Page 22 of Unrestricted
I dress in dark blue jeans and a black t-shirt. Then I find an elastic band and pull my hair back into a ponytail. Whoeverpacked my things in Edinburgh missed my brush so Adriano will just have to take me with tangled hair.
When I emerge from the bathroom, he's no longer in the bedroom but the door is open. I find him in the corridor, leaning against the wall. He doesn't comment on my appearance though there is a slight pursing of his lips.
Clearly my outfit doesn’t reach his high standards. He turns and walks away. I follow because apparently I've become his faithful lapdog.
The drive into Rome takes fifteen minutes but traffic as we hit the city center adds another forty to our journey. Adriano is not a patient driver. He blasts his horn and yells insults at anyone who's too slow at traffic lights or cuts in front of us or dares to weave in and out of the gridlocked cars on a moped. This man has killed people and here he is yelling at someone’s grandpa on a Vespa.
The car he took from a garage filled with vehicles is a low slung sportscar. It's sleek, modern and highly impractical. I don't remark on it but I've always found those doors that open up the way ridiculous.
It's surprisingly comfortable on the inside. The seats are like leather-clad clouds and I’m guessing it makes a great getaway vehicle, though it’s a bit too conspicuous to take on a heist. He probably uses his black SUV for that.
Adriano parks like an asshole in a no-parking zone near the Prati district and leads me to a shop on a quiet street. The frontage is discreet with a dark wooden door. There are no displays in the window but I catch a glimpse of rails of clothing inside.
This is the sort of place that doesn't advertise. You have to be someone important to know it's here.
Inside, it's more impressive than it appears from the street. The ceilings are high. The walls are painted in an off-whitethat warms the place without detracting from the colors of the clothing on the rails. There are pale limestone tiles on the floor and the lighting is soft. There's a hint of something floral in the air. If I wasn't with Adriano, I'm sure I'd be thrown out.
A woman appears from the back. In her mid-forties, she's immaculately dressed. Her dark hair is poker straight and her make-up flawless. Her eyes move over me taking in the impoverished waitress outfit and tangled hair. She probably figures out my whole life with one glance. Her expression conveys something that might be sympathy then she turns away.
"Adriano!" she greets him effusively. "Is that shirt from Massimo's spring collection?"
I have no idea who Massimo is or how she imagines she can distinguish Adriano's plain white shirt from any other but I don't intend to display my ignorance by asking. If Miranda Priestly taught me anything it's that fashion is not for the faint-hearted.
"Yes, Clara, it is." Adriano greets her with a kiss on each cheek. "You have a good eye."
"And you'd like me to turn it to dressing your companion is that right?"
"She needs a full wardrobe," Adriano says as if I'm not standing next to him. "Day clothes, lingerie, evening dresses. She'll need to look the part."
"What part?" I turn to glare at him. "The part of your dress up doll."
"Excuse my companion," Adriano says. I wish people would stop using that word. It's like a tamer version of concubine. "She has an odd sense of humor."
And no sense of self-preservation, the cutting look he sends me says.
Clara smiles and grabs my shoulders, positioning me in the center of the room as Adriano takes a seat on the sofa by the far wall.
"You stand right here, Signorina, and we'll begin."
While she flits around the room, gathering clothes, I stay put. Adriano busies himself with his phone.
Clara brings day clothes first. I hate to admit it but she has an incredible eye. She picks out slim-fitting trousers in a variety of colors, blouses, shirts, jeans. A couple of jackets follow. Then she selects some shoes.
"Do I need to try these on?" I ask.
"Pfft!" she scoffs. "Do you think I walked into this job yesterday? They'll fit."
"Trust Clara," Adriano says as he gets to his feet to answer a call. "She knows what she's doing."
He greets someone called Timofey in English and goes outside to speak privately. I guess whatever he has to say is not for the ears of potential witnesses in some future trial.
"Do I really need all this?" I ask Clara as she brings yet more clothing for me.
"Adriano said you need everything so that's what you'll get."
When she starts to bring evening dresses I feel a flutter of excitement. In a variety of luxurious fabrics and an array of colors, they're stunning. Clara lays them out on the back of the sofa for me to look at.
"They're all so beautiful," I say. "How will I choose."
