4
AMBRA
“Please, don't give me the third degree. Don't give me the third degree.”
I keep repeating in my head as I hand over my coat to Irina.
“Welcome home, Miss Ambra.”
I smile, and the voices coming from the living room make me understand mom has guests.
I'm safe. For the moment.
The storm of questions about my session with the psychologist is delayed for a few hours. I would like to run away and take a swim in the pool, but first I have to say hello to the wealthy women's club or mom will become hysterical when they leave.
“Oh, here she is,” she squeals, noticing me at the doorway of the living room.
Every time it is the same story. She shows me to her friends as if I were a wonderful prize that life has given her. It would be great for a daughter, if it was not for her talking about how perfect I am, how well dressed I am and the jewelry she buys and how I can be a good match for her friends' sons.
It's so embarrassing!
“Hello,” I say cordially.
The ladies, drinking some herbal tea, nod their heads. They are all the exact photocopy of the other. Each of them competes to see who lifts her chin more elegantly, to see who tosses their hair in the sexiest way, to see who shows the most slender legs. My mother is certainly the captain of the wealthy women's club.
“Honey, do you want to have tea with us?” She asks.
“No, thanks, I'm really tired. I'll go and take a swim.”
“I heard you graduated the first in your class,” says the lady… mmh, the one with the platinum blonde short hair.
I don't have time to open my mouth when mom replies in my place. I cannot help but turn up my nose. Whatever!
“Ambra was the first of her course. She had the same grade for her entire college career: A. Always. I'm proud of her. Sometimes I wonder who has she taken after.”
The ladies smile at her witty remark, but I'm sure they think I didn't take after my mother.
“She took after Alberto,” observes a lady with a snobbish air. Snobbish? They're all snobs. “She has the mind of her father and the beauty of her mother.”
My mother seems to be happier to know that I inherited her beauty rather than her intelligence.
I smile, thanking silently.
“Oh, poor Alberto,” says another, “he was really a great man. Only the good die young. His foundation has done so much for that village in Africa. What was its name, Clara?”
“I don't remember, it has a strange name.”
Of course she doesn't remember it! That foundation didn't make money. She remembers only the companies that produce profit.
Suddenly I can no longer smile, not even fake. Whenever somebody compares me to my father, I feel I don't deserve it. He really was a great man; I'm just his daughter. I am not and will be never able to do the great things he was able to do.
I want to run away.
“I'll let you chat on,” I say, and I smack a light kiss on my mother's fresh cheek.
Go away, away, away. I'm bothered by those ladies.
In a flash, I leave the living room and run into my room, intending to get my swimsuit and my bathrobe. A refreshing swim in the pool will relieve the anxiety of the day.
Before I even get out of the room, I hear the cell phone ringing in my purse. I want to leave it there, but after sending out a myriad of CVs, I guess it could be a company that has evaluated my application. It may seem weird that a girl in my position, the heiress of an empire, sends CVs, but I do it only to show that I am responsible. It would be too easy to work in one of my companies, and then, to be honest, I have no ability. I have to start somewhere and a little bit of experience wouldn't hurt me. If mom finds out I have sent CVs around the world, she'll repudiate me.
I pick up the cell phone and the name of Emma is flashing. No work. My best friend is calling. Now, I am ruined, she probably has one of her absurdities in mind.
“Hello.”
“A sexy dress, a mask and desire to transgress,” she begins.
“Hello to you, too.”
“At 9 pm I'll pick you up, I have the tickets for an exclusive party, something transgressive!” She almost says it humming. Good for her that she always wants to experience. I don't care about these things at all.
“Emma, it was a heavy day and I don't want to be in the midst of people…”
“My best friend is so boring.”
“And my best friend is incorrigible.”
“If you and I weren't so different, it would be no fun.”
I cannot imagine how I would be if I had a pinch of her shamelessness. With my bathrobe and my swimsuit still in my arms, I flop on my bed and sigh.
“Are you whiffling?”
“What do you think?”
“A wind of boredom came over me.”
“What do you want, Emma? What do I have to do? Do I have to get drunk with you like the last time? I threw up badly and I have no intention of reliving that epic moment.”
“It's not my fault if you get drunk even on coca cola!”
“You corrected it with rum,” I remind her.
“Just a little.”
I am biting my tongue because I'm going to put up with her and part of me would like to shut up.
“Come on!” She screams. “It's Carnival. People come from all over the world to be part of the Carnival of Venice and you want to stay locked in your castle. I understand a real prince should climb up the tower, but if you don't go out, how are you going to meet a nice young man?”
“I don't care about your young men,” I reply, recalling the crowd of useless men that she has introduced to me.
“I have no intention of introducing you to anybody from my stables. Today we are going to a transgressive place. A place where even your expert friend has never been.” She repeated that word!
What can be so transgressive in a party? Especially in Venice, during Carnival, where there are masked people and dances in nineteenth-century style.
“What should I do?” I gave up. I knew it.
You are stupid!
“Wait a moment, I have to jump up and down. I have just broken down your apathy again.”
I don't hear her for a few seconds, while in the background I hear strange noises. Is she really jumping up and down?
“Emma?”
“So, let's repeat: I'll come and pick you up at 9 p.m.” She comes to pick me up? Her driver comes. “Wear a nice dress, uhm, the Armani your mother gave you, the black one with the low neckline…”
“Yes, yes, I remember it.”
“Bring a mask, something that completely covers your face, so we're free to transgress.”
“Please, stop repeating that word!”
“Oh, Ambra, if you only knew where I am going to take you and if your mother knew…”
“You're worrying me.”
“Tell me the truth, you'd like to see her boobs explode out of anger.” She laughs, she has such a loud laugh… Gosh, I have to move the cell phone away from my ear.
“You're a shameless girl!”
“Completely!”
“Okay, I'll eat something and then I'll get ready. See you at 9. And don't send a thousand messages: I don't have time to read them. Not even voice messages. The other day, mom heard you say that thing about…”
“Luca's dick?”
Thinking of it, I blush out of shame.
“Exactly.”
“Oh, gosh!” She laughs again. “I would pay money to have seen Clara's face.”
“She was horrified.”
“What a pleasure!”
“See you, fool.”
“Okay, see you,” and she makes a raspberry.
I flop down on the bed and look at the canopy designs. I've looked at them so many times that I know every part of them by heart. It was a busy day. The session with my doctor put me in crisis. I didn't want to admit certain things, certain thoughts, certain desires. But I did and something inside me begins to perceive a renewed sense of lightness. Was it positive to have talked out about that problem?
If Emma knew, she would find it transgressive, too. I will never tell her. It's too humiliating.
I suddenly get going and decide to have dinner a bit earlier, just to have time to go crazy in front of the mirror. I am not hungry, but expecting to drink something alcoholic, I prefer to eat anyway or I will repeat the bad rum and coke night.
I pull the Armani out of the closet. I have never worn it, mom will be happy to see me wearing one of her gifts. She lives for these things: parties, fashion shows, exhibitionism. Instead I'm like daddy.
Dad.
I miss him so much. Sometimes I think that now he is dead, he can see everything I do from heaven. When I was younger, he used to repeat that our ancestors follow us from up there and that our actions are seen by them and by God. As a child, I found it reassuring, because I thought that all those eyes could protect me, but now I feel that I might disappoint him. Now he knows what I feel, he knows that crazy feeling - that is rooted in me - he is aware of all my thoughts, and I feel invaded, blocked. It's as if I knew he is watching me and that I must control my actions not to upset him.
He's dead, he doesn't see you, he doesn't hear you, he is not there.
However, I don't want to disappoint him, now more than ever. Therefore, I also try to extinguish my thoughts. So I force myself to bury certain impulses sent by my body, certain images created by my mind.
Once I touched myself, imagining the hands of...
Forget about it. You'll disappoint him again.
I grab my dress and put it up to my chest, realizing how long it is. I throw it on the bed and go down to eat something. I avoid mum, hoping to meet her when I'm dressed up all the way, so she can concentrate on how I look, rather than how I feel.
But, instead, she surprises me.
When she sees me coming down the stairs, in my long black Armani dress, she comes to me and says,
“Honey, we have not talked about the session with Venusia yet.”
I am surprised. I thought she would shout: oh, how beautiful you are in that dress. She caresses a wavy lock and wraps her arms around my shoulders. I see myself in her eyes that are exactly as mine: gold-colored.
“I'm going out now. Let's talk about it another time.” I tighten the clutch purse and she feels my nervousness. She shakes her head as if she was hurt.
“Honey, you don't have to tell me what you said!”
Ah, no? Doesn't she want to know every little detail? I'm rediscovering a new woman.
“What do you want to know?”
“Only if it helped you to talk about it,” she replies softly.
Now I look at her with love. She is so beautiful, elegant, she also looks caring. I wish I had half an hour more to tell her how I felt, without going into those details that would kill her.
“It wasn't easy,” I admit, “but Venusia finally put me at ease and the words came out by themselves.”
“Are you going back?” she hopefully asked.
“Of course. We didn't talk much at all.”
“Did you talk about dad?”
“I don't think that's the main problem.” I am sorry but that's the truth.
“Even though Dad died only a year ago, it is not because of his loss if I have nightmares and if I need to find a solution to my illness.”
“You've accepted his death,” she says with regret.
I take her hand, noticing that her eyes are filled with remorse. She has never accepted it. She's still so young, she lost her husband too soon.
“Mom, you can't accept the loss of someone you love.” She looks at me with admiration.
“Go on, when you speak this way, you remind me of him.” I don't want to get emotional, my make-up would run. I must be strong and give her the illusion that Dad is here to talk to her.
“When we lose somebody, we don't feel that person far away. We know that with that loss a part of us has left our body, but we also know it's just a part because the rest, the true essence of the person we really love is here.” I gently put my hand on her chest. She clasps it and closes her eyes. Her eyelashes tremble and a tear starts coming down her cheek. “I always feel him near, that's why I have accepted his loss. I have accepted his body is not here, because I know in my soul he is here.”
“You are just like him,” she whispers, opening her eyes. “Come here,” she hugs me in her arms and I feel sorry for the times I have called her big tits or head of the wealthy women's club. She is my mother, she loves me, suffers with me; I should do more for her.
She pushes me back and looks at me attentively. She sighs, caresses her neck and, frowning, says: “I wouldn't have worn the pearl necklace, but the solitaire necklace is sober and it doesn't cover your neckline. I would have had my hair done, but I know you don't like to have your hair touched. All things considered… mmh. You are…” Oh, god, she doesn't like the way I look? “You are the most beautiful vision my eyes have ever seen. You look great. You're divine. Let me see the neckline in the back!” She takes my hand and turns me around, as if we were dancing. “Oh, Ambra, you're wonderful.” I take a full turn and I spontaneously tell her what I think.
“Thanks Mom.”
“Why?” Sometimes she has a strange way of speaking. She makes me smile.
“For being my mom.”
“Oh!” She moves her hand, giving a slap in the air. Then we are interrupted by Irina saying that Miss Rocca's car is waiting for me in the garden.
I kiss mom and I run to my crazy friend.
I greet her driver with a nod, noting that he is not the same one as the last time. This one is really hot! Did she change him? Her father must have found out about the relationship with the previous one. Certainly with this new driver he didn't do wrong to Emma.
I get in and, before the driver takes a seat, I ask her quickly: “What happened to Luca?”
“He's not here anymore,” she shrugs. She didn't care about that poor guy. “Have you noticed how cool this one is?” she continues enthusiastically.
“Definitely!”
The driver gets in and we no longer have the opportunity to talk about him. Emma has a long emerald green dress like mine, only that the split of her skirt seems to have neither an origin nor an end. She has straight dark hair and large green diamond pendants. The lip gloss accentuates the contour of her lips and the black pencil around her eyes exalts the blue of her irises.
“Where's your mask?” she asks impertinently.
“You know I hate Carnival. I had no intention of wearing a mask.”
“That's why I brought one.”
Oh, no!
From under her fur coat, she pulls out two masks. Damn it!
“Emma, I don't wanna wear it.”
“You have to. Where we are going, it is mandatory.”
My mouth drops open. What did she say? Mandatory? The word mandatory is among those expelled from my vocabulary. she doesn't want to take me to one of those private clubs for perverts. does she?
“Emma!”
“Yes, my friend?”
“Where the hell are we going?”
Her ambiguous smile is an answer that scares me.
She is crazy.
* * *
Seven years earlier.
I regain consciousness thanks to the strong smell of mold and cement. It's really dark. Fortunately I have my hands free and I bring them to the cloth that covers my face. I push it away and it's even darker. My eyes are still blinded by the darkness they have been forced to see; I rub them and, slowly, I can focus on the desolation around me.
It's a garage.
The ceiling is high. If I scream, my voice would fill air of despair. I'm going to.
“Help!”
I try to stand up but I slip on the grey mold of the rough floor. Everything is grey: grey walls, grey ground, grey dust molecules in the air, my state… grey.
There is a long window in the top part of a wall, from which light comes through the iron bars. Al least, air and some light come in. I feel I am suffocating.
“Is there anyone here?” I implore and hear the sentence repeating three times, in an echo that scares me.
I try to stand up again and the tiny stones beneath me scrape giving me goose bumps. I'm all dirty, and I panic when I start to realize that… I was kidnapped.
My forearms are reddened, some parts have already become purple. They are fingers, fingerprints on my fair skin.
“Someone help me!” I shouted again.
I have the impression that imploring doesn't help. Nobody should be out there and if anyone was there, it would be them.
I walk but I don't know where I am going. The garage is big, huge. There are pillars here and there, a wooden table and a chair in the corner.
I cannot believe it has really happened.
I go to the shutter and I try to open it, as if it was possible to push it up.
It's blocked. I kick it hard and the dust flies around me, surging above me like a steaming cloud.
A few moments later, the deafening thud of the gate breaks the silence.
The outer light blinds me, I see a strong silhouette that shows through the light, absorbs the shades and becomes a black shadow.
I stare at the dusty boots, the dark pants, a belt that narrows the waistline, then at the bust that extends into a broad chest, the wide shoulders and the massive neck. I lift my head slowly, my eyes with it and... I see him.
He wears a black ski mask that only shows his eyes.
Those dark eyes are piercing me like a blade.
I step back and tremble. I step back and I'm breathless. I step back and I fall into the emptiness.