He saw women all day long, Marco told Gina in the beginning. But none like her.
Gina had golden skin, fiery hazel eyes and the quick wit of her forebears, romani since forever. Her body was still young and taut, though she’d passed her 30th birthday. Truth be told, it looked more and more like there would be no ecstatic day of the sposa for Gina. Southern Italy’s 40% unemployment rate meant very few young men could think about starting a family. That left the gay ones, and the divorced ones, like Marco.
Gina was a practical girl. She had devoted herself to learning her trade, and by her mid-twenties had won herself a coveted job at an upscale Roman salon, where rich women paid many times the going price of a neighborhood hairstylist to be flattered and cossetted by a sympathetic staff. Working there required talent, hard work, tact and diplomacy, as well as a fierce competitive streak in order to develop ‘a following’. Though she would have never admitted it, her job was exhausting, and demoralizing, and this is probably why she had fallen so easily into Marco’s clutches.
Because she lived so near to his salon, and because they were both hairdressers, it seemed easy to talk with him. He was handsome, in his way, and seemed very experienced in the ways of the salon world. After awhile she would come to him after work, asking his advice about the latest treachery she’d had to endure – offhand slights, whispered innuendo, stolen clients. He would listen, nod sagely and ask her to dinner.
One thing led to another and then another, and before six months had passed Gina was pregnant. This proved to be unacceptable to Marco, already the father of two expensive children.
It was early one Tuesday night when she told him, in his shop. She stopped by while his staff were sweeping up. As the lovers’ voices rose from the back room, the two hairdressers exchanged glances, quickly excused themselves with a jaunty “ciao!” and fled into the Roman dusk.
It wasn’t much of a battle, actually. Marco did not want this child. Gina wanted Marco. The child had to go. The certain knowledge of this dragged the normally ebullient Gina down as she left Marco’s shop that night. He had to meet with his lawyer, again. The discussion, he said, was closed.
Gina stumbled out of the shop, wiped her tears with the back of her hand and ducked into her parents’ place nearby. Mumbling that she didn’t feel well, she went quickly to bed.
She slept fitfully that night and was not quite herself when she greeted Mrs. Dyson White for her usual Wednesday morning appointment at the high-end salon in the centro storico where Gina worked. Gina was Mrs. White’s favorite, as her light hand didn’t irritate Mrs. White’s delicate scalp. And after ten years as a stylist, Gina knew how to soothe imperious ladies.
REGINA | 76