BONUS TRACK: "The Exhibition" - Part I (Emmanuel-Christian at Gianni's exhibition)

Introduction:

Many months have passed since Gianni and Emmanuel met at Bar Paradiso (see "Paradise Bar"), and the two are now a stable, albeit clandestine, couple.
Gianni has decided to organize a major exhibition of his best photos in Milan and wants Emmanuel to be present at the opening. But some photos portray Emmanuel as a model, and Massimiliano, Gianni's partner, a famous painter, will also be there... How can Emmanuel not be recognized?
Gianni has an idea: he dyes the boy's hair red, puts glasses on him, and dresses him like a slightly nerdy college student.
From now on, he will no longer be Emmanuel, but Christian, Gianni's secretary.

- Hello, beautiful people!

Maurizia Ajroldi di Robbiate enters the exhibition with a radiant smile on her re-made lips and the Milan Cathedral on her head (one of the hats she's famous for), clad in a skin-tight candy pink dress, accompanied by a pair of blue-haired boys and followed by a small flock of paparazzi. The onlookers applaud: the sight of the surreal noblewoman, well-known in the Milanese area, always inspires joy and good humor.

Massimiliano approaches her and kisses her hand with a small bow.

- Countess, what a pleasure.

The pleasure is all mine, dear Cattaneo: you know I've never missed one of your shows.

- This, actually, isn't mine, but my partner Gianni Gandolfini's. He's a photographer, not a painter. It's his first exhibition: he's not a stage animal like me; he doesn't like showing off his art. But he's good, you'll see.

- The invitation comes from you, my dear, and you are absolutely guaranteed. But where is our Gandolfino?

- I'll introduce him to you right away.

Massimiliano takes a few steps toward the buffet in the dining room, where Gianni and I are sitting. Today, he's dressed with the refined, slightly 19th-century elegance that characterizes him at his best: a magnificent navy blue linen jacket over a stunning multicolored paisley-patterned brocade waistcoat, a crisp white shirt slightly open at the chest, and pearl gray trousers. An almost invisible diamond sparkles in his left earlobe. He's beautiful, like something out of a Van Dyck painting, but he doesn't show off, despite being the star of the evening: he stands discreetly aside, letting others gaze at him. I, who have to play the role of the insignificant secretary we'd agreed upon, have opted for a nondescript dark blue wool cardigan over a white shirt, cream corduroy trousers, and prim, mouse-colored loafers. I'm wearing round glasses, without any prescription whatsoever, just to complete the effect. And of course, as expected, my hair is dyed a dark Titian red, similar to my son's, slicked back with gel and tied in a pathetic ponytail at the nape of my neck. I feel decidedly ugly in this disguise, but Gianni's eyes light up when he looks at me: the complicity that binds us in this moment excites him, and besides, he really likes me in this nerdy guise.

"You have no idea how much you make my blood boil looking like that," he whispers in my ear as I sip my cocktail. "I'd eat you alive." He takes advantage of the situation to give me a little bite on the neck, without being noticed. I laugh.

We're busy being served the signature drink prepared for the occasion by an elegant waiter: Gianni spared no expense in setting up his exhibition and asked the catering service to create a custom cocktail for the occasion, inspired by the theme of the exhibition and the colors of his works. They named it "Yellow Absinthe Neck," I don't understand why.

Massimiliano ignores me completely and takes Gianni by the arm.

- Come, what are you doing here? he whispers. The countess has arrived.

- I'm coming, says Gianni, quickly taking a sip of his cocktail. He turns his back on me and follows Massimiliano.

I watch them walk away: Massimiliano has the typical winning attitude of established artists, moving with ease and absolute mastery of the situation, as if he were the protagonist of the exhibition. Gianni, on the other hand, retains a kind of underlying shyness, the same one that occasionally emerges with me too: Massimiliano is undoubtedly the dominant element of the couple. I think to myself that, despite his corpulent build and his now thinning, gray, and rather long hair, he is still a very interesting man. He is dressed in a seemingly casual, but in reality very refined, style, that characteristic semi-informal style of successful men who have nothing to prove to anyone. The dark blue shirt is by Trussardi, as I deduce from the greyhound logo embroidered on one corner of the collar, severe and elegant, contrasting with the light, unstructured Armani jacket, the jeans, and the slightly boyish sneakers. Around his neck hangs a pair of very expensive and exclusive Epos Bronte 3 glasses with dark blue satin frames, which he displays coquettishly. Gianni, on the other hand, only wears glasses when we're looking at photos on the computer in his study: his eyesight is still good. Neither of them looks gay: they resemble, respectively, a decadent dandy, too bored to think about sex, and a Brianza industrialist who preys on young girls.

Meanwhile, the countess continues to assume various extravagant poses for the paparazzi, alternately jutting her breasts and bottom forward and backward.

- These rascals, she modulates in a slightly croaky contralto voice, they follow me wherever I go. After all, what do you want? It's my destiny: the ephemeral is my kingdom, and nothing is more apparent than the ephemeral. Guys, follow me, I'm going to look at the photographs: that's why we're here, isn't it?

The Countess advances toward the central hall, which houses photographs of the church of Merate: I appear in almost all of them, in the guise of Apollo or the Archangel Gabriel. Gianni and Massimiliano accompany her on her tour.

- But this painting... or is it a photo?, asks Ajroldi, stopping in front of "Apollo in a Gothic Church," which portrays me life-size between two columns of the church in Merate.

- It's a photo, Countess, explains Gianni, but appropriately retouched, so that it looks like an oil painting.

- Well, Gandolfini, congratulations: not just for the technique, but also for the subject, the idea, everything. But who is the model?

- He's a country boy, a shy and reserved type.

- This guy absolutely has to be at my parties. I absolutely want him at the villa and at Amnesie too, ab-so-lu-tely!

- I don't think that's possible, Gianni smiles, It's not suitable for your parties, Countess.

- Don't be kidding, Gandolfini! This boy is stardust: I'll convert him with a couple of lines of coke, the country boy. Isn't he here?"

- No, he didn't want to come.

- Outrageous! You should have forced him.

- In any case, Countess, Massimiliano intervenes annoyed, allow me to tell you that your enthusiasm is excessive: passable body, in fact quite well made, but take a closer look at the subject's face.

- I'm observing him, Cattaneo: so, what should I notice?

- The expression, Countess.

The countess squints to see better and focuses on the face of the "subject" (myself).

- Well, yes, it seems to me that he has an expression a little bit...

- A little bit?, Massimiliano urges.

- A little bit like...

Massimiliano explodes:

- And say it, Countess! Like an idiot!

The noblewoman hesitates, looking now at Gianni and now at Massimiliano; then she smiles:

- I wouldn't say like an idiot: I'd rather say like a tender absent-minded.

- What absent-minded?, Massimiliano blurts out again. He has the look of a boiled fish. Imbecile, completely imbecile!"

- Massy... Gianni tries to intervene.

- Forget it, Gianni, I know you want to defend your work and I understand. But this boy has a complete lack of intelligence in his eyes, admit it. "Void of Intellect," that's what you should have titled the painting.

- Massy, Gianni replies firmly, the void was intentional: he was meant to embody Apollo, and his gaze was meant to express the gods' indifference to human affairs. It's not me who needs to remind you of Montale's lines: "I knew nothing, except the prodigy revealed by divine Indifference: it was the statue in the midday drowsiness, and the cloud, and the high-soaring falcon."

Massimiliano bursts into a hearty laugh.

- Even the display of classical culture! Well done, that's what we needed! But it doesn't work with me, Giannino, you know: this guy doesn't have the divine indifference of the gods in his eyes, he has an absolute emptiness in his brain. A pneumatic void, at most a few cobwebs.

The Countess takes the opportunity to remind those present of her artistic roots.

- I love Montale: and how could I not, since I am his humble disciple? "No one can stop you; you must fly with your own wings..."

Massimiliano gallantly kisses her hand.

- Exquisite verses, Countess.

- Speaking of exquisite, let's go see what this wonderful buffet has to offer... Oh, I see our Marta's here! Excuse me, everyone, I can't help but adore her.

The Countess walks away quickly towards "our Marta".

There's a stormy atmosphere between Massimiliano and Gianni: they stare at each other for a few seconds without saying anything. From my corner, I can see everything and follow the developments with some apprehension.

- Darling, Massimiliano hisses, I have a few words to say to you in private.

- Whenever you want, Gianni replies coldly.

- Right away.

- Okay, then in the other room.

The other room is near the door where I stand, unseen, hidden by a gigantic and providential Ficus Benjamina tree. I decide there's no point in being discreet: I want to understand something more, to understand the situation I've gotten myself into. So I lean against the wall with apparent nonchalance, sipping my cocktail, and listen to their bickering. It's not difficult for me to do so, because they're talking animatedly, loudly, and with the door open.

 

2.8. Paradise Bar (Finally, Emmanuel and Gianni see each other again) - Season 2 finale episode

(September 1998).

- Here I am.

- Thanks for coming.

- You're welcome.

- Sit down, don't stand.

- Do you want to talk here, among the people?

- Yes, please. If you don't mind.

- Okay.

- Paradise Bar is one of my favorites: you'll love it, you'll see. I love its warm, informal atmosphere. The food is excellent, and there's a wide selection of natural and organic wines.

- Thank you, but I have no intention of dining here, nor of drinking wine.

- I was just saying. You know, this bar hides a little secret: the "Underground Paradise," an area accessible only through a trapdoor.

- Really? Interesting. You're always a mine of gastronomic information and local curiosities. And where does that trapdoor lead?

- In an underground refuge dedicated to tastings and special evenings.

- Fantastic. Too bad we can't take advantage of it.

- Yeah, that's a shame. What should I order? The usual pineapple juice?

- Yes please.

- Waiter, please, a nice cold pineapple juice, but without ice, and a Campari soda with a slice of orange.

(Silence)

- I'm sorry I've been harassing you on the phone all this time. It's not my style, believe me. I apologize.

- There must be a reason you did that, I imagine. I'm here to find out.

- I'll explain in a moment. But tell me a little about yourself: how are you getting on with your new photographer?

- Normal. He takes pictures of me and that's it. He's good.

- Yes, Guido is one of the best in the area. And what about the rest? How's it going with your nursery and your baby?

- Fairly well in both cases. The nursery is starting to sell well, and the child, more or less, accepts my presence, even if he doesn't know I'm his father.

- I imagine this makes you a little uncomfortable.

- Yes, definitely. But I don't feel like talking about it now.

- You've cut your hair a bit, I see.

- I got extensions like you asked.

- Yes, but I still notice it.

- Guido prefers it shorter.

- You look good anyway, but don't overdo it: as I've always told you, your body type requires long hair. Guido doesn't understand it because he's straight, and straight people don't understand shit about aesthetics. They're always vulgar and predictable. It's no coincidence, evidently, that all the greatest artists were gay.

- Yes, I've always thought so. I see you've grown your hair out, though.

- Yes, I wanted to seem a little less obvious and insignificant.

- You've never been obvious or insignificant, Gianni. Am I wrong, or have you dyed them a little?

- Yes, I dyed my hair brown to… to try…

- To try to please boys more?

- I did it yesterday, Emmanuel: I haven't seen any boys yet.

- Now, you don't mean to make me believe you did it for me, especially since I've always liked your gray hair. Anyway, long hair looks great on you, and so do your round glasses: you look like some kind of intellectual D'Artagnan, you have an old-fashioned nobility.

- You're always kind to me, little sparrow... Sorry, I didn't mean to call you little sparrow: it slipped out.

- That's fine, Gianni. Hey, cheer up: why are you so depressed?

- I made you come all the way here to explain it to you.

- Then do it, please.

- Are you in a hurry to leave?

- No, I'm in no hurry.

- First of all I have to apologize: that day with Aaron I behaved in a despicable way towards you.

- Yes, absolutely. You've offended me to no end, Gianni.

- I know. I want to explain why I did it.

- Maybe just because you liked Aaron and wanted to get rid of me.

- You're completely off base, and besides, I'm sorry to point this out, you're not thinking clearly. If that were the case, I would have taken advantage of the opportunity to cut you out of my life, and I certainly wouldn't have obsessed you with constant phone calls and requests to see you again.

- Yes, I thought about that too, but I believed it was just a little remorse for making me feel so sick.

- Were you really that sick?

- To die for.

- So it's just as I thought.

- Meaning what?

- I'll get there later.

- How is Aaron?

- I imagine he's doing just fine: he's in the States and is the kept man of an elderly billionaire.

- Come on: has he started working as a gigolo?

- Exactly. After all, it was right up his alley.

- He was nice, Aaron: if it weren't for the fact that I was stupidly jealous of him…

- Yes, very stupidly, believe me: I only had eyes for you.

- You wouldn't have thought so. By the way, how did the advertising campaign for the Smart Fortwo go?

- Very bad, honey: unfortunately, you were right, they found the idea of two big, burly guys riding together in a Smart car ridiculous. They entrusted the campaign to another, much less original photographer, who, as usual, featured a couple of women. The height of predictability.

- I'm sorry, Gianni, seriously.

- Besides, all my work isn't going well. I've lost inspiration, my shots are now banal. You were my muse.

- Gianni, I… I mean, I'm sorry, I work with Guido now, but if you need me… I just can't afford to pay two photographers, that's all.

- No, honey, I'm not asking you to take pictures with me again; except that if that happened, I wouldn't charge you for the service: we'd make half the commission fee. But that's not why I wanted to see you; it has nothing to do with the photos.

- So tell me, Gianni.

- That day I had decided to end things with you: that's why I treated you in that absurd way, even involving Aaron.

- But why, Gianni? What did I do to you?

- Nothing: you simply exist.

- Oh, I get it: it's always the same old story. I'm "too much," I make people feel bad, etc. So I just got another door slammed in my face, that's all.

- No, wait, it's not that simple. I thought I absolutely had to break up with you, but I didn't have the strength, so to achieve it I chose the crudest and most offensive means: I tried to make it so that you wouldn't want to have anything to do with me anymore.

- Well, Gianni, I'm letting you know you've succeeded. I still don't quite understand why you had to end things with me at all costs, instead of seeking a compromise or something like that, but I take note.

- Emmanuel, I couldn't find any compromise of any kind, because I already loved you.

- Gianni… But I don't understand, we had already talked about it that night, and it seemed to me that…

- Darling, it wasn't as simple as it seemed. I thought about you day and night, counting the minutes until I'd see you again, you understand? I wasn't living anymore. Even going without sex was just a pretext to avoid ruining everything: I couldn't risk never seeing you again. But that was precisely the point: I was now willing to give up everything just to have your presence: you had become as necessary to me as the air I breathed, and I didn't understand why and I was getting more scared every day.

- So you've decided to bust the bank?

- Yes, exactly.

- "I understand you, Gianni. You chose a cruel way to get rid of me, but deep down I understand you: if I had become such an unbearable burden to you, it's only natural that you chose to rid yourself of me by cruel and violent means. Now that I know, I bear you no grudge; you were right to tell me. Perhaps you called me here because you wanted to apologize and earn my forgiveness? Then know that I forgive you with all my heart, because you were sincere.

- No, darling, that's not all.

- Isn't that all? What else is there?

- When I saw your angry reaction, I realized you really cared about me, too. Your desperate cries, like a wounded lion cub, pierced my heart from top to bottom. I didn't expect such a reaction from you, you know?

- Oh, so you thought I was a spineless wimp? Thanks for the appreciation.

- "No, I didn't think so. I thought you were a calmer animal, that's all; I didn't attribute to you the nobility of a lion cub. And yet you are. And then I thought you didn't really care much about me. After all, what could you care about a middle-aged guy with no particular attraction? Yes, maybe it could have been some kind of youthful crush, the kind that passes like clouds blown by the wind. But your reaction, both then and afterward, made me think of something more serious.

- Gianni, I thought I let you know I had serious feelings for you. Now don't ask me to explain why: love always catches you off guard. It just happens.

- But this changed things completely. I thought leaving you would hurt terribly for a while, but eventually I'd get over it. I thought in hindsight it would appear for what it was, or rather I believed it to be: the typical midlife crisis of a gay man who falls head over heels for a kid, but who inevitably comes to his senses when he realizes that for the kid it was just a small, fleeting crush, destined to pass in a few weeks. It's like taking a really strong punch in the face: it stuns you at first, but then you come to your senses and realize that you were the idiot, that you wanted to challenge someone much stronger than you.

- Well, it wasn't like that, Gianni. It wasn't like that. I truly loved you, and it hurt me so much. I couldn't believe you wanted to throw me out of your life for no apparent reason.

- I know, I get it.

- Now that I know the reason, it still hurts, but at least I realize you had a serious reason for doing it. Thank you for telling me.

(A few seconds of silence)

- Emmanuel, I…

- What's wrong? Gianni, please, I can't see you so sad.

- I just don't know how to get out of this.

- From what?

- I kicked you out of my life, but now I'm in a terrible place. I wanted to be the hero, the teacher, the Socrates of the situation, but I'm just a miserable idiot. I can't live without you, I can't live, do you understand? I beg you to come back into my life somehow, no matter what.

- Is that why you sent for me?

- Yes. I apologize for this. I didn't mean to bother you. I know I'm making a fool of myself, but I beg you: I'd get down on my knees if we weren't in a bar. I love you, Emmanuel, I love you with all my soul. Please, I beg you: I need you. You choose the way, any way, as long as I can see you.

(A few seconds of silence)

- It's incredible what you told me, you know?

- I'm sorry, I…

- Gianni, don't apologize: what you just did is beautiful, you know? Beautiful and courageous. No one, ever, begged me to stay in their life.

- I thought it would bother you to hear me ask that.

- Bother me? Oh Gianni, you've made me incredibly happy! For weeks I'd been living with a crushing weight on my shoulders, my heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice: everything I did had a horrible bitter aftertaste, it was as if there was poison in the air I breathed. Now I can breathe deeply, I feel like I'm flying. Thank you, truly.

- You're welcome, little one: it's the honest truth.

- Look at me, Gianni: smile, you don't have to be sad.

- Why should I smile?

- Because I'm about to tell you something nice.

- Yes? And which one?

- I love you too.

- What are you saying, child?

- The truth: I love you.

- I don't understand... If this is a joke, please tell me right away.

- I never joke about these things, Gianni. I really love you.

(Silence)

- Let's try not to cry, little one…

- Give me your hand, Gianni.

- But here, in front of everyone? People are looking at us.

- Who cares. Let me stroke your hair, I love it so much.

- Please don't make fun of me: I'm just an old gay man with his hair dyed by a hairdresser. A ridiculous being.

- You're beautiful, Gianni. I think you're beautiful.

- If you see me as beautiful, you are truly in love: only lovers are that blind.

- Yes, I'm blind and in love, maybe even stupid, but I don't want to know why all this is happening. Leave me alone, Gianni: I'm happy, damn it, I'm happy! You love me, you came back looking for me, and I'm holding your hand. I'm experiencing one of the best moments of my life, I don't care about the whys or wherefores.

- We're in trouble, my love.

- Why?

- I can't be with you, you know: I'm with another man. But there's more: even if that weren't the case, I can't touch your body with sexual intent. It seems sacrilegious to me, and I would never want you to touch my withered body for sexual purposes: I'd be mortally ashamed.

- It's not faded at all, but okay, I acknowledge your taboos and respect them. We'll do without sex.

- So what can we do together? We can't live together or apart. That's why I'm telling you we're in trouble.

- Listen to me, love… Can I call you love?

- Of course you can, even if it seems out of this world. I'll touch myself to see if I'm awake.

- We need to think calmly, lay things out on the table one by one, and calmly seek a solution. With a little goodwill, you can find a solution to anything.

- You say?

- I mean. We just have to try to be absolutely honest.

- Yes, that's for sure: you saw what a mess I made trying to deceive you.

- Indeed. And so let's put the first fact on the table: we love each other.

- Yes.

- This is something we're not responsible for. You can consider it a gift or a curse, depending on your point of view, but the result remains the same: we can't do anything about it.

- Indeed: it just happened to us.

- Then it's not a fault: up to this point, we're both fine. We can't eliminate the feelings we have for each other, and that's not a bad thing in itself. It can be bad to try to translate them into something we shouldn't do: you, for example, would be very uncomfortable if you cheated on your Massimiliano.

- It's worse than that: as I told you, I couldn't cheat on him with you, because you're not a fling to me. I'd leave him forever, and then live in regret for the rest of my life.

- But then I understand that you couldn't cheat on him with me even if you wanted to, given that you have that sort of sexual taboo towards me.

- Look, darling, this is something I can't believe. It's never happened to me with anyone, you know? The more I want you, the more I shy away from you.

- We'll get over it, Gianni: in fact, in a certain sense it helps us.

- So, darling, what's left for us to do together?

- Everything else, Gianni. Lots of things, really, lots. It's the soul that loves, not the body, right? Our souls will learn to love each other by walking, calling each other, saying nice things, holding hands like now, telling each other about their days, etc., etc. Actually, you know what came to mind?

- What, my love?

- Arriving here, on the outskirts, I saw a huge multi-screen cinema: we could spend a few days together in there watching good films, eating together at the bar, sitting in the armchairs in the waiting rooms and gazing at the view below us from the top-floor windows: it will be like being perched in Paradise, munching on colorful chocolates, out of this world.

- That's a wonderful idea, little one.

- Then maybe one day we'll come back here and slip through that trapdoor you were talking about, huh? And if you want to take some pictures of me, of course, we'll take those too. What do you think of my proposal?

- I don't know what to say, because I have to wake up first: I'm having a strange dream in which an angel with extensions sitting across from me at a bar table holds my hand and suggests I enter Heaven with him, instead of kicking me out for the harm I've done to him. So yes, I'm definitely dreaming, and I'll wake up soon.

- Gianni, we're already in Paradise: this is Paradise Bar, don't you remember? Stop crying, come on.

- We're becoming as corny as two characters from a photo novel, little marmot.

- Oh, you finally called me a woodchuck again. You have no idea how much I've missed you. Yes, we are saccharine and cloying. Steeped in molasses like Alice's dormouse, sweet and sticky.

- We really suck, everyone's watching us. And I've never felt better in my life.

- Give me a kiss. A kiss is allowed, it's allowed by the rules.

- What rules?

- The ones from Paradise.