Coco Chanel Saved My Life (7 page)

“Speaking of love, I did a horrible thing… Emma, I read a letter addressed to another person.”

“You?
Miss Privacy is sacred?”

“Umm, yes. It was by chance… There is this very handsome guy who works as the errand boy and his letter fell into my hands… I didn't want to read it! Believe me…”

“Sure, I suppose so…”

“It was a love letter. So straightforward and passionate. I never would have the courage to say or write something like this to a man.”

“I know, because you lack self-confidence.”

“It's true. I would like to learn how to be more confident, less worried about everything. Is there a secret for this?”

“Yes! Just live in the present. Take what life gives and try to relax!”

I adored Emma. She was always able to cheer me up… and she was often right, like this time. Yes, what did I have to lose? I lived in Milan, had a job in a prestigious agency and had a wonderful friend. I was lucky and I should repeat this to myself every day. I needed to trust myself in spite of Niccolò, Anna, Valentina and whomever future
bad guy
I might stumble upon…

“Thank you, Emma. Love you.”

“Love you too, Coco. Remember I will always be here for you.”

*

It was lunch time, but I wasn't hungry at all. I couldn't swallow a peanut! I decided to have a pineapple juice and just walk around the nearby neighbourhood. The city was full of people rushing, cars racing by, crowds waiting at bus stops, young people in line at counters in bars just to get a quick sandwich. It was so different from the relaxed Venetian pace.

While I was walking back to the office, I noticed an old couple sitting on a bench. He caressed her hand, while his wife smiled and talked animatedly. I stopped to look at them for a moment. They were beautiful. They looked like two adolescents. I wondered how long they had been together. I felt touched, and the tears I had to hold back all morning, gushed out. This was the kind of love I was looking for and maybe I would never find. I dried my eyes with a handkerchief and entered the office building. I went straight to the bathroom to fix my make-up and thought of Niccolò. What would he have thought seeing me like this? He, who imagined that I was so strong and determined? Then I realized I really had to stop thinking about him. Stop asking myself what he would think or what he would say… I had to forget him, cancel all thoughts of him. He loved another woman; never loved me. Let's move on, Coco!

I needed to stop looking back at my disastrous past, stop obsessively analyzing my faults. I wanted to look ahead. If my
karma
was testing me, I wouldn't give up. Was it asking me to organize wedding receptions? Well, I was ready for it. I will become the queen of wedding planners! I had cried enough. It was time to stop. Furthermore, crying makes you wrinkled and I couldn't afford it.
Nature gives you the face you have at twenty; it is up to you to merit the face you have at fifty
. Another Mademoiselle Coco truth, and I wanted to get to fifty, beautiful and self-accomplished. I will make it.

My first weeks at work were frantic and exhausting. I was shocked by the quantity of things I had to learn. I thought that a few basics were enough: a beautiful off-white dress (pure white is out of date), two white gold wedding rings (yellow gold is out of date too), a little old church in the countryside (pastoral style is very chic) and a restaurant, that actually is not really a restaurant. The reception must be on a lake, or a Caribbean beach, or on the roof top of a palace (the more it's a
non-restaurant
, the better). But most of all, we needed a groom who wouldn't flee on the morning of the wedding!

I was in my training phase and I carefully followed all the instructions of my tutor, the
very nice
Valentina, who didn't miss a chance to let me know how slow, lazy, unprepared, etcetera, I was. I had been assigned to a reception for about fifty guests, in a small villa near Milan, and I was trying to do my best.

When I got home in the evening, I was wiped out, with a migraine and my stomach in knots.

Once in a while, I knocked on Claudio's door to have a beer with him and talk before dinner. We were both still looking for
the great love
. While I was giving up, he continued to hope. He believed in destiny and knew that the woman he was looking for would come, sooner or later. He didn't rush. Sometimes, when he felt especially lonely, he found consolation in the arms of the occasional lover. Instead, I was still convinced that in losing Niccolò I had lost the best and only chance of love in my life. I struggled to believe something new and beautiful would ever happen again to me.

When Claudio pushed me to make an effort, to introduce myself, to flirt with some nice guy, I always found them uninteresting: too imperfect, too boring, too ugly or too stupid. Perhaps it was too early to jump into a new relationship.

One evening we were drinking at a bar, and had invited Emma to join us. We'd already had our second glass of wine, when a guy approached our table and asked me if we had met before somewhere. He was handsome, with dark hair, and wore trendy glasses. I didn't think I had met him before, but Emma insisted on inviting him to our table. He was very kind and offered us another glass of wine (my third on an empty stomach!). His name was Marco; he was a dentist. Finally, we discovered that we had met before at a medical convention organized by my Venice agency. He remembered how I dressed and told me he liked my style. I felt gratified: I knew that following Coco Chanel's advice wasn't a mistake.

We chatted all evening, ordering more wine and also food – most of all so I wouldn't pass out! Marco was nice, brilliant and sweet. He showered me with compliments and – I confess – I didn't dislike it.

Emma and Claudio, seeing me so relaxed, found an excuse to leave us alone, and suddenly they disappeared. I hadn't felt so carefree in ages, and so kept talking to Marco for a couple of hours. Then we decided to take a walk. It was a beautiful and warm evening; the neighbourhood of Porta Romana was filled with people strolling.

We walked with no particular destination, talking about our lives. Nothing too deep. He told me about some of his funnier patients, of their terror of opening their mouths, of the smiles of toothless little children that made him cheerful. I talked about my new job, about that time I ruined Emma's cousin's wedding party, my habit of reading my horoscope and that of the people I know, and even about my shoe collection. It was relaxing to walk and talk with a stranger who didn't know anything about me. I forgot my sleepless nights and my tears.

Near the old Spanish wall that surrounds Milan, Marco gently placed his hands on my hips, pulled me closer, and kissed me. I was lost in that kiss, and found myself lightly biting a stranger's lips in the middle of a warm Milanese night.

I wanted to be happy again, beautiful and courted. So I closed my eyes and we continued to kiss, until he whispered in my ear, “your place?”

I looked into his eyes, trying to establish whether I really wanted to make love to him. I had suffered so much for a man – maybe now I should take more time in the dating phase before giving myself to the next man. I wanted to be desired, I wanted sex to be more than just a workout to burn off the cocktail calories.

“I'm sorry, Marco, but I think this is all happening too fast.”

“I understand, but it's your fault: you're so beautiful and sexy. I can't resist you!” It was a well-known and dated strategy, but always effective.

“Thank you for the compliment, but I have just gotten out of a difficult year-long relationship. I need time. I think I wouldn't feel at ease if we went to bed together tonight.”

“Yes, I completely understand, but believe me, I would do everything to make you feel comfortable. I like you. I like the way you move, your lightness, and I feel you like me too. Why not take this night to enjoy each other as a gift?

Maybe he was right. I should let myself go. I was a woman in my thirties, not a kid, and I lived in a big city: what kept me from having some healthy sex with a nice guy I just met? Why not?

“Uhmm… we could…”

“Fantastic!” he said, embracing me and kissing on the neck, “also because I'm not sure when I will have another night of freedom.”

“Why?”

“My wife is on vacation with the kids at my in-laws' house on the lake. An entire night for myself doesn't happen often – believe me!”

He had a wife. And here he was messing around Milan, shameless, looking for
Miss Goodbar
!

“Oh – so you are married?”

“Yes.”

“And your wedding ring?”

“Ah… I took it off to play tennis. I must had left it in my bag… It's not a problem, right?”

He talked as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Of course it was a problem! Why couldn't I find a man available for me and
only
for me? The man I had almost married betrayed me with a fat
whale
! And then the man I loved preferred a younger blonde skinny girl to me. Now, my first prospective lover in Milan was married with children. I was tired of always being the woman filling in the cracks. I was tired of being the second choice, the woman of last resort. I wanted to be number one!

“In fact,” I said slowly, pulling myself away from him, “it
is
a problem, a big problem. What made you think that I wanted to start a relationship with a married man?”

“A
relationship
! Hey, wait a minute… What made
you
think that I was interested in a relationship? You are a pretty woman and I enjoyed my time with you… That's all! I only wanted to have a fun night with you…”

I was disgusted. Yes, men are all assholes. The bitch Valentina was absolutely right. I just wanted to go home. Alone.

“Rather than having
a fun night
with you, I would prefer sitting on my couch waiting for the menopause! Look for somebody else. Goodnight!”

“I didn't think you were so prudish, especially at your age!”

Ok, just because a single woman is thirty something should she stop being selective? Shouldn't she grab every chance? So, do I have to sleep with all the men in Milan, married or not? Fuck! I looked at him, outraged, and headed home. It was incredible how many morons there were in Milan.

After a few seconds, I heard his sarcastic, “Goodbye Rebecca!”

As soon as I got home, I took off my Chanel shoes and threw myself on the sofa. I was furious!

I wondered if the dentist's wife ever used sweet and passionate words with him, like those in Etienne's letter. Well, she didn't have great luck with a husband like that! I drank a couple of glasses of water, washed my face and went to bed. At least tomorrow morning I would have something interesting to tell my two friends.

The next day I arrived at the office with a horrible hangover. I had tried to feel better by drinking litres and litres of coffee, but it didn't work. When I checked my computer, I immediately found an e-mail from Emma asking in a funny tone how my romantic adventure had ended. I quickly answered her, and her reaction was only one word:
bastard
!

I was happy to see she agreed with me. After all, maybe I wasn't such a prude!

Valentina came over to my desk to hand me some documents. I yawned. She stared at me and said, “Is Her Majesty with us today or is she still dreaming in her silk sheets?”

“Sorry, I'm a little tired today.”

“Did our sweet
Snow White
stay up late last night?”

“Yes, I think I had too much wine…” I said, and immediately regretted my words.

“How was he?” The bitch had her usual sarcastic tone.

“What made you think that there was a
he
?”

Her disregard for privacy was pathological.

“There is always a man when a woman drinks too much wine… So? A new flirt?”

“No, there isn't any new flirt. I just had a dinner with friends…”

“Such a bore! Last night I met a new guy on
Tinder
. Are you on Tinder? You definitively must join! Maybe even
you
could find someone! He was very sexy and we had a fabulous night. Too bad this morning he had to run back to his fiancée!” She started laughing out loud.

I should have asked the married dentist for his telephone number and given it to her. They would be the perfect couple!

“The other evening,” she continued, not even realizing I couldn't be less interested, “I went out with a guy you would have loved. He's very skinny with vintage clothes. I thought you two might have several things in common. Why don't you check his profile?” She smiled.

“Thank you for trying to help, but at the moment I'm fine…” I had no intention of signing on with a match-making website, and didn't care for meeting someone online.

“As you wish, but sooner or later you should relax. You can't keep acting like a
little nun
forever! Sex is good for work, it stimulates creativity. It's for this reason that I'm the most brilliant person in the entire office!” She laughed again.

After these words, Valentina rose to the top of the list of people I hated most. She surpasses even the
whale
!

She finally left, and I thought about what happened to me the night before. I was realizing that having a busy sex life had become absolutely normal, both for singles and couples. Being faithful wasn't considered an important aspect in a relationship any more. Apparently what kept people from betraying their partners was never the thought of hurting them. On the contrary – maybe I'm out of date on this too! – but I believe in monogamy. I don't mean in an absolute sense – I feel it is impossible and maybe not too realistic to have only one man for your whole life – but in a relative sense, yes. I like the idea of being unique for my partner. And I never thought of betraying my partner simply because I didn't feel the desire to. Sexual fidelity had never been an issue for me. It is somehow in my nature. For the whole year I saw Niccolò, I never thought of another man, even during the long weekends I spent without him. Now, after our break-up, I often wonder how many other women he saw when we weren't together. I never asked him: on one hand because I somehow trusted he felt like I did. On the other hand, because I couldn't pretend fidelity, since I never had the courage to express my feelings. And – as we know – if there are no feelings, there's no being faithful.