Guardie del Corpo: Body Guards
Two of my six Italian bodyguards.
A few weeks ago I had a little incident with a flying piece of bread that hit me in the eye and sent me to the emergency room. Thankfully, my eye was only scratched and it was a quick (yet, painful) procedure to clean my eye and get me on my way. Unfortunately, however, my plans to attend a fashion show that night were ruined as I was sent home with antibiotic cream, eye drops and a face full of streaky mascara.
Luckily, the flyer I had claimed that the following Saturday there would be another fashion show. I had an invitation to join some friends at a birthday party, but wanted to go to “la sfilata di moda” (fashion show) first and then would join them later on in the evening; however, this plan eventually would not prevail.
When I arrived at Sali and Tobacchi, a beautiful restaurant, lounge and discoteca located in Reggio Emilia, I found out from the six men at the door, that last week was the final show! You could imagine my disdain, but fortunately my mood lifted as I spent the next half hour or so practicing my Italian with the group of men, who I soon labeled as “my bodyguards” as they fit the spitting image, all dressed and black with matching white ear pieces.
Soon the term “bodyguard” was brought to a whole new level when they offered to accompany me from the entrance to the bar upstairs. We walked in a straight line: two bodyguards in front, me in my red coat in the middle, trailed by two bodyguards in back. From every direction heads were turning as we walked up the stairs, crossed the main walkway of the lounge and to the bar on the far end of the room where my bodyguards introduced me to the bartender before returning to their post. Sipping on my free glass of Prosecco, I stood talking with the bartender in between the times he wasn’t serving customers. After few minutes I was approached by two strangers:
Stranger: “Excuse, me. I just have to know. Are you someone important?” He asks in Italian.
I smile. Oh, this could be a fun game. Hmmm…who should I claim to be? There are so many options that I could employ. But, no, I am no one of importance. Just a regular 26 year old with an American accent.
Before I could respond, two of the bodyguards reappeared.
Bodyguard: “Ready to go back downstairs?” he asks.
I look at the two strangers and give them an apologetic smile before turning to my bodyguards.
“Yes.” I reply.
They take their positions–one in front, and one behind me as we start to walk across the room. Heads begin to turn, I try to refrain from laughing.
After all, mystery does have a rather seductive appeal.
A fine body to guard.