two lovable idiots and their love ... not as boring as just any tearjerker...no, one with ups and downs and dogs and food and a band and cars and cigarettes and much more...
on hiatus
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Her coal black curls shone in the sunlight. Her long body was covered only by a red bikini, while the rest stewed away. From somewhere, deep guitar sounds and a rough voice rang out.
Suddenly, a shrill ringing mingled with it and she sighed as she rose from the deckchair. Slowly she shuffled towards the front door, turning the music down a little. Humming to herself, she opened the large dark door and looked directly into the face of her best friend. Sandro held two cappuccinos in his hands and squeezed past his best friend, who towered over him by two centimetres. ,,Buona giornata anche a voi!" (a good day for you too!) Francesca muttered annoyed and slammed the door behind them. Sandro had already made himself comfortable on one of the deck chairs and held out the caffeine drink to the young woman.
,,So, what's on the agenda?" Francesca murmured as she sipped her cappuccino. ,,Your father is inviting you to his club tonight. Tomorrow at ten you have a talk with the artist you interviewed last week and at two pm an interview regarding your new Gucci campaign." the boy rattled off and took a big gulp of his coffee. "Great." the girl grumbled and put down her cappuccino before landing in the blue water of their pool with a powerful jump. They spent the rest of the afternoon swimming in the pool, chatting and finally getting Francesca ready for the club.
The lights of the club could be seen flashing from far away. They realy gave it away, that this club is probably one of the most expensive in Italy. In front of the club were rows of luxury cars and Francesca parked her dark red Ford Mustang right in between them. With a loud bang, she let the door fly shut and strutted past the few people in the car park. She held the door open with one hand while holding a cigarette in the other, which she now exhaled. Her curls were blown into her face by a breeze behind her and cursing, she brushed them back out of her face before walking straight towards the loud music. Her dark eyes scanned the party room and stopped at the bar.
Behind them, a red-haired girl almost pushed her limits. "Porca puttana!" ("Holy shit!") she cursed and mixed a martini with her right hand while trying not to spill the beer with her left. Carefully Francesca took the glass from her hand and handed it over the bar, collected the money and turned back to the redhead. ,,Grazie!" she stammered, breathing heavily and stared at her with her mouth open. ,,You can close your mouth now and keep mixing the martini," the taller girl whispered in her ear and started to make an espresso, which she took with her and went in search of her father. On the way, she met a young waiter. "Aiuta la signora al bancone!" (Help the young lady at the counter!) she yelled over the loud music and immediately the boy ran over to the bar.
Turning around, she spotted a broad-shouldered man just entering the VIP area. She quickly ran after him and spotted her father on a velvety blue couch, a whisky glass in his hand. The spotlights made his hair, which was actually grey, shine in the brightest colours. His eyes met his daughter's and his lips flashed a fat grin that revealed many laugh lines. ,,Mia figlia!" the dark voice rang through the room and Francesca leaned into her father's warm embrace. "Hi Dad!" the girl laughed and broke away from him, only to steal his glass and drink it all at once. ,,Hai un bell'aspetto, mio piccolo!" (You look good, my little one!) he flattered her and stroked her head. Barely ten minutes later they were sitting together on the couch with new drinks and talking about everything.
,,Why did you call me here, Dad?" Francesca asked the man next to her. ,,I just wanted to talk to my daughter again. Is a father not allowed to do this ?" he replied, as he watched his daughter, smiling knowingly.He slowly stood up and walked away. Confused, his daughter looked at him, but Francesca quickly hurried after him and followed him back to the party room. There he sat down on another couch, reserved for the family and guests of honour, and pointed to the small stage. There his daughter spotted exactly four people.
A tall young man, who was working the microphone, and two others, who were taking care of the guitar and the drums. Next to them was a young woman whose blonde curls seemed to sparkle in the spotlight. She lifted her head and Francesca looked straight into the most beautiful face she had ever seen.
