Dirty

Chapter 1Priscilla is leaning against the white wall, both admiring and contemplating a sculpture. Around her are a few clay versions of the same marble bodice. It’s a quiet evening in the summer of 1971 inside her studio with its many windows that provides a stunning view of Lake Lugano. Giacomo, a young man of around twenty, brings Priscilla a cup of coffee. The coffee is accompanied by cream in a small pitcher, and two letters on a polished silver tray. “The mail came late today.” “Anything of value?” she asks, not taking her gaze from her work. Giacomo holds out the two letters to Priscilla. “Just these.” Priscilla takes them and tucks them into her desk drawer. Giacomo stands waiting to be told what to do. “Can I help with anything, Priscilla?” “Thank you, Giacomo. I just need to marinate on it.” Giacomo nods and retreats to a bookshelf where he fumbles around. “I’m happy to help. I can sharpen some tools or something,” he remarks, looking over his shoulder at her. “Go home, Giacomo.” Priscilla looks at her watch. “It’s getting late.” “Are you sure?” “Yes, I’m sure. Wear that green shirt tomorrow, will you?” Priscilla gives Giacomo a friendly smile. “They should be here around lunchtime.” Giacomo smiles back at her. “Will they be taking the early train?” “Yes. The eight o’clock.” “Please make sure we have a nice spread for tomorrow, then.” “Yes, Priscilla. Oh, and my father said he’d come by in the morning to fix the bathroom light.” “That’s fine. Tell him thanks.” “Have you been practicing your Spanish?” Priscilla goes back to her work, chipping away at the sculpture. She blows some dust off the piece and turns back to Giacomo. “And get that wine they like…” “Of course,” he answers, smiling again. “And, no. I don’t want you to get false hope. Now go and get some rest. I promise after tomorrow’s meeting you can have a few days off.” Giacomo puts on his coat. He needs a new one. “Goodnight…Priscilla?” “Yes?” “Where do you get your work ethic?” “I don’t allow for distractions, Giacomo. And if there’s one thing you learn from me, I hope it is that.” “See you tomorrow,” he says as he goes. Giacomo leaves the apartment. Priscilla stands looking out the window, still contemplating. In her bedroom, she takes off one loafer, wipes the bottom of her foot. She repeats this on the other side. She puts on a pair of slippers from where they were neatly lined against her cabinet dresser. She disrobes and puts on a pressed pair of pajamas from the cabinet. She hangs everything she wore that day back into her closet and steams her blouse for the next day. The phone rings in the next room. Priscilla takes her earring out and grabs the receiver in the next room. “Ciao? Ciao, Lila. No. Not tonight, Lila…Yes, they’re coming tomorrow…Yes, I’m fine…Yes, I’m sure. I’ll call you tomorrow. Ciao.” She hangs up the phone and makes her way to the bathroom. Priscilla brushes her teeth. Twice. Priscilla removes the slippers, wipes her feet again, and gets into her neatly tucked bed. She removes her glasses and reaches to turn off the lamp on her bedside table. She lays awake. Eyes open. The room is meticulously clean. There is a single framed print on the wall above the bed. The bedsheets are ironed and all white. Priscilla doesn’t turn the lamp on, the light from the windows is enough. She puts on her glasses, grabs her robe, wipes the bottom of each foot, puts on her slippers, and exits the bedroom.