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“Gabe, you don't know how much I appreciate what you do. These mean a lot to me,” I bite Nayade's huge cheeks and put her in her cart as she lifts her hand as if to say goodbye. The sun of the park shines in her beautiful blue eyes and the happiness of life translates into her gaze. Sweet innocence that knows nothing of broken hearts that barely beat.
“Between you two there is a special bound and her father is an asshole.”
“Don't talk like that.”
Six months already. If someone had told me how important this little girl would be to me, I would say to her, angry and loudly, that she was totally crazy, but here I am, sneaking up on her like a thief. Nayade has awakened in me a feeling that I thought I didn't have but that I can't avoid when I’m by her side. I like to caress her, feel her, pamper her... When she smiles I forget my sorrows and when I embrace her, her plump, warm body gives me dreams of lost hopes.
Gabe tickles her belly while the little girl gesticulates some funny and sonorous farts simulating the engine of the car they're about to take her into.
“If you make her laugh so much she'll vomit,” I'm jealous that I can't go with them.
“It's her father's Porsche, fuck it.”
“Gabe...”
“Anne, what's going on? I don't recognize him. I don't know what's going on. Every day he sinks a little deeper into an irascible darkness and I'm not able to reach him.”
I hug my coat trying not to think, what can I know? I was discarded as a used diaper, never better said.
“I don't think I'm the right person to answer. You should ask his new girlfriend.”
“Ugh, just remembering her makes me sick, I don't understand how he could fall in love with that snake.”
I close my eyes trying to distract myself so as not to listen. Imagining them together, knowing that they laugh and caress each other, that they love each other... is too painful.
“I'm an idiot, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you about her, but I can't stand her.”
“Gabe, please, I did everything to be by his side, to help him, but he refused. He kicked me from his side, and it's not a metaphor, he did it with as many words and expressions as possible, and believe me there are many he knows. I don't want to see him again or know anything about his life, as far as I'm concerned, Reed is an increasingly distant past.”
I sigh when I realize that my words are a long way from my feelings but with a little luck, maybe a lie told hundreds of times becomes a reality.
“I'll call you next week and the three of us will have an ice cream.”
“It's a baby! It's too small for ice cream,” I yell like a scandalized mother and Gabe smiles brazenly.
“Well, you should see how much she likes chocolate.”
“No, Gabe! She's too small.”
“Goodbye, castrating mother!” He says goodbye with a smile as she gets into the car and the little girl rests her hand on the glass to say goodbye to me.
They both leave me behind. I sigh and walk to work in total solitude, the solitude I feel every time I see her leave. Mother... a sweet word that I never wanted for me and that I yearn for today by shedding a silent tear on my cheek.
I label each piece with its number as I think of the little girl. How will she be? Gabe must have remembered to change her shirt, she was soaking wet and could catch a cold. Did they find a babysitter? How could I be so silly not to ask him! Maybe I should send him a text message; I hope he doesn't give her chocolate because I will kill him. That man is unconscious. Self-esteem denies with the finger while I bow my head. He's right, I shouldn't call, I'm not her mother, neither real nor adoptive, I'm nobody...
I close my eyes and still feel her by my side. I feel them both by my side. I am able to remember her sweet baby smell and I am able to notice her father's breath in my neck when telling me “I love you”... How long does it take for a woman to forget the love of her life? When does it stop hurting to the core to become a simple memory?
I hold the labeler tightly and stick the codes more and more energetically. I am sad, hurt, frustrated and very, very, very angry. When you lose love, makes you a woman hurt at first but soon turns you into a scorned dragon that just wants to burn.
He forgot you, replaced you with another one while you drown yourself on the couch of your house. Yes, from love to hate there is only one step and one of the shortest.
“Miss Foster, you have a visitor.”
“Visitor? Thank you, Robert. Please tell him to come in.”
“Of course. Would you like me to bring you some coffee?”
Robert is one of the scholars in the room, but since I arrived he's been trying to be by my side and learn as much as he can.
“No thanks. It's late, you can leave. I'll close.”
“As you wish, I'll see you tomorrow. You can come in.”
“Marc? How did you know I work here?” I salute him while I give him two sonorous kisses.
“I'm an investigative journalist for a reason. How are you?”
“I can't complain. The gallery is great and the work is fantastic. Look, right now you see me surrounded by silver pots from the year 1100,” I show him by opening my arms in the form of a cross.
“Great, great.”
Marc sits on the sofa and his cell phone falls off, he picks it up but his wallet falls off, he picks it up while he curses from underneath. He has dark and deep dark circles under his eyes, his face is very pale and he seems to have lost no less than four pounds.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, why do you ask?” He asks nervously.
“Nothing in particular. Sorry I can't offer you anything, it's late and I was about to leave.”
“Great, shall we have dinner together?”
“Marc looks at me and I feel little chills, which is quite strange because Marc and I have always been friends.”
“I'd rather go home. The week has been very long and I haven't rested very well.”
“Is that asshole of Blackman, isn't it? You keep thinking about him...”
Thinking? If only it were that. He’s tattooed on my chest.
“I'd rather not talk about him.”
“All right, I'll take you home.”
“You really don't have to.”
Marc is irritated by my reply and I'd rather not bother him. The man tries to visit an old friend, and I'm still on the defensive for no reason. My delusions already dominate me even with my friends.
“All right...” I pick up my bag and coat when Marc hurries up to open the door for me.
“How do you feel working in a gallery like this? Aren't you afraid?”
“Why should I be afraid?” I look at him curiously as I press the elevator button.
“It is said that very important jewels are kept here, and it is even rumoured that you guard Cleopatra's very Jewels.”
“Cleopatra's Jewels?” I choke on my own saliva.
Marc gets into the elevator with me and I stare at him intrigued. How could he know? No one knows. No one but Solange and me. Oh, I understand the reason for his unexpected visit. Marc has to be writing an article about this and is looking for a scoop. What a scoundrel, now I understand the sweat on his forehead. Poor thing, he doesn't know how to do it. I feel a little sorry for him because I can't help him without risking losing my job.
“Those jewels are a legend. No one has ever known of their existence.” I hope tomorrow will forgive my little lie.
“Are you sure? There are reports that seem to confirm...”
“Simple suppositions, but no proof. Take me home, Cleopatra has been resting for some time, but I'm bursting.” My smiling, cheerful voice pulls out a smile.
Marc accepts my arm as we walk towards the car but cannot hide his disappointment. I understand, he wanted information and I'm denying it but we both have a job to take care of. When it's time for its presentation and the auction becomes a reality, I'll call him and give hmim the exclusive. I'm sure that it will brighten his day and his salary.
“Anne, you have to promise me that you will be careful.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing... don't listen to me. I must be getting older.” He says as he opens the car and gets inside.
What did he mean? Anyway, I'm too tired physically and mentally to try to understand another man. Dear Marc, with Reed Blackman I have completed my quota of understanding men.
The trip turned out to be the most tense and uncomfortable. It's as if Marc and I had become two strangers overnight. Has the situation between us changed or am I the one who has changed? Because I just want to get home, take off my shoes and listen to music while I prepare a tasty, low calorie salad. After so much crying and cookie ice cream, my hips need it urgently.
“So you're saying that no piece in the gallery belongs to Cleopatra's jewelry?”
“No.”
Marc asks for the fifth time and I'm feeling a little upset. Do you think I'm stupid? His journalistic zeal is getting me out of my mind.
“I think it's better if you leave me here. I say while I'm ready to get off just giving him time to slow down”.
“I can take you to the portal.”
“It's not necessary.”
I take advantage of the red traffic light to escape with a heel strike.
“See you soon!”
“I'll call you back," I answer with a slamming door that almost turned the normal door into a revolving one.
The night is cool but I don't care, I'm really furious. Could it be that no man is what they says they are? Friends become simply interested, lovers forget you for women with long legs and perfect complexion. Come on, at this rate, I become a nun and with self-imposed abstinence. Self-esteem denies while covering the horrified mouth. All right, no abstinence.
I rummage through my purse to see if the damn keys appear once and for all. They always insist on hiding in the most unsuspected corner. I want to enjoy the home, the beloved refuge of needy souls.
“God! either I stop carrying so many things or I buy a bigger new bag.”
I insult and insult again but nothing, the keys don’t want to appear.”
“So is this how it’s going to be? You won’t beat me," I say to a bag that doesn't answer me. I'm exhausted, I've worked all day, I've had to leave a girl I adore because my idiot ex decided to fall in love with a Ferrero Rocher silicone. It's over, I will enter my house even if I have to knock down the door with the help of my hairspray. Why do I have a bottle of hairspray in my bag? Self-esteem raises the eyebrows with a do-not-ask-me face.
“Uf, for difficult situations, decisions of life or death...” I turn the bag around and turn over all its contents on the very floor of the portal.
“Ha! And here you are! You thought you were going to beat me.” I stick my tongue out of the kitten's key ring while I smile like a madwoman. “If you hide again, I'll bury you and without mummifying!” Am I talking to a key ring? I think I should call Dr. Klein. Urgently!
“Run away, pretty kitty! Run while you can.”
“The smile and the Italian accent gave him away too quickly.” Maurizio smiles mischievously, leaning against the wall behind me.
I am between happy and ashamed. I'm sure he heard me fight with a key ring and get angry with a purse. My God, an appointment with Dr. Klein is not enough to cure me. I'm crazy like a goat..
“I can't believe it, why are you here?” I ask as I duck at full speed and move my hands like crazy trying to pick up quickly so Maurizio can't see a pack of Kleenex, a pen, the diary, make-up, a pack of gum, a compress (just in case), the coins for the coffee machine, a small lacquer (who knows why) and two lipsticks that Maurizio reached first.
“Two?”
“One for the day and one for the night... just in case.”
“Of course,” he replies with such pretended seriousness that I can't help but fall on my ass on the floor and give up my task of concealing evidence.
“Tough day?”
“You can't imagine how much,” I answer as he sits next to me crossing his legs. “But that doesn't matter anymore. I can't believe it, when did you get here? Why didn't you call me before? Why are you here?”
“This morning. I preferred to come directly and I'm here for some big, shiny eyes that take my breath away. Did I answer them all?”
Maurizio ends his words as he accommodates part of my rebellious tangled hair behind my ear. I look at him and the joy he left me weeks ago appears uninvited. It is incredible how good a soft and disinterested caress feels, one that is not accompanied by bad humour and feelings of reproach. It makes you feel that you are worth it, that you are an authentic woman, one that serves for something more than a rag to scrub the floor.
“Maurizio, I...”
“It's almost eight o'clock and you must be as hungry as I am. Get up off the floor and let's have dinner in the best Italian restaurant in the area.”
“Oh yeah?” I'm laughing as I accept his hand to lift me up. “And where is that?”
“No idea, this is your country. I'll follow you wherever your smile takes me.”
“You'll be a fool... “ I answer with the voice of an embarrassed child.
We both smile as I willingly accept his arm. A nice dinner, good company and occasional compliments is something I need like May water.
Women can be as strong as necessary, we can build destroyed homes, educate unrecoverable children and build a better world but a break doesn't hurt at all. I sense that Maurizio is my personal spa and one of those with everything included. Self-esteem tells me not to commit foolishness but I don't even look at her. I'm tired of always doing what I have to do. And why not?