innocent, I barely understood what was happening. And then, when I understood it, I realised I just wasn’t innocent any more. And you never get that back. It’s gone for ever.’ She was talking in a kind of code, but it wasn’t hard to read between the lines. ‘I thought I was about to have it all that year, and instead I lost everything. I lost Anna, I lost myself.’
She blinked and tears fell onto her cheeks. She ignored them and kept talking, the pitch of her voice a little higher now. ‘Anna was always being invited to parties. Every weekend there would be a different one.’
‘Organised by who?’
‘Usually the studio.’
‘Di Angelo?’
‘Right. We were even paid to go.’
‘Paid?’
‘We got an attendance fee from Vespa.’
‘Why?’
‘It was like an audition for being a showgirl, you had to dance for them, that sort of thing. We were like the chorus girls for the parties.’ She shook her head, smiling bitterly at the memory. ‘Anna was so desperate to make it on television she would have done anything.’
‘And did she?’
Chiara looked at me sharply, as if determined to defend the memory of her missing friend. ‘She had ambition, and she knew that the only way to get ahead was to play their game.’
‘And what game was that?’
She rolled her eyes, impatient with my questions. ‘Most of the people at these parties were advertisers. The kind of businessmen who bankrolled the studios by buying up airtime for their products. And they expected more than just an improvement in sales.’
‘Meaning?’
‘What do you think?’ There was a bitter exasperation in her voice. ‘We were there to service these cranky old men . . .’ Her voice trailed off again.
It sounded like Tony Vespa really was some kind of pimp, supplying girls to dance and flirt and sleep with advertisers who were paying huge sums into the studio’s coffers. The girls were so desperate to be on screen that they didn’t seem to mind crawling under the covers to get there.
‘Anna was so . . .’ she paused, looking absently at the floor, ‘so lost that she seemed ready to embrace anyone who could be a father to her. She didn’t just go upstairs at those parties because she was ambitious. I think she really needed to be embraced by an older man. It was the classic case of a young girl who looked for her father in other men. But they only wanted her body briefly and each time she was abandoned again she looked more desperately for someone who would really love her.’ She sighed heavily. ‘The tragedy is that she did meet someone who loved her and, just as she seemed about to find happiness, she disappeared.’
‘Who was that?’
‘Oh, some guy who had a yogurt empire,’ she laughed at how ridiculous it sounded. ‘He was one of the regular advertisers on the prime-time slots. They got really close for a while. She became his mistress, you know a fixed item, and he lobbied hard for her to get a run-out on screen. For a while, it looked like it was all going to work out for her, but then it just . . .’ she shrugged, ‘it just went wrong.’
‘You mean she went missing?’
Chiara nodded. ‘She was so close to everything she longed for. She had an older man who loved her. She was about to become a chorus girl on TV. And then . . .’ She raised her hands, throwing them in the air like a slow-motion explosion. ‘That was it. She was gone.’
I looked at her briefly. Her chest was shaking as her breathing became staccato.
‘You said,’ I spoke quietly, ‘that you lost yourself as well that year.’
She growled softly and reached for a packet of tissues on the desk behind her. ‘I was introduced to someone by Vespa. I had no idea who he was, but you could tell by the way Vespa was behaving that he was some big cheese.’
‘You remember his name?’
‘Hard to forget. Giorgio Gregori. Vespa told me it would be a big step in my career if I was good to him. That was always the phrase he
She blinked and tears fell onto her cheeks. She ignored them and kept talking, the pitch of her voice a little higher now. ‘Anna was always being invited to parties. Every weekend there would be a different one.’
‘Organised by who?’
‘Usually the studio.’
‘Di Angelo?’
‘Right. We were even paid to go.’
‘Paid?’
‘We got an attendance fee from Vespa.’
‘Why?’
‘It was like an audition for being a showgirl, you had to dance for them, that sort of thing. We were like the chorus girls for the parties.’ She shook her head, smiling bitterly at the memory. ‘Anna was so desperate to make it on television she would have done anything.’
‘And did she?’
Chiara looked at me sharply, as if determined to defend the memory of her missing friend. ‘She had ambition, and she knew that the only way to get ahead was to play their game.’
‘And what game was that?’
She rolled her eyes, impatient with my questions. ‘Most of the people at these parties were advertisers. The kind of businessmen who bankrolled the studios by buying up airtime for their products. And they expected more than just an improvement in sales.’
‘Meaning?’
‘What do you think?’ There was a bitter exasperation in her voice. ‘We were there to service these cranky old men . . .’ Her voice trailed off again.
It sounded like Tony Vespa really was some kind of pimp, supplying girls to dance and flirt and sleep with advertisers who were paying huge sums into the studio’s coffers. The girls were so desperate to be on screen that they didn’t seem to mind crawling under the covers to get there.
‘Anna was so . . .’ she paused, looking absently at the floor, ‘so lost that she seemed ready to embrace anyone who could be a father to her. She didn’t just go upstairs at those parties because she was ambitious. I think she really needed to be embraced by an older man. It was the classic case of a young girl who looked for her father in other men. But they only wanted her body briefly and each time she was abandoned again she looked more desperately for someone who would really love her.’ She sighed heavily. ‘The tragedy is that she did meet someone who loved her and, just as she seemed about to find happiness, she disappeared.’
‘Who was that?’
‘Oh, some guy who had a yogurt empire,’ she laughed at how ridiculous it sounded. ‘He was one of the regular advertisers on the prime-time slots. They got really close for a while. She became his mistress, you know a fixed item, and he lobbied hard for her to get a run-out on screen. For a while, it looked like it was all going to work out for her, but then it just . . .’ she shrugged, ‘it just went wrong.’
‘You mean she went missing?’
Chiara nodded. ‘She was so close to everything she longed for. She had an older man who loved her. She was about to become a chorus girl on TV. And then . . .’ She raised her hands, throwing them in the air like a slow-motion explosion. ‘That was it. She was gone.’
I looked at her briefly. Her chest was shaking as her breathing became staccato.
‘You said,’ I spoke quietly, ‘that you lost yourself as well that year.’
She growled softly and reached for a packet of tissues on the desk behind her. ‘I was introduced to someone by Vespa. I had no idea who he was, but you could tell by the way Vespa was behaving that he was some big cheese.’
‘You remember his name?’
‘Hard to forget. Giorgio Gregori. Vespa told me it would be a big step in my career if I was good to him. That was always the phrase he
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