The Ball

Serena drinks her coffee and remains silent, staring into my eyes.

«Or maybe a transvestite.»

«No, not that. I would say that a traditional woman would be better» replies Serena.

The voices inside the room, virtually completely emptied, are getting lower and lower, as it is the time when on average, the lunch hours in the Brescia Due offices ends. I turn to the left for a moment and I noticed that our colleagues too have left. I look at Serena and her hazel eyes glistening.

«It’s not so weird: these are things that are thought and said between husband and wife, especially after being together for a long time. In the end a woman is still a woman: a bit like me» she whispers.

«Yes, a woman is a woman: there is no doubt» I reply a little perplexed, «however it doesn’t appear too strange to me. I had already understood everything this morning, actually.»

«And why all this drama?»

«It amused me so much» I reply, laughing.

«How nice, Lavi» she adds, slipping her right foot into her shoe and hitting my boot with the tip of her high heel shoe.

«But how long have you and Luca been married, then? It’s been a long time, right?»

«Quite a few: since 2000, so it’s been seventeen years.»

«And Nicola is already... nine years old, isn’t he?»

«Yes, he was born the year after we started working at Sbandofin.»

«Yes, right. Sorry, just wondering... Is everything still the same with Luca as when you first met?»

«No, it’s nothing like it was when we met. But we’ve been together for more than twenty years, I think it’s normal. Then, you know, with a little dwarf going around the house all day, the couple’s routine changes a bit. But Luca is always Luca: I don’t want to be trivial, but I’d say he’s my everything.»

«So, when the little dwarf isn’t around, is everything the same as before?»

«The little dwarf is always around, but we can still find our space.»

«I see.» I take the smartphone off the table and I pass my right index finger over the fingerprint scanner at the back: 14:11 pm.

«Is it late, Lavi?»

«Not that late, but I don’t really want to go home: I have to move the boxes into my storeroom.»

«But do you still sell a lot on eBay?»

«Yes, more or less, but it is now a struggle to the last euro. Some time ago I could earn a little money, now what I can sell, I do it at ridiculous prices so I even thought about quitting.»

«You always have a lot of clothing that you can use, at a bargain price» replies Serena.

«Right, but buying about twenty pairs of jeans or fifty ankle boots to keep a pair and then selling everything else almost at the same price, it is starting not to make much sense at all. In addition to that, I spend more and more time placing the lots I buy: many items remain unsold and pile up.»

«I get it: if that’s the case, it’s doesn’t make much sense. Did you buy the ankle boots you have on with a stock?»

«Sure» I say it with a smile. «I got it from a shop in Vicenza going bankrupt: a nice stock on bankruptcy online auctions, and in the lot there were also these jeans» I add, lifting the crossed leg and running my hands along the calf and then on the thigh.

«Those are super cool too.»

«I like them a lot too» I reply, crossing my leg again and noticing how the movement caused the jeans to crumple, a few centimetres beyond the ankle boots.

«What do you say, shall we go?»

«Five more minutes, come on: I still don’t want to go back up» she replies, staring at my half-naked calf.

I look amused at my colleague as she continues to stare at my legs. «So?» I say in a low voice.

She rolls her eyes and stares at mine. «Can’t I look at your calf? You, you always do it with me.»

«That’s not true, Sere. It’s your idea.»

«It’s not my idea: even while I was eating, you kept looking at my legs» she replies. «And my shoes too.»

«That’s not true, Sere: I often watch other people’s clothing. You know it’s my obsession and then with my second job it can be considered almost as professional bias.»

Serena reaches out to my calf and hits it with the tip of her shoe.

«That’s true» I add. «I don’t look at legs or feet: I look at trousers, jeans, shoes or clothing in general.»

«I understand» she says with a smirk. «But I didn’t say you looked at my feet.»

«The feet are inside the shoes, the legs are under the jeans: it seems to me that there is no difference» I reply.

«Whatever, Lavi» she whispers. «Come on, you have two more minutes before I have to get back up.»

«Two minutes for what?» I ask puzzled. I stretch my crossed leg and I fix the rolled-up jeans, bringing it back down to my ankle. Serena stares at me and doesn’t answer.

«Sere, you are such a pain in the ass» I say a bit abruptly. «If I look at your legs it’s because I like them, don’t you think?»

She remains silent and I cross my leg again, looking out the glass. «Is that enough?»

«Yes, that’s enough.»

«So, you like my legs: period.»

I look back at Serena, who smiles amused. «Yes, I like them in general: I think they are the first thing I look at in a person» I say in a low voice. «The first I look at in a man, of course, but I always look at the women’s too. I do not know, I’ve always been attracted by the shape of the legs. Very attracted, I would say.»

«Interesting, Lavi: you never told me that.»

«Yes, it’s okay to me to have never told you about it: it is usually not a topic of conversation.»

«So? Does it mean that you are attracted to my legs?»

«I did tell you I’m attracted by them, in general» I snort. «Actually, I don’t like men’s legs as much, I much prefer the women’s: to be exact I would say that I like men’s legs when they are feminine.»

«Sorry, feminine in what sense?» she answers a little bewildered.

«Yes, not too big or muscular. I like the legs on men when they are quite slender.»

«Ah!» Serena exclaims. «More or less clear. Why do you like mine, then?»

«Is question time back on?»

«So?»

«Ugh» I sigh amused. «Because they are magnificent: they are thin but toned and when you are wearing high heels, your calves are all tensed and look very sensual.»

She remains silent looking at me with her intense eyes.

«Is it okay as an answer? Is the third degree questioning over, pain in the ass?»

«Yes, finished» she replies, laughing. «We can go now.»

«Yes, let’s go, before I give you a kick.»

We get up and head to the cash desk, where we find the striped boy. We pay, greet him and head for the door, while I seem to hear Serena’s smartphone ringing, following me at a close distance. «It’s my husband!»

We get out and I cross the street, walking to the square in front of our building: I am a few steps away from the entrance. Serena crosses the street and stops about ten meters behind me: I see her talking, laughing, on her phone, while behind her, in the distance, I notice the waiter who has got out of the bar and is now busy arranging the tables in the dehors.

I stop and look up, trying to identify our floor. The glass construction makes the whole building compact, mixing the levels into an almost indistinct wall of vertical structures that reflect the surrounding light: calculating with difficulty two glasses per floor, when I reach the fourteenth, I feel that it should be ours. I get to the fourth when I suddenly feel two hands around my hips from behind, squeezing me tightly: «I am here!»

I recover from the start I felt all over my body and I laugh. «Could you let go of me, please?»

«No, I’m not going to let go of you now» she says, laughing. I feel her placing her chin on top of my right shoulder and kissing me on my neck.

«Did the carpaccio make you even more affectionate?» I ask. I grab her hands above my hips and try to free myself from her grip as she opposes to my attempt.

«You are so unpleasant, Lavi!» she laughs. «I’ll bite you then!» She brings her mouth close to my neck again and I feel her teeth slightly biting into my flesh.

I grab Serena’s hands, free myself from her hold and turn around saying: «You’re crazy!»

She laughs, while I do the same.

«You’re insane, Sere.»

«It was just a little bite.»

«No, you are insane: you have lost it» I insist, walking towards the entrance of the building, while she joins me and continues to laugh.

We go past the glass door, we notice that Mauro’s station is still empty and get to the corridor with all the lifts.

«Make sure you don’t bite anyone in the office» I say with a grin.

«Can I give you a hug to say bye?» she asks, stopping in front of me.

«Of course, not» I retort abruptly.

«Bye, then, you nasty thing.»

She walks away down the hall, her calves tightened moving rhythmically on her high heels, towards the lifts.

2.3 USE YOUR ILLUSION - TWO

The house I’m headed to belongs to Amedeo. He bought it years ago, when he worked for the agency and we didn’t even know each other. It was a great deal not to be missed, so he had told me several times: a house from the 1960s, whose previous dweller had died and the sole heir had wanted to get rid of quickly.

I have always liked the countryside at the gates of the city: a small suburb with many villas, arranged along four intersecting streets. There is not much all around: in the east and in the south there are some abandoned handmade sheds, some farmhouses that pop out from the farmland and, to the west, there is only the prison in the middle of other uncultivated fields. I am not too fond of the house that appears before my eyes, beyond the windshield.

Although at first I was carried away by Amedeo’s enthusiasm, I never felt at my ease in this house. Over the years I have suggested to put several improvements in place, but it was like hitting a wall each time. This house was to Amedeo’s liking and he never wanted to change anything. The house, therefore, reflects his personality, not mine.

The sloping gabled roof is supported by four walls covered with faded orange plaster over which I have argued several times with Amedeo. In my opinion, we should at least freshen it up. Around the sides of the house runs a strip of concrete, covered with brownish stoneware tile. I have argued with him on several occasions over the colour and the material used. The front side is enlivened by a small portico whose real purpose I have never understood. Just below it, there are the entrance door and the large window of the hall. The property is on one floor, the only feature that I have always appreciated: at least, there are no stairs.

I walk the five meter-garden covered with paving stones, as far as the building next to the house, a somewhat dilapidated building covered with a series of red fake tile slabs: I had a heated discussion over this solution too.

I get out of the car and open the tilting blind of the garage at the entrance to the building, on the farthest side of the house, where there are two parking spaces. The rest of the building is used as a cellar, a storage area for various worn-out tools and my tidy storeroom.

While I am parking the car, I realize that Amedeo’s car is not there. I am relieved, because I will be able to go about my business without interruptions.

I reach the porch and I get in the house.

I need comfortable clothing, I think while I take off my ankle boots and my ankle stockings. I go into the walk-in closet and look for jeans that are not too tight and that are suitable to carry out manual work. They are blue and ripped: they will do, I decide. Any T-shirt will do: I grab a black one from the shelf. I wear the two chosen garments, I also put on a pair of black ankle socks and a pair of sneakers of the same colour and I head to the bathroom, where I tie my hair.

I’m ready now.

⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎

I want to sell all the items that I am about to tidy up before buying more stuff. Once the storeroom has been emptied out, I will be in a position to decide more clearly whether to go on with this afternoon activity or not.

I started this extra activity during the same period I started to work with Sbandofin, ten years ago now: the plan was to try out this double activity for a few months, while I was looking for a full-time job. Over the months and against all my expectations, working for this company turned out to be quite pleasant. After some time, Teresa offered me a permanent part-time job, working five hours every day and she offered Serena six hours, so I stopped looking for another job. The friendship with Serena too has made me very happy to stay in this job.

I therefore decided to keep going with this extra job as well, getting good profits from it during the first few years. For a while, I had also considered the idea of expanding the business by looking for a small warehouse near my home. However, after discovering that the rents for this kind of business around here were too expensive, I asked Amedeo if he was interested in getting together to set up a more professional business. Assuming that one person would permanently work in the afternoon for five or six days a week and another in his/her spare time for the same amount of days, the turnover could have increased quickly.

My idea had not been very successful due to Amedeo’s alleged lack of time and his absolute scepticism towards my project. So, I kept at the reduced activity here, in this small storeroom: purchasing small lots, photographs, placing advertisements on eBay and shipping using the courier’s access point early in the morning, on my way to work at Sbandofin. When shipments were frequent, the morning stop to drop off the packages prepared the previous afternoon had become a daily habit. Recently, however, I stop there to drop off the boxes about twice a week, if not even, in some periods, only once, often on Mondays.

The unrestrained competition of the portal has dramatically reduced the sales: years ago, there were fewer sellers and fewer products available, then an incredible amount of people began to take over the world of online sales, thus increasing the demand and supplying a huge quantity of items at increasingly lower prices. In addition to that, so many new portals and shops, larger and better organized e-commerce websites, have made this activity difficult to run.

⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎

The storeroom consists of five Ikea shelving units leaning against the walls and a dozen boxes arranged above the shelves. Other containers are scattered all over the white tiles of the floor. In recent years there have been several interesting online auctions and I have managed to get many items, which I have to organize now: it is incredible how many shops go bankrupt all around Northern Italy.

I look up and notice the three big boxes that have all the jeans from the Vicenza auction: I expect to sell them in a few months. There are about thirty pairs of ripped jeans left: they are fine workmanship jeans, in my opinion, but few people understand the art of ripping, so they are difficult to sell.

All the other boxes on the shelves contain various garments of clothing coming from leftovers of old batches. I don’t even remember exactly what clothes are inside.

These floral skirts are not bad: there are only five left; I take note of the quantity on my smartphone. Then I find loads of tights: to get rid of them, considering that I don’t have any ads for these items at the moment, I should try to sell them in bulk. I write down black tights: S: 24; M: 48; L: 16.

I move on to the other boxes and I run my hands through some vinyl and eco-friendly leather skirts, polyester trousers, sweaters made with different materials, some hoodies and some hoodless sweatshirts, several pairs of jeans and ladies’ lingerie.

I take the four cubic boxes of shoes and notice several pairs of the ankle boots I was wearing today: I still have to take a photo of them and place the ad online. I am sure I have two active ads for the court shoes. I count them and I take a note again of the quantity available for each size.

Finally, I move on to the last two boxes, containing sandals as far as I can remember: twenty-two black pairs of sandals with twelve-centimetre heels and other pairs from a somewhat peculiar auction, which I could never find the courage to publish an ad for. They are in fact almost completely transparent and cannot suit anyone: I should be able to place sizes 42 and 44, perhaps to transsexual women. I looked onto various websites and despite the fact that they are tacky and a bit gross, their value is quite high: I could set a selling price around 190 euros. With eight pairs available, the total return would be quite satisfactory. However, they were quite affordable but I did not think about how difficult it would have been to place them. I am size 38 but the mere thought of wearing those monstrosities makes me shiver a little; size 40 could fit a transsexual with small feet, or a woman with long feet, both with questionable taste.

If I want to take a picture of them in order to make up the ad, in any case, it would be better to wear them, and this would mean looking at a snapshot of my feet inside those prostitute stilts.

My smartphone vibrates on the desk and I can see the blue LED flashing in the distance.

Amedeo sent me a WhatsApp message: “This night dinner with the brothers to define the new strategy. They have carried on with the final deed and wants to sell everything in one year. I'll be back after dinner to celebrate. Wait for me“.

I notice that in his text there is a change of subject and maybe it depends on the fact that, even though he may have spoken only with the chairperson, more than one sibling showed up upon the deed.

«Ok, see you after dinner» I reply while wondering what there is to celebrate: I don’t think it’s possible that the brothers have decided to sell off the whole building, which, in my opinion, is the only option to take into account at the moment.

I look at the time on my phone and I realize that it’s fifteen minutes to five, I go to the shelves wondering about what the celebration would be like: for sure the evening will be different from what Serena and her husband often have.

I take the lightbox from the last shelf, then I place it on the floor. I grab the two spotlights leaning to the right of the shelves and place the trestles on the sides of the box, directing the lights downwards. After connecting the two plugs to the multi-socket fixed to the wall, I press the on button on the cap of the two light diffusers: the cold and intense light illuminates the white fabric of the light box.

I grab a pair of size 38 ankle boots and place them inside the lightbox; I unfold the tripod between the two spotlights; I arrange the smartphone on the stand by sliding the two hooks to lock it and finally take the bluetooth remote control out of the desk drawer. I press the button and check the photograph; I rotate the boots and press again, noticing the perfect sharpness of the image; I flat out the shoes, directing the leather soles towards the lens, and I shoot again.

When I’m done, I take another all-black box indicating size 38 from the last cube marked footwear and take out a pair of the ill-famed sandals. Whether I like it or not, I have to wear them if I want to sell them.

⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎

The transparent platform is four or five centimetre high; the stiletto heel is about fifteen and it has the same colour and is made with the same material. A thin strip of plastic is attached to the sole, towards the tip, to hold the foot in place. Behind, above the heel, there is a transparent strap with a buckle which allows it to fasten to the ankle. Only the insole is black. These sandals are far from being sober.

After wearing them, I realize that the slightly flared blue jeans almost completely cover the back of the foot and the strap, revealing only the toes and the transparent band at the top. I try to roll the pants as far as mid-calf but before I have set up the photo shoot, they have already unrolled back down to the ankle.

However, I try a couple of shots: two sandals under a pair of legs, with rolled-up fisherman-like trousers. In short, not so great. The good thing is my nail varnish is black as the insole, a rather nice colour coordination. Perhaps I can use the picture again if I can adjust it in such a way as to eliminate the upper part that shows the jeans. It would also be necessary to block out the lines of the floor, which make the image not at all professional.

I decide to take more photos without the jeans and after covering the floor with arctic white paper.

The first photo is not great: the feet are arched in an unnatural way, the whole weight of the body is pushed towards the tip of the sandals.

I try to take other shots sitting between the spotlights, with my legs gathered towards my chest and my feet crossed in front of me. Then, I stretch my legs a bit.

I hear click coming from my smartphone. I hold my knees with my arms: click. I turn a little to the right and stretch my legs overlapping the sandals: click. I get back to the centre and press my legs against my chest, my hands clinging to my ankles: click.

I place my hands on the floor, I fix my leavers lace panties. I spread my legs: click.

I take off my top and throw it on the desk: it reaches the desk but a sleeve is dangling from it. I raise my hands from the bottom and place them with an open palm one on each leg, on the thighs, then sliding them slowly up and down.

I lie down my back on the floor, resting my head on the ground.

The story of Serena who shares her sexual fantasies about another woman with her husband comes back into my mind. With Amedeo, I have never had such intimacy. Sex has been poor, almost formal, with not much complicity.

I can hear several clicks coming from the tripod.

I wonder how they go about a potential meeting organized by her and her husband... Maybe they book a restaurant for three and discover the exact identity of the person that they have ’met’ online, at the restaurant’s table. The person who may not even match their expectations. Perhaps, if they met someone they already know, they would not risk interrupting the evening outside the club, or even during dinner.

What if the couple likes the person? How would the evening go?

The sequence of events could be organized even before the meeting, in order to avoid unpleasant misunderstandings as to how the participants wish to interact. Serena did not go into any details, thus making me free now to assume that her husband may have sex with another woman, and she can be part of it; or, conversely, Serena could have sex with another woman in front of her passive husband’s yearning eyes.

I hear the rhythmic sound of the self-timer. I slide my hands on my stomach: the fingers of my right hand begin to play with the hem of my briefs.

I caress my skin and push two fingertips under the lace, while Serena touches the body of another woman. The two of them bring their lips together and kiss; they intertwine their naked bodies, while the husband watches what is going on, sipping a glass of red wine.

I lift my back squeezing my abdominals, I sit up, unfasten my bra, I take it off and I throw it on the desk. I cross my arms holding onto my shoulders with my hands: click.

I reach out and bring my hands towards the sandals, I squeeze my ankles making the buckles sink into the skin and stare at my smartphone: click.

I straighten my back and slide back, lying back on the floor and thinking that the last two shots may be overboard for the eBay audience.

I close my eyes and grab Serena’s bare calves, while she is lying down, smiling at me: I lift her left leg and run my hands over her, up to her thighs. I bring my lips to her calf and kiss it. She looks at me and nibbles her finger, bending her leg towards her, as if to run away.

She looks at me with her deep eyes and then pushes her bare foot towards my lips.

I sense the eyes of a man who is sitting in the armchair to our right: he is dressed in black, he has fair and untidy hair and is holding a glass in his hand, watching us. His gaze arouses me, piercing me like a hot ray, a phosphorescent green beam that envelops me and warms me up.