Free At the End of a Dull Day by Massimo Carlotto, Anthony Shugaar

helplessly. “I’ve been joined at the hip with Brianese for far too long and La Nena is going to be his reception space during the election campaign . . . It’s too late to change course now.”
    â€œIt’s not like you’d have to have a membership card . . . ” he commented. “Shit, I remember when my dad used to carry four or five party membership cards: Christian Democratic Party, Italian Socialist Party, and even the Italian Social-Democratic Party, whatever the hell that ever was.”
    â€œI’ll think it over,” I lied.
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    At the end of a dull day the Honorable Brianese came in to drink an aperitif, accompanied by Ylenia and Nicola. He behaved the way he usually did and was especially affectionate and courteous with me. He sang my praises so that everyone could hear and announced that La Nena would be a major venue for the party’s campaign events.
    â€œIf you want to tip back a glass in the company of major figures of the Italian political landscape, you’ll have to come here.”
    Then he waved me over. “You can open the back room up again,” he said in a hushed voice. “The establishment is now a public place and there are going to be plenty of journalists in here. We can’t afford to run any risks. A smart reporter can put two and two together in a flash.”
    I smelled a rat. “What about my girls: they’re still available to you, right?”
    â€œMaybe before the elections we’d all better try to be good boys. I think not until afterwards . . . ”
    The Counselor stood up, apologized but said that he couldn’t stay for dinner, and then left with his trusted colleagues. I noticed Roby De Palma down his spritz in a gulp and then discreetly follow the trio.
    With one deft and technically impeccable move Brianese had cut me off from all access to the important circles. With the excuse that he didn’t want to be seen in the company of individuals who might arouse the curiosity of professional busybodies, he succeeded in preventing future conversations like the one that had allowed me to discover through Domenico Beccaro the way he’d cheated me on the Dubai scam. But it didn’t make any sense that he no longer wanted to make use of my service for his supply of pretty girls. Nobody else but me could reliably protect him and his friends from gossip and scandals, and there was no question of any of them being able to keep their dicks in their pants through an entire election campaign.
    I had to pretend that I was happy about the designation of my establishment, but I was actually seething with rage. The Counselor went on relentlessly mocking me. I forced myself to make my usual round of the tables with a smile on my lips.
    â€œSo Gemma, are you withstanding the temptation to light a cigarette?” I asked when I got to the table where she was having dinner with Martina.
    â€œCertainly,” she answered proudly.
    â€œJust think, she’s even given up her usual aperitif tonight, to stand by me in my new alcohol-free regimen,” my wife broke in.
    I looked at her in surprise. “Good girl!” Then I turned to my wife: “Do you think she’s finally made up her mind to find herself a man?”
    Gemma blushed. I gave her a paternal pinch on the cheek and moved on to another table.
    I thought about Martina, about saying to her: “Spinning, baby, spinning,” and the peace and quiet that would come next, when I’d finally have a chance to think clearly.
    A little before closing time De Palma came back. “The secretary Ylenia is screwing the Honorable Brianese,” he announced. “You know those residential hotels, designed for discretion, where you park in the underground structure and use the elevator to get upstairs?”
    He waited for me to nod in agreement before continuing. “This one’s outside of town and the apartment’s in the name of a company,