Thai girls do it better

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Now I don’t remember if it was Saturday or Sunday, anyway it was raining and me and Giuliano were alone at home because the others were working.

I’m lying on the coach, under a huge heavy blanket. I’m thinking I’m not hungry but Giuliano asks me if I want to eat something.

«Yes, of course.»

The empty fridge looks like the heart of someone who has been dumped, so we go shopping. Woolworths is around the corner. We walk straight to the spaghetti, then tomatoes, onions and stuff. Giuliano wants to cook and I have no objection. I’m not the kind of woman that interferes; maybe I dislike the heavy-salty-fatty dishes for example, or the earthworms. Unlike me, Giuliano eats as much as the large tropical snakes of the Boidae, the python, the anaconda, the boa constrictor. He tells me, proud of himself, he once ate four whole pizzas at his ex-girlfriend's parents house, «Her mother will never forget me!».

We pass all afternoon sleeping on the couch. Near evening, the other guys come back from work. Take a beer from the fridge then sit near us. We end up talking about prostitution because a few hours before Tambu has come back from Thailand.

«Hey dude, you are a fucking asshole! How could you go gaga over a slut?»

«She’s different.»

It was love at first sight. She took him home, introduces him to her family.

«Duh, you give them the cash! Dude, the secret is fucking a different girl every night.»

«Did you also fall in love?»

«No I didn't, they are such hot, damn beautiful girls, and they are very good at seducing men; tell me, how much did she cost?»

They tightly hugged to say farewell. They still tried to avoid each other for a bit, but one night they met in the same disco, in the middle of thousands of people. Maybe it was the destiny. She hugged him tightly, he didn’t reciprocate, he hadn’t the courage.

«She works day-time in a cafè and whores in the night time; this is Thai culture, they have a different mentality, you can’t compare this with our own. The Thai girls are the best women I have ever met in my all life, better than a lot of fucking Italian pussy!»

«Hey, Tambu, life can be unpredictable… Maybe this could work?»

«Shut up, Baldi.»

«Giuliano speaks the truth, this is an impossible love.»

We sit in silence for a bit, someone drinks a beer, someone else smokes marijuana. Then Andrea says: «My first time with a slut I was 14 year-old, she was 60; trust me, she looked like a hot 50 year-old, a very classy woman, really.»

I die from laughing, then I glance at Giuliano. He sits on the armchair like an old man at the bar, his elbows on the sofa’s arms, beer and cigarette in hand. He speaks with a slight twitch in his face. His hair is dishevelled although it is straight and short, I think I like him.

«Listen to me, Giulio», Tambu says with a different gaze, «I haven’t got one dollar. By chance, do you have any work for me?»

«So, has Australia transformed you in to a criminal?»

«I could be a good guy if “the system” helped me; if not, I make do.»

We are going to the Library, on Swanston street. Today is Monday and we are going to do the same for the next ten days. Every day to look for a job. I can’t say now how many resumés we sent out. Gumtree.com.au is the Ganges where all rivers spill out, someone offers, the most part asks. After the first week I’m a little worried because no-one replies to me. We decide to go to Lygon street to hand out resumès door to door. The sky is grey, it’s barely sprinkling. As soon as I look at an ice-cream shop I go inside trying to be brilliant and convincing. In Pesaro, in the summer time, when I was working at Germano Ice Cream, I could serve three ice creams at once: one cone between pinkie and annular, one between annular and middle, and another one between middle and index. That was when there were flocks of children and their parents chose strawberry and cream for all of them to get out quickly.

Then I go into a delicatessen and a pretty girl asks me if I have any knowledge about wine. At last, I end up to Brunetti, I say that Eolo gave me their contact details but no-one knows him. The manager – Italian – want to know if I speak English, which I do. He says he’ll call me in the week for a trial. Cool, says Giuliano, if you make the trail it’s impossible they don’t take you.

«Australian's don’t like to work too much, the Italians instead are very hard-working and if there’s a problem we find a creative solution: Italians do it better, said Madonna, and I agree with her».

Better or not, Giuliano leaves me alone, under the rain. My resumès start to wrinkle, printer’s ink to melt. I have a strange sensation in my heart. I can’t live with the guys forever, sleeping on the couch with Giuliano; I want to meet new people, to speak in English, to start my adventure seriously. I am worried about my lack of money and the job that doesn’t seem to want to come.

I feel lost now that Giuliano is gone, I think because I start to like that beast. Shit. It would be because I have just met him on this new continent. For this reason, maybe it will be better to distance myself from him. This makes me think of the story of Sansone; at 30 years old he is now wiser and knows that Dalila will cut off his hair, sooner or later.

Goodnight Giuliano, goodnight Baldi. I wake up at 8.30-9.00, have breakfast, catch tram number 19 without having to pay for a ticket, go to the library. Spend every day together. Girls were born under a water sign like me, Pisces ascending to Cancer, through their beloved, they magically and unconsciously activated a string of coincidence with desire.
That evening I arrived home, said to Giuliano «Hey, I’ve a job!», and incredibly he also said «Great! Me too! Where?».

«Giancarlo called me, Eolo’s friend, you remember? The guy I met on the plane, you know?»

«Giancarlo? Oh my god… the pizza factory?»

«In Campfield?»

«I've been calling him all summer and amazingly he called me back just now.»

«Jesus.»

Yep. Sounds weird, doesn’t it?

The same thing happens the day after. We had both been called by a lady named Christine and neither of us could attend the interview on Saturday afternoon because Giuliano had to go to the trial at the factory Friday night, and me on Saturday morning.

I wake up at 5.30am, the couch near to me is empty. I’m tormented and worried that I won’t find the factory. I have to catch the train and then the bus. It’s a dark night, and cold outside. I arrive in Upfield at 6am and there are three labourers at the bus stop. The first is reading the newspaper like he will every day, the second will smoke a cigarette, and the third will smoke a cigarette and drink a coffee.

When the bus arrives, I enquire to the driver if he knows where The Giglio factory is. Immediately he introduces himself, he’s Russian and asks me for the manager’s phone number. I get the idea that it’s not easy to enter the factory if you don’t know anyone.

I get off the bus, and I have to cross the highway. It's a bad road. I reach a huge industrial area, luckily I bought a smartphone recently, an iPhone. Yes, 3G. Without ‘S’, to save some money. If I had a wooden phone, maybe it would work better then mine: the internet is very slooow, and the platform doesn't support new apps; so it dislikes Whatsapp, Facebook, Skype etc. Anyway, Google Maps works well, and at last I find The Giglio.

There’s a group of girls in front of the entry, cigarette and phone in hand. It’s just turned 7am. I see Giuliano, he’s tired-looking, and has a pale face. It breaks my heart. My heart beats strongly. I took his face in my hands, ask him how it's going. I am his mate now, through thick and thin, this is romantic and miserable. From now on we’ll meet just at shift change, for a few minutes at sunrise and a little while at sunset, because he works the night-shift, and I work the day-shift. Just like Ladyhawke; I am the hawk during the day, and Giuliano the wolf of the night.