An image makes people turn on the street…it could be a whistle…a remark to make clear the fact of being struck by somebody who has awaken our senses. Sometimes even exchanging a glance in the street make us feel suddenly bare…at the mercy of that unknown individual, whose look’s allure we have fleetingly met…as if in that moment our Dna had gone in perpetual combustion with the Dna of those anonymous eyes. The quest of the communion with another individual goes through the visual communication and this is the art of showing oneself and of admiring…as if a silent agreement was created between the one who looks and the one who wants to be looked. A message sent to the world by the one who shows himself, by the one who puts on the surface of his person all his own depest contents…in search of an exchange…a whistle of approval!
hot-pants
At the beginning of the seventies the fashion of the teen ager fixed the hot pans, tight shorts that, worn with chamois leather boots up to the knees, let feel warm even in the coolest winter afternoons.
..I had had the idea to have by a dear friend stylist in Milan, Mimmo Ferretti, a suit of heartbeat, in artificial white leather…jacket and hot pans….studied as the suits to run by motorcycle…with the elbow pads, many zips in red and blue…tailored for me. Worn, they fit like a glove…I was really winning…if I had gone around alone for the streets of Milan I’d have gained a certain success and a series of manly judgements to which I wasn’t at all impassible. (I’ve always thought that if I was an alien and wanted to conquer the heart I’d disguised myself as a nice bit of skirt…and the invasion would be realized at once!).
my way to dress hot-pants
That day to try out its power I decided to enter with this shocking clothes, when the match had already starter, in the grandstand of the Stadium San Siro…a roar of approval….for a moment thousands of supporters diverted their attention on my spatial, androgynous …unreal …but too much present silhouette …with all her uncontainable physicalness … no, there hadn’t been a goal ! Mimmo beckoned to me to sit…..perhaps fearing that the success gained by that outfit …went over…but the support for the game got the upper hand bringing back the values of the blood pressure to the normality and nobody more minded to that astonishing blonde teen ager!
In those years I lived a sort of …El Dorado… I had a lot of male friends…everyone in love with me….it was a pleasure choosing with whom spending the evening or the week end…no one of them bored me with jealousy…everybody thought only of getting the top of the pleasure from that encounter and I was free to have them all… Franco Rapage, knowing very well that aptitude of mine for enjoyment, when heard of the invitation that I had received, still underage, of spending a weekend in Paris to take two friends to play at the Hunting Game Club in rue Tilsit , he suggested to me to go and see, in my free time, a dear friend of his….the cosmetic surgeon Paul Albou become famous for rebuilding the face to the singer Silvie Vartan, destroyed after the tragic car accident.
The view from the roof of the “George V”
So it was born my only transalpine love…But let’s proceed step by step: the fact is, I was only sixteen and half…at home I had told I’d have spent the week end in the Tuscan country …at friends’! Since when I had had the perception of the world that was waiting for me, out… of people, things and adventures that I could have lived…it had been practically impossible to forbidden me anything, I do it and that’s all…too much loneliness felt since when I was a child redeemed itself in this way giving me …the courage of a lion… Dismissed my parents from any educational role….since they themself guilty of breaking up a family where they had made me born… my mother didn’t find the courage to finally prevent me from living.
So officially left for Tuscany but actually already on the air to the Ville Lumière I mentally organized my time to get the maximum advantage from that period of total freedom…trying the way to visit the mysterious friend of Franco !
My room inside the Hotel “GeorgeV”
As soon as I arrived at the George V hotel I asked to the concierge in my halting french…..I hadn’t studied it but…I was sure…I had it in my hemocrome….somewhere….it was sufficient to find it!…I asked where I could find a telephone box in the hotel to call Italy directly and reassure my mother on the fact that Tuscany was really a marvellous region!
…Well, I lift up the receiver: asked “Sil vous plait …l’Italie…Rome…numerò 890….9” …at this point the operator answered “Oui Mademoiselle “ and then threw me into the most total panic adding “ne quittez pas”….my God, I didn’t know what I had to do…which button she had told me to press…I was frenetically searching in my Dna the sense of that sentence….nothing…dark…the wait was agonizing…I was terrorized that from Rome somebody could hear that French voice, discovering in that way where I really was…some endless second of panic more…and then the warm voice of my mother on line was cheering me up …it was gone off well… I could go on lying…
That evening… after having dinner alone in the most luxury restaurant of the hotel taking a Consommè Gelée and for dessert a Souflèe Framboise …I had make a date with Paul…my friends had discovered the impossibility to take me in the Prive of the Casinò for my young age and had gone alone…In few moments he would have arrived to pick me up…glamorous, raven dark haired, turquoise blue eyed, twenty years older than me…I really couldn’t wish more! Once more the first sensation I felt was the decisive…I felt my blood running faster in my veins …I wished only let me guide by him to those games which, I was sure, he knew perfectly…
In front of Paul’s house…years later
He lived and still lives in a wonderful flat wich overlooked the Arc de Triomphe in rue Tilsit, irony of fate exactly in the same little street where my friends had gone to play … In the darkness of the night from the bed room came only the lights of the traffic, the warm lighting of the Arc de Triomphe…while the suffused notes of “Here comes the sun” by the Beatles played on the marble fireplace by a very modern recorder made various flashes of light which were reflected everywhere in the room…enlarging themselves.
The same bedroom…years later
When going in the house, an enormous harlequin dog had received us playfully…remaining then on guard crouched on a carpet Louis XVI in front of our “chambre des jeux”…
Great Dane
Inside Paul, uncorked a bottle of Champagne, had taken my hand and …after few words mispronunced both in his italian and in my french…he began directly to explain to me the practical side of the matter…he had laid me on the immense bed, had made sure to put two soft pillows under my head and had told me “attend moi deux petit seconds…Eli”…Happy I was waiting…just the time to acclimatize myself to all that new and unexpected world, I drunk my blonde bubbles looking over the fireplace the source of all the colours which, following the notes of the sweet music, was spreading magically on the walls…I didn’t feel correct surrendering at once…but I realized that by then I was there just only because my wish of living had taken me in this place…then…I reflected on the uselessness of resisting to the pleasure…of deferring…wouldn’t I maybe have left two day later?…then…Paul was back, I could guess his naked body under the black silked dressing gown…I was deeply fascinated by his self-confidence…he laid by me “Je suis tres content que tu est ici…” …his mouth on mine …the champagne that slipped down along the neck on my tits…I felt his saliva wetting my lips…his tongue was taking me….a profetic “Come together” was filling the air…
Abbey Road
I wished to feel his masculinity breaking out close to me…but he…sweetly gained from my desire to undress me of all and admire my little bosom, yes… it could stay in a champagne glass…he was caressing with estreme delicacy my nipple wetting it with drops of Moet Chandon…making it hard as a nail… and then…for the first time in my life…it happened a wonderful thing…he didn’t want to bring me immediately, to hurry the plays…no…keeping his hands on my breasts he descended to kiss me with his mouth on my other…labia and for me was paradise…Every now and then he stopped to tickle my nipples to widen my thighs, he widened them over their limit, pressing them on the sheet to pave his way….when every remaining sense of mine was by then uninhibited…he run through me with vigour…making me moan for the pleasure that I proved feeling me completely possessed…full of him my pussy was coming…Unforgettable…all but really all… Unforgettable…
I loved eating truffles and I’d let it understand to him in some way…so the next afternoon I had two packets delivered at the George V…black and vacuum-packed…I was sorry I couldn’t see him anymore…my roman friends wouldn’t have permitted another escape and so love began: I spent the following week ends among Rome Paris and London…he had fallen head over heels in love…
incredible dress
he had made me a present of a short velvet striped overcoat equal to the coat of his giant harlequin as to be able to admire me when I walked along Rue Saint Germain to reach him Chez Lipp…what a couple…me and the dog …I mean!
The beloved giant arlequin
When for job reasons I had to go to Spain in Madrid and then in Marbella to shot the movie “Cien Mil Ladrones”he suffered a lot…in spite of the difference of age, maybe just for that, he was hopelessly in love with me and at this point he had become jealous.
“Nor that you or I or we can get the better of the wind ” said the poetry FrancescoSerao . It was just what shouldn’t happen: in that way he run the risk to totally lose me because I’d have never give up all the people, the friends who loved me and with whom, in my complicated insecurity, I went on having relations …by which I go on, still now, to be loved…in an extreme ambition of feeling important, desired, unique for them. Many loves of mine are failed for jealousy… and yet it was clear till from the start how I was made…which infantile shock had caused that manner of mine of being unfaithfull in fidelity…as if everybody could betray me…. therefore it wasn’t worth refraining from doing it myself first…
I arrived in Madrid taken by my mother to “rodare” ° that movie that would come out with the revisited name of “Que cosa tiene el amor”…I was still underage and she had looked after me along all the years of my adolescence…
At Venice under Rialto’s Bridge
Together we had spent two months in Venice, we lived behind San Marco Square at the hotel Cavalletto while the rest of the troupe of “Death in Venice” was accommodated at the Hotel Ala and at the Danieli’s. The costume designer of the film by Visconti, Piero Tosi and his assistant Gabriella Pescucci had took me under their wing, I was flattered by that…both Oscar Awards in the years to come…In the morning the call was terrible: I had to be at the make-up at the Lido at half past five….they had to curl my hairs with the curling iron in many ringlets…a torment! Undressed of all our personal belongings we were dressed with clothes of beginning of the century…Visconti wanted us to adapt ourselves in that reality as much as possible…for this all the set recreated the atmosphere described by Thomas Mann…even the thick flannel were original of the period…it was prohibited to take on the set objects of common use of our time…practically the wait became agonizing…without watches, pens, newspapers, books…it seemed to have been launched in a parallel dimension.
At Lido directorVisconti shoots the death of Dirk Bogard Gondola
I’ve never wondered what my mother did in those long hours…I thought she reconciled to his life…so bitter with her…alone in Venice she had all the time to enjoy the positive side of it…and then it was the same in London for the movie “The Lizard with woman’s skin” and …in Madrid.
Play-bills of the movie
….The troupe was entirely composed of spanish with principal actor the singer Peret, supported by the very beautiful Silvia Monti, my friend as ever, that, for her courtesy, had wanted me in the cast. We took possession of our rooms at the hotel Luz Palacio in the centre of Madrid in a strategic position to visit the Prado Museum and the dinosaurs of the Anthropology Museum. At the phone Franco Rapetti, Rapage had warmly recommended a visit to the halls of the Prado, I shouldn’t absolutely miss “The adoration of the Magi” by Velasquez, painter who had portrayed also Maria Teresa of Spain, now in the Museum of Vienna, with the two famous clocks symbols of the change of times after the discover of new world and didn’t simbolized only that meaning…. 
Velasquez Goya
Wonderful the halls with the “Maja Desnuda” and the painting “El Coloso” by Goya…this last artist had deeply troubled me with the image of a face bewildered by the pain in the painting “Saturno divorando su hijo” painted during the bloody war represented a father devouring his own son….horror…I had took shelter in the last halls recommended …the Flemish school…admiring the “Triptych of Delights” by Jeronimus Bosch and the works by Brughel I reconciled with the world…
Coral de la Moreria’s vedette Lucero Tena
…After so much culture, at the official lunch at Coral De la Moreria, during a flamenco exhibition really intriguing… a brown mini with belt, boots that matches with it over the knee….had caused a gallant admirer to declaim: “se te dico luna te offiendo , se te dico sole te maltrato, se te llamo lucero me parece que te mato….deja que te llame…cielo!”…
My mother in the middle of the table and Silvia seats near me
Even Silvia very admired on the occasion wearing a mini showed off a belt with lions and gold earring bought by his secret love at VanCleef, jeweller’s in NewYork….she had a full beautycase… sometimes I looked at those glittering wonders for a change…. The panther by Cartier or the last watch by Bulgari…
…The shots of the movie went on at Marbella, on the Vip Coast, where Alphons de Hohenlohe had turned his house in a very beautiful hotel steeped in the luxuriant bougainvillea…the Marbella Club…Unfortunately we were lodged at Marbella Hilton an ultra modern skyscraper on the sea-side…I’d have liked better a room over the garden in contact with the nature instead of the concrete…but after all we were here to work, or no?
My room at Marbella Hilton
…Here on the coast gilded by the sun I had received my first proposal of marriage …when I hadn’t tasted a tenth of my new unexpected free life yet…The last week of shooting of the movie at Marbella saw the arrival of Paul…he wanted to ask me to become his wife…On the contrary…I didn’t even want to see him! For me he had been struck by the lightning of passion…he was haunted by the idea of having me, he wanted to possess me on behalf of the emotions that he was feeling…he neither knew who I really was, what I desired…( apart …the truffles…) nor he asked himself which had been the life processes that had made me what I was. He wanted me and that was all…who I was it didn’t matter…
Goya’s “la Maya desnuda”
That evening in my room, the 1305, there was Bali, Silvia’s cousin…we were chattering and laughing on the bed… without going beyond. Paul had arrived in the afternoon with the intention of giving me a surprise…He had given it…but not pleasant…I even refused the idea of having to meet him! When the evening came his patience had reached the danger point at the same level of his pride….he came into the room as a lightning…Bali run behind a curtain and stayed hidden all the period of that visit…akward witness of my first refusal of a serious tie for life. I hadn’t in front of me the Paul whom I had loved but an unknown with some unjustified claims…instead of approaching me to him, of letting me feel his warmth… become aware of his desire looking into my eyes and making my passion running high, …instead of hugging me and kiss my neck just there behind the nape where he knew I liked it so much, or involving me with a kiss that reminded me of his love….he…, the experienced French man , sat on the corner of the bed, full only of insane jealousy for all that was surrounding me, asking me if I wanted… be part forever of his life…Certainly in that way I…. wouldn’t have shared neither a “ratito de tiempo”…Because when you feel love is a uninterrupted desire to get on in your heart…but his where had gone? And that jealousy where had come out from? And yet since when I had come in Spain I hadn’t had neither loves at first sight nor sexi intercourses of any kind…nobody had enchanted me to the point to desire a closer relation.. neither anybody had desired me so much as to wish absolutely living me…we had remained all at the role of shadows…there was any reason for that destroying ancestral feeling that was animating him…
I felt a feeling of regret, of loss..…but above all of relief when whit hunched head he finally went out of my life…
