Totti
by postmodernpippo
Andrea feels sick in the car, the way he did when he was a little boy, and he had to sit in the back. He takes deep breaths and concentrates on the road, on the mechanics of driving. You just have to distract yourself, he thinks.
He’s the last one to get there, only just has time to change into his uniform, with the cotton still smelling of the blue dye, and make it to the meeting. He sits next to Cannavaro, fighting a ridiculous urge to take the man’s hand, because he’s missed him, and because he’s always the same.
Afterwards Borriello comes over, he never talked much to Andrea, but they are team mates again, now. "Ciao, Andrea" he says.
Andrea looks up at him. "I'm glad you are coming back," he says, politely, and he’s surprised that Borriello flushes and smiles.
He sits at the bar but decides against coffee. Cassano lands next to him, finishing a conversation over his shoulder.
"Pippo's an old man," says Cassano, and then he turns to him and says "Aaandrea," and it’s a very good imitation. But Andrea remembers what Inzaghi sounds like when he’s been crying, and he doesn’t feel like laughing at him at the moment.
Cassano shrugs, and his smile doesn’t falter. "Sorry," he says, and then slides off the stool again. Fuck off, thinks Andrea, and suddenly feels a little better.
He stands in the sunlight on the training pitch. "I'm not even thirty, but I'm an old man," he thinks. He wonders how Paolo must feel, with eighteen year olds running out behind him. He suddenly wants to see him and tell him that he understand what it's like, how lonely it is. He says it aloud, and De Rossi turns his head and laughs at him, talking to himself.
When Ambrosini and Gattuso start coming to his room after dinner, Andrea knows that it's not a good sign. Ambrosini just lies across his bed on his stomach reading, while Gattuso and Andrea try to play golf.
"What are you reading?" Andrea asks Ambrosini
"The Knight and Death," he replies.
Gattuso turns to him "Something funny then."
"Non stop fun," says Ambrosini, he leans over and looks at the side table.
"Blowfly," he reads, "what's that about?"
"It's some sort of forensic science novel. Oddo lent it to me, I think Simone Inzaghi gave it to him."
"Jesus," says Ambrosini, flicking through it.
"It's not that bad, well, it is that bad actually." Andrea misjudges his flick and the ball flies over the fairway.
"No," Ambrosini puts the book down, "It's the thought of an Inzaghi reading."
"Do you really think that then?" Cassano asks, as they stretch on mats on the lawn. "That we are being treated like children?" Andrea smiles but doesn't answer, leaning down to touch his toes. "Every one's saying that you sent that text."
Andrea stretches his other side, and then reaches over again and puts his hands behind his knees. He doesn't reply but he thinks, "as if I'd tell you, if I did."
The next night they are there again. Ambrosini finishes his book and then sits and watches them. "You are supposed to stand up," he says "No wonder you are both so crap at it."
"Don't you do what your brother tells you?" says Andrea.
"No." says Ambrosini, "Of course not."
"I do," Andrea misses another shot. "Always."
"And me," says Gattuso, he shrugs "Older brothers, always right."
Ambrosini lies back on the bed. "It doesn't feel right, all this. God, I even miss that miserable fucker Nesta. He's the worst room mate ever, you know." He yawns.
"Yeah, I know," says Gattuso but Ambrosini carries on.
"That fucking phone of his, all night, if it's not his wife it's Paolo. Even in Athens."
"He wasn't married then." Gattuso says, he looks down at the Wii "this thing isn't working properly."
"Yes he was," says Andrea, "I'm sure he was."
"Married to Paolo," says Gattuso, "but not to his wife, not then."
There's silence for a while and then Ambrosini says, "He was married, I remember."
"Oh, for Christ's sake," says Gattuso and reaches for his phone.
Andrea thinks he might be coming down with something, he watches as Ambrosini chews for minutes at a time at something full of dried fruit and nuts. "When we were kids," says Ambrosini, eventually. "We used to have cheese and honey for breakfast." Andrea smiles but he feels his stomach lurch. He can hear Cassano at the other end of the table, talking loudly about something and making everyone laugh.
When he gets out of the lift Andrea hears music, loud music, someone singing in English. He sighs when he realizes that it's coming from his own room, and wonders if Reception is selling copies of his door key. He isn't at all surprised when he opens the door and Gattuso is dancing around his bed.
What does surprise him, however, is that Borriello is dancing as well. Andrea moves around them, putting things away as if they weren't there. "I thought you'd all stop doing this now Oddo isn't here," he says, but Gattuso is too absorbed to answer him.
Andrea would never tell Gattuso this, but he actually looks quite sexy when he's dancing. He's nothing on Borriello though, who has a wonderful, unselfconscious way of moving, and Andrea stops to watch him for a while.
When the music finally ends the other two lie down on his bed. "It's not the same without Massi," says Gattuso. Andrea sighs, again, and starts making the camomile tea.
"No," he says "too quiet."
Borriello raises his head from where it is hanging down over the edge of the bed. "Sometimes" he says, "I worry about Oddo being someone's father."
They are the only two in the bar, so they have to talk.
"Was it you?" Cassano says, licking his coffee spoon.
"I heard it was you," says Andrea, irritated, "to Totti."
Cassano frowns. "I'm not a World Cup winner," he says, "and I don't have Totti's new number."
"I don't know who it was," says Andrea and they sit in silence after that.
Andrea knows that he isn't very good, in the news conference, he's tired and angry and ill, and he sounds that way. A lecture when he gets back to Milan, he thinks, sitting in the dug out, watching the others train.
Cassano is sitting next to him, and because they are all squashed together he can feel his elbow resting on his leg. He leaves it there, because it feels oddly comforting. "I'm going mad," he thinks, "I must be in a really bad way." Cassano smiles at him, and Andrea notices that he doesn't move his arm either.
He lies in bed all night, trying to work out why he did it, if he's pleased or sorry that he can't play in the last match. "You don't know if it is the last match," he tells himself, speaking aloud again.
But it is, and when it all ends Andrea is so shocked that it makes him cry. Cannavaro puts his arm around his neck, and hugs him close to himself, but he doesn't say anything. What is there to say? Andrea thinks.
When he finally gets to his room it's dark, and someone is sitting on the bed. He recognizes Cassano and he's too tired to pretend he doesn't know why he's there. He sits next to him and puts his arms around him, but when he does Cassano makes him stand up with him and kisses him.
Andrea can't think of him by his surname, not when he has his mouth pressed hard against his own. He moves back, and strokes his hand down Antonio's poor, marked face. "I'm sorry," he says "Nothing's been right, has it?"
Antonio doesn't say anything, just stands there, so Andrea closes his eyes and pulls him closer. "Here," he says, "come to me."
"I don't know what to do," says Antonio, and Andrea laughs. He pulls Antonio's shirt off over his head, and then takes his own off, and the next time that they kiss, he can feel the other man's skin against his arm. He doesn't want to think about anything else.
He kisses Antonio's neck, and then does it again as he feels his arms tighten around his waist. He hopes Antonio won't speak, that he will just accept this, as he moves again to kiss Andrea's mouth, and they both awkwardly try to undress.
The air conditioning makes it cold, and so Andrea pulls the duvet over them as they lie on the bed. It seems to him that it makes things very formal and definite, and he doesn't want that, so slips out and turns it off. When he gets back in Antonio's arms are around him again, and he pushes one of his legs between Andrea's. They move against each other a little, and Andrea smiles when he hears himself moan.
He hears Antonio draw a deep breath. Don't talk, he thinks, don't ask me if I've done this before. Antonio doesn't say anything, just reaches for Andrea who's too tired to do anything but let Antonio do what he wants, what they both want.
At the end Andrea sighs into Antonio's mouth, and then drops his head, embarrassed when he realizes that he is dribbling against the other man's neck, but too comfortable to do anything about it. Antonio holds him there, and Andrea sleeps, until he wakes with a start, unsure of how long it's been.
It's starting to get light, and Antonio gets up and starts gathering his clothes together. They still don't speak, but Antonio sits on the side of the bed, and holds Andrea to him and then kisses him. He shuts the door and Andrea turns over and goes back to sleep. When the alarm goes a little later, Andrea laughs to himself, because he's going home.
Cassano smiles at him over breakfast, and Andrea smiles back. Borriello is eating jam with his finger in the little containers, the way he always does, until he suddenly stops and puts down one that is still half full of apricot jam. When he realizes Andrea is watching him and laughing, he shrugs.
"We'd better start thinking about next season, I suppose," he says, wiping his hands and smiling.
Andrea feels sick in the car, the way he did when he was a little boy, and he had to sit in the back. He takes deep breaths and concentrates on the road, on the mechanics of driving. You just have to distract yourself, he thinks.
He’s the last one to get there, only just has time to change into his uniform, with the cotton still smelling of the blue dye, and make it to the meeting. He sits next to Cannavaro, fighting a ridiculous urge to take the man’s hand, because he’s missed him, and because he’s always the same.
Afterwards Borriello comes over, he never talked much to Andrea, but they are team mates again, now. "Ciao, Andrea" he says.
Andrea looks up at him. "I'm glad you are coming back," he says, politely, and he’s surprised that Borriello flushes and smiles.
He sits at the bar but decides against coffee. Cassano lands next to him, finishing a conversation over his shoulder.
"Pippo's an old man," says Cassano, and then he turns to him and says "Aaandrea," and it’s a very good imitation. But Andrea remembers what Inzaghi sounds like when he’s been crying, and he doesn’t feel like laughing at him at the moment.
Cassano shrugs, and his smile doesn’t falter. "Sorry," he says, and then slides off the stool again. Fuck off, thinks Andrea, and suddenly feels a little better.
He stands in the sunlight on the training pitch. "I'm not even thirty, but I'm an old man," he thinks. He wonders how Paolo must feel, with eighteen year olds running out behind him. He suddenly wants to see him and tell him that he understand what it's like, how lonely it is. He says it aloud, and De Rossi turns his head and laughs at him, talking to himself.
When Ambrosini and Gattuso start coming to his room after dinner, Andrea knows that it's not a good sign. Ambrosini just lies across his bed on his stomach reading, while Gattuso and Andrea try to play golf.
"What are you reading?" Andrea asks Ambrosini
"The Knight and Death," he replies.
Gattuso turns to him "Something funny then."
"Non stop fun," says Ambrosini, he leans over and looks at the side table.
"Blowfly," he reads, "what's that about?"
"It's some sort of forensic science novel. Oddo lent it to me, I think Simone Inzaghi gave it to him."
"Jesus," says Ambrosini, flicking through it.
"It's not that bad, well, it is that bad actually." Andrea misjudges his flick and the ball flies over the fairway.
"No," Ambrosini puts the book down, "It's the thought of an Inzaghi reading."
"Do you really think that then?" Cassano asks, as they stretch on mats on the lawn. "That we are being treated like children?" Andrea smiles but doesn't answer, leaning down to touch his toes. "Every one's saying that you sent that text."
Andrea stretches his other side, and then reaches over again and puts his hands behind his knees. He doesn't reply but he thinks, "as if I'd tell you, if I did."
The next night they are there again. Ambrosini finishes his book and then sits and watches them. "You are supposed to stand up," he says "No wonder you are both so crap at it."
"Don't you do what your brother tells you?" says Andrea.
"No." says Ambrosini, "Of course not."
"I do," Andrea misses another shot. "Always."
"And me," says Gattuso, he shrugs "Older brothers, always right."
Ambrosini lies back on the bed. "It doesn't feel right, all this. God, I even miss that miserable fucker Nesta. He's the worst room mate ever, you know." He yawns.
"Yeah, I know," says Gattuso but Ambrosini carries on.
"That fucking phone of his, all night, if it's not his wife it's Paolo. Even in Athens."
"He wasn't married then." Gattuso says, he looks down at the Wii "this thing isn't working properly."
"Yes he was," says Andrea, "I'm sure he was."
"Married to Paolo," says Gattuso, "but not to his wife, not then."
There's silence for a while and then Ambrosini says, "He was married, I remember."
"Oh, for Christ's sake," says Gattuso and reaches for his phone.
Andrea thinks he might be coming down with something, he watches as Ambrosini chews for minutes at a time at something full of dried fruit and nuts. "When we were kids," says Ambrosini, eventually. "We used to have cheese and honey for breakfast." Andrea smiles but he feels his stomach lurch. He can hear Cassano at the other end of the table, talking loudly about something and making everyone laugh.
When he gets out of the lift Andrea hears music, loud music, someone singing in English. He sighs when he realizes that it's coming from his own room, and wonders if Reception is selling copies of his door key. He isn't at all surprised when he opens the door and Gattuso is dancing around his bed.
What does surprise him, however, is that Borriello is dancing as well. Andrea moves around them, putting things away as if they weren't there. "I thought you'd all stop doing this now Oddo isn't here," he says, but Gattuso is too absorbed to answer him.
Andrea would never tell Gattuso this, but he actually looks quite sexy when he's dancing. He's nothing on Borriello though, who has a wonderful, unselfconscious way of moving, and Andrea stops to watch him for a while.
When the music finally ends the other two lie down on his bed. "It's not the same without Massi," says Gattuso. Andrea sighs, again, and starts making the camomile tea.
"No," he says "too quiet."
Borriello raises his head from where it is hanging down over the edge of the bed. "Sometimes" he says, "I worry about Oddo being someone's father."
They are the only two in the bar, so they have to talk.
"Was it you?" Cassano says, licking his coffee spoon.
"I heard it was you," says Andrea, irritated, "to Totti."
Cassano frowns. "I'm not a World Cup winner," he says, "and I don't have Totti's new number."
"I don't know who it was," says Andrea and they sit in silence after that.
Andrea knows that he isn't very good, in the news conference, he's tired and angry and ill, and he sounds that way. A lecture when he gets back to Milan, he thinks, sitting in the dug out, watching the others train.
Cassano is sitting next to him, and because they are all squashed together he can feel his elbow resting on his leg. He leaves it there, because it feels oddly comforting. "I'm going mad," he thinks, "I must be in a really bad way." Cassano smiles at him, and Andrea notices that he doesn't move his arm either.
He lies in bed all night, trying to work out why he did it, if he's pleased or sorry that he can't play in the last match. "You don't know if it is the last match," he tells himself, speaking aloud again.
But it is, and when it all ends Andrea is so shocked that it makes him cry. Cannavaro puts his arm around his neck, and hugs him close to himself, but he doesn't say anything. What is there to say? Andrea thinks.
When he finally gets to his room it's dark, and someone is sitting on the bed. He recognizes Cassano and he's too tired to pretend he doesn't know why he's there. He sits next to him and puts his arms around him, but when he does Cassano makes him stand up with him and kisses him.
Andrea can't think of him by his surname, not when he has his mouth pressed hard against his own. He moves back, and strokes his hand down Antonio's poor, marked face. "I'm sorry," he says "Nothing's been right, has it?"
Antonio doesn't say anything, just stands there, so Andrea closes his eyes and pulls him closer. "Here," he says, "come to me."
"I don't know what to do," says Antonio, and Andrea laughs. He pulls Antonio's shirt off over his head, and then takes his own off, and the next time that they kiss, he can feel the other man's skin against his arm. He doesn't want to think about anything else.
He kisses Antonio's neck, and then does it again as he feels his arms tighten around his waist. He hopes Antonio won't speak, that he will just accept this, as he moves again to kiss Andrea's mouth, and they both awkwardly try to undress.
The air conditioning makes it cold, and so Andrea pulls the duvet over them as they lie on the bed. It seems to him that it makes things very formal and definite, and he doesn't want that, so slips out and turns it off. When he gets back in Antonio's arms are around him again, and he pushes one of his legs between Andrea's. They move against each other a little, and Andrea smiles when he hears himself moan.
He hears Antonio draw a deep breath. Don't talk, he thinks, don't ask me if I've done this before. Antonio doesn't say anything, just reaches for Andrea who's too tired to do anything but let Antonio do what he wants, what they both want.
At the end Andrea sighs into Antonio's mouth, and then drops his head, embarrassed when he realizes that he is dribbling against the other man's neck, but too comfortable to do anything about it. Antonio holds him there, and Andrea sleeps, until he wakes with a start, unsure of how long it's been.
It's starting to get light, and Antonio gets up and starts gathering his clothes together. They still don't speak, but Antonio sits on the side of the bed, and holds Andrea to him and then kisses him. He shuts the door and Andrea turns over and goes back to sleep. When the alarm goes a little later, Andrea laughs to himself, because he's going home.
Cassano smiles at him over breakfast, and Andrea smiles back. Borriello is eating jam with his finger in the little containers, the way he always does, until he suddenly stops and puts down one that is still half full of apricot jam. When he realizes Andrea is watching him and laughing, he shrugs.
"We'd better start thinking about next season, I suppose," he says, wiping his hands and smiling.