Page 23 of Good Girl
‘Yeah.’ His expression darkens as he appears to reflect on exactly how frustrating he finds it. ‘I have the money—my favourite great-aunt left a decent chunk to me—but I don’t have much experience in buying property and there’s no way I’m asking my father or brothers for help. They’d laugh me out of the room if I told them what I was doing. None of them think I’ve got the skills to pull something like that off.’
‘Well, for what it’s worth, I think you absolutely do have the skills. You’re obviously dedicated to the idea and it sounds like you’re trying your hardest to make it work against fierce competition. You probably just need a bit more time for the right place to come along, and a bit of luck so you can get in there first.’
He lets out a grunt that could either be a gruff acknowledgement or a dismissal of my optimism.
‘So why an artists’ co-operative?’ I ask, in an attempt to flip the mood back to a less stressful subject.
He pauses for a moment before answering, his gaze on the empty espresso cup he’s rolling between his hands. ‘Because artists get a raw deal and I wanted to help others get a foot in the door. It’ll provide a support network as well as a space to create.’
‘Do you make art yourself?’ I ask, still not able to make the connection with him and artists in my head.
‘Yeah. I sculpt.’ The expression in his eyes is wary, as if I might not find this a fitting activity for a man like him.
‘Really?’ I’m surprised by this admission. It really wasn’t what I was expecting him to say. Not that I know exactly what Iwasexpecting. I guess I thought he just drifted around, partying and giving women pleasure, and perhaps that he believed being philanthropic towards a bunch of cool artists would make him look good. How very shallow of me.
‘Yeah. It’s something I’ve loved to do since I was a kid, but my father discouraged it as a career. He doesn’t think it’s a masculine enough pursuit for a Ricci.’ He shakes his head as if this has been a bone of contention for years. ‘He wanted me to go into the family business like my older brothers but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t sit at a desk all day in a stuffy office. It drove me crazy. I need to have space and be able to move about and breathe.’
‘So you’re actually an artist?’
He lets out a disparaging snort. ‘Nah. I’ve never sold a piece and that’s what counts, right? There’s a lot of competition out there and I’m not great at the whole marketing side of things. It takes smarts I don’t have. That’s why I’m so keen to make this co-operative successful, so I can work with other people that can help me with that side of things, and I can concentrate on the stuff I’m actually good at.’
I frown at that. ‘You know, you come across as a pretty smart guy to me.’
He gives another snort. ‘Well, I can read and write, but I struggle with staying focussed on stuff that doesn’t interest me. I’d never be able to run my own business like my brothers are going to. Not that I’d want that.’ I can tell how much this affects his pride by the way his hands grip the coffee cup.
As if sensing my thoughts, he puts the cup down and sits back, waving a hand to show me he doesn’t really care. ‘I wasn’t exactly a model student at school. I hated sitting still at a desk there, so my grades were awful. The only reason I passed the most basic of exams is because I was fucking my maths teacher at the time.’
He flashes me a wry grin but all I can do is stare back at him, shocked by this piece of information.
‘How old were you?’
‘Sixteen.’
‘And how old was she?’
‘In her mid-twenties.’
‘And she asked you to have sex with her in exchange for giving you a good grade? That’s such an abuse of power!’
He shrugs, as if it’s of no consequence. ‘I was getting really close to being kicked out, which wouldnothave pleased my father. It would have reflected badly on the whole family. Though it wasn’t exactly a chore—she was a beautiful woman... I liked her a lot.’ He picks up the coffee cup again and examines it as if it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. ‘At the time, anyway. Not so much after I found out I wasn’t the only one she was fucking.’
More horror slides through me. ‘She was sleeping with other pupils too?’
Again he shrugs, his focus still on the cup. ‘Yeah. One of the other guys that got into trouble a lot walked in on us kissing one day. He caught up with me later and told me she was a whore and that she’d been sleeping with him too. At first I thought he was just jealous and I got angry and lashed out. It turned into a pretty serious fight—I broke his nose—which got me hauled into the headmaster’s office. I refused to talk about what the fight was about, as did the guy whose nose I’d broken, even though I was threatened with expulsion. After my father had been summoned and convinced the headmaster keep me there—I suspect with the promise of a large cash donation—I confronted her about it. She acted as if she thought I’d known that’s what she did and it wasn’t a big deal. But I hadn’t known. I thought I was special.’
He shakes his head and finally looks up at me, his eyes hooded. ‘She was the woman I lost my virginity to. I’d thought that was special too, but it turned out I was just one in a long line of guys she’d “made into a man”.’
My whole body feels hot with anger at the way this despicable woman treated him. ‘Sandro, that’s awful!’
He puts down the cup and waves a dismissive hand, but I’m sure I see a flicker of something dark in his eyes. ‘It wasn’t so bad. It taught me that I loved sex and that I was good at it. Seducing and pleasing women gave me a focus for all my pent-up energy.’ His smile is full of humour now and I wonder if I’ve imagined the pain I’d seen. ‘It turns out I’m very good with my hands.’
He winks at me and slides one hand across the table to link his fingers with mine, but I can’t bring myself to smile at his joke.
Because it’s not funny.
In fact, none of what he’s just told me is okay.
No wonder he hides behind this mask of non-committing playboy and doubts his intelligence.
