good luck with your work, Sere. One moment...» I add in a low voice, «anyway the four nice girls spared you the explanation of the arousing thing.»
«If you wish, I’ll give you a proper explanation. Perhaps.»
She looks at her thighs, she takes two steps forward and, leaning her torso over the desk, whispers: «And you will have to explain to me why you keep staring at my legs.»
2.2 LIFE - THREE
I look up and notice that the front door opens: Giorgio, Umberto, Andrea and Tiziano are coming in together. They are Sbandofin longer standing employees, already at the agency when I started working here in 2007, at the age of thirty-two. I was starting off my third job, preceded by others which lasted for a rather short period. Here I put down some roots, considering that the job is not too depressing and the work environment is quite pleasant.
The four colleagues are now busy walking to their workstations as they do every day. They are all around fifty-five years old: they have good manners and they always go around in groups, rarely seem to be willing to talk to younger colleagues. They always behave in a somewhat detached and defensive manner, as if they want to protect their group and preserve their greater seniority, which is an unquestionable factor, in my opinion.
They meet every morning sharp at the bar in front of the office for breakfast. The same scene is repeated at their lunch break: always together, always united.
«Hello everyone» I say.
«Good morning Lavinia» they reply one after the other, but with the same pitch and with the same neutral tone.
Tiziano and Andrea sit in the row in front of mine in the large open space; on the other hand, Giorgio and Umberto sit in row in front of the new girls.
It is 8:59 am and the office is almost full, ready for the working day: only Maddalena is missing, the girl who sits next to my desk. She may have been delayed by some strange adversity. And also Teresa, the manager: she arrives around ten or a little later.
I can see the phone LED lighting up and I hear Serena’s phone ringing in the distance. The first phone call of the day which will quite possibly made by some desperate individual looking for money. According to the statistics, the early hours of the workdays are filled by this kind of individuals, as if these characters had spent the whole night mulling over how to get a loan. Usually, as the day progresses, more serious individuals with complex needs begin to show up: debt rearranging, large loans or more specific requests of financial brokering.
I have to look for some funding for the three individuals I met yesterday morning: they came here one after the other, after Tom-the-plump-one had left the office. As if they had secretly agreed, the first made an absurd request; as soon as I managed to get rid of him, the other one came in with an even more unlikely question and, when I was beginning to think that the morning could come to an end without any further hassle, the last one arrived to give me the last blow.
For the first potential customer, I therefore have to look for a mortgage to buy his first house along with his wife. It is an easy thing to do because he is unemployed and with a spouse working part-time and getting paid under the counter. The man is desperate because so many banks have declined his request so he turned to us in the hope to find some sort of solution. By discarding every bank and setting aside the blue puppet, not so keen on this kind of loans, FinExtreme is the last resort.
I press the button for my contact list on the phone, I look for the one of these criminals and press the button to call the selected number.
«FinExtreme, good morning, how can I help you?»
«Hi, I’m Lavinia from Sbandofin in Brescia, can I speak to Ettore? I am calling for a request for a loan from one of our clients.»
«Hold on, please, I check if he is available.»
«Great, thank you.»
I am on hold and I keep my eyes on the monitor. As I have done on many occasions in the past, I try to picture what the office of these sharks may look like, and I am not too sure whether it would be a modern building in the south of Milan or an ancient building in the medieval centre. I switch the telephone receiver to my left ear and type in FinExtreme on Google, while a boring jingle is interspersed by a female voice that continues to thank me for my patience and is piercing my eardrum. I click on the icon at the far end of the window and, after a few moments, the map appears with a placeholder around Lambrate. I try to view the outside with Street View: no futuristic buildings or ancient buildings, only old, dilapidated condos that looked more like public housing, rather than the headquarters of prestigious financial intermediaries.
I scroll forward, and then to the right. The three embossed digits on a brass plate tilted about twenty degrees from the ground, match those ones that I read on their address. I hold down the left button and I position the Google camera towards the top floor, as the tune almost starts to harm my cochlear nerve. Maybe a small apartment used as an office, with Ettore in the kitchen deceiving customers with disproportionate rates, the girl who answers the phone with her desk at the entrance and two thugs working as bill collectors waiting for orders in the bathroom, one in the tub and the other sitting on the toilet.
I am still waiting, thinking back about Ettore’s voice which has always appeared nice and polite to me. It would clash with the picture that I have just made in my mind, perhaps only astounded by the annoying music.
«Ready. Hi Lavinia Sbandofin, how are you? We haven’t been in touch for a long time.»
«Good morning Ettore FinExtreme, everything is fine here, thank you. The reason why I am calling you is that some time ago I asked you for help regarding a mortgage for a person who was unable to show clear guarantees concerning his/her income.»
«Questionable guarantees: yes, I think I understand. More exactly, what is it about?»
«It is a request for a first-time buyer mortgage for a couple: he is unemployed, she has a part-time job, she works flexible hours in a family, working as a housekeeper. Do you still grant this kind of mortgages?»
«In short, she works as a housekeeper for a family of friends?»
«Yes, that’s it, something like that: she’s busy, but you know what friends are like, you do me a favour, I do you a favour, nothing too formal.»
«I see. But what capital are we talking about? And are these friends generous enough?»
«The house costs around 110,000 euros: it is a two-room apartment here in the province of Brescia. Sure, friends are quite generous: in short, I understand that they have a nineteenth-century mentality.»
«A mentality...» Ettore repeats with a slightly perplexed tone. «Ah, you are saying that they are old-fashioned. Old-fashioned as far as the number, of course. But I think I’m not with you: do they have an eight hundred mentality or a one thousand and eight hundred mentality?»
«No. Nineteenth century, not one thousand and eight hundred. Otherwise, I would have said 1800s, don’t you think? The 1800’s mentality would seem to me too generous for a part-time housekeeper.»
«Yes, actually, Lavinia you are right» replies Ettore, giggling. «However, if these are the centuries in question and that is the value of the property, I believe a solution can be found. However, I’ll tell you right away, the rate will certainly not be low.»
«You mean something
