The Other Language(43)
Lara felt gloom wrap itself around her like a fog. When she had mentioned her plan about buying property only a couple of days earlier, he hadn’t shown a flicker of interest. Why couldn’t they ever connect on anything? She had missed her brother and now that she was on her own, she needed him more than she had in the past.
They both remained silent for a moment across the table from each other, suddenly uneasy at finding themselves alone with each other in such a small space. Ben’s intense phone flirting came down through the open door in bursts. It had become the musical score of their days together.
“Is this his lover?” Lara asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Of course it is.”
Leo didn’t say anything. He stood up and made a move as if to leave the kitchen, then turned back to her.
“Don’t you open your mouth.”
“As if I could give a shit. Honestly.”
“He’s in love, okay?”
“Good for him.”
Then Leo moved closer, lowering his voice.
“He’s madly in love, Lara. I’ve never seen him like this before.”
Leo seemed sincerely moved, as if Ben’s new happiness had changed things for the better for him as well. Actually, it was generous of her brother, Lara thought, to give some dignity to all those extramarital phone calls.
Lara was beginning to see what her problem was: she wasn’t ready to accommodate other people’s joy yet, she didn’t have enough room in her. Next summer, maybe. It had been a mistake, this desire to share her space so soon. She heard herself saying, “It’s a phase. It doesn’t last. It never does.”
Leo frowned. “Jesus. Why do you have to be so negative?”
“Actually only the other day you called me an optimist. Anyway, it’s lust, Leonardo. It’s a drug. You know that perfectly well, we’ve all been through it.”
“Maybe we all need a little help for the initial boost,” Leo said.
She thought about this for a moment. Yes. Love was a drug, a rave. People got high on it and within half an hour were capable of doing anything in its name. No place was too far to reach, no phone number too expensive to call, no decision faster to make. Lara envisioned a gigantic diptych in the vein of Michelangelo. It would be called The Last Misjudgment. Two frescoes on opposite walls: on one, a crowd of people would be engaged in all sorts of crazy activities—jumping off cliffs on Olympic trampolines; getting ready to sail the Atlantic solo or kneeling all the way to Santiago de Compostela, all in the name of love. On the other, the same crowd would be trapped in the debris of their marriages: slumped on couches, snoring in front of TV screens, overweight, dressed like slobs, eating in murderous silence at a pizza parlor.
Was Leo right? Had she really become negative? Hostile? Jealous? God, did she feel awful.
Ben barged in from the roof staircase grinning and made his announcement.
“Green light. We can go tomorrow!”
“Excellent!” Leo stood up, beaming.
They gave each other a high five. Then Ben turned to Lara and said, “We’re going to visit a friend in Pantelleria. Do you know how to get there from here?”
“I have no idea. But I’m sure your phone will tell you,” Lara said, her voice blurred, as though she’d just woken up from a feverish sleep.
Neither Leo nor Ben seemed to notice her grumpiness, and Ben was already tapping away on his beloved touch screen.
“I’ll get Allison to take care of this. She’s a whiz when it comes to travel,” he said to Lara, smiling his fat boy smile.
They left at the speed of a Special Forces operation. There were phone calls to L.A., with Ben’s assistant booking tickets to Pantelleria via Rome, bags were packed and more phone calls were made to arrange the details of their arrival at the other end. It turned out that Ben’s lover had rented a villa next to Giorgio Armani’s on the secluded, volcanic, inhospitable but extremely chic island that lay halfway between Sicily and North Africa. Probably a husband, boyfriend or a not-so-trustworthy friend had just left, so that Ben and his faithful buddy Leo could make the final leap across the Mediterranean. For a moment Lara contemplated saying to her brother “I get it now: basically you two sat in my house as in a parking lot optimizing your wait by working on your wardrobes” but she was tired of being thought of as hostile, negative or, in this case, completely paranoid.
Mina’s last package came an hour later, still warm from the ironing board. It was a beautiful linen jacket in a cream color. While Leo was busy loading the car, Ben unfolded it and held it in front of Lara with the tips of his fingers, as if he were showing her the Turin Shroud. Mina had come herself in case last-minute alterations were needed. She helped him slide his arms into the sleeves, frowning slightly as she adjusted the lapels, pulled the front, brushed the back with her palms, straightened the collar. Her light touch had a magic; she made the fabric do exactly what she wanted, till it flattened and fell just the way it was supposed to.
“It’s a beauty,” Ben declared in front of his audience. “Come Prada, no?”
Mina nodded, pretending to know what he meant. She adjusted the front of the jacket once more and stepped back to look at her finished capolavoro.
“Sembri il principe di Inghilterra.”
Ben laughed. He turned around in a pirouette and grabbed Mina, hugged her tightly and kissed her on both cheeks.