by Penny Feeny
She handed Ruby the map on the pretext that she was a better navigator and they set off for the gallery. Was it possible Gina would be there too, curating her own show? Did artists do that? She wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure, either, whether Gina had exhibited before. She’d thought she took portraits, families, weddings, all that commissioned stuff – and a bit of erotica. Maybe there’d even be a full frontal of Joe? She could feel herself going hot all over at the thought. She’d no idea how Ruby would take it; Ruby wasn’t predictable. She might be well impressed. Or jealous. Or she might think it was hysterically funny, which would be hard to handle.
It was bizarre enough being back here, nine months on, searching for that elusive sensation she remembered as a warm glow: a lovely fusing of novelty and fantasy. Sometimes she wondered if it had happened at all, if the twenty-four hours with Joe in Gina’s apartment was a dream invented by her subconscious. There’d been something so unexpected and tender about their coming together that she couldn’t bear the prospect of ridicule – even if it was only directed at a two-dimensional black-and-white image. She began to drag her feet.
‘Wassup?’ said Ruby, noticing that Sasha had fallen behind. ‘Have you got a blister or something?’
‘Not yet,’ said Sasha, grateful for the excuse. ‘But I should have worn my old trainers. I don’t want to do too much walking in these.’
‘No worries, we’re nearly there. It’s up here on the right.’
The street widened into a lozenge-shaped piazza, its walls pasted with torn and flapping posters, its gutter clogged with litter. A sleek and magnificent Porsche was parked alongside a glossy glass entrance. Above this the words GALLERIA FARNON were etched into steel. Sasha grabbed one of the door handles ahead of Ruby and hesitated.
‘Now what’s the matter?’ Ruby demanded.
‘We might have to pay to go in.’
‘Dumbo! It’s a commercial gallery. They want to get people inside to buy. Come on!’
She pushed past Sasha with her usual bustling impatience but, once they’d entered, the lofty white space intimidated. A young man with long hair and a perfectly ironed cotton shirt was seated at a desk in the corner. He was conferring with a bearded man in a well-cut suit; the latter spread his hands flat on the surface of the desk as he leaned forward, a briefcase tucked between his ankles. The gallery assistant’s gaze flickered towards the girls as if they were intruders and then returned to his customer.
‘What is it about these places?’ whispered Ruby. ‘Why do they always make you feel like you’re in church?’
‘Ssh,’ Sasha whispered back. ‘He probably understands English.’
They both moved over to the far wall and a sequence of what Sasha had assumed were wild landscapes, like the one on the poster. In fact, on closer inspection, they were industrial wastelands: abandoned silos, cooling towers and decommissioned factories, raw and monstrous.
‘This isn’t hers,’ said Ruby skimming the labels and moving around the walls at speed. The assistant at the desk was on the phone, speaking in a mannered intonation and rolling his eyes now and again at his client. Another couple came into the gallery; they had the look of serious seekers of culture and Sasha was glad of the cover. She couldn’t explain why she felt so apprehensive and, if this was the way she was going to react to seeing a photograph of Joe, how the hell was she going to cope with actually meeting him again in the flesh? If she ever did.
‘Is he one of these?’ said Ruby.
She had moved on to the wall which showed Gina’s photographs. Three bare-chested youths were clambering over each other in a fountain like porpoises, mirroring the sculpted marble from which the water gushed. They gave off an air of wild exuberance and abandon until you looked closer and saw their painful scars.
‘No,’ said Sasha.
They were nothing like Gina’s wedding photos or the retouched portraits of her wealthy sitters. These damaged subjects were in sharp focus, though they seemed ready to sink back into the shadows. A body was trapped in a broken section of piping, asleep; a face was raised in supplication, tears magnifying the eyes in a way that was almost grotesque. There was a disturbing close-up of the blistered hands of a man who’d tried to burn the layers of skin from his fingertips.
‘A bit grim,’ was Ruby’s verdict.
‘Not this one.’ Sasha pointed to a surreal shot of Samias-Caesar sailing past the Circus Maximus on roller blades with his arms stretched wide. The quirky image made her smile.
‘Is that him?’
‘No, that’s his mate we were looking for, Sami. Cool, no?’
Then, abruptly, she reached the end of the row. Here were two framed pictures of a naked couple, lying face down on a wide white bed.
‘I Vulnerati,’ said Ruby who had picked up the catalogue from a side table and was leafing through the English translation. ‘It means wounded. And vulnerable too, according to this. Well, it fits, doesn’t it, if they’re all asylum seekers. Hey, Sash, what’s the matter?’
‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ said Sasha.
‘Was it the custard cornetto? You’d better not throw up in here.’
Sasha gave a strangled moan. Ruby felt her forehead. Then she turned to see what she was staring at. ‘Fuck, is that you, Sash?’
Sasha swallowed, she couldn’t speak.
Ruby said reassuringly, ‘It’s only your hair and a bit of your cheek showing and that’s much too swollen for anyone to recognise. Your bum looks great though. Sorry! Only kidding. Is it really you? And him?’
She had to hide behind her hands. ‘I don’t believe it.’
‘It’s no big deal. What about those pics we posted for a laugh after the results party?’
‘That was different. I mean, for one thing we were drunk, and anyway they were, like, between friends – not for the whole world to see.’
Ruby indicated the empty space around them. ‘Do you see the whole world here? I bet hardly anybody ever comes in or buys anything.’
‘Oh my God, they’re for sale?’
‘Didn’t you know she was taking them?’
‘I was asleep! She came in on us. I knew she had the camera, but I didn’t think… Christ, Rube, what am I going to do?’
Ruby jerked her head towards the gallery assistant with his client in the corner. ‘Ask him to take them down. If she didn’t have your permission, it’s gotta be illegal, right?’
‘I can’t!’ wailed Sasha. ‘I don’t want him to know it’s me. I don’t want anyone to know.’
‘Then keep quiet, because nobody could possibly tell. Or get her to do it.’
‘How?’
‘Call her,’ said Ruby. ‘Fucking tell her right now.’
Sasha stumbled to the exit, pulling her phone from her bag. She’d been back in Rome for half a day and already the time she’d spent with Joe had been reduced to a sordid sideshow for strangers to gawp at. She didn’t know if she could bear it.
21
The spring sunshine was dazzling and Sasha’s vision was blurred by tears. She could just make out an apparition in white scooting across the small piazza. She began to chase after it, calling ‘Sami! Sami!’ but the robed figure was elusive. Rounding the corner in pursuit she found herself in an empty street. She rubbed her eyes; she must have been imagining things, her brain confused by what she’d seen in the gallery. No one could disappear from view that quickly. Behind her, Ruby, who’d been struggling to keep up, tripped and cursed.
‘Look at that! I’ve trodden in fucking dog shit. Slow down, Sash. Where the hell are you going?’
‘I thought I saw him.’
‘Who, Joe?’
‘Sami.’
Ruby hopped on one foot and tried to scrape her shoe against the kerb. ‘Have you got through to her yet?’
‘No.’ Sasha pushed her silver bracelet up her arm and stabbed again at the redial button on her phone. Gina wasn’t answering, every call went straight to voicemail. Briefly, she considered going back to t
he rented apartment, curling up on the bed, pulling the covers over her head and blotting out the world. It was what she did in the throes of acute period pain, what she’d wanted to do after the Campo de’ Fiori incident, until Joe had turned horror to joy. But now there was no Joe and their coming together, their most private moment of intimacy, was on public display. Gina Stanhope was totally shameless.
‘You should go on trying,’ urged Ruby. ‘She’s probably talking to someone.’
Sasha sniffed and strode away from the sickly shitty smell.
Ruby panted after her. ‘Hey, wait for me! Where are we off to anyhow?’
‘I’m going to have to go to her bloody flat, aren’t I?’
‘What if she’s not there?’
‘Then I’ll wait.’ Her feet, she realised in some surprise, were familiar with the route, and already pounding across Piazza Farnese. ‘It’s not far from here – we only have to cross the river. You will back me up, Rube, won’t you?’
‘Of course I’ll back you up. She should never have done it! You’re meant to pay people to use their pictures or get them to sign for permission. I reckon you could sue her, Sash. It’s a flippin’ nerve she’s got. She must’ve thought she could get away with it because you’d never see it. She’s going to get one massive shock.’ Ruby relished a challenge, a storming confrontation. She grimaced happily at the prospect.
They were emerging from Via Giulia onto the Lungotevere and Sasha’s steps began to falter. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘No one who matters is going to see it. Perhaps I should leave it.’
‘What about your dad though? S’pose he, like, wandered in there?’
‘Why would he do that? It’s not the kind of thing he’s into: arty farty photographs.’
‘Then you could use it to guilt her into telling you how to find him. Your Joe, I mean.’
They crossed at the pedestrian lights onto the Ponte Sisto. Sasha leant over the parapet. The colour of the Tiber, flowing far below, echoed the vivid green of the fresh new leaves on the plane trees. Last summer they had been limp and dusty. It was weird, when you came back to a place, the way things were subtly different. It could be like that with Joe, too, if she ever saw him again.
Ruby tugged at her sleeve. ‘Come on. You’ve made it this far, you gotta see it through.’
During their canter towards Trastevere, Sasha had made regular attempts to call Gina’s number. When they finally entered her street, she punched the redial button yet again. This time there was ringing and her stomach lurched. The ringing stopped and Gina’s husky voice came on the line: ‘Pronto.’
At the same moment they reached the apartment block and Ruby, scanning the labels, pressed the top bell.
‘Pronto?’ repeated Gina. ‘Chi è?’ Then: ‘Momento. Suona la porta.’
The front door swung open and Sasha clicked to end the call. Why give her any warning now that they were here and she had let them in? Why not wait until they were face to face? In fact, she wouldn’t even need to speak. Gina would only have to see her, standing in front of her, to feel as guilty as hell.
The light was dim, the only sound was their footsteps echoing on the stairs. Ruby’s mouth was set in a rictus of determination, as if she were the one about to chivvy this stranger she’d never met into abject apology. Sasha couldn’t possibly have expressed the confusion of emotions consuming her with every tread.
When they reached the top floor they had to knock again; the door was not already ajar, inviting them in, as it had been on Sasha’s first visit. However, Gina drew back the catch and flung it open with a flourish. This must be one of her good days. She was looking particularly glamorous and she had the merry demeanour of someone who’s just heard exciting news. Her wide smile became a puzzled frown at the sight of the two girls. She started to speak in Italian – they identified the word ‘bagno’ – until Sasha stepped forward. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t been recognised.
‘Gina, it’s me, Sasha Mitchell.’
‘Oh my God!’ She clapped her hands together, then laid them on Sasha’s shoulders, appraising her. ‘I would never have known. What happened to you?’
‘What d’you mean, “What happened”?’
It wasn’t fair, the way Gina did this, putting her immediately on the defensive, when it should have been the other way around, like she’d been in another fight or whatever.
‘Darling, you’re so… grown-up. Not the girl from last summer at all.’
‘Oh.’ She felt flattered, but wrong-footed too. How could she launch into her diatribe when Gina was beaming in such a positive and admiring fashion?
‘You’ve really blossomed.’
‘I have?’ Ruby nudged the small of her back. Sasha didn’t know how to continue. ‘Um… thanks.’
Gina seemed abstracted – half pleased to see her, half eager to get on with something else. Ruby shoved Sasha harder this time. ‘Er… this is my mate, Ruby.’
‘Oh,’ Gina’s eyes glowed. ‘The famous Ruby.’
The famous Ruby scowled with a touch of petulance. ‘What’ve you been saying about me, Sash?’
‘I never said anything.’
‘She missed you,’ said Gina smoothly. ‘In fact, I’d go so far as to say that at first she was completely lost without you.’
‘’Cos Antonio was such a tosser,’ said Sasha. ‘I told you that, remember.’
‘Well, it’s fantastic that you’re here again,’ said Gina in her cat-that-got-the-cream voice. ‘And with your friend this time. But I’m sorry I can’t stay and chat. I’m due to meet a client.’
‘We don’t want to chat,’ muttered Ruby, but Gina didn’t appear to notice.
‘And although it’s so lovely to see you, actually I had hoped you were the plumber.’ She gave another dazzling smile. ‘Pity.’
‘The plumber?’ echoed Sasha, edging further into the hallway. She could see a slice of the living room, untidy, unchanged.
‘My boiler’s been on the blink for two days. Nightmare. The only upside is that cold water makes your hair shine.’ She flicked it, gleaming, and it fell neatly back into position.
‘You’ve got no hot water?’ Ruby shuddered. ‘That must be gross.’
‘I do wash,’ said Gina sharply. ‘He was supposed to come yesterday, but reliability isn’t one of the strengths of functioning Roman society. Plus plumbers operate under different laws to the rest of us, don’t they, so when he promised he’d turn up before midday it was crazy of me to believe him.’
Ruby said, ‘If you gotta go out, we could stay here and wait for him.’
‘What?’ Gina’s first instinct was to dismiss this bold suggestion. ‘Why ever would you do that?’
‘If you’re cool with it, we don’t mind. Sash says you can get English channels on your TV; you can’t in our apartment.’
‘You didn’t come to Rome to watch TV?’
‘Course not! Just while we’re, like, waiting for you to get back.’ Ruby massaged her shin vigorously, pretending she had cramp. ‘We’ve been walking around all morning.’
Gina began to waver. ‘Well…’ She stood back, assessing them both, as if weighing up the benefits of hot water against the occupation of her flat by strangers. Except they weren’t strangers exactly – wouldn’t that make a difference? ‘He did text to say he’s on his way,’ she admitted. ‘He must have sent it while I was on the phone. I don’t necessarily believe him, but I really do have to get to my appointment. This could be a good commission.’
Sasha cast a quick glance at Ruby, who winked back.
‘I’ll only be an hour or so,’ Gina went on. ‘An hour and a half, tops. So if he turns up before I get back, do feel free to leave. I’ve used him a lot, he’s perfectly honest. On the other hand…’
‘We can stay till you’re done, can’t we, Sash?’
‘I wouldn’t want to disrupt your plans.’
‘We haven’t made any yet.’
Gina’s mobile trilled in her bag. ‘That will
be Mario,’ she said, without bothering to check, clearly too distracted by her important meeting to consider why Sasha had suddenly materialised on her front step. ‘I have to go. These are my spare keys. Make sure you double lock the mortise and then drop them into my mailbox on your way out. Oh, and shut the portone. I appreciate the favour. Thanks, girls.’
‘“Thanks girls!”’ mimicked Ruby, watching from the landing as Gina descended the staircase. When the portone slammed, she punched the air. ‘Success!’
‘What I don’t see,’ said Sasha, ‘is how hanging around for the plumber is going to do us any good.’
‘I don’t believe you!’ said Ruby. ‘The way you wimped out. You are a total wimpette, babe. You were shouting all the way here like you were mental and then when you get close up and personal it’s all yes miss, no miss, three bags full miss.’
‘I was going to get around to it,’ insisted Sasha. ‘But I didn’t have a chance.’
‘You could have so scuppered it for her. Imagine what state she’d’ve been in if you’d had a go, laid into her? You could’ve lost her that precious commission if you’d gone at things right.’
‘Maybe it’s more important to me that she tells me about Joe.’
‘Whatever.’ Ruby’s dimples twitched. ‘Anyhow, I stopped her from sending us away, didn’t I? And she really owes us, so she’ll have to do what you say. D’you need a bit of practice? We could have a rehearsal if you want. I’ll be Gina.’ She lifted her chin and gurgled in a throaty drawl: ‘Darling! What’s with this growing-up business? Is it hard? How do you do it exactly?’
‘Lay off,’ said Sasha. ‘Let me look around a bit first.’
‘Feeling sentimental?’
‘Something like that.’
She stood in the centre of the living room, inhaling traces of Gina’s perfume, a tang of citrus from recently juiced oranges, sunlight baking wood. The same pictures were on the walls, the furniture was in the same position – though a new throw was draped on the couch where she had slept, a deep emerald green mohair. There were fashion magazines on the coffee table, along with some scribbled post-it notes, reminders, phone numbers, what might have been a shopping list. In Gina’s bedroom, she saw the bed was unmade, shoes had been kicked into a pile, the side lamp had been left on. She closed the door; there was a limit to snooping and anyway it was the other, larger bedroom that held attraction for her: Felix’s room.
