The Purple Room Read Online Free Page B

me.
    Keep on walking, Sergio. Keep walking.
    “Excuse me,” the voice repeats, louder.
    I would like to keep going, but my feet stop. I’m paralyzed. Slowly, I
turn around.
    “Are you talking to me?”
    Marilena peers at me. I must look horrible.
    “Sergio?” she asks hesitantly.
    Say no, and you’re safe, I tell myself.
    “Yes.” The word comes out of my mouth on its own.
    Marilena’s face lights up. “We’ve both been sitting here for at least
half an hour!”
    She holds out her hand. I give it a limp shake. I can’t think of
anything to say. I stand there, rooted in place, looking down.
    “Well, do you want to get something to drink?” she asks, refusing to be
discouraged.
    “Yeah… Sounds like a good idea.”
    I sit down at her table.
    “I’ll have another club soda, please,” she says to the waiter.
    I’m staring at the toes of her purple shoes, wondering what my daughter
will want to buy tomorrow. Another pair of steel-toed combat boots, most
likely.
    “Sergio? Are you getting something?”
    “No… Yes. Give me a minute.”
    “Well, just the club soda for now, then.”
    The waiter leaves. My head is a turmoil. My thoughts race everywhere,
out of control, like this morning all over again. Fighting it is useless. The
best thing to do is to concentrate on some small detail. Something simple and
practical, like the fact that the table wobbles slightly. I take a paper
napkin, fold it up, and stuff it under the table leg. Marilena watches me
silently while I repeat this two or three times. It takes me at least a couple
of minutes.
    The waiter arrives with her soda and leaves again.
    Marilena doesn’t drink. She waits until I’m done folding paper napkins
and pushing them under the table legs. When there’s nothing left for me to do
but look up at her, she asks, “Is something wrong?”
    “Not at all.”
    “Do you want to go somewhere else?”
    “This is fine.”
    “You sure?”
    “Yeah.”
    Marilena sips at her club soda and does nothing to fill the horrifying
silence we’re falling into. She’s waiting for me to make the first move. I
notice the dark fuzz on her forearms. I’ve always liked the hair on a woman’s
forearms. I find it exciting.
    I cough a bit, then manage to say:
    “The woman at the agency told me you work at a bookstore.”
    “I’m in charge of staff management.”
    “So you don’t… You don’t actually sell books, then.”
    “No. I’m responsible for the people who sell the books, like I said.”
    “Ah.”
    She studies my face, trying to read my expression.
    “Are you disappointed?” Her tone is familiar, intimate.
    “Of course not. I guess I assumed… I thought you must sell books… but
it’s fine either way.”
    “I don’t mean my work. I mean me .
I saw you leaving. Were you disappointed when you saw me?”
    “Absolutely not.”
    Marilena regards me gravely.
    “Is this your first date?”
    “Yeah.”
    “It’s my fifth.”
    “How did the other ones go?”
    “The first was with a French widower, around sixty, a real gentleman. He
took me to the symphony. He was so well mannered and thoughtful. Then, as soon
as we got out of the theater, he asked, ‘Your place or mine, chérie ?’ I couldn’t believe my ears.”
    Marilena has a nice voice. It’s relaxing to listen to her. I get
comfortable and forget about the paper napkins, concentrating on her
soft-looking arm hair as she lights another cigarette.
    “The second man was a fifty-year-old with a huge car, a wholesaler. He
asked me out to dinner. All he talked about was work, how many employees he
had, how much money he made. Right before dessert, he left to make a call and
never came back. I paid the bill.
    “The third one had written ‘slight physical defect’ on his profile. I
was curious and wondered what the defect was. When he arrived, I saw he was
missing a leg. We spent a nice evening chatting, but I didn’t want to see him
again. Not because of the leg. Because he had lied. After