Valentina’s mules clip-clopped on the palladiana…
As she slipped through her Brera apartment’s handsome ingressi and onto the street, the concierge’s eyes tracked her from his booth. Her buoyant gait explained by her impending lunch with Giulio. The fussing about her outfit had passed, she was feeling assured and smart in her taupe leather set, smarter than that cow Chiara anyway.
Valentina didn’t understand what Giulio saw in her, in fact you could see straight through her, a telescopic view through one ear and out the other she thought, grinning to herself, ‘that was a good one’.
She spotted Giulio’s lush wavy locks amongst the crowd before the whole of him. He stood leg backed against a Sienna-coloured wall, statuesque, his long coat draping languorously, his arms out stretched beckoning an embrace.
Valentina’s mild rage about Chiara (with her silly ripped jeans) had all but dissipated upon seeing Giulio. They filed into the trattoria and were seated elegantly in a corner. Giulio ordered spaghetti and Valentina carpaccio. She was slightly bothered still, only because this was the third date and it became clear he only ever ordered spaghetti. It led her to wonder if he was going to talk about scuba diving (or his mother) for the whole meal, again.
After 45 minutes of scuba-chat it weighed on Valentina that he hadn’t, actually, asked her anything about herself for the last two meetings. Does he know a thing about me? Anyway, she got a bit distracted by his thick tomato sauced lips and let it slide. They slumped onto the street, arms locked around each other’s waist, under their coats (things had accelerated under the emboldening force of several digestive grappe).
Valentina tucked her head into Giulio’s warm chest as they tumbled down the cobbles, but her eyes were drawn to a blot of olive oil on Giulio’s lapel. She put on an especially cute sorry face “oh no, Giulio! Your merino suit! Look!”.
At that moment Giulio was catapulted into an exquisitely disproportionate flurry, apoplectic in fact, he thrust Valentina aside. A juvenile hysteria totally possessed him. “Nooo! Nooo! Nooo! It is ruined! It is destroyed! This is terrible! Nooo! Nooo! Nooo!”
Valentina felt distressed, but she also felt affronted by his extravagantly immature reaction. “I must call my mother, I must call her, this is so bad, it is only the eleventh time I wore it” he whined.
Valentina puzzled - He counts his wears? Eleven is not so new? He calls his mother? What is this tantrum?
Giulio, teary eyed, exclaimed “I have to go, I have to go now, I will call you. Arrivederci.” No parting kiss. A blunt exit.
Valentina charged off, nose breathing. She pulled out her phone and vigorously sent Giulio a message
- 🍼
then triumphantly deleted his number.