Free The Purple Room by Mauro Casiraghi

left me alone. I left the dog
with them. They made up a bed for it in their yard and set out a bowl of fresh
water.
    Except for my singed eyebrows and some black stuff I spit out into the
sink, I came out okay. I throw my smoky clothes into the washer and disinfect
my cuts. While I’m putting on Band-Aids, I hear the roar of a firefighting
plane flying over my house. It’s flying back and forth, scooping up water from
Lake Bracciano to dump on the fire. It’s so loud that I almost miss the phone
call.
    “Good morning, Sergio! It’s Luisa, from the agency. Are you busy?”
    “Not at all,” I say. “You work on Sundays?”
    “Love never rests! I like to take care of my clients seven days a week.”
    I think of her husband again. I picture him sitting in the car, waiting
for her with the motor running and the air conditioner on full blast, staring
blankly ahead while the radio announces traffic jams on the road to the seaside.
    “I just spoke with Marilena. She told me that your date was lovely, but
that… there wasn’t much of a spark. Is that right?”
    “Yeah, I’d say so.”
    “It happens. Anyway, it’s a good way for me to learn about your
preferences. It seems to me you might prefer to meet a woman with her feet on
the ground, someone who’ll step up and take the lead. What do you think?”
    “Maybe you’re right.”
    “Good, because I think I have a better match from you. Her name is
Antonella. She’s forty-two, and she’s a physical education teacher. She’s a
very interesting woman—confident and proactive. She was an award-winning
athlete as a girl. She’s been married and divorced twice. She has twins, two
boys, by her first husband. They’re grown up now and away at college. Antonella’s
not looking for another husband, mind you. She just wants to meet new and
exciting people. Naturally I thought of you, Sergio. Would you like her
number?”

 
 
    She chose the place. An Irish pub down by the Coliseum. When I called,
instead of the usual casual coffee date, she asked whether I wanted to “grab a
beer or two.”
    I recognize her as soon as I walked into the place. She’s sitting at the
bar, already drinking a beer. Denim shirt, tight pants. We sit down at a table
and talk about my Band-Aids. They make a good icebreaker. I tell her about the
fire and she listens, sipping at her beer. When I finish, she says it was a
brave thing to do, the kind you don’t hear about much anymore. I’m about to
reply that it was fucking stupid and that I’ll never walk into a fire again
just to save a dumb dog, but I stop myself. Maybe I shouldn’t let her think I’m
a better person than I am, but this is our first date. I think it’s normal to
want to make a good impression. I’m sure she’s doing the same thing. Anyway,
I’m right about one thing––inevitably, we both feel the need to
justify meeting through a dating agency.
    “I just wanted to try something different,” says Antonella after
ordering another beer. “I got tired of wasting months just to find out that a
guy wasn’t right for me. Now I get to choose from the get-go.”
    To demonstrate, she picks up a stack of Heineken coasters and deals them
into two piles, like playing cards.
    “This one yes, that one no. Yes, no, yes, no… It’s like being a soccer
coach. I decide who plays and who sits on the bench.”
    She laughs. She has big, white teeth.
    “And you? Why did you sign up?”
    “Dunno. Curiosity, I guess.”
    “Come on, don’t be shy. Tell me what made you do it.”
    “It’s complicated. You know what you want. I’m not so sure.”
    “Let me see your hand.”
    She grabs my left hand. She’s got a strong grip, that one. I’d never
want to be slapped by her.
    “Can I take off this Band-Aid? I want to see something.”
    “Go ahead.”
    She rips it off ruthlessly. The cut on my palm is still bleeding. It
doesn’t phase her. She holds my wrist tightly and tells me to straighten my
fingers.
    “Does it