(Renata Pellegrini)
"S-sir?" she blinks several times not believing what she heard. I can't believe it either. "I-I didn't quite understand what you said, could you…"
"Oddio, dammi pazienza," he says in italian. God, give me patience. "I want you out of my office, now!"
"But, sir, what about her?" Veronica points her finger in my direction.
"Stai zitto!" he increases the tone of his voice, telling her to shut up. I am not sure if she understood what he said, but she is startled by the tone of his voice and shuts up. I understood what he said because I always heard my father saying those words in Italian when I did something wrong.
Veronica's jaw quivers with anger, she is certainly feeling humiliated, she looks at me once more, I can read in her eyes: You will pay for that!
I smile and her face gets redder at my provocation, she turns around and walks stiffly out of the room, leaving me alone with the Italian tycoon.
I swallow dryly, all the anger inside me is gone and only nervousness and fear remain.
He turns and stares at me, I feel awkward before this look, he seems to study every part of my body, he won't be able to see much, the uniform doesn't mark my curves, and I don't even have many, the only thing that stands out about me are my breasts, they are average, but at least they are not small like my ass and not as thin as my legs. It is possible to squeeze them really tight. At least, that's what I think, I like the texture and size of my breasts. My mother, when I was thirteen, always encouraged me to know my body and taught me where I could never let someone touch it without my permission.
I try to concentrate on some sound other than my heart beating so hard it hurts. But the room is so quiet, I feel desperation trying to take over. I try to slow my breathing down, I can't have a piripaque here.
"Non ricordo di averti visto, di quale parte d'Italia sei?"
"What did you say?" I asked in a hushed voice, the only thing I could understand was: which part of Italy. And I don't even know if I understood correctly.
"Non parlate italiano?" I think he is asking me a question, but again I don't understand anything beyond the word Italian. His eyes look at me again, from top to bottom, it bothers me, I feel my face getting hot.
"Can you please speak in English?" I ask, staring back at him.
I don't want him to think that I find him attractive, or that he has awakened something in me, I will take that to my grave with me. Never in my life did I think that someday I would be attracted to the kind of people I despise most in the world.
He clicks his tongue and goes to his chair behind the table, sits down and without taking his eyes off mine, points to the chair in front of the table. I don't want to sit down, my brain wants to get out of here, but I am curious and I need this job.
I have made up my mind, if he gives me the opportunity to continue, I will work only until I receive my first salary. I will not stay here to work as a cleaner, if at this time I know some other company that is hiring, I will try, but if not, I will go back to Brazil and follow my life there.
"Where are you from, and what is your name and age?" he asks in English.
I am thankful that my mother put me in an English course when I was six years old. I never stopped practicing, so I was able to travel here without any problems. And it was also for this reason that I thought I had a chance to do well in the interview and live in another country.
"I'm from Brazil, my name is Renata Pellegrine and I am twenty-four years old," I answer, and he raises an eyebrow, looking at me suspiciously.
"You don't look like a Brazilian," he says quietly to himself, but I can hear him, so I decide to remain silent. "Both your name and your surname are of Italian origin," he notes and crosses his arms, I just keep quiet watching him, he clicks his tongue. "How did you get here?"
"My teacher got a job interview here," I explained, trying to keep calm.
"What is your teacher's name?"
"Juliana Lueni.
He puts his hand on his chin, and closes his eyes for a few seconds.
"Never heard of that name," he leans back in his chair and crosses his arms again. "What did you study?"
"Information System, I graduated last week," I explained more excitedly.
Is he doing the interview? Will I change positions? Oh I hope so, it will be a dream come true if I get a better position.
"How did you end up in the janitorial position?"
"Well, that manager, Veronica…"
"She's not the manager here," he cuts me off, leaving me confused.
"She's not?" I look confused at him.
"No," he answers.
Putting on all that pose, giving me a job, when she wasn't even responsible for my interview.
"What is she then?" I ask, hoping he doesn't kick me like he did her.
"Head Attendant, she is in charge of training the new attendants and organizing the shifts," he explains."
"Right, well, when I came in here, she had told me that Miss Carol had told me I was coming along with other applicants for the position," he frowns, as if he had only just learned these details. "But I couldn't even say I was here for the interview, she sent me away saying I wasn't up to working here."
"Then she offered you the position of janitor," constants.
"Yes," I confirm.
"What is your marital status?"
"Single, sir."
"Any children?"
"No children."
"Okay, I'll see what I can do and call you by the end of next week, write down your contact phone number and email address."
He hands me a notebook and a pen, and I write down the information he asked for.
Oh Lord, put your hand on this man's heart and make him hire me, I pray in thought.
"In the meantime, am I supposed to keep coming here?"
"To do what?" he asks with a raised eyebrow looking at the paper with my information.
"Um, cleaning?" I say. "Let me come, I can do the work. I need the money."
What humiliation, but what can I do? In the apartment there is nothing to eat and I don't have a penny in my pocket, nor do I have any credit cards. I have to at least get paid for the daily rates.
"Take it."
I look at his hand holding a hundred-dollar bill.
"W-what is this? Are you doing charity now?"
Mannaggia! Why can't I control my tongue? I need the money.
"The payment for your hours worked today."
"I only worked for fifteen minutes," I tell him suspiciously. I don't believe in genuine kindness coming from people like him.
"Then take it as a retraction for the way you were treated when you arrived."
Oh, if that's so, then I'll gladly accept this money. I take the note and put it in my apron pocket.
"On second thought, I will give you a position now. It will be temporary, you will start as an attendant, do you accept?
Don't frown, don't frown, I repeat in my thoughts. Well, it's better than continuing as a janitor.
"I accept!"
"Okay, go to the reception and look for Amanda. You'll start right away."
"Okay," I stand up.
"Buona giornata, ragazza," he says, wishing me a nice day. But once again the memories of my father, speaking those exact same words, waking me up come to mind.
"Anche per Il sig" I say, wishing the same for him.
A pity I have only learned a few words and short phrases in Italian.
Filippo smiles, a wide smile that makes me feel something strange in my chest. I hold my breath and hurry out of the office.
Now it's time to look for Amanda.