Ешь, молись, люби

Chapter 33

           Youtellme,then,whytodaymyfeetledmealmostoftheirownaccordtoadiscreetboutiqueofftheViaCondotti,where-undertheexperttutelageofthesilkyyoungItalianshopgirl-Ispentafewdreamyhours(andatranscontinentalairlineticket’sworthofmoney)buyingenoughlingerietokeepasultan’sconsortoutfittedfor1,001nights.Iboughtbrasofeveryshapeandformation.Iboughtfilmy,flimsycamisolesandsassybitsofpantyineverycoloroftheEasterbasket,andslipsthatcameincreamysatinsandhush-now-babysilks,andhandmadelittlebitsofstringandthingsandbasicallyjustonevelvety,lacy,crazyvalentineafteranother.

           Ihaveneverownedthingslikethisinmylife.Sowhynow?AsIwaswalkingoutofthestore,haulingmycacheoftissue-wrappednaughtiesundermyarm,IsuddenlythoughtoftheanguisheddemandI’dheardaRomansoccerfanyelltheothernightattheLaziogame,whenLazio’sstarplayerAlbertiniatacriticalmomenthadpassedtheballrightintothemiddleofnowhere,fornoreasonwhatsoever,totallyblowingtheplay.

           "Perchi???"thefanhadshoutedinnear-madness."Perchi???"

           ForWHOM???Forwhomareyoupassingthisball,Albertini?Nobody’sthere!

           Outonthestreetaftermydelirioushoursoflingerieshopping,Irememberedthislineandrepeatedittomyselfinawhisper:"Perchi?"

           Forwhom,Liz?Forwhomallthisdecadentsexiness?Nobody’sthere.IhadonlyafewweeksleftinItalyandabsolutelynointentionofknockingbootswithanyone

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