The Brothers

Tonight marked the arrival of the eldest Ficari offspring, Giacomo. Giacomo is 25 and tall and thin and quick to smile, making him a little less intimidating than his fashion-forward, playgirl brother. Less intimidating, that is, until we got to talking. He told me about his recent graduation from the toughest economic school in the country, his thesis on private versus public energy companies in California, and how his girlfriend turn down her acceptance into the Harvard MBA program.
We also talked about politics, American politics, i.e. about people like Ron Paul and Mitt Romney, people I pretty much forgot existed after November 2008. Yet here was this Italian guy, analyzing the relative merits of Ron Paul's economic plan. The only European head-of-state I'm slightly familiar with is France's Nicolas Sarkosy, and that's just because I think it's mad awesome that he married a former Italian supermodel.
Right as Giacomo launches into a description of his first internship with Procter and Gamble, in walks Tommaso, full of swagger in his Valentino suit, shirt practically unbuttoned down to his navel. Giacomo looks up, smirks, and asks, "Ah Tommaso, so which of the men unbuttoned that third button?" Tommaso had just gotten off work.
From what I understand, Tommaso's after-school job mainly involves hanging out with the filthy filthy rich. Tonight said filthy rich were oil big shots, and I mean BIG shots, from Lebanon and Colombia -- a distinguished group of gentlemen who finished off 15 bottles of vodka at their afternoon meeting. Keyword "afternoon." Tommaso, prized by the company he works for because he can speak four different languages (!), books clubs and cars for these bearers of wealth, but he's often present at the "meetings" where lots of booze is drunk and business is done. Even with his love of Tom Ford and Valentino, Tommaso's still often shocked by the nonchalant attitude toward money affected by these men. That night, one Colombian oil lord spent 750 euros on roses for the hostess. Tommaso continued to talk of excess of wealth but I didn't catch all of what he was saying, mostly because it was all in rapid-fire Italian, but also because I was still in shock over the fact that this 20-year-old was wearing a pocket square.
Tommaso was only making a pit stop at home to eat dinner before joining the men later that night. He took a phone call from one of them now. Everyone at the dinner table grew hushed as we all strained to hear what Tommaso was saying -- "No, I do not think it's possible to book the whole club." "Yes, I will see you later, ready to drink." "A whole bottle?" These men are in their fifties.
Now Tommaso was calling escorts for them; I did not ask him how he knew the number. The holy wine we dunked our after-dinner biscottis in (which made me say, "Holy sh*t, this stuff is strong") was going straight to my head, and I kept thinking this world -- of money, drinks, hookers, money -- is so strange and tantalizing and terrifying, but sadly (and thankfully) it is a world I will probably never know.