One Step to You (The Rome Novels #1)(87)

Then white windmills, nanny goats, rocks, a little house overlooking the sea. Fishing at dawn, sleeping in the afternoon, out at night, strolling on the beach. Masters of their location, their time, all alone, counting the stars, forgetting what day it was.

Step sipped his coffee. It seemed even more bitter now. He started to laugh remembering that time that Babi had invited all his friends to dinner. An attempt to get to know them. They’d sat down at the table and behaved reasonably well, just as Step had asked and cajoled them. Then they hadn’t been able to resist any longer. One after another, they’d stood up, picking up their plates, draining their beers, heading into the living room. Never invite them over on a Wednesday. And never during championship season.

Naturally, it all ended tragically. A. S. Roma had lost, a few S. S. Lazio fans had started making mocking comments, and there had been the beginnings of a brawl. Step had been forced to kick them all out. Disagreements, differences, difficulties.

He’d tried to make it up to Babi. They went to a masquerade party. They’d dressed up as Tom and Jerry, and then it turned out that Pollo and the others showed up at the same party. A mere case of the mockery of fate? Or more simply a tip from Pallina? They’d all pretended not to recognize him. They’d said hello to Babi, that little blue-eyed Jerry, and they’d ignored Tom, laughing every time that big old cat with bulging muscles walked past.

The next day, in the piazza, Pollo, Schello, Hook, and a few others came over to him with somber expressions. “Step, there’s something we need to tell you. You know, last night, we were at a party, and Babi was there.”

Step had looked at them, acting nonchalant. “So what?”

“Well, here’s the thing. She was dressed as a mouse, and there was this big tomcat that was coming on to her…like a pig. The guy in the costume seemed pretty big, too, like he was a hitter. If you want a hand, we can help you take care of him. Just say the word. You know, it’s a real problem. There are big cats that have certain…”

Pollo didn’t even get a chance to finish his sentence. Step jumped on him, getting his neck in a headlock, scrubbing the back of his neck with his hard knuckles. To the laughter of his friends, to Pollo’s laughter, to his own laughter. What friends he had!

Suddenly he felt sad. That night. Why had he gone to that party instead of going to the races? Babi had really insisted. All the things he’d done for her. Maybe it wouldn’t have happened. Maybe.

The intercom started ringing crazily. The lady of the house went running through the living room to open the door. Pallina, her face white as a sheet, shaking, appeared in the doorway. Her eyes were sad, glistening with tears and suffering. As Step walked toward her, she looked at him, struggling to choke back that first sob.

“Pollo is dead.” Then she’d hugged him, seeking in him what she could no longer find anywhere else. His friend and her boyfriend, that laughter, so loud and robust.

They’d raced out to the Greenhouse with Babi in the Autobianchi Y10 that her parents had recently bought for her. All three of them together, with the new car smell now tinged with sorrow and silence.

Then he’d seen it. Blinking emergency lights around that one point. His friend’s motorcycle. Police uniforms and squad cars massed around Pollo, flat on the pavement, with no more strength, no more laughter, no more jokes, no more mockery, no more streams of mindless bullshit.

One man was holding a tape measure and taking measurements of something. A few other young men stood watching. But no one could see or measure everything that had just vanished within him.

Step bent over him in silence and touched his good friend’s face. That gesture of love that they’d never once exchanged in all their years of friendship, that he’d never dared to express. Then, weeping, he’d whispered, “I’ll miss you.” God only knows he’d meant it.

*



Babi looked at the gift she’d bought for Pallina. There it was, on her worktable, in red giftwrap with a gold ribbon. She’d chosen it with care—she’d even like one for herself—and it hadn’t been cheap. And yet, here it still was. She hadn’t called her; they hadn’t talked.

How many things had changed with Pallina. She wasn’t the same anymore. They didn’t get along. Maybe in part because their paths had diverged so sharply after school. Babi studying business and finance and Pallina studying at a school of graphic design. She’d always loved to draw. Babi was reminded of all the notes Pallina had sent her during their hours in class. Caricatures, funny phrases, comments, the faces of friends. Guess who this is? She was so good at it that it never took Babi long. A quick glance at the drawing and Babi would look up, and there the subject was, in front of her. That classmate with the strong chin, the prominent ears, the beaming smile. And they’d laugh from a distance, ordinary classmates, great close friends.

Then came that tragic evening and the days that followed and the month after that. Extended silences and crying jags. Pollo was gone, and Pallina couldn’t reconcile herself to that fact. Until the day that Pallina’s mother had called Babi. She had rushed over to Pallina’s house and found her there, sprawled on her bed, throwing up. She’d drained a half bottle of whiskey and swallowed a small bottle of valerian root tablets. The Poor Man’s Suicide is what Babi had called it when Pallina finally seemed capable of understanding spoken words. Pallina had started laughing, only to burst into tears in her arms. Pallina’s mother had left the two of them alone, not really knowing what else to do.