P is for Please

Paying the piper might be Federica’s ultimate goal, and she was very much aware of what that entailed; furthermore, Arlin played the role of Santa or Principal to many wayward maidens, but this one undoubtedly piqued his interest. Not only an honest drunk but a genuine wailer. Whatever crime she committed, she lamented over her mysterious mistake like a black-veiled mourner from an old Italian movie.

“Look at the mess I made, look what a mess I am,” Federica raised her arms to the sky. “I’m a clown to them, una pagliaccia! Do you know what that means?”

“I teach music,” Arlin chuckled and answered the silent question. “Pagliacci? The Leoncavallo’s opera?”

Like on cue, a distant lightning brightened the darkness above.

“See? Even God agrees with me. Grazie Dio!” the young woman exclaimed.

“I’m sure there are bigger sinners here than you are.” Arlin scanned around to account for the audience.

Luckily, there were not too many. They sat at the famous rooftop patio, crowded even in winter, not only by hotel guests but others in the know about the spectacular food served here. Numerous gas heaters emitted enough heat, and if that was not enough, the fully stocked bar and the commercial-grade espresso machine ensured the guests stayed warm. But the stormy night and the late hour sent most of them home.

“They have enough clowns without me. Have you seen their Swiss Guards?” she huffed.

Arlin hummed noncommittally.

“Some of them are cute. Can’t chat them up though. They are like sentries at Buckingham.”

He noticed that the word cute made a second appearance and her short sentences. Federica needed little affirmation from him to run along with the story.

“They have no right to rummage through my stuff. You know how I write my drafts,” she sighed.

“Do you always dispose your drafts in this manner?” Arlin dryly pointed at the crumpled paper on the floor.

“Never!” She flattened the page and shoved it into her folder. “See? Filed. Besides, that’s not work, that’s my motion to Santa.”

“Perhaps you left your drafts unattended?”

“Oh please, I dropped my folder on the floor, and the wrong person picked up the wrong piece of paper.”

“And?”

“What is it, a confession booth?” the woman snapped.

“I suspect the real confession will happen elsewhere, assuming you still desire to pay the piper. With extra swats for that outburst.” Arlin remembered, of course, he remembered her letter to Santa and his potential role in it, but she squirmed nonetheless and quieted down. “Go on, young lady.”

“In that draft,” she paused and let out a pensive sigh, “I used the words frolicking, loose cannon, Kamasutra, his Olympic swimmers, and knocked up.”

“Oh, that affair?”

“She is really nice. I met with her for the deposition. Please help me fix it.” Federica looked at him just like one of his students, with those big pleading eyes. “I have the last presentation tomorrow.”

“Good, because after your pardon, you won’t be able to sit for a while.”