Rewind and Play

2014

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Alice

I look at the wall, satisfied. As soon as the snow let me swing by Samuel’s house and collect the tools, I started with the paintwork at Il Cavallino. Every afternoon break and for the last two Monday afternoons and following Tuesday, when the restaurant was closed, I taped and painted the rooms adjacent to the main body of the restaurant, avoiding inconveniencing the (unfortunately still very scarce) clientele.

Because of the horrific orange paint, the walls require two coats, which is not necessarily good news. However, once I get going, I find it enjoyable. On the other hand, I am terrible at keeping myself clean, finishing every evening all but covered in white paint. During our shopping trip, Samuel and I debated what colour to put on the walls and decided that it was best to keep it simple. White everywhere, and a feature wall (in navy) behind the counter. There is also sort of cupboard that goes up and around the space between two rooms, effectively dividing the main areas of the restaurant, which I will try and re-varnish a dark and, I hope, elegant, shade of walnut. Dark brown, in case you don’t know what walnut is, which I also didn’t until Sami told me.

Now that I’m finished with the spare rooms, which used to be “overflow” areas during extra-busy nights, the idea is to finish up the main area in two closure days over the next couple of weeks.

I’ve been researching online in order to get new tablecloths and I am also trying to convince Daniela to put to use the dishes she has inherited from her grandmother, since they would be quainter and they’d look good on photos. In the spare time, I will open a Facebook account for the restaurant (Daniela is not a fan of The Internet, so it’s unsurprising she doesn’t want anything to do with social media).

Even if I am not making a single cent out of this, it is rewarding to feel like helping out.

It’s even worth it despite Anna’s constant mutterings about Daniela owing me a lot, especially if we consider that my savings have been barely impacted since I’ve arrived.

When my phone pings, I pick it up gingerly, trying to avoid leaving even more white paint marks on it:

CLARA: Is your belly empty enough for tomorrow? I am excited!

I can’t help but smile:

ALICE: FOOD MARATHOOOOOOOON

ALICE: See you at 10

In the spare time, I have also been working to organise the main event of Clara’s wedding.

Clara and I selected five restaurants we both liked, and then I combed the Internet for reviews. I also asked auntie Daniela for advice: her affability hides quite the sharp mind, especially when applied to the hospitality sector. Daniela quickly pointed out the faults in three of them and we removed them from the list. Plus, she knew two out of three of the cooks and she had confirmed that the food was not going to be up to standard.

I did consider, for a fleeting moment, to organise the event at Il Cavallino, but there was just not enough space for the hundred and fifty guests Clara was planning for. Clara also needed a place with rooms to accommodate some friends coming over from abroad.

Two places have reached the final stage: one, a rustic bed and breakfast lost in the hills near the town of Novi, and a villa, much closer to town and considerably posher, near San Giuliano.

I managed to organise an expedition to both for a tasting menu on the same day. Since Marco is at school and, as per usual, stressed up to his eyeballs, he asked me to go with Clara: “You know that I will be too nervous to eat anything that day anyway,” he said one of the multiple times I was over to chat about it: “You two go, I trust your judgement much better than mine.”

So, Clara booked the day off and tomorrow we go on a road trip.

It’s my first day off since the one I had a couple of weeks back when I went paint shopping with Samuel, so I’m quite excited.  

Also, free good food, which is always a plus, and quality time with Clara.

Without really doing it on purpose, I have not spoken much to Samuel. We have been texting almost every day, but the conversation has been casual: music, series, silly videos. I definitely don’t want him to think that I am avoiding him, but at the same time I am trying to play the “friend” role, and that entails, in my books, keeping some sort of distance.  

Which is all well and good, if it wasn’t that, despite trying to with all my might, I can’t forget what happened that snowy day, and in particular the moments spent at Samuel’s. His mouth, so close to mine, the way he was almost shaking when he was getting closer to me. The longing in his eyes when he realised the moment had passed.

I close my eyes for a second, trying to dispel the thoughts. I am doing the right thing, giving Samuel some breathing space so that this thing between us can become less intense.

“My, you are a mess, but the wall looks fantastic!”

Am I a witch? Did I just fucking summon him?

Hands on hips, I turn around and glare at Samuel: “What are you doing here?”

He raises his hands: “Please don’t shoot, Ali. What have I done now?”

I turn back abruptly, gathering the brushes and shoving them in the empty tin I use to wash them up: “Nothing. I was… Nothing. You are Satan, Samuel. Anyway, who let you in?”

“I know the secret entrance at the back would be open if you were inside. You shouldn’t have showed me that.”

“Man, you are a snoop. Do you at least like my work?”

“I do, it’s quite good considering you are a newbie. Sorry to interrupt you, I just wanted to ask you something and I was passing by and I knew you were around…”

“Shoot, Sami. And follow me, I was just about to get out of here, I am done for the day and I’m wrecked. I know now how you keep that fit: all the painting.”

And boy, he looks good. I already noticed he seems to prefer a simple style, but his chosen clothes fit him as if they were tailor made. You can see the lines of his lean body under the grey jumper he is wearing, and the jeans he’s chosen today are slightly tighter than usual. I can’t help it when he turns around, my gaze travels down…

Eyes up, Alice. Eyes up.

We move to the back of the restaurant, where a small room is set up as changing facilities.

I plonk the tin in a sink unceremoniously and start cleaning the brushes under warm water.

“So…” starts Samuel: “I wanted to see if you were available to help me out with those spreadsheets we talked about. If you don’t mind. I am trying to put aside some more money to finish the house up.”

“Oh. Of course, Sami, we made a deal.” I clear my throat: “You could come here. You know, neutral territory and all. There are normally very few customers after nine, if you don’t mind starting slightly late.”

“I am night owl anyway, so I never go to bed early. It’s not a problem.”

“Great. We can start the night after tomorrow? Tomorrow, I have to go menu tasting with Clara so it will be a long fucking day already.”

Samuel is lingering at the door of the room: “That sounds perfect. I will see you the day after tomorrow at nine. Thanks Ali, I’d better go. Ciao.”

And he disappears through the door, just like that.

---

“Oh, my sweet baby Jesus, I think I am going to have an orgasm,” says Clara, her eyes almost crossing in pleasure. She is currently tucking into a gnocco fritto, eating it with a slice of prosciutto crudo.

We arrived at Locanda Torti around one. The location is gorgeous, its only slight disadvantage being that it’s a little out of the way. The setting more than makes up for it. Tucked at the end of a small lane lined with trees, the Locanda, even in the very unflattering light of a February morning, is breathtaking. A small two storey building with a stone front, a big covered veranda, and a beautiful lawn on the side, the area is complete with a small pool, currently covered with tarpaulin. Some fog lingers through the pillars of the veranda and under the trees on the farther edge of the lawn, making it even more magical.

Once we make our way indoors, it’s cosy and warm, with a fire in the chimney shining on the polished wooden beams on the ceiling. We take our seats next to the window with a view of the misty valley below. All of this is well and good, but it’s when we get to the food that we are both starting to be seriously convinced that this is The Place.

Everything is divine. From the risotto to the gnocco fritto, to the cold meats, to the mains and, finally, to the small selection of dessert Clara can choose two amongst, to the wines, everything is just perfect.

Clara has been stuffing her face like there’s no tomorrow, and I have tried to follow suit, even if I cannot keep up with the bottomless pit that is my friend. I spare a second to feel jealous of the fact that, despite the way she eats, she manages to always looks gorgeous. The fucker.

Of course, I volunteered to drive so Clara can “taste” the wine to her heart content. Despite the lack of alcohol, I am thoroughly enjoying the tasting experience and, more than anything, the company of my friend, who seems very inclined to skip the second tasting, she is loving the first one so much. We have taken plenty of photos for Marco, including a couple of the two of us playing around: the winner is the one in which we are playing with grissini like they are swords enveloped in prosciutto. Very proud of that one.

“How is the painting going?” asks now Clara washing down the gnocco fritto with some Barbera wine.

“It is actually going all right. I am done with the small rooms at the back and I want to try and get the big area at the front in the next couple of weeks. Then I will do the feature walls and then people will start pouring in, just because.”

“Sure, every little helps, anyway. If nothing else, it will be a lovely place to work in.”

“You are right…”

Clara is quiet for a moment, staring into her wine glass, thoughtful: “Can I ask you something, Ali?”

“Of course you can. I would do anything for you, except getting dressed like Jabba’s Princess Leia. It’s just not going to happen; I am the wrong body type for that.”

“Ha. I just wanted to ask you if you are ok, these days. You seem a bit down…”

I have yet to tell Clara about Samuel, because I am not great at sharing. When I told Laura, it had come out in a rush, just because I was too shaken by what had just happened. Once the events settled down, they sort of crystallised somewhere at the back of my mind, like a bizarre dream/nightmare. It was difficult to bring dig them up again, even if it was to best friend.

Clara, however, knows me very well. In the silence that follows her question, she doesn’t say anything, choosing to just look at me from over the rim of her glass, letting me gather my thoughts.

“I am ok, overall. I am over the shock phase; it’s been a couple of months since I came to Castelnuovo. I am starting to enjoy being here, and thanks to Il Cavallino and you, my friend, I am kept too busy to think much about the future.”

Clara nods and spears some salame with her fork. She then grabs another gnocco fritto and starts eating with relish.

“I suppose it’s just that I am at that point of thinking about what I want about the future, past these few months of break.”

Clara says, around the salame: “Well, that is not a surprise and good on you. Is that what’s making you sad?”

“No, that would be… Samuel.”

“Samuel. Hottie tattoo artist, teenage, possibly adult, crush. Just married, which is not great.”

Slowly, with many pauses, I recount the last developments in my relationship with Samuel and Clara’s mouth is hanging open full of prosciutto by the end of it.

“This is some fucking drama!” She exclaims, delighted.

“I fail to see how this is a happy circumstance…”

“Well, you see, from where I am standing, I am kind of sorted with my life. Once I end up putting on the chains on Marco, that’s it! I peaked too young with the Marco affair, and I kind of enjoy being a spectator in this drama.”

“Thanks?”

“Sorry, not sorry. Plus, if there is even a slim chance of this becoming an actual thing, it means you could return to the motherland, and Ali, having you here these days is such a blessing. I missed you so much.”

I stretch to pat Clara’s hand: “I am going to keep the second half of that, mostly, because being your entertainment is not my main goal in life, but point taken. I missed you too, Clari.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I am trying not to fuck up his life, or mine, mainly. But it doesn’t seem like either wants to stay away from the other.”

Clara studies my face seriously, then says, a hint of aggression in her voice: “I like him and I don’t want to do it, but I’ll break his legs and kill him, if he hurts you. If he’s going to play with you…”

Perplexed, I ask: “In that order?” Then, I shake my head: “No, I don’t think so. I think he’s as confused as I am. You said so yourself, I can’t really judge him for trying to do the right thing. Why would you risk everything for someone you have just met again for the first time in years, lives abroad, and could bolt at the first chance?”

Clara stares into the burgundy depths of her wine: “Why indeed.”