Rewind and Play

Chapter 14.

2013

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Alice

“What do you think?”

I am showing the selected outfit to Laura, who is sitting on the bed in her pyjamas.

Marta, who’s back for the Christmas holidays, Clara, and I are going out tonight.

Marta’s words on the phone a couple of hours ago, were, and I quote: “I need to fucking dance, Ali. Let’s go dance and then have a croissant at four in the morning.”

Marta and Clara went to dinner yesterday, while I was supposed to be at the restaurant.

I was instead having a very short and awkward conversation with Samuel and “Vicky”, after which I run home and kind of hid my head under a pillow for a while.

When I heard the word “engaged” I thought some sort of cruel cosmic “Candid Camera” joke was taking place. Once I got over the shock, I managed to squeak out a “Congratulations!” so high pitched I could barely recognise my own voice. “When is it happening?”

Vittoria looked, somehow, quite smug: “New Year’s Eve. I wanted a special date for that, a memorable one…”

It should be memorable no matter what date you pick, was the thought that crossed my miserable mind.

It was not fun to realise, at that moment, that the wedding was going to happen in, like, two weeks. Despite really trying to, I could not avoid the sinking feeling that had settled deep in my belly.

Nop. Nop. Nop.

I got a grip just in time to avoid to physically recoil when I heard the date. Had I been, let’s face it, flirting (it had been innocent, sure, but still) with a man who was about to get married? In fairness, the flirting seemed to be going both ways, but still. At the same time, a rebellious part of me was just stubbornly sticking to Samuel and to the way, as soon as we met again, the world seemed to become brighter, more fun, an easier place to behold. To know that I had him to lean on, again, to support me and make me feel like I could take on anything.

Except, I don’t have him, do I.

Ok Alice, we are not thinking about that today.

Yes, none of that is really relevant. No thoughts to be had about Samuel, who is about to get married, for fuck’s sake, and who has daddy issues. Who doesn’t want to be a scumbag person, father, boyfriend, future husband.

Marta’s words ring very true: I think I need to fucking dance tonight.

Pity we are going to a place that could be considered my idea of hell, a disco-hall that has been there ever since I can remember and that has not been updated to the latest fashion well… ever.

The last time I was there, it was during a Carnival party in 1997. Samuel had been there and…

Nope, not thinking about that either.

Clara is staying at Marta’s tonight. They both seem far too excited to go to a place that has been stuck in the Eighties since the Seventies: “I have been there a couple of times with work colleagues, and it’s actually fun! They turned it around. Well, not the décor, but they went all in with the whole vintage experience and now the young people in town love it again…” were Clara’s words.

“How do you even know? You don’t even live here anymore,” I complained.

“Yes, that is actually happening,” Laura is confirming now, showing me a photo of Una dancing on one of those floors with glowing tiles. In fairness, the place is great for social network profile pics. “Also, tonight it’s Seventies and Eighties night. You like that music!”

“Great, so I will be accosted by our dad’s friends…”

This is why I am trying to find an outfit that goes with “vintage place in small Italian village”.

Spoiler alert, I don’t own anything of the sort. 

The chosen outfit ends up being: green dress with something resembling geometrical patterns and a low V neck, black tights, and black saloon shoes (I love my Converse, but also fuck it if it’s not empowering to wear heels. I do love a high heel).

“You look good! Doing anything with the hair?”

I touch my curls: “Not really, this does whatever it wants, normally.”

“Boho chic it is. It also does look fairly retro, the haircut.”

A text pings on my phone: “They are here. Ciao Lauri, enjoy the warmth of our household while I am gone in the cold, cold night.”

“This is Anna’s household so it can’t be warm by definition. I will see you tomorrow morning, I want all the gossip! Enjoy!”

“I’m not sure much is going to happen, bar us getting pitifully drunk. But I’ll try my best and, if I can, I’ll bring you a croissant for breakfast.”

“That will always be welcome. Have fun!”

Marta and Clara are waiting at the entrance of the building, shivering. Snow made a brief appearance yesterday, but the sky still looks heavy with it, just waiting for the best moment to drop it over the village.

Marta gets a big hug first. I am so happy to see her: “Marta, you look gorgeous, as always. My, Sevilla does you good.”

Marta always looks gorgeous, with her long, blond hair, and her perfect body.

Always the sport, she checks me out: “You look gorgeous too, Ali! I can’t wait to see what you are wearing under that big coat of yours. Love the shoes, already!”

“Considering we have to walk to the Cometa, I am not sure it’s a great idea…”

Clara takes out a half a litre bottle from her bag: “Something to warm us up while we walk?”

“My god you are a gift from heaven!” I take a swig from the bottle – rhum and coke: “Ah, this brings back memories from when we went to see you in Paris for your Erasmus, Mar.”

“Drinking surreptitiously on the streets… Always a great idea.”

We make our way through the village, chatting happily while we catch up. Just small talk, the night is not one for introspection, just – hopefully – fun.

Once we leave the village behind, we get onto a small country lane that brings us to the Disco Cometa’s entrance. Even from the outside the place looks “vintage”: A double neon sign hanging on one of its sides illuminates the entrance with flickering pinks and yellows. We have decided to arrive quite early, leaving our next visit to Una’s place for a night we could spend entirely there. Anyway, we will probably see her here, later on, together with the rest of the village, if the rumours are true.

We leave our coats and two empty half a litre bottles in Clara’s bag (we have walked slowly and drunk aplenty on the way here) in the cloakroom, and make our way in.

We are already giggling like teenagers because the last time we had been out-out like this was at least a couple of years ago, either in Madrid or Seville. On top of that, this is our first time out in the village since what feels like the beginning of times. I am pretty positive I should hate it, but the presence of Clara and Marta makes everything better and more fun, so the hope is there. The alcohol starting to soften the world around me helps quite a bit too.

The dancefloor area is still understandably empty, but a sight to behold, nonetheless. The already mentioned floor is taken directly from an Eighties disco image (because it is from the Eighties). The patterns of light are mesmerising, in all sort of geometrical shapes hanging low onto the dancefloor. All around the dancefloor, low sofas occupy the shimmery black floor leading up to one of the bars. The bars are on opposite sides of the place, with big, red (or pink? I can’t really say in the ever-changing low light) bumpers under the counter that make them look like they are wearing a flotation device.

“Do you remember the kids’ discos at Christmas time? And Carnival parties?” Those were all the events Castelnuovo’s children were allowed to attend back in the day.

“I do. So many memories…” Of running around in the dark, throwing confetti all over the place; then, during our adolescence, of roaming pointlessly, forming small groups to gossip about who was there and who wasn’t and, if one was in luck, maybe getting some action in a dark corner.

Dancing was not a priority back then, unlike tonight. Tonight, I want do dance and not think about Carnival balls, or, especially, Samuel. For a person I haven’t seen in fifteen years, he’s occupying far more headspace than he should.

It must be the slight throbbing emanating from the tattoo that reminds me of him. Because of my hurried but, hopefully, dignified retreat, I didn’t have time to tell him that I really, really love it.

It has a special significance, yes, but mainly, it’s just plain gorgeous. I can’t stop looking at it and I know it is fast becoming my favourite one to date.

I am just looking at it through its transparent plaster when Marta exclaims: “Oh that’s new! Where did you do it?”

“Do you remember Samuel, from the bus when I was going to secondary school? Him.”

“Oh, it’s beautiful. And the tattoo too” laughs Marta. “Yes, I remember him, even if I didn’t really know him. Anna wanted to marry you off to him! Have you kept in touch?”

“Not really no, but I bumped into him the other night at Bar Roma with Clara and then again yesterday. Weirdly, he kind of is the only friend I have here at the moment, present company excluded.”

Clara, who’s busy ordering the first round of drinks, interjects: “They were very cosy the other night, they loved catching up…”

“Did they now?” asks Marta, eyeing me with a sparkle in her eyes: “Didn’t you have a crush on him or something?”

I am delighted it’s very dark in here, and not at all appreciative of the direction the conversation is taking. My face is already feeling too warm, so I decide to settle things with my friends and put any speculations to bed: “I didn’t and, also, I learned yesterday he’s engaged. With Vittoria XXX.” At this point, better be out with it. After a dramatic pause, I deliver the death blow: “To be married in two weeks.”

Clara turns around, looking dumbstruck, and Marta makes a slightly strangled noise: “He was definitely flirting with you the other night!” says Clara, thunder in her eyes, “the fucker,” she adds for good measure.

I put up my hands in the international sign of “Peace, bitches, take a chill pill.”

I move on to say, even if I know it sounds defensive (about what exactly, I’m not sure): “He’s always been like that. Touchy, and in my face, and affectionate. And touchy. Did I say touchy?” My lower lip gets thoroughly chewed: “but yeah, we didn’t really bring any significant others into the conversation and I was surprised when Vittoria showed up.”

“And a little disappointed?” Asks Clara.

“And a little disappointed,” I confirm, because I am a terrible liar and all my emotions are always there on display. “A little disappointed” doesn’t really make up for the sharp pain I had inexplicably felt when the news hit me.

Marta pats me on the arm: “Well, at least now you know. And he’s still your friend. Now let’s forget about him and get hammered.”

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An hour later, my dream of being drunk and dancing has become a beautiful reality.

My head is fuzzy. I love, love, loooove my friends, and I am dancing under the really impressive lights of Disco Cometa. I suppose they are impressive, now.

In fairness to the DJ, she’s playing some bangers. It’s all good music, so it’s not really a sacrifice to hop on the dancefloor and bust some (debatable, but still enthusiastic) moves with my best friends.

In between our bouts of dancing, we chat with some of the Castelnovesi while resting at one of the bars. Piotr the Half Russian and Sonny the Hippie are here, early for some stag do, apparently, and very happy to dance with us a while. Some other characters from town are also floating about. This is developing into an actually lovely night.

I am swaying to the beat of “Gimme gimme gimme” (one of my favourite Abba songs, by the way, decently celebrated by the Madonna sampling) when, moving slightly to the left, I spot a familiar silhouette at the bar.

Ah, for fuck’s sake.

At this point, I can do one of two things: either ignore Samuel, leading to eventually bumping into him, have a small, awkward chat, move on, probably leaving him with the feeling that I was, in fact, avoiding him or that I was somewhat pissed off, or:  put on my big girl pants and go say hello. I still might have a short, awkward, conversation, but then I can move on, keep drinking, night ends, everyone’s happy, boom.

The second option seems preferrable, even in my somewhat debilitated mental state.

At least, the fiancée doesn’t seem to be anywhere in sight.

I touch Marta and Clara’s elbows and we huddle together.

“Samuel’s here, want to say hello?”

“Yes!” says, much too enthusiastically, Marta.

Clara glares for an instant, and then says: “I do like him, actually,” with a shrug.

I grab them by the hand and move towards the bar. When I get close enough, my heartbeat skyrockets as I smell his perfume.

I tap him on the shoulder.

Samuel turns around, a slightly annoyed frown turning into a big smile as soon as he sees me: “Ali!” he exclaims. And then he hugs me. It’s a full body experience for which I was not really prepared. My first, instinctive, reaction, is to cling to him like I’m drowning.

Wanting to at least look ever so slightly like a decent person and not wanting to turn around to Clara and Marta’s smug faces, I sever the contact as soon as I realise what I’m doing.

I introduce Samuel, who looks like he’s had a drink or two, to Marta.

Clara also goes in for a hug, albeit a much less enthusiastic one on his part.

“Lovely work on her wrist,” says Marta, eyeing Samuel with appreciation.

“It’s the redesign of something I made for her when we were younger,” explains Samuel, with a smile, “I’m glad you like it. It means a lot to me.”

Why is he saying that? The flutter in my stomach makes me angry at myself, and him too.

“How cute!” exclaims Marta, before Clara intervenes: “Anyone in for a drink? I am just about to order some shots… Samuel, who are you with?”

Clever, clever Clara, even under the influence.

“I am here with Denis here; Denis, say hello to the girls! And I believe Piotr, Sonny and Diego are around…” He squints slightly into the darkness, trying to find his friends.

“Oh, is this your… stag?” I ask, horror creeping back into my brain.

He has the decency to look sheepish: “I don’t like that sort of stuff, so the only thing I approved of was going out for drinks once… and here we are.”

Clara sees my dismay and orders, imperiously: “Well, we’d better celebrate this happy occasion. Come here guys, I’ll get you a shot.”

She turns, and orders tequilas for everyone.

I can’t forget the feeling of Samuel’s presence behind me and the moment we shared before Vittoria walked into the shop. It all feels a bit fucked up, now. I don’t know why Samuel has decided not to tell me about an existing fiancée, but I do know nothing good can come from it.

My best course of action must be to down the tequila and get as far as I can from him as fast as my legs can carry me.

I am preparing mentally for this world-record-breaking sprint when, of course: “Can I steal her away two seconds before the main event?” asks Samuel, his mouth twisted to the side in an uncharacteristically uncertain grimace.

“Sure, take her away from us, she’s a bore anyway,” says Marta, giving me a push towards him, and the finger for good measure.

“We’ll be back in two minutes,” says Samuel, taking me by the elbow and bringing us to a quiet corner near the fire exit.

“I am a bit drunk,” he starts, looking down at his feet.

Is he fidgeting?

It hits me that adult Samuel is not something I’ve ever dealt with, really. We were young, raw, immature, but we have never been drunk, on the verge of being married, etcetera. The attraction that I feel for adult Samuel (let’s face it, it’s there) is nothing like the confused jumble I felt when I was younger. It also doesn’t necessarily need to mean anything at all, some people just have chemistry. They surely can live without acting on it. Or can they?

“I just wanted to tell you that I am sorry I never mentioned Vicky. You seemed a bit freaked out yesterday, and with good reason.” he starts, talking to his feet.

God, he’s cute.

At the same time, if in normal circumstances I’d be crap at hiding my feelings, right now there’s not even a point in trying: “I was a bit freaked out. I… was not expecting that. But it’s ok, we have just seen one another for, like, two seconds.”

It is the right thing to say. However, what I want to say is: “I thought there was some flirting going on, why did you allow that to happen, if you are engaged?”

Then again, what I really mean is probably written all over my face.

Samuel looks pained, now, like he can read through me, or like he shares my feelings (how can that be possible?)

His Adam apple bobs up and down.

He looks down again, then up, then rakes a hand through his hair: “Your arrival was very unexpected, Ali. Very welcome, but also very unexpected. It brought up some stuff. I don’t think this is the right moment to have a proper chat, but I want you to know that I do want to help you with your aunt’s renovations like I promised, and I would love it if you helped me with my business too. If that’s ok with you, that is.”

I’m wary, but I am also going to hold onto anything I can. Despite the cry for caution coming from my brain, my heart begs to differ: “I don’t know what your circumstances are right now, Sami. Maybe one day you can tell me, if you so wish. But I do want the same. I want to be your friend and help you out. I don’t want you, or me, getting into any weird situations, if that’s what you are saying.”

Samuel huffs a half laugh and looks at me, his beautiful face half hidden in the shadows.

“Might be a bit late for that,” he murmurs. Then, a horrified look takes hold of his face, like that was meant to be just a thought and not something to be actually said out loud.

Despite all the nice words, the tug between us is still there.

If anything, it seems to grow more pronounced by the second.

We look at one another, frazzled. Then, I do something stupid. I lift my hand slowly from where it was resting at my side, grazing his fingers.

It’s just physical attraction, just let go.

We both stay very, very still, fingers barely touching.

Samuel’s pupils are very big, making the caramel in his eyes almost disappear.

“What’s this?” I can’t help but asking in a low voice, my eyes looking at him like he holds the answers to the biggest questions in the universe.

I can say with confidence that I have not felt a jolt like this since I was a teenager.

I want to think it’s the alcohol, or the lack of recent sex.

Unfortunately, I know better.

For a second, I think Samuel might not have heard me over the music, but then he replies, looking as bewildered as I feel: “Fuck it if I know, Alice. But I know that while you are here, you can count on me. Ok?”

I only nod.

There seems to be more. More to say, more feelings lurking under the surface, and an attraction that has transformed from whatever that was when we were young to an adult storm that is making my skin electric, making the ever so light contact of his fingers unbearable.

“Ok,” is all I can say, licking my lips, an involuntary movement. Samuel’s eyes are drawn to them and, if possible, they go even darker.

I snatch back my hand and clap once, loud; in a cheerful voice that is still shaking despite my best efforts, I try to move on: “Let’s go see if Clara has burned down something already!”

Samuel knows we need this moment to end, and in the same, strained, voice, he says: “Not if Denis has done it first! After you,” he gestures, turning towards the bar.

I sigh and move, trying to forget what just happened as quickly as possible.

Things have gone down the drain in the few minutes we were away. Denis is laughing, holding his sides, and both Marta and Clara are… Is that twerking? On one another.

No one really notices that we are back and, for a split second, I think of getting out of here, right now.

We are standing awkwardly at the edge of the scene, politely ignoring one another, when Clara notices us and screeches: “They are back! God lads, you look like your cat is dead. While you were away, we’ve had two shots, and we are perfectly fine, as you can see. Come join us for a third one!”

Samuel clears his throat and then leans in to say something into Denis’ ear; he is not as far gone as my own two friends, and he nods, turns around and says: “I am afraid we are leaving, girls. It’s been a pleasure to reconnect; next time you are out let me know, you definitely know how to have fun.”

Both men are given very effusive hugs by Clara and Marta, and slightly more stilted ones from me, after which I am too intent on watching Samuel’s back disappearing, unsure as to how I feel.

So, I do the only logical thing right now in order to drown the thunder inside. I turn around and grab that tequila shot.

Samuel

Ever since she’s back, she’s the only thing I can think of. I am trying to let go, to be an adult. I am trying to rationalise it in a hundred different ways: I’m just jittery before getting married; I can’t fuck everything up right now; Vittoria doesn’t deserve it; Vittoria is good for me; it’s just attraction, which can happen, but it’s nothing else; it’s a distraction; I don’t want to be like my dad, and I know I am most definitely not like him.

I never fooled around, not even when I was younger.

After many girls, many weird dates, I found one that tolerates me, that is even willing to spend her entire life with me.

But at the back of my mind, something screams that I am just settling down, that I am accepting the best possible option, harsh as it might sound. Until now I was happy, or at least content, because Vittoria is a nice woman. Despite our differences, we make it work. Am I just freaking out because I am about to commit my future to her?

I was as happy as I could be.

Until Alice came back.

I try to squash the feeling that Alice is worth throwing everything out of the window, that she is a risk worth taking. That what I feel whenever I am in her presence is not normal. It’s not just attraction. It wasn’t when I was too young to acknowledge or recognise it for what it was and it’s not now.

These thoughts go back and forth in my head, a very fast table tennis match with eight balls at play.

For now, reason prevails.