We had waited for that perfect moment of twilight on the roman roof top for Roberto to take photographs of me for his project. Consequently he offered his car to be my carriage that evening. It was feliniesque fate which had concocted the insides of the car hading for the party, for I was not accustomed to spent much time with the boys in it. The artist was an romantic obsession of my flatmate, wlist the other two where young film directors of which the ginger one I was convinced hated me.I had brought along a girl sent from London for the occasion. The car was tiny, we sat all ower each other ,the boys shared around liquor wrapped in a paper bag. We looked like a right bunch of 20's gangsters.
Alma had no invite but fortunately was really very black and managed to slip at the base of the seats and disappear into the darkness. I also had no invitation. Half man half machine with wires for ears, pushed his face and guest list into the car window “E chi e lei?” Torch was shone into my face Who am I?. “I sono Sunci” I looked straight in his eyes, and he let us trough.Most of the usual crowd that tried to gatecrash found them self shocked by being infiltrated and left outside this to be the party of the year. It gave me pleasure to receive the desperate phone calls of frustrated ex boyfriend and editor of art magazine, who was so used to being invited everywhere, begging of my to help use charm to let him enter as he spent hours waiting outside the estate. Never the less to irritate my eyes, his new flirt was at there, but than so was a baked hog with an apple stuffed in its mouth sprawled on a huge table and to me they belonged in the same kitch category which would add to the nights amusement..
Owen Wilson with his post modern nose flanked by two beautiful girls at all times like general Gaddafi's, was the only calm creature at the party, enchanted into a still monument. The rest where quite accustomed to the Italian romantic melodrama as a means of fun, and each and everyone was intent on having a melodrama of their own. I saw a wife trying to seduce her husband by peeing out of her beautiful dress, and trying hypnotise him with her bottom into forgetting the lover she knew, he had disappeared with into the castle, throughout the night. A 22 year old in a dressing gown proposed to a 37 year old countess and she accepted to marry him.The moment of entering the party I lost the girl I was hosting.My housemate was long lost hunting Roberto and .I danced all the big band had to play the whole journey of the moon across the sky and some of the suns to the DJ. What I was not expecting that night, was that Ginger form the car, would be set on dancing with me all night.
On arriving in Rome last Automn, I was straddled on the back of the vespa by the Raffaella and beeped across town to a party at a artist studio in the PastificioCerrere.Within moments of my arrival a boy spilled vodka into my eye. Being a painter the eyes are the most precious asset and I understood his move as a violation and deliberate attack. Furthermore the offender was ginger, and I had grewn up at a proper mocking all gingers school. At the time I did not pay a thought to consequences of my acts as I planed to stay a week not as long as I did. Rash I filled a glass with vodka and took steps to the dance floor where i aimed my vengance votka at Ginger's eyes. Theatrically, he screamed and jumped at me with fists intending to knock me down flat swearing all kinds of Italian which I did not understand, whilst his sister fought to stoping him beating me up. I forgot about the incident, but apparanltey the ginger boiled up such a hate for me that his sister had to warn me about it, and I spent the year avoiding him where ever we would see.
With rather altered atitude, Ginger dashed after me all evening inexhaustabley as I ran from him squealing making a spectacle of it.Whilst charming boys competed to lead me though swing and rumba, the ginger was infuriated each time it was not him. He at times leaned in to attampt a guerrilla kiss, from which I jumped away, enraging him more than when I had splashed him with vodka. “Sono inamorato di te” Was dismissed with giggles. He claimed to be inlove with me, agianst all the ods, and seemed to belive I belonged to him which he did not revert from saying.
He was in fact a very good dancer, had that slick boy from the hood style, tall, sweet freckles, pretty lips and blue eyes, dashing admitedley, but I had no intentions to let him know it especially as his romanicng made him into amusement of the party.
Dawn kicked in and high on adrenalin, riding on logic and magic of the moment I eneded up fully dressed in the pool. When the frolocking was milked of its charms and i found myself cold wet outside it.Raffaella pulled out the golden table cloth from beneath the roasted hog and insisted I wore it for warmth and put out my dress to dry on a tree. I wraped the cloth best i could around the body to make it look like a gown. Too encumbered to dance I stood warming up in a ray of sunshine.Ginger love fool should have by than given up, but he came over to say “sei belissima” ever so sweetly. Unarmed, touched, I kissed him.
.. Having recived the kiss he had wanted, and probalbey gave up on getting that day, Ginger walked away from me smiling and dizzy, swinging in a zig zag left to right . He was quite clearley off guard , so Roberto took advantage of the moment and in the name of spectacle threw Ginger into the pool .A roar of laughter exploded trough the garden. Everyone had watched the climax.Someone quoted a famous line about women being deadly for a man...
I just returned from the cinema. I ran there, raincoat flying trough the drizzle of the Zagreb Autumn night. I had to make it to Midnight in Paris. Two best friends from across the world told me so. The film is full of all the possible cliche's about the American writer wanting to move to Paris become a decent writer. Owen Wilson walks into a 1920’ party in Paris. Charleston music is played. Ladies wore plumes, tassels, pearls beads and red lips. Everthing in the film is so familiar .
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