Chapter 15 - The Awakening
Angela woke up with the sun streaming on her face. She was still on the couch in the living room. The mannequin lay next to her. It must be late she thought as she melted under the warmth of that particular sun’s ray that lay across her like a warm blanket. She had not slept so late in for ever. She felt strangely relaxed. And her stomach grumbled from hunger. There was no anxiety. She smiled and then let her arms stretch way above her head as she yawned. It was a long, beautiful, arching yawn that had all her muscles stretched and then relaxed as they recoiled.
Angela basked in the beauty of this morning. Then she took herself to her bathroom. How interesting, she thought, now every room in the house was hers. Even his God awful dining room. Maybe she would redecorate it one day. Maybe.
Then she saw herself in the mirror. She stopped and she stared. She stared harder than she could ever imagine staring at herself. For now she saw a different women. She saw an entirely different woman. Her face was tanned and taught. Her cheekbones sat higher and her eyes were more curved. Her expression was relaxed and soft. Her wrinkles had faded. Her eyes sparkled like the stars above Monte Amiato. And her forehead was smooth. So smooth. Then, as she stared, she smiled. A long, deep, confident smile that slowly crept across her entire face. From bottom to top, from left to right. And in that moment Angela lit up. She could never have been more beautiful. And for perhaps the first time in her life, she saw it.
She shed her night time uniform and dressed in beige cotton trousers and a white silk shirt. The top button she fussed over for a while until she finally decided to leave it undone. She even revealed a little cleavage. She giggled at herself as she walked back to the mannequin.
The mannequin she dressed up in Bruno’s favorite pajama’s and his silk dressing gown. Then she cut the beautiful brunette’s hair and styled it as her ex-husband did. By the time she was finished Angela was quite proud of herself. The mannequin was a beautiful version of her despicable dead husband. Her boyish looks made her almost sexy. Angela shivered at the thought.
Angela had a fantastic day. The sky was blue and high above the sun swept streets of Girotondo. Angela had arranged to meet Giacomo for a walk in their vineyards. He wanted to ensure that she was ok. He was so concerned for her. But she was excited about finally having a confidante. So they talked about everything and nothing. They shared their laughter and their thoughts. They discussed their futures and their dreams. And they never talked about the past. But Giacomo did talk about the estate. He was adamant that Giuseppe would run it after him. He was adamant that he would never have children. Angela laughed the thought away. But he was insistent.
Then Angela and Giacomo went to one of the bars in Girotondo for a coffee. They threw back their espresso’s like vodka shots and as two young students they then laughed and had another. This day they could not have been more full of life. For she was indeed infectious. And she noticed this as she left Giacomo and wandered through Girotondo to go and have lunch with Giuseppe and her mother. For the men of Girotondo, out on the streets and in the bars, looked at her differently. And they looked at her for just too long. They couldn’t stop themselves. People always joke about Italian men being such letches. But it has nothing to do with the men. It is all to do with Italian women. Their confidence and sexuality is mesmerizing too any man. It just happens they are generally surrounded by Italian men. And so Angela wandered the streets of Girotondo with male gazes fixed upon her. Some couldn’t help gasping a little. For there was a great deal to gasp over. Angela smiled deep inside herself and kept walking.
“Buon giorno, Signora Malaventa.” Angela spoke first as she approached the Signora on her return to the Piazza later that afternoon.
“You look extremely well.” The old women sarcastically responded.
“Ah, grazie.” Angela brushed the old ferret off.
“Is everything ok?”
“Oh, gradually getting better, gradually better.” Angela got back into the act.
“I hope so. I heard you screaming the other night. You seemed desperate.”
Angela instantly recalled the terrible night when she had returned from the Grimaldi dinner to discover Bruno’s decomposing corpse. She knew then that the old woman had seen her. Angela panicked.
“Oh, it was nothing, really.” Angela tried to walk on. She needed the sanctuary of her house. She needed to think. She needed another plan.
“It worried us all so.” Signora Malaventa stared deep into Angela’s eyes. Her ferrety, squinty eyes fixed hard on Angela’s.
“Oh.” Was all Angela could manage.
“So, I called Dottore Fabia. We all think you should get a second opinion. He promises he will stop by and see you this evening.”
“No, no, we have had a second opinion. And Bruno is too contagious.”
Angela’s world came crashing in. She became desperate.
“It’s ok. He has a special face mask. He told me all about it. He will be fine. But we would all feel better if he visited you. Just to make sure your both ok.”
Who’s the “we” Angela kept thinking.
“Ok, well thank you, but I’m sure it won’t be necessary.”
Then Angela sped back to her house and shut the front door firmly behind her. She needed to think. Her mind was racing. Maybe it was the two espresso’s she had with Giacomo.
Angela’s attempt over the phone to dissuade the doctor from visiting her was a complete failure. There was nothing she could do.
At 7pm Dottore Fabia knocked on the Grimaldi’s front door on Piazza Rimazza. Angela opened the door. She looked fabulous. He gasped. The little, middle aged, officious doctor gasped. And Angela knew it.
“Good evening Angela.” The Dottore stuttered nervously. His heart was racing. He could not control himself.
“Good evening Dottore. Nice to see you.”
Angela took control. She stripped the Dottore of his jacket and let him in. It was another hot night. And the Dottore was sweating.
“Bruno’s sleeping right now, he’ll wake soon, I’m sure. But come into the living room. I’ve made you some aperitifs. I’m sure your hungry.”
Il Dottore was starving. He had been rushing around all day like a busy squirrel. Twitching from patient to patient. Serving up all means of remedies. Plus, he was with a Grimaldi now, and Dottore Fabia always did as he was told with the Grimaldi’s. And the only reason he forced himself on Angela was because the Conte had called him a few days before to ask him to stop by and visit Bruno. He had pulled rank. But now that he was in front of the future Contessa, he melted. And what a future Contessa. Angela always had a certain power over him, even though she never knew it, but now she was more beautiful than ever. And her confidence smothered him.
“Have a drink with me.”
Angela forced a glass of Vernaccia into his hand. He took it politely. The Dottore didn’t drink much. But he knew that when a Contessa offered you a drink, you take it and drink it. And you drink at her pace. It was the way of things.
So Angela drank and she drank. Angela drank until she knew that he was putty. And the closer she moved the closer he moved. Until he could control himself no longer. The heat of the night, the wine and the sexuality of this woman took him way beyond himself. Way beyond the point where he had any care at all for his behavior or soul.
So, as they sat close by, on the large, silk sofa, the little provincial Dottore pounced on the stunning future Contessa. And she let him. She led him. She smothered him. She almost enjoyed it. The thought of being unfaithful to the dummy of her husband made her giggle at exactly the right point. At exactly the point that the Dottore had finally unclasped her bra and was ravenously fondling her breasts.
Then he stripped himself. She lay back on the couch and marveled at this funny little man as he stripped himself all the way to his little white briefs. Then he fell upon her. But she made him sit and wait for her. She told him to close his eyes. She whispered it to him in his right ear and nestled her soft lips against his sensitive lobes. Her shivered and closed his eyes. He swore to keep them closed. He kept his promise. The poor little Dottore. He sat, practically shivering with anticipation as Angela swiftly and silently stripped to her soft silk underwear and put some gentle music on and set the timer on the camera. She pointed the camera directly at the Dottore. Then she pounced on him.
Il Dottore opened his eyes in pleasure at having the near naked Contessa perched on top of him. He could feel her soft skin. He wanted to strip her completely. He reached for her. And then the neon light sprayed the room in white while the camera clicked. Then it clicked again. Il Dottore froze and stared terrified at Angela as she jumped off him. Then she grabbed at something behind the sofa. She pulled out a gun. It must have been Bruno’s hunting rifle. Suddenly il Dottore thought about Bruno and thought about what he had done. He started trembling and then he started crying. Angela took charge.
She ordered the little man to get dressed and then she ordered him to leave. She told him that if he did not do exactly as she told him she would expose him and the photographs. He could then kiss goodbye to his wife, his family, his home in Girotondo, his practice and his life.
After the little man departed and agreed to do exactly as he was told Angela returned to the living room. She got dressed and she pulled out another bottle of wine. She needed it.
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