Just like in a Fellini film, he took a long drag from his cigarette…
Many people in Sorrento had nicknames. You know, Jimmy the Fish, just like the movies. My friend Enzo’s nickname was Napoleon, (he is pictured in my music video Estate’). Find Napoleon! I’m not sure why, he wasn’t short. Napoleon was a tour guide. He created his own slang expression, Hi Fi which meant the best of the best. Being cool he would raise one arm and casually say “Hi Fi”. He’d say it if he saw me in the street. If he had a tour, he’d have the bus driver open the door, he’d lean out of the moving bus with a Hi Fi. Never judge a book by its cover, Enzo was worldly, a deep thinker and an intellectual.
One evening I was having dinner at my soon-to-be X’s restaurant. Over the course of dinner, I became quietly plastered having consumed an entire bottle of white wine on my own. I did it more out of revolt. I remember my soon-to-be X looked at me saying, this isn’t you. I informed him that it’s me tonight! In those days a little drama went a long way lol.
After finishing my meal, and the affair, I decided to go listen to music at a little club. As I walked down the street, I realized I couldn’t feel my face and with each step I didn’t seem to know where the ground was under my feet. I wasn’t weaving or being a cliché’, after all, l’Americana needed to retain her decorum.
My friend Napoleon was sitting in a booth by himself. I plopped down beside him. Looking up at him in my stupor I said, “Oh Napoleon, I am Low Fi, I am Low Fi tonight.” With his head tilted back, just like in a Fellini film, he took a long drag from his cigarette, blew it out slowly, looked me in the eye and said, “Lilliana, you could never be Low Fi.” Then he asked if I’d like a drink. I said yes and ordered a Courvoisier. Never try this at home.
Friends joined our table as the night went on, we chatted over nothing in particular. Laughing and singing into the wee small hours of the morning. Being sauced was out of character for me so they were a bit concerned and I think amused. One gentleman was designated to escort me home. By now I wasn’t feeling well, go figure. Taking his arm, more for support, we walked through the narrow cobblestone streets. He bid me buona notte at my door. Entering my room, I thought it might be best if I tried to bring it all up but passed out on my bathroom floor instead. I finally crawled into bed, and I do mean crawled. There wasn’t any point in standing up.
I had heard about handovers but until then never experienced one with all the trimmings. I emerged in the afternoon from my apartment. Trying not to breathe too deeply and shielded by my dark sunglasses, I humbly made my way to the piazza for a coffee and an Alka Seltzer. The moral of this story is never have a Courvoisier as a chaser. Keep it Hi Fi.
