The Other Language(21)
“How much is it?” Pascal asked, with the authoritative tone a man uses when he has finally made up his mind.
Caterina had shot out of the boutique like a bullet, after an excruciating five minutes attempting to extricate herself from the enthusiasm of the girls in black. Pascal hadn’t offered any help. He had let her deal with them, keeping two steps behind, while she blabbered the usual excuse (I have to think about it) and headed for the door. Outside the light of the afternoon had turned into a golden yellow, the shadows of the buildings had stretched to the edge of the canal.
“You broke the rules! Why did you do that?” she said, burning with shame.
“Because I do think you should buy it.”
“Are you out of your mind? It’s three thousand four hundred euros!”
“It’s the least expensive of all. The black ones all cost around ten. Some even fifteen.”
“So what? I can’t spend that much anyway.”
“It’s an investment.”
“I don’t need that kind of investment.”
“You do. You sure do, my dear.”
Pascal turned around and started to walk away, leaving her behind. He did this to annoy her. She sprang behind him.
“Oh yeah? And how many times would I wear it? Once, twice tops, in my entire life!”
Pascal stopped in his tracks and swiveled toward her.
“You have just been nominated for a David Award. An award that will be nationally televised. I happen to know exactly what’s hanging in your closet, Cate. And I know you have absolutely nothing to wear, other than rags.”
“I already thought about that and I will borrow a dress from my friend Tina.”
“You are twenty-nine and you still live like a student. It’s pathetic.”
“I can’t afford to spend that much money on a dress. It’s f*cking crazy!” she exploded.
“That’s exactly what I mean. This is the kind of attitude that reflects on every aspect of your life. Your film is going to win, I know it for a fact. And you are going to step up on that stage in someone else’s dress, a dress that won’t fit you right, in a pair of ugly shoes, and you will look just like another charmless, scruffy independent filmmaker. Fine, if that’s who you think you are.”
Caterina turned white with indignation and shock. This didn’t deter Pascal, who went on.
“You keep thinking anything you achieve is by fluke, by God’s gift or by some random benevolence? That you don’t deserve the attention, that you are an impostor in a world you don’t belong to? Great. Then keep on behaving like this and people will start believing it too. Their excitement about you will taper off, they will see you as less talented, less interesting, less special, because this is exactly what you project. Sorry.”
He made a move to cross the street but Caterina grabbed him by the arm.
“What people? Who are you talking about exactly?”
“I don’t know. People.”
“You mean a producer, like Balti?”
“Possibly.” He put on his dark glasses. “Forget about it. Let’s just go, okay?”
Whatever energy they’d just been floating on a few minutes earlier was gone. She had pierced the balloon with a pin and it had popped.
“What would you like to do now? You want to go back to the Lido and watch another film?” she asked.
“I’m starving. I need something to eat.” Pascal looked the other way.
She hated to have disappointed him. Suddenly she knew their time together in Venice had peaked inside Chanel, and that from now on things would go downhill. The rest of the adventure would turn into endless bickering over the tiniest choices.
“Wait.”
She reached up and slid his dark glasses off his nose with the tip of her fingers so she could see his eyes.
“You know it would be complete madness, don’t you?”
“Not at all. It means raising the stakes. It’s about feeling good about yourself and stepping up.” Pascal slid his glasses back against his brow.
Caterina took a deep breath. There were moments in life that were like thresholds. Caterina distinctly felt that she was crossing one right there, outside that beautifully designed shop window that spelled elegance and charm.
“Let’s go back inside then.”
The transaction took less than fifteen minutes. As they reentered the empty store they were met by such a show of gratitude from the girls in black that Caterina was instantly persuaded she had done the right thing. She and Pascal were made to sit down while one of the girls disappeared to retrieve the green gown in the dressing room while the other served them another espresso in their exquisite porcelain cups.
“How about the shoes, madam?” she asked “They looked so right with the dress …”
Pascal and Caterina exchanged a glance. He shut his eyelids and nodded imperceptibly. It was too late to turn back, and besides, six hundred and fifty euros sounded like a pretty good deal compared to the dress. Any three-digit number would have, at that point.
Caterina had made a few calls before reentering the shop, in order to avoid going into the red. There was a small check she was expecting from her producer, and a bit of credit she could juggle with the bank, plus her sister—bedazzled at the prospect of a real Chanel coming into the family—agreed to lend Caterina some money that she could pay back in installments. There was a moment of panic when Caterina’s card was denied, since the total amount was way beyond its limit. Pascal came to the rescue, offering his own credit card as added support, so that between the two of them the payment could go through. They waited for the slip to buzz out of the machine, and smiled to each other with relief.