Mauro picked up his backpack and made his way towards the exit.
“
“
“
4
Trevor was woken up by the noise of a bus braking suddenly on the street outside. He tried to go back to sleep but couldn’t. His eyes focused on the Florentine-styled wallpaper covering the apartment’s walls. He found the design distasteful. It made him want to wake up somewhere else, or at any rate far from here.
He made an effort and got up. There was no way he could sleep again, he had too many things to do, too many appointments he could not afford to miss out on. He took a striped cotton shirt and a pair of jeans from the cupboard. No jacket.
Trevor was already inside the taxi when he realised he had forgotten something. He asked the cab driver to wait and ran up the stairs. He took the packet he had left on the armchair and returned to the car. He looked at his watch. It was a quarter to nine and he was already late. Patience: she would wait for him.
The taxi dropped Trevor off on Via Alessandrini, just by the art gallery. Lisa came towards him and invited him in. There was no one else around, not one customer. He always felt strangely uncomfortable with her around.
“Something wrong?” Trevor asked, feeling sweaty under his collar.
“Yes, the air conditioning is not working.”
“So I see.”
Ignoring the Canadian’s discomfort, Lisa led him down the art gallery’s main aisle. Where Trevor’s paintings had originally been, there were now just empty spaces on the walls.
“It went rather well,” Lisa said. “The public was curious about your work. The brutally tortured bodies of beautiful women… I’m still unsure myself whether you love women or hate them.” As if she was demanding an answer, Lisa’s hand took hold of Trevor’s and guided it towards her breast.
“Don’t be silly. Federico could arrive at any moment.”
“Would that worry you?” She smiled and led him into a side room. “Federico wouldn’t find us here,” she assured him.
Trevor tried to remember where the light switch was and recalled when he had been here before. He did know this room, had been here on the opening evening of the exhibition when one of his paintings had been hanging on the wall there. He’d sold that particular one for a sizeable amount, and there now was just an empty space on the wall. An emptiness that gave Trevor confidence, almost urging him to act on what was happening. He moved closer to Lisa. Today she wore a flower print dress and high heels, highlighting the lean curves of her youthful body. Trevor ran his hand across the thin material of the dress and felt the gentle rustle of the undergarment she must be wearing. She moved back slightly, rolled her stockings down to her ankles and expertly slipped them off. She held her legs wide apart and offered herself to Trevor’s gaze.
“Do you want me?” she asked.
Yes, he wanted her. He wanted to tear her clothes away and explore every inch of her body. He wanted to touch that soft skin toned from all the hours spent swimming. He wanted to move his lips hard against hers and listen to her voice speaking to him from within, hoarse, dirty. He wanted it all and he wanted it now.
It appeared as if Lisa could read his thoughts as she lowered herself down and unfastened his trousers. Trevor pulled her dress off, took hold of her waist and pulled her towards him, not that Lisa was unaware of his desires. He kissed her. And took her, like that, still standing, her back pushed hard against the naked wall. Trevor ached to bite her lips, her neck, her breasts, but she stopped him just in time.
“Not that way. It would leave marks.’
So Trevor increased the rhythm of his thrusting. Systematically ploughing into her until Lisa began to pant harder and harder, and her voice turned into a silent scream.
Some time later, Lisa’s clothes crumpled like tissue on the floor. She picked them up and dressed again. She adjusted her hair and her make-up until she was satisfied with her restored appearance.
“How are you?”
Trevor looked at her in amazement. There was no longer a single trace in her of the unstoppable, violent lust that had earlier transformed her childlike face.
“I’m fine,” he answered.
“Very good. I think I heard Federico’s voice. He must be outside.”
“Better join him, then.”
Lisa walked out of the room into the gallery and threw herself into Federico’s arms, passionately embracing him, with convincing enthusiasm. Trevor observed them from a distance. No, there was nothing to worry about. Federico only had eyes for Lisa, and was unaware of anything else. Trevor came forward.
“Hi, Federico.”
“Hello, there. I was about to ask Lisa where she’d hidden you.”
“Nowhere. I was just waiting for you.”
Federico put his hand forward. His handshake was warm and honest, which made Trevor uneasy. He liked Federico; he was a good man. He’d built the art gallery from nothing into a genuine international attraction, and it hadn’t gone to his head. He’d stayed the same, just a few more wrinkles, and a much younger fiancee.
“Trevor has a present for you,” Lisa announced triumphantly. And quickly turned back towards the Canadian man. “Come on, don’t be shy.”
Trevor just then remembered the small parcel he was holding in his hands. He had wrapped it clumsily, and with some reluctance he handed it over to Federico.
“He did it for you. It was my idea,” Lisa said. Excited by the young woman’s revelation, Federico moved forward and took hold of the present, examined it closely. It was a small acrylic on paper sketch, drawn quickly but with much precision. Maybe a portrait of Lisa, or at any rate of a woman much like her. No, it was actually her in the picture, lying fully naked between two men, two faceless bodies mounting her, blending with her in a flurry of colours.
Federico looked at the picture and went pale. He turned to his friend.
“Is it a fantasy of yours?” he asked.
Trevor made a face, almost repressing a smile, not that he had any reason to be cheerful. He looked at Lisa and felt the sudden urge to slap her around, and was sorry he had not done so earlier.
“No, it’s
