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February 17, 2008
NYC Limits - 2 - Ostia
NYC Limits - 2 - OSTIA
Ostia, late in the morning. After the rain, on the beach, the haze is a cloud of children. Cora sits slacking at a round tripod hanging on the bums at the front porch of a bar shack. On the table a Dior and a Razor. Every five minutes the phone beeps. Cora is going the distance on a puffy roasted croissant filled with thick chocolate cream. Vanilla snowflakes are everywhere: on her fingers, lips, on the black tank-top and on her knees.
A rainbow-striped smack back from a fishing trip hits the shore. Two men are dragging over the sand amidst a crowd of supporting kids, then dock boxes are dropped. Fish is being sold on the spot, at the shoreline, to a growing audience of passers-by.
Cora is fixed on the scene, reminded by the sugar to give her crescent a take.
A morsel falls down splashed on by the phone a quarter of a second later while she detangles from the chair's frame and runs inside the shack. Everything is covered in sand. The flip-phone opens and rings.
Cora grabs a bottle of red wine from under the counter, backs into the light with a victorious cheer, takes a sip then digs the bottle half into the sand, picks up the flashing phone and answers.
- They only trust their Tamiflu. I closed for 28 millions, including hedging on most of the hairy assets. That makes me not exactly happy -
At the other end a soothing voice is crossing legs, moisturizing lips on a glass of Gordon's and sharpening on an ice cube.
- We're liquidating, not taking a bet. Is a good price. When you don't have to give a blow to each of these morons with the package you buy my smile. I'm waiting for you here. Enjoy the weekend.
Struck by warm acquaintance and thrown back into early afternoon, she looks deranged on the leftovers with plans growing to get drunk on the way back to the Hotel. With the Italian allies in the black and a second bottle of wine fit in the suitcase Cora is swiftly getting into her wheeler and on the road to downtown.
The phone, discharging on the passenger's seat, rings several times unanswered. On the fifth call, blinded by the sunlight on the rearview mirror, Cora answers the phone.
- He called?
- I would say yes, yes - She laughs.
- He was here early morning. I'll see him at 3 pm.
- I will most definitely get jealous. Are you going to fuck him?
- Have to think about that. He's quite focused.
- I know and that's my problem. Now I just want to get wasted.
- Take care
Drops the phone ends under her seat and for a while stops beeping. Sticks Dior on and speeds up to her Sheraton's cube. Out of the Mini it's 4 pm and she's framed into the security cam with bright green eyes wide open. Lipstick half gone, half a guesswork, busy with the memories of her conversation and on the stairs to her place Cora opens the suitcase against the door. The red wine is barely fluttering in the bottle.
© Fortunato Caragliano. 2007-2010. All rights reserved.
Posted by lck at February 17, 2008 10:01 PM
