Money is all but spent.
That ship has almost sailed. Yanez is alone and lost, drunk in a dingy bar in the port town of Livorno, the ugly twin of Tuscan conurbations, medieval alleys and the renaissance ideal replaced by an industrial port belching effluence on the Ligurian sea.
A hushed discussion is taking place between a mournful looking character propping up the bar and the barman who has left his post. A few people are scattered across the room’s mismatched seating, and a couple is entwined on a sofa that must have been a distinct colour once or at least unbroken.
The only living presence to notice Yanez enter is a black cat sitting on a barstool who greets the arrival with a flick of the tail and a yawn, before padding on to the floor and retreating behind two tattered red curtains. These are drawn back to partly reveal an empty dancefloor complete with a broken stage and uneven looking boards.
Yanez looks around and draws closer to the bar, to use one simple word learnt many years prior.
“Vino”.
The barman turns in annoyance at the summons, reluctantly separating from the listener, his eyes flit briefly over Yanez’s figure eagerly craned forward. and serves hastily from a large wicker jug into a tumbler. The wine splutters into the glass, slopping over the side to join a previous puddle soaking gently in the stained wood. A plaque above the jug bears the inscription:
Chi vuole esser lieto, bevi e lo sia, che di doman non c'è certezza
A hesitant sip swiftly followed by relief. The hour is late for any connoisseur pretensions but it’s at least drinkable. Maybe some local farmer is still honouring the old ways. The mournful man sitting by the bar grimaces at you and intones in a low voice.
"Bevi vino, ché non sai ndo' vieni, sii lieto, perché non sai ndo'vai"
Unsure of the remark, Yanez grins inanely, and performs a simple nod. The alcohol is to give him strength, he swigs and then knocks back the glass. He then turns to defiantly face the empty dance floor and stumble in. Eyes closed and outstretched arms enfold an invisible partner as he moves across the dance floor, lips mouthing the song’s words while the music washes over him.
O' Sarracino, cigarette in bocca se ne va a passo per
The track is ending as a solitary couple joins the otherwise still desolate dancefloor. Another couple trickle in as the discussion between the barman and fellow patron grows animated. An invisible DJ switches the music to a more down-tempo rhythm, and further movement can be sensed.
“Mind if I dance?” a female voice whispers in the dark.
Yanez opens his arms without answering. Without even looking. She squeezes him close without any embarrassment. So close, he feels a burning belly tight against his. The woman lightly follows his stumbling rhythm. Navel tight against the glowing stomach. They remain silently glued for another slow Latin number. 4 minutes of fire. Yanez feels hot embers between them and abandons himself against the girl, hard against her body. Bodies and hips firmly together. The slow swaying rhythm is as gentle as if she is stroking his sex.
“You’re an excellent dancer” whispers Yanez, his lips brushing lightly against a locket set free from the rest of the tightly swept back hair.
The hand automatically adjusts the black strands tucking it back into the band. Her eyes briefly meet his, and an ironic twinkle of amusement plays across her features before she clings his waist even closer, one hand caressing the back whilst the other slides down to his jeans.
They are clamped to each other and her perfume is intoxicating, blending musky sweat and vanilla. He breathes in deep, nose close to her neck, lips gently resting on the warm skin. Despite himself the fabric of his jeans is slowly stretching.
Yanez opens his eyes, and sees the woman is now openly smiling. She lets her cheek slide across his without kissing it.
The music ends. A brief static moment before they slowly untangle themselves.
Yanez takes a step back and slurs “We deserve a drink, no?”A miniscule nod of her head acknowledges his words.
She looked Arab or thereabouts. Unable to tell due to the poorly lit dance floor. Her profile is perfect though. Large luminous eyes. The smooth, thick hair is pulled back to reveal a striking look, with strong features and sensual mouth set in an almost severe face. Yanez's eyes sweep over the seductive form with broad hips, he lingers over the heavy breasts trapped within a blue lace-up dress. Her hand is still holding his.
- “What's your name?”
- “Lalla”
- “Are you alone?”
- “No”
The remark adds ballast to Yanez’s prior giddiness. She gestures over to an older woman sat on a stool by the bar. She's been watching them with obvious interest and coyly smiles, lifting her glass in mock salute as Yanez faces her. She is dressed elegantly and her mature face scans him with a look of cool appraisal that makes him briefly recalcitrant as Lalla is pulling him towards the bar. Introductions are made and names exchanged. The music has grown louder and Yanez doesn't catch the name of her companion.
Yanez couldn’t care less what her name is. He is only interested in Lalla.
“Where you from?”
“From here” she answers laughing
“I mean originally…where are you from originally?”
“Who cares. I’d like a drink”
“Me too” says the other, without even turning round.
Yanez groans inwardly before putting on a broad smile and sweeping his hand across the bar.
“What’s your poison ladies?”
The two friends order a brightly coloured cocktail, whilst Yanez stays faithful to the wine, an attempt to not get further intoxicated or further deplete his already dwindling finances.
Yanez’s clouded mind desires only one thing: to hold Lalla’s body tightly next to his again, to feel that burning belly and drink deep from the sweat. He casts a furtive glance to his watch. There’s still three hours left to play with, maybe he could get away with it. He makes a stumbling calculation of how much money he can still spend and afford a taxi back to the dock.
Not much is the sober reckoning. He needs to try and speed up the proceedings. Maybe his new friends would be amenable to a midnight boat tour? Dimitris is no doubt already waiting for you and flusters endlessly when it comes to preparations and leaving. You glow a little from the alcohol and warmth for a man who has been a more useful beacon than any mere GPS. Yanez ponders if Dimitris might even appreciate Lana's friend; it could be a welcome distraction from his current predicament. A sidelong glance to Lalla’s flowing form seals his decision to extend an invite.
Yanez is surprised when both girls swiftly agree with a giggling enthusiasm, which is difficult to tell if mocking or simply personality. As they step out the older one points to the direction of travel.
The taxi money has left Yanez with 7 Euros, a small accomplishment leaving with enough money to spare. There was no ambiguity as to who paid the fare. The two ladies seemed accustomed to not paying and both step out without thanking the driver, speaking only to remark on the mouldy mooring and the rising mist from the dock.
You guide the eager pair up the narrow gangplank that leads to the Captain's boat. Dimitris is obviously delighted at your return, and already in full host mode. Manners tweaked and tone modulated to better enchant our guest's minds. A pinch of charm, passionate flow and choice selections from his witty repertoire have served his well. The charm is wearing thin, and in time the anecdotes start repeating but his chameleon nature has sneaked furtively across hearts and minds.
A stranger to the performance would be forgiven for thinking it was genuine.
"Best square it with the Captain as well though. He's still angry about our little indiscretion with the last cable cut" he rapidly mutters to you in an aside before beaming brightly at motioning for them to sit. The girls are still laughing hard at his improvised *faux* story about the ship's cat.
"He is still sulking in his cabin?" the tone wary.
Dimitris replies, a touch of glee: "Aye, you letting him know about our guests and little improvised shindig?"
Yanez scowls and plods to the cabin in response.
