Silver Tears(3)

As Faye walked through the balmy evening, the city buzzed around her and she felt it drawing her in with everything she had longed for. Her walk had no objective. Some opportunity would arise, all she had to do was let the pulse of the city take over her body.

It wouldn’t be long before she had to put the mask back on again—play the role that had become hers in her home country. But tonight, she could be who she wanted to be. She continued to walk until she came to a beautiful cobbled square. She wandered deeper into the labyrinth of winding lanes.

You have to lose yourself to rise again, she thought to herself.

A man disengaged himself from the shadows and offered her his wares in a hoarse whisper. Faye merely shook her head. A large door bathed in the yellow hue of the streetlights opened softly and two people—a man and a woman—who had been waiting outside stepped through it.

Faye stopped and looked around before changing tack and heading for the door, which had closed again. There was a small doorbell. A camera above her. She pressed the button, listening for the sound but hearing nothing. Eventually, the lock clicked and the door slipped open. An enormous room filled with beautiful people and the sound of clinking glasses opened up before her. Directly ahead of her there was a glass wall and beyond it a magnificent terrace. The illuminated ruins of the Colosseum shone like the wreckage of a spaceship in the distance.

A large mirror with a gilded frame allowed her to see well-dressed, faceless shadows chatting in groups behind her. The women were young, beautiful, and tastefully made up, wearing elegant short dresses. The men were generally somewhat older, but also looked good—radiating the calm and self-confidence that wealth so often gave. The small fragments of conversation that reached her were in Italian. Glasses were being refilled, drained, refilled.



Not far from her, a couple was kissing. Faye scrutinized them with fascination, unable to tear her gaze away from them. They were young—perhaps twenty-five or so. He was tall and handsome in that Italian way, with stylish stubble, a powerful nose, and dark hair combed into a side part. She was wearing an expensive bone-white dress that fit tightly around her hips and emphasized her slender waist. Her dark brown hair was up in a simple arrangement.

They were clearly so infatuated that they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Again and again, his long fingers would slip up the inside of her tanned thigh. Faye smiled. When her eyes met those of the woman, she didn’t lower her own gaze—instead, she calmly contemplated the couple. She raised her drink—a whiskey sour—to her mouth. Once upon a time, she had been in love like that. But that love had suffocated her, turning her into an inert thing with no will of its own, contained within a gilded cage.

Faye’s train of thought was interrupted by the young woman, who suddenly came over to her.

“My fiancé and I wonder whether you’d like to have a drink with us,” she said in English.

“You don’t look like you want company,” Faye said with amusement.

“We’d like yours. You’re very beautiful.”

She was called Francesca and had been born in the city of Porto Alegre, near the Atlantic coast in Brazil. She worked as a model and was also a painter. He was called Matteo and his family owned a hotel and restaurant empire. He painted too, although he wasn’t as good as Francesca, he explained with a slight smile. They were friendly, polite, and made her laugh. Their zest for life and unconcernedness were infectious. Faye became caught up with them and had another two drinks. She was dazzled by their beauty, youth, and love for each other without feeling any envy. She didn’t miss having a man. She wanted to control her own life without thinking about someone else all the time. But she loved seeing these two together.



After an hour, Matteo excused himself and departed in the direction of the men’s bathrooms.

“We’re about to leave,” Francesca said.

“Me too. I’m traveling home tomorrow.”

“Would you like to come back to ours for a while and continue the evening?”

Faye weighed up the offer without dropping her gaze. She could catch up on the lost sleep on her way home. She didn’t want the evening to come to an end—not yet. She wanted to see more of them.



* * *



—

The taxi pulled up outside a looming, stately looking building. Matteo paid and they got out of the car and were let inside by a liveried doorman. The apartment was on the top floor and had huge panoramic windows and a balcony facing a pretty park. The walls were covered with black-and-white photographs. When Faye examined them more closely she realized that some of them were of Francesca. Some kind of Italian pop was playing from the speakers. Behind her, Matteo was mixing drinks from a selection of spirits on a drinks trolley. Francesca told a story that made Faye laugh harder than she had in a long time.

Faye sat down on an enormous cream-colored couch beside Francesca. Matteo passed them their drinks before sitting down on the other side of Faye. Her head was spinning pleasantly with intoxication. The murmur from the street below had a calming effect but at the same time she was filled with tense expectation and excitement.

Francesca put her drink on the coffee table, leaned in slowly, pushing down the thin shoulder strap of the red dress with soft fingers, and kissed Faye on the collarbone. Waves of warmth raced through her body. Matteo twisted her head toward him, his lips getting closer before he feinted away, grazing his mouth across her throat and nuzzling her neck before kissing her. Francesca’s hand softly caressed her thigh, moving up, stopping at the last moment and appearing teasingly at the small of her back. It was like being in a dream.