the job, Iriza invited me to go to a cafe that serves the most delicious hot chocolate in the world. While sipping our heavenly drinks, she handed me a booklet with the stage design marked out, down to the smallest details, even those only hinted at in the script. Getting the few pieces of furniture won’t be difficult, as they are fairly ordinary and so minimalist that I think the staged house will look like the family is in the process of moving out. But I’m worried that Laura’s Barbie doll collection is going to drive me crazy—the sadistic Rocky has demanded the original versions. Finding the first Barbie—from the 1960s, with a black-and-white striped dress, jaunty ponytail, and seductive gaze—will be like finding an endangered monk seal.
Iriza is so nice. All of a sudden, we find ourselves talking about our private lives. I discover that she was married and that her husband passed away from cancer. It doesn’t seem possible that her fresh face and friendly personality hide a painful past. Now my worries about trivial things like a broken heart and a few over-the-top relatives seem juvenile and whiny.
“Don’t make that face,” she says kindly. “It’s been so long, and time has been good to me. My work is exciting, and I have room for more things in my life. By the way, I’m sorry to tell you that your job isn’t going to be as easy as it might have sounded.”
“It hasn’t seemed easy at all. I want to talk to Rocky, but he makes me want to pull that scarf tighter around his neck and I forget what I was going to say. Oops—are you friends with him?”
She smiles, shrugging. “Rocky doesn’t have friends. He lives in his own delusional world and dislikes everyone for random reasons. In your case, he hates you because a long time ago a girlfriend from Calabria dumped him out of the blue. Ever since then, he’s had a visceral hatred for everyone who reminds him of that area. It’s nothing personal.”
“So he doesn’t like me because I’m from Calabria, just like his ex-girlfriend?”
“Yeah, but it would have been the same thing if you were from Umbria—like the plumber who screwed up the irrigation system in his garden—or if you were from the Philippines—like the maid that left him to return to her home without even giving him notice. He’s moody and neurotic, and he’s convinced he’s a misunderstood genius. But his ideas do work. I’ve worked with him before, and his shows aren’t bad. One time he reworked The Story of an Abandoned Doll , but instead of two little girls fighting over a doll in a chalk circle, he made them two women vying for a man. The one that let him go was the winner. Men are like that. They don’t want to feel trapped. It’s better to be seen as a friend or companion rather than possessive. Then there’s hope they’ll notice you.”
My sixth sense picks up that she’s talking about Franz. But she’s also talking about me, even though she doesn’t know it. I smile. “Then there are the men who need to feel the heel on their necks to be happy. But really, men are on the same level as earthworms to me.”
“Are you with anyone?”
“I’m currently out of the chalk circle, waiting for the man I love to realize that I’m the right woman for him.”
Iriza explodes in crystalline laughter. “Then you’re like the winner in Rocky’s adaptation. Or Penelope from The Odyssey , the woman who waits confidently. Hopefully that will pay off.”
“I’ve always wondered if Penelope really does win in the end,” I say. “Ulysses basically just leaves her again after a while. It’s typical—men hardly stop for long. They make us believe they’re here for good, but then the sea calls to them. Who knows, maybe Ulysses went back to have another go with Circe.”
Iriza winces playfully. “I hope not.”
“Don’t worry,” I say in a guru-like tone. “Perhaps there is a solution—Penelope is seriously detrimental to his mental health by
Iriza is so nice. All of a sudden, we find ourselves talking about our private lives. I discover that she was married and that her husband passed away from cancer. It doesn’t seem possible that her fresh face and friendly personality hide a painful past. Now my worries about trivial things like a broken heart and a few over-the-top relatives seem juvenile and whiny.
“Don’t make that face,” she says kindly. “It’s been so long, and time has been good to me. My work is exciting, and I have room for more things in my life. By the way, I’m sorry to tell you that your job isn’t going to be as easy as it might have sounded.”
“It hasn’t seemed easy at all. I want to talk to Rocky, but he makes me want to pull that scarf tighter around his neck and I forget what I was going to say. Oops—are you friends with him?”
She smiles, shrugging. “Rocky doesn’t have friends. He lives in his own delusional world and dislikes everyone for random reasons. In your case, he hates you because a long time ago a girlfriend from Calabria dumped him out of the blue. Ever since then, he’s had a visceral hatred for everyone who reminds him of that area. It’s nothing personal.”
“So he doesn’t like me because I’m from Calabria, just like his ex-girlfriend?”
“Yeah, but it would have been the same thing if you were from Umbria—like the plumber who screwed up the irrigation system in his garden—or if you were from the Philippines—like the maid that left him to return to her home without even giving him notice. He’s moody and neurotic, and he’s convinced he’s a misunderstood genius. But his ideas do work. I’ve worked with him before, and his shows aren’t bad. One time he reworked The Story of an Abandoned Doll , but instead of two little girls fighting over a doll in a chalk circle, he made them two women vying for a man. The one that let him go was the winner. Men are like that. They don’t want to feel trapped. It’s better to be seen as a friend or companion rather than possessive. Then there’s hope they’ll notice you.”
My sixth sense picks up that she’s talking about Franz. But she’s also talking about me, even though she doesn’t know it. I smile. “Then there are the men who need to feel the heel on their necks to be happy. But really, men are on the same level as earthworms to me.”
“Are you with anyone?”
“I’m currently out of the chalk circle, waiting for the man I love to realize that I’m the right woman for him.”
Iriza explodes in crystalline laughter. “Then you’re like the winner in Rocky’s adaptation. Or Penelope from The Odyssey , the woman who waits confidently. Hopefully that will pay off.”
“I’ve always wondered if Penelope really does win in the end,” I say. “Ulysses basically just leaves her again after a while. It’s typical—men hardly stop for long. They make us believe they’re here for good, but then the sea calls to them. Who knows, maybe Ulysses went back to have another go with Circe.”
Iriza winces playfully. “I hope not.”
“Don’t worry,” I say in a guru-like tone. “Perhaps there is a solution—Penelope is seriously detrimental to his mental health by
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