I Wish It Would Rain Down - Page 2

- Don't touch her. I'm sure she didn't mean to offend you – He gently pushed me so I take a step backwards, while he was sending me a reassuring look.
The man raised an eyebrow, angrily: - Oh yeah? Because one usually tells you that you're mad without meaning it! You've perfectly heard what she's told, and NONE insults me without paying for that.
I was completely protected by Phil, but I shivered when I heard the anger in the man's voice; the drummer frowned: - She's just been a little over emotive, – I could feel in his voice that he didn't think so – she doesn't agree with you and she's said it in the wrong way. It can happen.
The man snorted for a while, then looked up: - All right then, but go out of here, NOW.
Phil escorted me through the door I came from. When we stopped, alone in the corridor, he turned to me; I immediately blushed, but he seemed not to have noticed it.
- Are you crazy? – he asked me – Don't you know who he is? He's Mr. Lloyd, he's the boss here! And, as you've seen, he doesn't like people who don't agree with him. Especially when they let him know in such a way!
I didn't reply, scratching my head, embarrassed. When I finally got the courage to look at his face, I saw that his blue gaze had become softer: - I'm sorry, I didn't want you to feel uncomfortable.
- Don't worry, – I managed to say, shaking my head -  I'm sorry for what has happened, I've just lost control…
- Did you mean it? – He asked, without stop to look at me. He seemed very curious.
I couldn't help but smile: - Yes, I did. I-I've never heard a voice as beautiful as yours – then I blushed again furiously.
He chuckled at my reaction, then said in a happy voice: - I'm glad you think so. This means much to me, really.
We walked for a while, in silence. On the walls there were lots of posters of shows and photos of old stars; I stopped in front a beautiful picture of the stage at the end of a play, with an enthusiastic crowd of people standing up and clapping hands. Phil stopped near me.
- Wonderful, ain't it? – He asked softly.
I nodded: - Very much. I wish one day I'll do paintings as beautiful as this.
- You paint?
- I draw, quite well, when I'm inspired…but I surely can improve.
He put his hands in his pocket. Then in a flash his expression changed and he hit his forehead with his left hand: - Man, how rude I am! I'm Philip, Philip Collins, but you can call me Phil.
- I kn- I'm pleased to meet you. I'm Francesca, but if it's hard for you to remember you can just call me Kiky – I decided I had no reasons to tell him a false name. I was in an alternative universe or something like that, so it couldn't be a problem.
He gallantly kissed my hand, then asked: - How do you prefer to be called?
- I like my name a lot, but it's long and hard to remember, especially for an Englishman.
He shook his head: - I don't think so. Francesca. It's very nice.   
We kept on walking. I absently noticed that Cinzia wasn't there, but I didn't matter; I guessed she had gone somewhere around. After all, I was talking with the person I had wanted to meet so badly for years!
- So you are…Italian, aren't you? - he asked nonchalantly.
I fell out from my thoughts: - Yes, I am. I come from Turin.
- I've never been there.
- Well, it's a wonderful city. Not as big as London, but surely as nice as it – I said proudly.
- Then why did you come here? – he joked.
- There's a point in your life when you want to see the world. And so I did. – I invented. Yes, I wanted to see the world, but I wanted to DECIDE when to do it.
He suddenly looked at me with a shy smile: - You look very pretty. How old are you?
I blushed another time, and my face was now crimson red: - Fif- I'll be twenty in a month.
We had stopped. He was looking in my eyes without saying a word. My heart was racing so fast that I couldn't hear nothing but it.
- My-my friend Cinzia was with me. I-I think I should look for her.
He interrupted the eyes contact: - Right. – He breathed.
We entered another door.
Then we heard some voices that were animatedly talking, and someone laughing. There she was.
Cinzia seemed perfectly comfortable with Eric Clapton and Steve Hackett talking with her. They were discussing something about the text of a song. She looked up at me and smiled.
- Oh, ciao, eccoti! Oh, hi, here you are!
I looked at her, a bit astonished: - Ho capito! I've understood!
She raised an eyebrow: - Che cosa? Ma di che stai parlando? What? What are you talking about?
- La frase! La traduzione esatta è 'le donne timide temono i fulmini'! The sentence! The right translation is 'shy women fear thunderbolts'!
- Ma ti sembra il momento di pensare al Latino? Do you think it's time to think about Latin?
- Scusa, è colpa della Tummolo. Non faccio altro che pensare alle sue materie, oramai. Prima di addormentarmi mi ripeto i suoi santissimi paradigmi…Sorry, it's Mrs. Tummolo's fault. I can't stop thinking about her subjects, by now. Before sleeping I repeat her blessed paradigms…
The three men looked at us quite stunned. We stopped talking and Eric said: - Phil, this is a dear friend of mine. He'll play the guitar after my departure.
- So you're going – Phil said, a little sad. Then he offered his hand to Steve.
- Phil Collins – the other shook the drummer's hand.
- Stephen Hackett, nice to meet you.