- Look a little more to the left… More cross-eyed, if you can, it gives you an absurd charm. Give me a smile like when you see a salmon crossing the road at the bus stop.
- What if the salmon ends up under the bus?
- Of course it ends there, otherwise why would you smile? Perfect, stop like this…
- Gianni, you're a sadist.
- Just a little.
- But why are we here in your studio today instead of the usual extravagant places you like? Parks, castles, ruins, monuments, deserted churches…
- God, how naive you are: it's called “locations”, not “places”.
- Okay, in the usual locations. Are we not going there anymore?
- No, we're not going anymore. We're done for today, honey, you can get dressed.
- Already?
- Yes, already.
- Okay, I'm getting dressed. (Shortly after)
- How much do I owe you for the service, Gianni? The usual?
- No, not today. Today is free, on me.
- But why?
- Because it's the last time.
- What?... It's a joke, right?
- No, honey, it's not a joke.
- I mean, what do you mean last time?
- I mean last. Finish. The end.
- But Gianni… we're just beginning, the magazines are just starting to publish my photos, I mean yours, and you want to leave me in the lurch?… Come on, I don't believe it, it's a joke: an April Fool's joke, huh?
- I told you I'm not kidding.
- I don't understand... Did I do something wrong? I've always paid what you asked me to, I don't think I've disappointed you or offended you in any way... Am I really that bad of a photomodel?
- No love, you're perfect. You break the screen.
- So what?
- Sit down, little sparrow. Would you like a drink?
- I don't know… what are you offering me?
- An Irish Coffee.
- Would be?
- A cocktail made with Irish whiskey, long hot American coffee and a teaspoon of brown sugar. You would also need cream, but I don't have any in the fridge. I'll make it for you right away.
- Thanks, but…
- Don't argue, it's necessary.
…
- So, how is it?
- Very good, Gianni. You are really good at making cocktails, not just photos.
- Yeah. I need them to cheer me up in times like this.
- Gianni, for God's sake, will you tell me what's happening?
- Oh, nothing much. I just have ethics, even if they are well hidden, and so I must say goodbye.
- But why, good God?
- You don't guess, you little piggy face?
- No, I can't guess at all, I don't have a piggy face and I'm not in the mood for riddles. I hope you're not sick or something.
- Not physically: I am in more than fair health.
- You take a weight off my mind, believe me: the rest can't be anything so serious, we'll get to the bottom of it. I was starting to earn quite well, if you want I'll pay you more.
- You are completely off track, my little chick: what you gave me is more than enough.
- Well, then I just don't understand. Please, Gianni, I need your help: I've never told you, but I have a one-year-old son and I absolutely must contribute to his maintenance.
- Come on! My marmot gave birth to a baby marmot?
- Yes, Gianni.
- How sweet! And with whom, if I may ask? A female, I suppose.
- Gianni, this is not the time to explain to you the whys and wherefores. I mean, I was really counting on you, and I don't understand why you're turning your back on me now. What have I done wrong?
- Nothing. That smile, maybe. Or that goose-like look. Or your skin. Or those flamingo legs. Or the nonsense you say. Or the kingfisher feathers. I don't know, it's up to you.
- So, am I really a disaster?
- No, you're not a disaster. Unfortunately, you're an adorable little otter boy, and I can't help but love otters madly. You know when they roll around in the water splashing each other? Or when they slide in the snow to forget their hunger, while those boring beavers eat the supplies they've accumulated during the summer?
- Yeah, but what the fuck does that have to do with anything? Sorry, I still don't understand.
- Oh, but you're slow on the uptake then: do I really have to tell you to your face?
- Yeah, I think so.
- My little marmot, I'm in love with you.
(Twenty seconds of silence)- Gianni, I…
- Yes I know, it's not your fault etc. etc. Unfortunately it happens. Life is unfair, honey, and so this is the last time we'll see each other.
- Wait, Gianni, there must be a solution: let's not rush things.
- What solution do you want there to be for a broken heart? Glue? You see, I know that I am not reciprocated and I would never do anything to force you: I am a gentleman. So there is no solution. I let you go and that's it. End of discussion.
- But I don't want to leave!
- You have to.
- Gianni, I've become very fond of you during this period...
- Yes, I know you love me a little, and I thank you. But I'm talking about something completely different: I dream about you at night, I've lost my appetite, I get tachycardia when I think of you, I can't wait to see you again, these little things here. And Massimiliano wants to leave me.
- Who is Massimiliano?
- My current partner, darling. He's a famous painter, obviously modern painting, the kind that people don't understand a thing about but pretend to understand so as not to be out. He says that at night I pronounce your name in my sleep, I rave about marmots and caribou, and on top of that I get the geographical location wrong: I place marmots in Liguria and caribous in Monferrato. During the day he finds me distracted and apathetic, I dress salad with Vaseline, and well, my little beaver, we really need to cut it out.
- I understand, Gianni. But why beaver? Wasn't I an otter?
- Yes, you're right: you see that I'm losing my mind? The fact is that even male beavers have their reasons, only I can't allow myself to fall in love left and right with all the little furry animals.
- I'm so sorry, believe me, but I understand. I understand above all that I have an uncommon bad luck.
- Why do you say that?
- Because it's the story of my whole life: as soon as someone falls in love with me, they throw me out of their life. It seems that loving me is something unbearable.
- It is, in fact: it makes you feel terrible, it's like when you're at the opening of an exhibition you don't give a shit about and your shoes are too tight. You can't wait to take them off, those shoes, and put on the usual, horrible cloth slippers you use to watch TV.
- Well, it's not my fault, Gianni! I can't do anything about it. It's not fair, it's really not fair that you always make me pay for something that doesn't depend on me!
- I know, baby, but tight shoes are torture, that's an indisputable fact. And since I love you, here's the business card of Guido Serrani, a fashion photographer friend of mine, a very good one and strictly straight: he fucks female models, he's happy like this... I've already told him about you, he'll be waiting for you next week.
- Thanks Gianni, I have no intention of going there.
- Why not?
- Because I enjoyed being with you. I am the pair of old slippers you want to get rid of, not the shoes that are too tight… Who knows how many other nice new shoes you have at your disposal, but of those, who knows why, you don't want to get rid of.
- The thing is, the other new shoes don't make me feel hot or cold, they're just cute. Disposable. You, on the other hand, stir something inside me, and that's not right.
- Sure, right: and I should believe it too. The truth is that you don't give a shit about me. About me as a person, I mean. I hate being a model, I only did it because you were the one taking my picture, damn it, and you throw me out the door...
- Now you're making me cry, little marmot. But enough with the sentimentality, work is work: sleep on it, you'll see that tomorrow you'll think differently and you'll call my friend Guido.
- I don't think so, but thanks anyway.
- I'm not asking you to give me a kiss, little face, but let's pretend so.
- I really do, Gianni. Let's at least part with a hug.
- Like real men, huh?
- Like real men.
(He leaves crying)
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