Elsa
Gabrielle comes in a few hours later. I am glad to have him join me because my thoughts were getting suicidal.
“I’m surprised you aren’t sick of him yet,” he says, pouring himself a glass.
“Who said I’m not? What is this place we’re about to go to?”
“It’s called Eclisse. Marcello’s favorite club. He keeps an eye on all the comings and goings personally. It’s a pretty classy spot. Only politicians, businessmen, and…” He trails off, making me all the more curious.
“And who? Their whores? Like Lucia?” I spin on my heel, facing him.
Gabrielle sends me a probing look, as if checking my bluff. I don’t allow my face to show any emotion, instead focusing on rummaging through my clothes, pretending to look for something appropriate for the evening. Once in a while I press the bottle to my lips, sipping.
“Maybe not exactly like Lucia, but yes. It is a place for people who cannot act as freely anywhere else.”
“After hooking up several times, I am sure she have been to that club if his a number of times toi, eh? ”
I have said it. I had meant to think it only, but it came out aloud.
Now I don’t know what to do. I shrug and go to the bathroom, silently scolding myself. I didn’t close the door and, after a while, as I was doing my makeup, Gabrielle appears at the door and leans against the wall. He can’t hide his amusement at my sincerity.
Gabrielle raises his brows and bursts out laughing.
“Forgive me, Elsa, but… are you jealous?”
I feel a shiver running down my spine. Am I that bad at pretending not to care? “I’m just losing my patience. I am leaving after tonight. I want to have some fun at least,” I say, changing the subject and turning away from the mirror.
Gabrielle smiles charmingly and turns to head out. “You can’t be jealous about a whore, you know. She’s only doing her job. And I’ve already brought what you are to wear. Have you seen it yet?”
“Yes, I have. Thank you, Gabrielle.”
As he leaves, I collapse, hiding my head in my hands, bent over the sink. If it was so clear that I couldn’t keep my wits about me, it would only become worse with time. Focus! I say to myself, slapping myself in the face.
“If this is your way of disciplining yourself, I can gladly hit you harder.”
I raised my eyes and saw Marcello sitting in an armchair behind me.
“You’d like to slap me in the face?” I ask, grabbing my eyeliner.
“If that’s your thing…”
I try to focus on doing my makeup, but those piercing eyes of his are making everything harder. Even the easiest things, it seems.
“You want something? If not, leave me.”
“She’s the past.”
“I don’t want to listen to this.”
“You are pissed. I know.”
I continue doing my makeup pretending he isn’t there.
“Lucia is a prostitute. She comes over, sucks my dick, and sometimes I fuck her if I’m in the mood. She likes the violence and the money. And she works with the most discerning clients-myself included. All the girls working for me-”
I think it is the tense that fucks up my mind.
“Do I have to listen to this?” I spin around and cross my arms. “Would you like me to tell you how Sergio used to fuck me? Or maybe you’d like to watch?”
“There is no reason for you to be mad at me now, Elsa. Lucia just came here to see me. Nothing happened,” he begins to explain.
“I don’t care. It is none of my business, isn’t it? What ever happens between the two of you is none of my concern and I don’t give give a shit!” my nostrils flare as I try to control my anger.
“You are lying to yourself again, Elsa.”
His eyes darken and his sly smirk vanishes, leaving a face that could have been made of stone. Marcello gets up and walks over to me, grabbing me by the shoulders, lifting me, and perching me on the counter next to the sink.
“Everything you see here is mine.”
He seizes me by the head and turns my face to the mirror. “Everything. You. See,” he hisses furiously. “And I’ll kill anyone who takes what’s mine.” He turned his back on me and left without another word.
Everything is his. The house, the whores, and the game. All of a sudden, I have a plan. I will punish Marcello’s hypocrisy.
I pick a dress and a pair of shoes, and then go back to the bathroom to redo my makeup. Thirty minutes later, as Gabrielle knocks on my door, I am fastening my boots.
“Fuck me,” Gabrielle breathes, nervously closing the door behind him. “He’ll kill you. And then he’ll kill me. You can’t go out like that.”
I laugh mockingly and go to the mirror. The flesh-colored dress with thin shoulder straps looked more like a slip than a full outfit. It reveals the entire back and the sides of my breasts. It doesn’t really cover much at all, but that is the whole plan. As the dress has a high neckline, I hung a necklace-a large cross studded with black crystals-on my back, so nobody could miss my nakedness. I also pick thigh-high boots-they served to emphasize the fact that the dress barely covered my ass. It is hot outside, but fortunately, the designer of this particular pair, had foreseen everything. Women who love high boots want to wear them all year round, so he had designed them to be airy, with laces going all the way up, and toeless. They are obscene. And obscenely expensive. I tie my hair into a very tight ponytail, on the top of my head. The sexy, simple, and lifting hairdo perfectly complements the smoky eyes and bright, glossy lips.
“Who bought me all those things, Gabrielle? If he paid for them, he had to realize I’d wear them,” I say, adding, “You look pretty nice yourself. Are you coming with us?”
The Italian stands immobile, with his hands clutching at his head. His chest is heaving.
“I’m going with you because Marcello has some other business to attend to first. Do you realize I’ll be in big trouble if he sees you like that?”
“So you’ll tell him you tried to stop me but I overpowered you. Come on!”
I grab a black clutch bag and a tiny white fox bolero, passed Gabrielle with a happy smile, and leave the house. He mutters something, which I don’t catch, but follows.
As we leave, the staff all freeze. Gabrielle nods at them, and I just keep walking with a big grin on my face. We step into a limo parked by the entrance and drive to the party.