RED: A Love Story [Featured List]

Part 1: White 6 - Strategic pause

On Thursday Camila circled Marco again and followed him in the hallway. Marisa began to harbor serious suspicions of La Edible's intentions: now it was no longer a matter of insinuations, it had become a frontal assault. At the end of classes on Friday, on her way home, Marisa saw Camila and Marco on the corner of the street. He was saying something and she smiled mesmerized, playing with the golden pendant in an obvious attempt to draw attention to her cleavage.

Unable to refrain her resentment, Marisa hid behind a newsstand and watched them. Camila had already repeated one school year twice and, in Marisa's opinion, she was simply dumb. What good were all those curves without a brain? Yet Marisa had to admit, against her will, that the other girl was pretty, with her lean body, long hair and big brown eyes. Camila personified the stereotype of seduction that men seemed so keen on. And Marco apparently fell for that stupid, primary game.

Men are such idiots, thought Marisa. It was pathetic how biology spoke louder than reason. No, not speak, no: biology yelled and tap danced, while reason murmured and moaned in agony. When a man was around cleavage, hormones boiled in the brain and he would only be able to think of procreation. There were even guys out there attending classes to learn the shortest route between their hands and a woman's underwear. They were self-proclaimed "pickup artists". It was cruel but true: the masculine world valued easy exuberance-it wasn't concerned with substance.

As far as easy exuberance went, Marisa couldn't prevent her eyes from roaming over Marco's figure, pausing on the pair of back pockets that revealed one of his extracurricular endowments much cherished by the school girls... Irritated, she steered her gaze to the sleeve of his shirt. Despite Valentina's advice, Marisa couldn't resist the teacher. Why him? After all, there were millions of men in the world. But why not him? She had never felt such empathy with anyone as she felt with Marco. She admired his knowledge, sense of humor, easy ways... his smile, his hands... (Here, Marisa let out an ambiguous sigh, half romantic, half annoyance: a sigh of annoyed romanticism.)

Very well then, Valentina had hit the nail once again: all he meant with that coffee invitation was an amicable conversation. The proof was right there across the street. Marisa wanted to leave, but couldn't stop looking at the pair on the corner. Now Marco was speaking again in that assertive manner of his. Now Camila fiddled again with the damn pendant... And now... the fatal blow: Marco got a bunch of papers from his briefcase and handed it to Camila. So he did that for all the girls.

Marisa felt betrayed. She aimed a poisoned stare at the pair, leaned forward, aimed a homicidal stare, leaned forward. And knocked off a pile of magazines with a smiley woman knitting a blue sweater on the cover. Marisa jumped back just when Marco looked in the direction of the newsstand.

Slump... thud... slump... thud... slump-thud-slump-thuddd!

After the plump, eighteen women with their knitting needles smiled on the ground at Marisa. The old newsvendor's eyes, as green as the bottom of a bottle, glared at her as if saying: Aren't you gonna fix that mess? Marisa gestured an apology and recoiled behind a wall of newspapers. Since she didn't move from the spot, the man grunted and knelt down to retrieve the magazines carpeting the sidewalk.

Marco and Camila interrupted their conversation to observe the old man talking to himself. Marisa, with the cover of a finance publication, took a peek at the two. The teacher indicated the newsstand with a motion of his chin, Camila made a negative sign with her head. They continued the chin-head dialogue, until Marisa froze: Marco now was rotating his body so to face the newsstand... he took one step... another step... and began crossing the street.

Her heart fussed like a frightened bird. The teacher would follow a diagonal route and, as soon as he reached the newsstand, he would see her. Marisa's first impulse was to run. The second, to hide under the newspapers. The third (a flash of reason), to pretend she was reading some article. Yes, of course, that was it... Marisa stared at a headline about the Federal Reserve and feigned deep concentration. She fervently promised the All Mighty never to be daft again if she escaped that one with her dignity intact.