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Putting His Pride Aside
Pacing the floor of his library-office, Paolo listened as Tomas recounted, for the third time, what had transpired at Sofia’s apartment. He had demanded to hear every nuance of speech, every detail of body language—everything. Unfortunately, no matter how many times Tomas retold the story, nothing changed and there was nothing that would indicate that Sofia might change her mind.
“That’s fine, Tomas. Fucking recorder, you are. Do you have no emotions whatsoever, man?” He grew angry at Tomas’ obvious lack of inflection, opinion, anything. How could he remain so unmoved by all this?
“I’m sorry, sir.” Tomas stood with his hands clasped low behind his back, looking out the far window at the landscape.
“Of course you are. That’s what I’m paying you for, eh?” He tossed a pen he’d been carrying and it clattered off the desk and skittered across the tiled floor toward the hearth. “What the hell am I supposed to do, Tomas? I can’t be seen at her apartment building; I can’t be seen slumming with someone who’s so poor and I certainly cannot be seen dogging after her. I wouldn’t have nearly so many friends if the word got out. I can’t risk my standing in the community.” He ran his hands through his jet-black hair, leaving it rumpled and messy as he continued to pace.
“But?” Tomas asked after a moment.
“What do you mean but? There is no but.” He stopped and propped his forearm against the frame of the veranda door, letting the breeze blow against his overheated face and torso.
“There’s always a but, sir. If you don’t mind my saying so.” Tomas remained unmoved.
Paolo looked from Tomas to the property outside and back again. Grinning, he moved to his desk and sat. “Tomas, when you’re right, you’re right. There is a but. But I can’t stop thinking about her. But I must have her. But I want her. There. Is that better? Now, what am I supposed to do in this situation?” He sat back in his chair with his hands clasped lightly behind his head.
“Just my opinion, sir, but I would say that you should set aside your pride for a while and follow your heart.” Tomas only glanced at Paolo once.
“Follow my heart and forget my pride, huh? You think that’s what all this is? That I’m just too proud?”
His temper was rising out of the muck and mire of his longing for the working-class Sofia. He knew he was just too proud to pursue the woman; that wasn’t the point, though. No one had ever turned him down flat without an answer of any sort. No one had ever simply ignored a request sent personally by Paolo Francesco Peretti. Ever.
“You asked what to do and that was just my opinion, sir. It was no reflection on how you may or may not act or the way you are seen by others.” Tomas kept his gaze averted to the big window.
“I did. Tomas…go away.”
Tomas wasted no time in stepping out into the corridor. Paolo knew he would find a seat in the hallway and sit there, patiently, until he was called back into the room or until Paolo left the room, at which time, Tomas would be only a few steps behind.
Paolo hated it when Tomas was right. Hated it. He stepped to the hearth and picked up the tossed ink pen, taking it back to the desk, meaning to write another invitation for Sofia. Looking at the blank paper, he was at a loss. It was as if Tomas’ revelation about his pridefulness had robbed Paolo of his flowery words; the silver-tongued charmer was absent in light of the harsh reality that he was very proud; maybe a bit too proud and vain.
Instead of another unanswered, and unread, invitation, Paolo decided to go to her work and talk to her in person. It would be risky, but maybe worth it in the end, if he could get her to agree to seeing him. He thought he should be able to get there and talk to her without actually being seen by anyone who really mattered in his circle of friends. At least he hoped so.
“Park in the back, Tomas. I don’t want anyone seeing me go in the front and put two and two together and come up with the idea that I’m out chasing this poor woman. I’m not chasing her, you know. I wouldn’t do that. I don’t have to chase a woman; they all come to me.” He stepped out and shut the door before Tomas could do more than nod.
Walking to the door, Paolo had no idea what he was going to say or do exactly. He just had to see Sofia again. He pulled the door, but it was locked. He’d be reduced to knocking at that entrance; begging for entrance like a scoundrel dog begging for scraps.
Turning on his heel, Paolo walked to a side door. That door, too, was locked against him. Growing angry, he stalked to the front door—damn whoever saw him there. He strode in, the diner was nearly full to capacity—not his ideal situation, but now that he was there, he was determined to accomplish what he’d set out to do.
Sofia came rushing from the kitchen with a tray of food balanced on her left arm and carrying a pitcher of water in her right hand. In her rush by him, she didn’t even make eye contact, just sidestepped offered an apology and kept walking to a booth where a family sat eagerly awaiting their meal.
Paolo followed her and waited behind her, smiling. Her attention to her job was endearing. She was sweet to the parents and funny for the kids, garnering smiles of appreciation and giggles all ‘round. He’d never seen her like that before. He’d never seen her but the once that he could recall. Paolo smiled for no reason that he could name as she stood and dropped the tray to her side and held it in place with her arm; she was finished with the family.
Scribbling on a pad of paper, she sidestepped Paolo again. This time, he laughed.
“Sofia?” He was still laughing as she turned all wide-eyed and shocked at hearing her name in a crowd of what he supposed was strangers.
She stammered, her pen halted, and she stopped all movement, blinking several times. Recognition finally lit her eyes and her smile faltered, her eyes took on a serious expression.
“Paolo.” She offered no more, only stood staring at him levelly.
“Hello, Sofia. I wanted to talk to you for a minute.” He motioned outside.
“No. I’m working, Paolo. Please. I’m not coming to another dinner or anything else at your house. I don’t fit into your world nor you into mine, so please, leave.” She turned to walk away and he caught her arm.
Spinning on him, she was venomous. She jerked her arm away from his grasp. “Listen, I don’t know who you think you are or why you’re pursuing this so hard, but you need to leave me alone. I’m not a poor little girl who needs and begs for crumbs from your table. I don’t admire all your things that you bought with money you never earned. I don’t have time for your games but surely you have a list of women who have all the time in the world for you and your games. Goodbye, Paolo.”
A fat man stepped to the front of the diner’s kitchen and, wiping his hands on a towel, yelled, “Sofia, this isn’t social hour. Your boyfriend needs to leave and talk to you after work. I pay you to wait tables and see to my guests, not stand and chitchat with your beau.”
