats. Helen clutched at her chest and tried to keep her voice calm. “He’s an incredibly important guy and this meeting could change our lives. Are you at all aware of that?”
“How do you mean, change our lives?”
She waited impatiently for him to come back from the bathroom. She put a heavily laden plate on the table. But as soon as he sat down she pulled it away from him, which meant she wanted to have a serious talk. She was doing him a favor, because he found the smell of canned meat increasingly hard to take.
She sat opposite him and raised her eyebrows. What she had to tell him seemed terribly important so she chose her words carefully. “This man obviously feels extremely grateful to you. I’m sure he wants to repay you in some way. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”
“Of course I do.”
Again she paused for thought. “If you get friendly with him, you could persuade him to invest in a private clinic, in which you would have some kind of stake. You could do what you want there. You could be the director. What do you say?”
Simon looked away and rolled his eyes. He felt that she had their future all planned out. He almost felt like laughing. “Listen, my love. You know me well enough to know that I have certain principles. I’m not going to get tangled up with crooks. It’s too dangerous.”
Her cheeks stretched tight and her eyes bulged slightly, the first sign of inner tension. “What crooks? What nonsense are you talking? The man is grateful to you for saving his life, and we’re not going to do anything other than benefit from his influence. Is that so hard to do?”
“You’ve not met him and you don’t know what he’s like. I have, and from the way he behaves I’d swear that he’s on the wrong side of the law—”
“So why did you accept his dinner invitation?”
“He was so insistent. I resisted as much as I could, but he wouldn’t give up. I think it’s best if we politely attend his dinner and then we shall never see each other again. When you meet him, you’ll understand.”
Helen pushed the plate of pasta back in front of him. “There’s no talking to you. Whenever there’s an opportunity, you fail to grab it. Are you even aware that time is going by?”
“What do you mean?”
“Neither of us is twenty anymore. I want to get something out of life.”
Simon was surprised by her attack. “I don’t see who’s stopping you.”
“You are, Simon. You’re stopping me. Ever since I’ve been with you, nothing happens to me. Every day is exactly the same.”
“Then find something to liven it up,” he said, trying to keep his anger in check.
“I will, too. Don’t you worry. I’ve had enough of this stupid, boring existence.”
She went into the garden.
He figured the best thing to do was let her sulk outside and she’d soon cool down. He could still barely stand the smell assaulting his nostrils. He took his plate and, scowling, carried it to the toilet. Simon flushed it with pleasure and watched the pasta disappear into the black hole. Then he cut himself a thick slice of white bread, put two slices of cheese on it, and went to the basement.
Helen finally chose the right dress. She put it on quickly and hurried to the bathroom. She heard her husband banging about in the kitchen. “Are you ready, dear?”
“Ages ago. I’ll go to the lab while you’re getting ready.”
She answered in a husky voice, “Don’t, you’ll mess up your suit again. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
She used a cleanser and then put on some face cream, added a thin layer of powder, and emphasized her lips with a strong red lipstick. Finally, she did her eyes, coloring them with blue-green eye shadow. She had also bought some new, expensive mascara for the occasion, justifying its purchase for such an important visit, and so the cost didn’t matter.
She took one last look in the mirror. She was happy with her hair, which she had had done in the salon before leaving work. But she was not too pleased with her dress. It was the best she had, but nothing like the kind she would really like.
Simon was sitting at the table reading a scientific journal. The article reported on people attempting to slow down the aging process. They spent hours every week at the gym and took various vitamin supplements to stay fit. What they’re doing isn’t bad, he thought, but it has little to do with aging. When my vaccine is on the market—.
“Come on! I thought you said you were ready.”
He jumped when he heard her voice. “I am. Shall we go?”
“We’re late already. You still don’t have your shoes on.” Helen scrutinized him up and down. “What about your tie? Where’s your tie?”
“I thought I’d go without—”
“No way. I told you already, it’s an extremely important visit. You can’t be without a tie. Go and put one on, please. And not that brown one you always wear. Take the blue one with the red pattern that I bought for your birthday. And put on the dark-blue jacket. It’ll go well with your pants.”
Because he didn’t want to argue he went for his tie and jacket.
The drive was unusually silent. Once, Helen commented that it was time they got a new car. “This old piece of junk is already eight years old. How long are we going to keep driving it?”
“We’ll get a new one next year,” he replied. He thought she would keep going on about the car but to his amazement she stayed quiet. Obviously, she’s too busy thinking about how to behave at dinner.
When they finally arrived at the property, Helen was beside herself with excitement. “Look how much land they’ve got! He must be rolling in it!”
Simon slowed the car on the long driveway.
She exclaimed, “Will you look at that mansion!” She admired the carefully tended shrubbery on the left. When she saw the enormous two-story house up close, she gasped. On the second floor she counted six large windows. Together with the first floor, she counted fifteen. The façade was a brick-red color, which in combination with the white windows and magnificent entrance pillars, created an impression of grandeur.
She pointed to the right. “Look at that maze! I can’t believe it.”
Simon glanced at the maze made out of rosemary bushes, which was about twenty yards across. He said nothing.
“What a house! It could hold at least five big families.” She grabbed his shoulder and shook it. “Isn’t it heavenly?”
“Stop shaking me, we’ll crash.”
When they stopped on the drive in front of the house, a young man in a dark-blue suit was waiting for them. He opened the door on Helen’s side. Simon reached for his door handle.
Helen hissed at him, “Wait, damn it! You’ll ruin everything.”
He instantly pulled his hand back and looked at her in surprise. “What did I do wrong?”
“Wait for the servant to open your door!”
He was relieved it was nothing worse.
When Helen had elegantly gotten out, the young man bowed and welcomed her. With her head up, she looked around and hardly replied. Then the young man went to Simon’s side and opened his door.
“There you are, sir. Welcome to Mr. and Mrs. Vucci’s estate.”
Dr. Patterson smiled and wished him good day.
The
servant pointed toward the entrance with both hands and bowed politely.
“Welcome!” said Carlo Vucci, coming toward them. A cap covered the short hair that had grown back after the operation. “Dinner will be ready soon. I just checked.” He gave them his hand. “You have an unbelievably beautiful wife, Dr. Patterson.”
Delighted, Helen gushed, “And you have a really wonderful house.”
“Thanks. I’m very grateful to anyone who praises it. This house means a lot to me and I’ve invested a lot of time and a great deal of money in it. If you like, I can give you a quick tour. While we’re looking around, my wife, Christine, will join us.”
Helen was pleased. Carlo Vucci seemed to her incredibly charming and, in spite of his years, an attractive man. He radiated power and confidence, which attracted her.
“All the furniture you’ll see on the first floor is Baroque, from the first half of the eighteenth century. That’s the period in which I’d like to have lived. You won’t believe this, but we also have a wardrobe of Baroque clothes.”
Simon slowly followed as Carlo led them around the house, showing them the furniture. His thoughts were with Dorothy. What’s the matter with her again? When he’d visited her in the morning, she had seemed weak. Something’s wrong. Before I go to bed, I’ll go and see her.
Helen had only ever seen so many beautiful things in a museum. She kept turning her head and devouring with pleasure whatever caught her eye. The walls were full of paintings, a few of them more than six feet across. Some of the walls were hung with heavy brocade drapes. The furniture, with its curved contours, was carefully chosen and in good condition. She particularly liked the sensuous tapestries and artistic porcelain vases. Every little detail spoke of comfort and luxury.
Carlo Vucci was extremely friendly. He showed them around the first floor with great pleasure.
He said, “Every year I throw a fancy-dress party. That’s the only opportunity that my wife and I get to dress up in those special clothes we have in the closet. I can hardly wait for that gathering to come round. I’d be delighted if you could attend too.”
Simon suddenly woke up. “Ah, of course, why not?”
Helen blushed. “We’d love to come.” She could hardly wait to tell her co-workers where she had been. She thought there was nothing better than this kind of life.
When they were in the library a woman entered who must have been in her early twenties. Simon was moved by her beauty. She had wonderfully long, naturally blond hair that nicely complemented her elegant purple evening dress. Her neck was adorned with a charming gold necklace set with glittering diamonds and sapphires.
“Here you are at last,” Vucci said. “Dr. Patterson, Mrs. Patterson, this is my wife Christine.”
When Simon took her well-manicured hand, he was bewitched. As he stared into her wonderful green eyes, he had the feeling that he was going to drown in them. He could not remember when he had last seen such a beautiful woman.
Helen remembered very well. She had to admit to herself that the dress fit her marvelously, and stared at her necklace.
Christine smiled sweetly and offered her hand.
“Now that we’re all here, we can go into the dining room. I’m already terribly hungry,” Carlo said.
Christine spoke in her gentle voice: “So you’re the surgeon who saved Carlo’s life. I’m so pleased to meet you. I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to him.” She looked tenderly at her husband and then again directly at Simon.
“As I already said, I was just doing my job. I would do the same for anyone.”
“Didn’t I tell you he was modest?” Carlo said to his wife.
She smiled endearingly. “My husband and I are both very grateful.”
Helen envied her. Not only that she looked like a model, but that she had found the right husband and was now enjoying a life of idleness. Helen sighed deeply.
“Let’s go into the dining room,” Carlo Vucci said again.
Simon was feeling hotter all the time. He rotated his shoulders a few times because it seemed that his jacket was too tight. In irritation, he watched his wife, who turned her eyes in every direction as if she could not get enough of the beauty that surrounded them. Helen could not understand how someone could possess so many valuable things. Each space offered a new surprise. Carefully chosen cabinets, chairs, and tables decorated the enormous rooms.
They entered the spacious dining room, in which stretched a wide, highly polished table that would seat at least thirty people and that was surrounded by artistically carved, upholstered chairs. Carlo picked up a remote control and pressed one of the buttons. The light in the room diminished by a half. Then he pressed another button and the window blinds began to lower.
“It’s getting dark outside. There’s no need for anyone to see us, is there?”
Helen acted as if it was the most everyday thing, while inside she was seething with excitement and envy.
A third button followed. Gentle classical music floated into the room. Carlo Vucci motioned them to sit.
“Is the music too loud?”
Simon and Helen shook their heads. Christine had not yet sat down. She stood beside a large vase overflowing with roses. With closed eyes she sniffed first one, then another.
“Christine, will you sit down? Leave those flowers,” Carlo said, agitated. He was clearly uncomfortable. “My wife is obsessed with roses. She’s always sniffing them.”
“There’s nothing wrong with sniffing one now and then,” she said, elegantly sitting on the chair beside him.
Carlo said, “It went so far that I asked my doctor if maybe there’s some drug in roses.”
“Don’t exaggerate.” She turned toward Dr. Patterson. “Your profession is surely very interesting. Tell us something about yourself.”
Simon felt hot. He would have liked to take off his jacket and unfasten his tie. “Oh, nothing special. It’s a job. There’s almost always too much work.”
A young girl in a dark dress entered the dining room. She asked if she could get them an aperitif and they all agreed to it.
“What sort of patients do you have?” Christine asked.
Dr. Patterson thought about it, wrinkling his brow. “Extremely varied. It can be some kind of injury or a malignant tumor.”
Though Carlo and Christine didn’t understand all the technicalities, they listened with interest. Helen was bored, but she stayed quiet out of politeness. The whole time her eyes flitted around the room, admiring the furniture.
Christine got up, took a rose from the vase, and sat down again. Carlo Vucci said nothing, but it was clear he was not happy about it.
“How many operations do you do in a day?” he asked.
“It depends. Usually two to three. Some cases are very tricky and can last quite a few hours. Luckily, there are few brain operations that have to be done urgently, so we can plan ahead.”
The whole time, Christine had her nose in the flower and was staring at it. Simon dared not look into her eyes for more than a second since with each look, more beads of sweat formed on his forehead.
Carlo nodded with satisfaction. He wanted to say something, but his wife got there first.
“And you, Helen, what do you do?”
Helen wanted to tell them what she did, but it stuck in her throat. She had to drink some water before she could continue. “I’m a hairdresser, in a salon.”
Silence followed. Carlo searched for words, but in the end said nothing. He was visibly surprised, wondering how a brain surgeon could fall for a hairdresser.
“That’s why you looked so familiar,” Christine said. “I was sure I’d seen you before. Which salon do you work at?”
“Downtown, at salon Sofia,” she answered tersely.
“Now I remember. I was there once or twice and I definitely saw you. See what a small world it is.”
They all laughed. An older man in a jacket served them wine.
For the next half-hour, Carlo and Christ
ine asked Dr. Patterson questions and listened with interest to his answers. They didn’t ask Helen anything.
While hearing their voices, Helen was thinking about her youth, how her head was filled with nonsense. Instead of studying she went around enjoying herself. School was the last thing of interest. She remembered how her mother had slaved all her life. She worked on a production line and when she got home she did the housework and cooking, without complaint. Helen’s father was always drinking and did only casual work. There were few days when he wasn’t lying on his grubby couch, watching television.
They never showed much interest in Helen. Her mother had too much work in the kitchen and her father was always drunk by the evening. Helen hated the poverty in which she lived, but didn’t know how to avoid it.
Once, a good friend told her she should find a rich or influential husband. She advised her: “Find yourself a lawyer, a politician, or a doctor. They have loads of money.”
Helen had thought about this a lot and when four years later she met Simon, she knew that he was the right one. At least he seemed to be, she was thinking bitterly.
Dr. Patterson described various things that had gone on at work and mopped his brow a number of times. Christine was staring at him all the while and devouring him with her eyes—or at least that’s how it seemed to him.
Three waiters started to serve. They carried large silver platters richly laden with food.
Helen could not conceal her excitement. “Look how much they’re carrying!”
Carlo said in a friendly voice, “I ordered beef, poultry, and game. Take as much as you want. And help yourselves to rice, potatoes, or pasta.”
The aroma of roasted meat and cooked vegetables mingled in the air. Dr. Patterson only now felt his stomach rumbling. They started eating.
For some time there was silence, and then Christine asked, “When do you work? More mornings or afternoons?”
“I always start early and usually finish by five or six. Except, of course, if I’m on duty.”
Christine nodded with satisfaction and gave a thoughtful pout.
