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subscribe to a phone paging service. It’s a little expensive but it more than pays for itself. Every time the device emits its signal, it means that the switchboard at the Eurocheck service to which I subscribe has taken a call for me.
    I go over to the telephone and dial the number. The operator’s remote, slightly mechanical voice answers. Without saying hello I give him my identity.
    “This is Bravo. Code 1182.”
    “Good evening. You are requested to call this number: 02 67859. There’s no name with that.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Thank you, sir.”
    The switchboard operator goes back to being hypothetical. I jot down the number on a pad of notepaper next to the machine. I don’t recognize it. I know by heart nearly all the numbers I need, but this one is completely foreign to me. The fact that the person didn’t leave his name is fairly normal. Not everyone is interested in scattering evidence in all directions when they’re procuring prostitutes. After a couple of rings, a male voice answers, not young, but clear and vigorous.
    “Hello?”
    “I was just told to call this number.”
    “Is this Bravo?”
    “Yes.”
    “A friend we have in common told me about you.”
    “Is he more your friend or my friend?”
    “Well, he’s enough of a friend to ask you to provide him with the services of two girls at a time whenever he comes north from Rome. And enough of a friend to assure me of your discretion and the quality of your taste.”
    I know the person he’s talking about. One of the wealthiest antiques dealers in the Italian capital, who has a passion for three-ways and for women who take money for sex. I have no idea who I’m talking to, but I doubt that he’d tell me over the telephone.
    “What can I do for you?”
    “It would be a pleasure to meet one of the girls you work with.”
    “Just one?”
    There’s a hint of amusement in his voice when he answers. And a light sigh of regret.
    “Yes, I’m afraid. I can’t perform the way I did when I was younger.”
    “Tonight?”
    “No, tomorrow morning. I like a happy wake-up.”
    “Any preferences?”
    He decides to toss the dice and see what number comes up.
    “My friend told me that you don’t usually spring nasty surprises on him. But he was especially satisfied with someone named Laura. Does that check out?”
    My silence is taken as confirmation.
    “Fine. That’s who I want. As an incentive, let me tell you that money is not a problem.”
    That’s good news. And I need some good news, considering the phone call I’m going to have to make a little later.
    “Where and when?”
    “I’m at the Hotel Gallia, room 605. Nine o’clock would be fine. I’ll leave word at the reception desk to let anyone who asks for me come upstairs.”
    I freeze and say nothing. He understands and reassures me.
    “I’m in a business suite. I have a direct line. If it can be of any assistance to you, call the hotel and have them put you through to my room. Do it now, if you like.”
    I don’t know who the man I’m talking to is, but he definitely has brains. And money. He’s someone who knows how the world works and how much money you have to spend to make it work the way it ought to. Those two aspects of his personality arouse a feeling of unquestioned esteem in me.
    “Agreed then, nine tomorrow morning. The person will be paid one million lire by you. In cash.”
    “That’s a lot of money.”
    “When you see the girl, you can decide whether or not she’s worth it.”
    This time there’s a pause on the other end of the line. Then a clarification, in a slightly more authoritative tone. In fact, a great deal more authoritative.
    “Let me remind you that this could be the beginning of a long and satisfying relationship for both of us.”
    “Naturally. That’s why I’m happy to give you the right to check out the merchandise.”
    The tone becomes conversational, as before.
    “Very good. It’s been a pleasure.”
    “It’s been a pleasure for me too.