traffic, you had to have crowd control.
Why couldn’t he have come up with the usual experimental bullshit that they always gave him the funding for?
His only hope is the Contessa.
When the Contessa gives her backing to something, there is always a little article about it in the paper. And a little article in the
paper is something a commissioner would do anything to obtain. Even making an enemy of Falsaperla, if necessary.
Of course, it is usually a little article in the society pages, not on the theater pages, but what does a reader of La Voce della Sicilia care if an article is in Society or in Theater? The Contessa is his only chance to persuade a commissioner to give him a piazza, a street, a dark corner.
Before getting out of the car, Cagnotto looks at himself in the mirror. The self-tanning lotion he has smeared on his face has fortunately given him a nice orange tennis-court color. He steps out and promptly loses himself among the pathways of the Contessa’s garden.
Waiting for Cagnotto, the Contessa and the Baronessa, sitting at the white wrought-iron table at the side of the pool, hurl at each other, from behind sunglasses speckled with rhinestones, glances of mutual loathing. The Contessa has put on a straw hat big enough to be a sombrero and a giant pin to close the décolleté of her bathing suit. The Baronessa knows the Contessa is wearing that hat because otherwise her makeup would melt under the sun, and the pin is there to cover up the wrinkles in her cleavage.
The Baronessa is wearing a scarf on her head and huge sunglasses. The Contessa knows that the scarf is there to conceal the fact that the Baronessa didn’t make it to the hairdresser, and the big sunglasses are necessary because at poolside, with the sun in her face, you can see the flesh-colored makeup covering the black rings under her eyes.
Cagnotto, finally back on the right path, sees them sitting there all tarted up like that and feels freaked.
The Contessa alone already scares him, and in the company of the Baronessa, sitting by the pool in the sun, she’s a walking horror. He has come to plead for a raccomandazione , he has to humiliate himself, prostrate himself at the (disgusting) feet of these two who
know nothing of Art and who in an hour’s time will be telling everyone in town how he’s fallen. Forced to plead for a raccomandazione after a lifetime of successes.
“Contessa! Baronessa! What a pleasure to see you both.” Cagnotto manages an acrobatic bow to kiss their hands and narrowly misses falling into the pool. He looks around and sees there’s no chair.
The old witch did that on purpose, Cagnotto feels certain. Cagnotto is there to beg a raccomandazione and of course the Contessa couldn’t pass up the fun of seeing him casting around for a chair. Cagnotto is also sure the Contessa had the table put right up by the edge of the pool on purpose.
“Sit down, Cagnotto. Always so elegant.”
Cagnotto grabs a chaise longue and drags it toward the table. He sits down carefully and feels the button on his jacket about to explode. He unbuttons it, then feels the buttons on his shirt exploding. This operation complete, Cagnotto looks at the Contessa and the Baronessa and doesn’t know what to say. “Gorgeous place,” he says. The Contessa’s pool, lemon-shaped (so she says; the Baronessa calls it “mussel-shaped”), is protected from the view of her neighbors (her cousins) by a row of olive trees.
The Contessa nods and takes a sip of her almond milk.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“Oh, yes, thanks, almond milk?” says Cagnotto, adding a question mark because it sounds more chic.
“Certainly!” the Contessa practically shrieks with joy, but doesn’t call the maid or anyone. “You said on the phone that you had a problem.”
“I admire you so much. I’ve seen all your plays. Tell me, what are you working on now?” The Baronessa had bided her time so she could interrupt the Contessa’s
Why couldn’t he have come up with the usual experimental bullshit that they always gave him the funding for?
His only hope is the Contessa.
When the Contessa gives her backing to something, there is always a little article about it in the paper. And a little article in the
paper is something a commissioner would do anything to obtain. Even making an enemy of Falsaperla, if necessary.
Of course, it is usually a little article in the society pages, not on the theater pages, but what does a reader of La Voce della Sicilia care if an article is in Society or in Theater? The Contessa is his only chance to persuade a commissioner to give him a piazza, a street, a dark corner.
Before getting out of the car, Cagnotto looks at himself in the mirror. The self-tanning lotion he has smeared on his face has fortunately given him a nice orange tennis-court color. He steps out and promptly loses himself among the pathways of the Contessa’s garden.
Waiting for Cagnotto, the Contessa and the Baronessa, sitting at the white wrought-iron table at the side of the pool, hurl at each other, from behind sunglasses speckled with rhinestones, glances of mutual loathing. The Contessa has put on a straw hat big enough to be a sombrero and a giant pin to close the décolleté of her bathing suit. The Baronessa knows the Contessa is wearing that hat because otherwise her makeup would melt under the sun, and the pin is there to cover up the wrinkles in her cleavage.
The Baronessa is wearing a scarf on her head and huge sunglasses. The Contessa knows that the scarf is there to conceal the fact that the Baronessa didn’t make it to the hairdresser, and the big sunglasses are necessary because at poolside, with the sun in her face, you can see the flesh-colored makeup covering the black rings under her eyes.
Cagnotto, finally back on the right path, sees them sitting there all tarted up like that and feels freaked.
The Contessa alone already scares him, and in the company of the Baronessa, sitting by the pool in the sun, she’s a walking horror. He has come to plead for a raccomandazione , he has to humiliate himself, prostrate himself at the (disgusting) feet of these two who
know nothing of Art and who in an hour’s time will be telling everyone in town how he’s fallen. Forced to plead for a raccomandazione after a lifetime of successes.
“Contessa! Baronessa! What a pleasure to see you both.” Cagnotto manages an acrobatic bow to kiss their hands and narrowly misses falling into the pool. He looks around and sees there’s no chair.
The old witch did that on purpose, Cagnotto feels certain. Cagnotto is there to beg a raccomandazione and of course the Contessa couldn’t pass up the fun of seeing him casting around for a chair. Cagnotto is also sure the Contessa had the table put right up by the edge of the pool on purpose.
“Sit down, Cagnotto. Always so elegant.”
Cagnotto grabs a chaise longue and drags it toward the table. He sits down carefully and feels the button on his jacket about to explode. He unbuttons it, then feels the buttons on his shirt exploding. This operation complete, Cagnotto looks at the Contessa and the Baronessa and doesn’t know what to say. “Gorgeous place,” he says. The Contessa’s pool, lemon-shaped (so she says; the Baronessa calls it “mussel-shaped”), is protected from the view of her neighbors (her cousins) by a row of olive trees.
The Contessa nods and takes a sip of her almond milk.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“Oh, yes, thanks, almond milk?” says Cagnotto, adding a question mark because it sounds more chic.
“Certainly!” the Contessa practically shrieks with joy, but doesn’t call the maid or anyone. “You said on the phone that you had a problem.”
“I admire you so much. I’ve seen all your plays. Tell me, what are you working on now?” The Baronessa had bided her time so she could interrupt the Contessa’s
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