The Dawn Of Sin. Valentino Grassetti

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СКАЧАТЬ on the stage of Next Generation. He knew her like no other. She was tense and nervous, and the smile was not sincere.

      The young man, just like Daisy, was overwhelmed with anxiety. "Adriano, you're great” his uncle told him, hugging him with an abrupt gesture and throwing his weight around to support himself.

      "I said. I have always said it. I don't have two nephews. I have two phenomena."

      Adriano departed from his relative to free himself from that cumbersome arm. He left the room and slipped into the hallway. He went up the stairs, cursed every step, cursed his migraine that had suddenly burst and cursed the drugs that were slowing him down.

      He went into his room. He opened the desk drawer to take a painkiller. In his head, everything began to take on faded and confused forms.

      He went through the drawer with his hand without remembering what he was looking for. He began wandering around the room in a disoriented and distraught air, before collapsing to the floor with his head in his hands. At that moment the hallucinations returned to him.

      Adriano convinced himself that his head was a vase full of earth, where dense tangles of roots, impossible to eradicate, were taking root.

      He took from the bookshop an old volume with a heavy and worn-out cover. His trembling hands turned the pages of the Bible with a frustrating and resigned slowness.

      He stopped on a particularly crumpled page, aware that it would be of no use to read, or even to pray, as if at that moment religion had become distant and contrary to the truth.

      Schizophrenia. It is called schizophrenia. My mind is sick. It's just that. It's the only thing I can think of thatis repeating the Bible at the foot of my bed, the pages open on the floor like the wings of a dead bird.

      No. It's not schizophrenia, Adriano. He's about to come on stage.

      "Very well, Daisy Magnoli” Sebastian said. "I don't know if you realise, but your voice is amazing, you dance like a pro, and if I'm not mistaken you're only 16, right?"

      "That's right. At least for the part about my age. Otherwise I trust your judgment."

      Daisy's response was underlined by applause from the audience who seemed to like not only her artistic talent, but also her verve.

      "Now tell us, darling” exclaimed Circe. "The piece was written by your brother, wasn't it? What did you say his name was?"

      "Adriano. Adriano Magnoli."

      "Would you like to talk a little about him? Such a good author deserves to be here, next to you."

      "Well, my brother can't come. Because he, as it were, he… he… he… is…"

      "He what? You look a little embarrassed” Sebastian frowned. You don't want to talk about Adriano, do you?"

      ʺHere is the moment of perfidyʺ Daisy thought. ʺCome, now I'm going to get blackmailed.ʺ

      Daisy knew that judges could become particularly hateful, even cruel, in the name of ratings.

      But she had no intention of falling into that trap, and she tried to concentrate to keep up with their assaults.

      "So, where is your brother? You should let us meet him, love…"

      Isabella Larini's mellifluous voice officially started the provocations.

      "Maybe you didn't want him here because you're jealous of him?"

      "Adrianoooo! Where are you? Adrianinooooooo!" Circe suddenly shouted, putting his hand over his forehead to look away, provoking the spectators to laugh.

      Sandra had been backstage the whole time. I’m Rose's performance had been perfect. She was proud of Daisy. She had rejoiced and cried with emotion.

      The cameras had lingered on her tears, moving housewives and mothers in front of the TV.

      The whole show was running on the right track. There was the girl with an uncommon talent, an emotional mother and a composer brother who, in her absence, was feeding the viewers' curiosity.

      All oxygen to the ratings. And the ratings were turning into euro palates thanks to the profits from the advertising sales.

      NCC's contracts were based on ratings. The higher the ratings, the more companies that advertised their products paid more to the sender. And each share point was worth something like two million euros.

      For Sandra, however, the program was taking an unpleasant turn.

      Why are they making fun of my son?she wondered. The authors know he's not well. They talked to him a lot. They even prepared a video with a cross-section of our family. An interview where Daisy talked about her dreams, her affections, her mother, her father who's gone… The authors know about Paolo's suicide, Adry's problems. They were impressed and saddened. That's why they advised against mentioning it on TV. Daisy's only 16. She can't handle an interview where they talk about things bigger than her. Why are they acting like this now? That wasn't the fucking deal!

      The ratings were on the jury monitors. The average for the Next Generation was normally around nine percent. Jurors got excited when they read that the share was close to eleven.

      The data was calculated in real time using a sophisticated system that cross-referenced information from a sample of 20,000 households across all regions. And eleven percent was great news, so the authors decided to go heavy with Daisy. She was the one who raised the ratings.

      We had to create interest around the girl. A lot of interest. On the judges' monitors, a string of particularly cynical suggestions appeared in fiery characters.

      Listening goes up. Hit the girl hard!

      Go for it. Go through the shit. We need to get to thirteen!

      The father killed himself. See if you can get it in there somewhere.

      Crazy brother, suicidal father. This is strong stuff. We agreed not to do this, but to hell with it! Get it all out. But make sure it doesn't turn on us. We have to splash at thirteen.

      Jenny Lio was staring at the monitor enthusiastically. She thought of the jury's bonus, also calculated on the share. If the ratings had been on 12, she could have collected a surplus of 50,000 euros. But to earn that amount, you would have to give your best. She stood up. Sarcastic hummed: "Adrianoooo! Adrianinooooo! Why are you playing hide and seek?"

      Isabella Larini, too, when she did her math, started her wicked show. The juror pretended to be outraged and shouted, "Forget it, Jenny. Don't be a bitch. Adriano's not here because he has a problem. And we're talking about something serious. Aren't we, Daisy? As far as I know, Adriano, the author of your beautiful song, is… Do you want to say it? Do you want to talk about his problem?"

      Daisy was unprepared for that question. That wasn't the arrangement. She was supposed to sing and have fun. And if, on top of that, she was really good, she'd have a chance to get into show business.

      The judges weren't sticking to the chords or the set list now.

      She hoped they wouldn't force her to talk about her family's misfortune.

      After all, I’m Rose wasn't just a song.

      It was her story.

      "Come СКАЧАТЬ