Delilah Jay - Mistress - The Italian way

During the drive, Dottore talks about Carolina, his exgirlfriend. “In the end I had to persuade her to have an abortion, I didn’t even know whether the child was mine or not. I was there - during the abortion. What a horrible experience she put me through!” A pause. He forces back tears. I keep quiet. Concentrate on the traffic. Feeling sorry for himself, again? Yes, apparently so. Carolina started an affair with some other guy whom she married in the end. They had three children together, Dottore presumes.

After dinner he took my hand - looked deep into my eyes and uttered the craziest sentence I’ve ever heard in connection with a seduction:

“I have just made love to you with my eyes!”

We still addressed each other formally... in Italian... and we did it six times that night... hallelujah! He felt like a seventeen-year-old and when he talked with me on the phone, he saw himself in a “prato fiorito”, a flower meadow. I felt so powerful! Was practically addicted to his charm. Within the shortest time. Addicted to him.

He would not let me out of his arms - by phone, of course. I was the angel, the diva and his geisha, the one who made all his undreamt-of fantasies come true. Maybe I should mention at this point that Dottore wasn’t quite living on his own. By his - Italian - side there still was Bellarosa. She who, as he says, was never beautiful.

“Non era mai una bella donna”, he says.

No, she really wasn’t. I think that ugly women should absolutely have this BELLA in their name, for reasons of justice. She did however have something that fascinated him: money and power. And, in the manner of persons who have very much of those, she controlled him: constant phone calls and her comment about his visit to Berlin:

“What are you up to with Lili Marlene?”

Her imagination can stretch to ordinary affairs, but no further.

“Believe me, I am alone. Alone with you on the telephone, Bella. Yes, I love you! Only you!”

I hear him whispering, through the almost closed door of the suite. See myself as the “Blue Angel”. His sensitivity decreases in proportion with the increase of power and control. Erasing fantasies, provided they were there in the first place.

“No - I haven’t had sex with Bellarosa in six years,” he declares.

“Other women?” I ask with a chuckle, eyebrows raised, already not believing what he is about to say.

“She must not know - she would be so hurt. That’s

why she asked me to never tell her about it, if it should ever happen.”

“So why does she ask after me, then - Lili Marlene?” I want to know, provocatively.

“Is that her personal fantasy, stuck in the German war years?” I smirk.

“Cynic!” I think. Yes, I’d have made a damn good Lili Marlene! You need talent for that. Which I have. I HAVE SKILLS! That’s how my English lawyer assesses me, ironically, many years later. Later - much, much later.

Between now and later, there will be a number of exciting and stressful years. And I know how to utilize them, my skills!

“How come you don’t have children? Together or separately?” I am interested.

“Well, we tried once. It didn’t work. Bellarosa is ten years older than me,” Amos replies. He was in his early forties at the time.

“Even the best IVF specialist could not help us. I’ve been with Bellarosa for ten years now,” he says resentfully, with melancholy.

“She in the east wing - you in the west wing of the fully-staffed mansion house? Or the other way around?” I ask cheekily, chewing my drinking straw. Provocatively, sexy. Now I could understand all the better.

He contemplates my full lips, which I purse, slightly opened. Always aware of my full lips, of their impact.

“You are the woman, the lover, the girl, the whore, the angel, the Madonna, the mother in every conceivable variation for me, Aelita! My Aelitina, Aelitissima,” he vowed softly.

And I understood that Bellarosa represented an extension of the umbilical chord, without which he cannot survive. A mother-son relationship, business relationship, power relationship. The greatest form of dependence known in this galaxy. I had yet to find out where that got me, walking into the lioness’s den in the control room of Starship Enterprise, just like that!

“I’m a bitch, I’m a lover,

I’m a child, I’m a mother,

I’m a sinner, I’m a saint,

I do not feel ashamed.”

That’s exactly how I feel now.

“I’m your hell, I’m your dream,

I’m nothing in between,

I know you wouldn’t want it any other way!” sings Meredith Brooks straight from the choreography of my soul.

“... but you look at me like maybe I’m an angel underneath,

innocent and sweet ...,” she continues. 2)

Hey Amos - that’s Dottore’s real name - you Greek God of Love, have you forgotten that song already or did you never understand it? Maybe you didn’t realize what you were doing when you dedicated it to us, in our situation.

Bellarosa was old, unattractive, coarse, sarcastic, dominant, powerful in money and body - she didn’t understand him. Her laughter too loud. Men don’t like loud women. Too dominant. They don’t like dominant women either. If they did like them, it would be in a brothel, as Domina, but not in real life, by their side. The far side of

2) “The Bitch”, by Meredith Brooks

fifty is Bellarosa. A fading rose. An age where it no longer matters whether it’s “early” or “late” fifties. Whatever it is, it’s too late. I was the exact opposite: young, beautiful, slender, long-legged, elegant, blonde... and I understood his cock! With my spirit, my soul, my breasts, my experience, my longing, my lust. But most of all he adored my intelligence - wow!!! That’s what I needed more than anything, for screwing!

Two weeks later he came to Berlin again, during the ILA, the Internationale Luftfahrt Ausstellung. He tells me he wants to purchase a Hawker 1000 and is looking for the best the market has to offer. Purchase price: around eleven million US dollars. He gives me a list of names: current owners of this type of plane.

“Please would you ring them up for me?” he asks. “Of course I’ll pay the phone charges.”

How cheap is that, Dottore? I think. I too am at the ILA this time, I’m meeting with NetJets and handing back my laptop. At the fair, I run into a representative from Raytheon, manufacturers of the Hawker plane. We get talking and I ask about used Hawker 1000s.

“This isn’t by any chance to do with an Italian client, whose name starts with A and who comes from Ferrara?” the representative wants to know.

Small world! I’ll stay in contact with him. We can always share the commission, if I help him to stay in touch with Amos.

“He was at the fair with his pilot friend Antonio. He let him do all the talking. His eyes controlled the atmosphere.”

I think Amos was gauging the profits.

A short time later, the Raytheon representative warns me about Amos:

“I’ve spoken with a business partner in Monaco, he’s responsible for Southern Europe. Broker for private jets - you understand.”

Chris, the rep, shares his secrets with me.

“They all know him there - and of course his life partner, Bellarosa. Careful!” Chris hisses in my ear.

“Monte Carlo isn’t all that far from Beaulieu sur Mer. That’s where she has her villa by the sea. Everyone knows that this is Mafia! Do you understand?”

No. I don’t understand. Can’t, don’t want to. That was the second warning, both entirely unconnected. I call Federico again, the engineer at NetJets.

“Girl,” he says, “you are moving in very dangerous circles...!”

“I can’t back out anymore,” I think.