Glorious Ones by Francine Prose Read Free Book Online Page A

take care of myself.”
    But I knew better, because I knew she hadn’t been a grown woman when it started.
    “I was seventeen then,” she told me once. “I was a pretty girl, though by no means the prettiest in town, and I knew it. To make matters worse, my family was poor, there was nothing in my dowry. For those reasons, I was still single, though most of my friends had been married for years. I was desperate, Pantalone, believe me—I was so curious, so eager to lose my virginity.
    “So when Flaminio and his worthless friends came to play in our city, they seemed like a good prospect. They were young, handsome enough; most important, they were strangers, who wouldn’t stick around to ruin my reputation.
    “I took to haunting the marketplace whenever they performed. I picked out Flaminio as the easiest target, then mooned at him constantly with my big eyes. I’d lounge against the pillars in the plaza, my breasts stuck out, grinning at Flaminio with what I hoped was a wanton look.
    And finally, late one night, I got up my nerve and went to his room at the inn. Flaminio, Brighella, and Thomasso—who was still with the troupe then—were seated on the bed, staring into space, passing around a huge flask of wine. They were startled by my knock; they gazed blankly at me as I entered the room.
    “I’ve come,” I stammered, forcing a big, brazen grin, “because I so much admire your acting.”
    “Do you admire it enough to take on all three of us at once?” asked that pig Brighella, thrusting at me with his hips.
    Now, of course, I’d know enough to slap his face for such a remark. But you wouldn’t have recognized me then, Pantalone. I was so innocent, I wasn’t prepared. All I could do was look down at the ground.
    “I can see we have ourselves a lady here,” said Thomasso, who always fancied himself a great gentleman. “Perhaps we should retire, Brighella, and leave Flaminio with his guest.”
    “And that was how I spent my first night of love,” said Vittoria, spitting on the ground as she pronounced the word. “The next morning, I woke up and realized what I’d done.
    “ ‘No one will every marry me now,’ I thought. ‘I’ve given up all my chances for this dumb sonofabitch Flaminio Scala.’
    I began to weep big gushes of tears, until Flaminio couldn’t stand it any more.
    “Get out of here,” he barked. “No one asked you to come, anyway.”
    But, as my sobbing grew louder, he began to sweat a little; he was worried that I’d wake the neighbors, have him run out of town. “My dearest young lady,” he said, all sweetness and light. “Nothing terrible has happened, I assure you. Everything will be all right, you’ll see.”
    “It won’t!” I cried. “I’ve destroyed myself, disgraced my family. I can’t stay in this city any more. Take me with you, I beg you. Let me travel with your troupe. Don’t leave me here to face the shame.”
    “I’m sorry,” he said, trying to look sincere. “Although you are certainly the most loveable young woman who has ever graced my bedroom, I regret to say that there is no way.”
    “But I’ll kill myself,” I moaned. “I’ll go to hell, and reach up to drag you down with me.”
    For a moment, Flaminio hesitated; then, he grew stern again. “That is your decision,” he said.
    So I decided to try another tack. “Listen!” I cried. “I love you! I want to be with you! I’ll do anything, go anywhere. I’ll shine your boots, walk naked on the stage if you ask me. But I can’t stand the thought of being separated from you, even for an instant!”
    Flaminio stared at me for a long time, knitting his brows in that ugly way he does when he’s thinking. “Perhaps our troupe could use a woman,” he said at last. “Our scenarios might take on another dimension. You could play the Inamorata, the girl half-crazy with love. I’d play Amante, your suitor. You could worship me and sing my praises to your heart’s content. The ladies in our