The Story of X: An Erotic Tale Read Online Free PDF Page A

police. I have the lunatic intimation that I could have met my soul mate . The way we laugh together; it fits. The bits of me that are missing, is he them?
     Or is he too forbidding?
    X. Calm down .
    “Why did you pay for our drinks?”
    He nods. As if it is a very fair question.
    “I saw your friend, she was appalled by the bill. I wanted to help. I have money,
     I like to help.”
    “And . . .”
    “And let’s be honest. There is another reason . . . Why shouldn’t I buy a Veneziano
     for a beautiful young woman?”
    My heart quickens, my defenses rise. This is too fast, too blunt, too cheap. He is
     trying to seduce me. Okay, I want to be seduced, but I don’t want to be seduced . Not crudely, not like this. I bridle. I sit back. He looks at me. And smiles.
    “Your friend is very beautiful.”
    “What?”
    “She is very lovely. I couldn’t help myself. Sorry.”
    “Oh.”
    “What is her name?”
    I am angry now, stupidly angry. Alex, you fool.
    “Jessica.”
    “Ah. Is she American as well?”
    “No, British.”
    “Thought so. She certainly liked to drink.” He laughs politely. “I apologize for my
     candor. I hope I haven’t offended. So, do you want to ask me about the Camorra?”
    My face is rigid with frustration. I sip the coffee and fume. He didn’t desire me . He wasn’t trying to seduce me . He thought I was Jessica. How intensely annoying. I am annoyed with myself, all
     those stupid, stupid feelings; it was Jessica all along. The girl from the Caffè Gambrinus . He agreed to see me because he thought I was Jessica; now he is being polite, and
     letting me down gently.
    Stupid. So stupid. I am such an idiot.
    The interview concludes. The coffee is drunk. He tells me that he is involved with
     import and export—and that is how he has turned the family millions into billions.
     He adds, with decorous modesty, that he likes to help charities—especially those that
     help victims of crime. It is obscure, and I don’t care. I pretend to take notes. I
     wonder if he is lying, if he really is just a handsome gangster covering his tracks.
     Who the hell cares? I am an absurd person. He tells me he loves California, the deserts
     of the southwest: the true America, the “frontierness.” He uses the word frontierness . I dislike this.
    He obviously senses my discomfort. Abruptly he rises and says good-bye, and he gives
     me a card, inviting me to call him if I need any more information. I offer a terse
     thank-you, feeling like I should curtsey, or scream at my own crassness, but instead
     I say my own good-bye and refuse the offer of assistance and flee down the vast cold
     marble steps, and make my own way to the door. I can remember the route, left and
     right, left and right, down this hall, down this corridor—past this suit of stupid
     overwrought armor. Just get out, get out, get out .
    The sun is burning when I step into the busy street. I look at my foolish notebook,
     and hurl it into the big pile of garbage.
    Then I notice the policemen, hurriedly taking photos. Of me.

 
    C HAPTER F OUR
    “H OW MANY COPS?” Jessica asks.
    “Maybe three . . . I was, you know . . . confused .”
    We are sitting on the floor in her apartment, next door to mine. The heady scent of
     nail polish carries in the air: we are doing a restorative DIY pedicure for both of
     us. This is the first time we have properly talked about What Happened in the Palazzo
     since I fled, two days ago.
    “Well, like I said, there are rumors he is involved .” She airily gestures at the tall French window and the city beyond. “Half the stuff
     that comes through the port is contraband. And that’s what he does, isn’t it, import-export?”
     She nods, answering herself. “But it’s bloody hard to be a successful businessman
     in Naples without some contact with the Mob. Everybody is involved in some way. Even
     the pigeons on Via Dante look a bit dodgy sometimes. The way they stare at you, like
     they are