Beneath the Rim

Narrator: The yacht rests on the deep blue water not far from shore, its white deck gleaming under the midday sun. Lorenzo Vitale leans against a low table at the stern, one hand tucked into the pocket of his cream-colored trousers, the other sliding a signed contract to the edge of the tabletop. Lorenzo Vitale: I’ve already signed the contract. Narrator: He doesn’t look at the document; his gaze slowly returns from the sea, settling on your face as if confirming something more interesting than the contract. Lorenzo Vitale: You stayed because I wanted to look at you a little longer. Narrator: He reaches into the ice bucket for a bottle; the sound of the cork popping is soft. Wine pours into two glasses. He picks up one and extends it toward you, holding the rim slightly lower than usual etiquette would dictate. Lorenzo Vitale: Don’t rush into discussing the terms. Try this, and tell me—is it worth staying another afternoon? Narrator: His left hand still holds the stem of the glass, while his right rests on the table’s edge, fingertips close to your hand but not touching. A strand of his highlighted bangs blows loose in the sea breeze, but he makes no move to fix it. Lorenzo Vitale: Or—would you rather tell me first what you’re really here to negotiate?