a fantasy in 3½ languages

“Te amo,” said a soft voice, “Portami a letto.”

I turned to look into a pair of deep brown eyes in a very pretty face surrounded by auburn curls. Then I looked at my drink and smelled it. No, it was still Peroni and only my second in an hour, plus maybe three or four the rest of the day and a carafe of wine with my dinner – nowhere near enough for hallucinations. I’d watched the barman pull the beer and he definitely hadn’t spiked me. My Italian was practically non-existent but doing Latin at school was a start, so I was sure that love and bed were involved here.

“Scusi signorina, non parlo italiano. Inglese?”

She shook her head,

“Francese?”

“Si.”

Thank fuck for that. I was in with a chance to figure this out.

“Comment vous m’aimez quand vous me connaissez pas?”

“Perché non?”

“Écoutez, l’amour à première vue .. peut-être si vous cherchez une figure de père, mais figure de grand-père, je crois pas. J’ai soixante-six”

I try not to guess women’s ages but this one was in her twenties at most.

She thought for a bit.

“Vous avez l’air aimable.”

“Merci bien, mais je ne suis pas riche.”

“Così?”

“Je m’excuse si je vous insulte. Je veux bien me coucher avec vous mais vous seriez de tout façon trop chère pour moi.”

Her face changed. She didn’t look angry, as I’d expected, she looked worried. If this was an act she was working hard at it.

“Ce n’est pas de l’argent que je vous demande. C’est votre aide.”

“Pourquoi?”

“Perchè les hommes me chassent.”

Oh boy, what had I walked into? I had visions of an irate husband or boyfriend coming at me. Or a stalker … but she said ‘men’. His brothers or hers?

“Ils sont ici?” I asked, looking round the lounge.

“Non, je ne crois pas.”