“Ayeswould have been good enough for me, but apparently someone’s feeling a little touchy. Let me ask you something: Doesn’t being so thin-skinned hurt your liver?”
“Why do you think I’m at the pharmacy?” I reply.
“You might be looking in the wrong section.” Michael nods at the display on my right, the one with intimate lubricants: cherry, long-lasting, warming, refreshing, aloe ...
This time, too, cheek wins over truth. “No,” I reply. “I need ... this!” I grab a tube at random and wave it under his nose.
“Thai massages?!” he reads on the label with a wink. “Now I’m interested.”
Thai massages? What exactly is a Thai massage? “Exactly.”
“Who’s the lucky one? That gloomy guy who was just with you?”
“I don’t intend to share any further details with you,” I reply, as I head for the cash register.
But he follows me. “We men love details,” he insists.
“I know. And we women like to torture you. Use your imagination.” If this is a last-ditch skirmish, I don’t intend to lose.
“I know that you like torturing me; the date with Intemerata was exhausting.”
“If you think you have my pity, you’re wrong.”
“I’m not asking for your pity, but I would like to remind you that you and I have a pending pizza. I have my last date later tonight, then we’ll be even.”
“If you survive Pompilia Cozzi, then we can discuss the pizza.”
“You can count on it. Don’t make any plans for tomorrow night,” he replies, winking in a way that would instantly make every woman in Belvedere swoon. Every woman except for me.
21
Michael
I arrive at the lake, better known as The Puddle, an artificial basin too small to have a real name, mostly used for agriculture and the occasional scenic backdrop for a date, like tonight. It’s about a twenty-minute walk from the estate, and I can’t say how many times Elisa and I have been here together.
When I arrive, I find Pompilia waiting for me, holding a basket.
“Hi, I’m Pompilia, Lilia to my friends,” she introduces herself. “I’ve prepared a picnic. I hope you’re hungry.”
I don’t see any spare relatives or crucifixes. So far everything seems normal, which in itself seems strange to me.
“I didn’t know what you liked, so I made a bunch of things,” she announces cheerfully. “Kebabs?”
“They look delicious,” I say, taking the plate she hands me.
“So, you went out with that stick-in-the-mud Regina and Intemerata the nun. I bet you’re scared to death now,” she says. “Jacket potato?”
“At Regina’s house, the main topic was Regina herself; with Intemerata, it was God.”
“Whoever marries Regina also marries her mother; whoever marries Intemerata, on the other hand, marries the Vatican,” she comments, having a laugh at her cousins. “But we’re not all crazy here in Belvedere.”
“I’m happy to hear it, they were two somewhat ... unusual dates.”
“There’s no need for you to be an English gentleman with me. There’s no polite way to say those two should be committed.”
“Committed, yes,” I confirm. “Why did you stay here in Belvedere? It seems like anyone with a chance runs off as soon as they can.”
“I don’t think it’s so bad here. I mean, in the end, I’m not held captive at home by my parents like Regina, nor have I been forced out into the world with only my faith like Intemerata. I can work from home, and I have my financial independence.”
