‘Biddy, I can’t believe you are here,” says Caitlin, opening the door of my taxi and giving me an enormous hug. I’ve just arrived at Via Galeazzo Alessi in Milan and I drag my case through ornate gates into an Italian courtyard dominated by three huge urns overflowing with dramatic ferns.
The lift is tiny,” says she, laughing as we squeeze into a metal cage lift that barely fits two people. As the lift cranks its way slowly up to the fifth floor, we climb up ancient steps to her apartment at the top of the building. Despite its historic exterior, it’s very cool and modern inside. I am staying next door in a single annex. Finally, I can breathe. I am here.
“You couldn’t have come at a better time,” says Caitlin. “We are right in the middle of Fashion Week. The place is jammed with models and glamour.”
Caitlin is a Gaelic speaker from Dublin with wild, red curly hair, a really strong, pretty face and her skin is covered in beautiful freckles. She is known for her intellect and wit and style. “After breakfast, I want to bring you to see this amazing place called Villa Mozart,” says she. “It’s rarely open but I managed to get us in today.”
An hour later she leads me on to the tram. Now I know why Milan is the fashion capital of the world. Everyone is impeccably dressed, the men wearing tailored suits with colourful shirts and shoes, the women understated with unusual costume jewellery. I saw one lady dressed entirely in black wearing electric pink shoes and carrying a lime green bag. It worked.
Before I know it, we are at an ivy-clad villa on a serene, leafy Milan street. There’s tight security at the door, which is manned by four super-polished PR ladies.
“This was the home of an extraordinary woman called Gabriella Crespi,” whispers Caitlin, as I admire the extraordinary lofty frescoed ceilings and the amazing metal and bamboo furniture Crespi designed.
Caitlin knows her onions. She spent many years working for Valentino. The Italians were lucky to get her.
Downstairs, Serapian, one of the oldest historic Milanese leather houses, had two friendly middle-aged Italian ladies demonstrating ‘Mosaico’, a weaving process from the 1940s using soft lamb nappa leather. Twas impressive alright.
“Ah, there is Giuseppe,” says Caitlin, introducing me to her new Italian boyfriend, a fierce friendly lawyer from Milan. “I will cook tonight,” says he, kissing me on both cheeks. “Eduardo will be there.”
“I look forward to that,” says I, getting excited at the thought of finally meeting my blind date. Afterwards, Caitlin brought me to a cool little pizza cafe on Corso Venezia called Princi. Suddenly, there was a surge of photographers edging toward the door.
“Oh wow, that’s Jimmy Goldstein,” says Caitlin. All the Italians started shouting “Jimm-ee” as this ancient fella, wearing a lizard-skin fedora, a diamanté bandana tied around his neck and a black leather jacket embossed with real gold studs, walked in.
“Jimmy’s huge here,” says Caitlin. “He’s an NBA super fan who has made it to over 2,000 games. Jimmy gets front seats at every fashion show in Milan and is always surrounded by models. His house in Beverly Hills was in The Big Lebowski.”
Suddenly I hear a low, croaky American twang. Twas Jimmy. “Hey Caitleeeeen, I’m jest stoked to see ya.”
“This is Biddy,” says she. “Cool,” says he. Now, this lad was old enough to have great-grandchildren. But that didn’t stop him. “Here’s my card Biddy,” says he. On it, it had the words: “Fashion, Architecture and Basketball.” You have to hand it to him, he’s on the ball.
Now, I’m sure ye are all waiting to hear how the date went? Well, at 8pm sharp Caitlin and I arrived in all our finery at Giuseppe’s elegant apartment in Centro Storico. With its contemporary furniture and paintings, the whole atmosphere was ever so cool and sophisticated.
After introducing me to Eduardo, another lawyer, over a glass of Franciacorta bubbly, Giuseppe and Caitlin drifted quietly out of the room and left with me with yer man, who was ever so charming.
The bould Eduardo had an unmistakable and carefully cultivated style of his own. He wore an exquisite cornflower blue linen suit with a crisp white tailored shirt, and there were three very hip, brown leather and stainless steel bracelets on his left wrist. Tick number one, thought I.
And yes, he was easy on the eye. Indeed he was. He wore a short salt and pepper round grey beard on a beautiful round face and a lovely big well-fed tummy. Tick number two for your Biddy. And the most important tick for me? He seemed to have a great sense of humour.
Giuseppe had prepared five courses for us and I was determined to enjoy each and every one of them. After our dessert, Caitlin – who had never met Eduardo before – decided to do a bit of digging, and asked him about his romantic history.
“I adda three wives,” says he, knocking back a large glass of Barolo. Three wives? The brakes came on for that one.
Giuseppe wisely changed the subject but I was ‘multi’ disappointed. All that fecking baggage. Who needs that?
“How many children do you have, Eduardo?” asks Caitlin, running into full protection mode for yours truly.
“I av seven.” Jesus. Seven?
“Yes. My two daughters live in my ancestral palazzo in Venezia, my son lives in my villa in Lucca, and I have an apartment overlooking Shanghai.”
Giuseppe wisely changed the subject but I was ‘multi’ disappointed. All that fecking baggage. Who needs that? But in true lady-like fashion I kept my whist and remained polite, smiling every so sweetly.
“Biddy, I want to bring you to Venezia with me and Firenze and meet my daughters and son,” suggested Eduardo.
By this stage I was getting what you would call a tad overwhelmed.
“You better tell Biddy about Carlotta,” says Giuseppe. Carlotta? Who the feck was Carlotta? “Ah, my tartaruga,” says he. “My tortoise, I have her since I was born. She is bellissimo.”
A tortoise? A 62-year-old tortoise? Jesus you couldn’t make it up. By the time the meal was finished and we were drinking Grappa, I just wanted to flee. Eduardo was getting twisted. Unusual for an Italian. I was getting more sober. Unusual for me. Eventually, when I tried to leave, he clutched me, crying: “Tesoro mio, amore mio [My treasure, my love].” I am sure he tells Carlotta that all the time,
By the time Caitlin and I returned home, there was a message on my voicemail from Eduardo. “Biddy, torna presto mia cara.”
What does that mean? says I. “It means ‘come back soon my darling’,” says Caitlin. “Eduardo has it bad.”
Suddenly, I remembered that aul saying, ‘be careful what you wish for, you might just get it’. Oh Nooo-oooo.
