Huey’s Foreword: There are aspects of this character study that, despite writing it fifteen years ago, I clearly remember. Especially Part One. That being said, I don’t remember the purpose, the brief, or the inspiration. It was likely an assessed piece for my creative writing course at the University of East Anglia (UEA), back around 2010-11.
Reading it now, I wonder where’s Fi’s head was at, thus what I was thinking when I wrote her. She seems an odd, slightly detached – even cold – young woman. I wonder if she’s the same person, or three different characters with a shared name. What do you think?
It’s just over 1,300 words.
I hope you enjoy. Don’t forget to like and share. Thank you.
Huey Hawke, 2025
A Study of Fi Lombardi in Three Parts
Fi Lombardo – Pt.1
‘You can hear heaven, touch past, see future in little iPod. Like pink, green, blue? No, no, you silver! Silver, I right?’ said the middle-aged Asian shopkeeper, pointing a fat finger, smiling. It was one of those shops with no door; an extension of the pavement, a long narrow tunnel with a kiosk out front. A cold wind swirled around the shop’s façade, at the City end of City Road, creating little vortices of brown leaves.
Fi stood under the awning holding the iPod Nano in her small cold hand, turning it over and over, reacquainting herself with its exquisite minuteness. Eventually she looked at the shopkeeper and smiled. ‘Inside One to Six Infinite Loop, Cupertino, the shade is known simply as Silver Stone Metallic, PMS reference 420. You’re wrong, I prefer Brilliant Black, commonly referred to by Ive, and everyone else at Infinite Loop, as Process Black. It doesn’t have a Pantone reference. It doesn’t need one. It is what it is, like the iPod. Black is black and white is white. iPod is technology, design, my generation. How could you colour that?’
‘You want iPhone?’ The shopkeeper waited for an answer, which wasn’t forthcoming, then said something unintelligible over his shoulder to someone out of sight.
Fi remained silent and continued to smile at the man before reaching inside the front of her fleece and producing an immaculate silver iPhone attached to a silver chain around her neck. ‘It doesn’t work, never will.’
‘You need new one, black? I got black.’ The shopkeeper didn’t wait for a response; he had already begun to shout over his shoulder.
Fi held up the phone so the man could see it more clearly. ‘Prototype number N15. One of the first two thousand moulds, for the original, taken to completion. Ive gave it to me. He kissed me and he gave it to me. He said I was good, one to watch, a bright future. My future isn’t worth watching right now, it certainly isn’t bright.’ She paused for a moment and looked at the shopkeeper, ‘Don’t need reminding. May be I’ll buy some bright shoes; silver stone metallic-coloured, or perhaps a one-way ticket to California. Cupertino.’ She carefully enunciated the vowels then looked up and read the street sign on the corner of a grey building. She said, ‘You think Ive has heard of City Road, EC1? I’ve heard of Infinite Loop, you have too now. I doubt Ive has heard of City Road. I’m slipping into sameness, obscurity. City Road, Any City. Anywhere. Nowhere.’
Fi Lombardi – Pt.2
The man ushered Fi into a windowless backroom illuminated with bright strip lighting and five incandescent tubes. The area was spacious and contained four large black leather chairs, three chrome-legged stalls and two walls of floor to ceiling mirrors that faced each other. Another wall had a long black work surface and a series of glass shelves containing an array of bottles and equipment. A fourth side was decorated with pictures of celebrities displaying tattoos. Eighties disco music played quietly in the background.
Fi sat down in the roomy chair opposite the picture wall and adjusted herself. Comfortable, she stared at the images. The man left the room and returned a few moments later with a large lever arch file, which he placed on the stall next to her.
‘Before I get started, you sure?’ He stood in front of her and held up what appeared to be a squat steel pen.
‘Sure, sure.’ Fi rubbed the top of her bare left arm and smiled awkwardly.
The man went over to the work area and started pushing colourful tubes into fat silvery needles, and thin power cables into sockets. ‘Thought about it much or just decided?’
‘Couple of times, in Clearwater.’ Fi rubbed her arm again as if reminding herself of its qualities.
‘Clearwater?’
‘Florida. Will it hurt?’ Fi leaned forward in the chair and crossed her legs tightly.
‘Sting a bit, you’ll get used to it. Florida, that your accent?’ The man worked with his back to her.
‘I guess. Mom’s Scottish, I gotta bit of her. Dad’s Italian American. Can we start?’ She uncrossed her legs, leant back and crossed them again.
The man looked at her. ‘Colours take a while. Still want the angel?’
‘With the broken halo? Yeah.’ She forced a smile at him and stroked her arm slowly.
‘Try and relax, it won’t fall off.’ He chuckled quietly and continued the preparations.
Fi studied the wall of pictures; all of them were black and white except for a large colour poster of Rupert Everett, with an apparent tattoo on his inner thigh. ‘No girls?’ she said. There were several bursts of noise like a dentist’s drill.
‘No what?’
‘There are no women celebrities, only men.’
‘The pictures? Keeps girls distracted,’ he said, before adding, almost as an afterthought, ‘me too.’ The man laughed again and lifted a silver needle into the air to examine it. He squeezed its base and the device whirred.
Fi shifted from side-to-side. ‘Don’t get side-tracked when you’re doing my arm. Can we get a move on?’
‘Nearly done.’ The man came over to her, put the file on the floor and sat on the stool. He pulled out of the file what looked like a transfer, or copy of a tattoo, depicting a cherub. ‘What’s with the angel?’
‘Can’t tell you, it’s a friend thing and a secret.’ They looked directly at each other for several moments.
‘I hope he’s worth it, you’ve got him for good in about ninety minutes.’ He smiled. ‘Okay, we’re ready.’
Fi Lombardi – Pt.3
Fi leant on the kitchen breakfast bar, watching early morning TV, her brown bob golden from the finger of sunlight coming through the window. She looked at the slice of peanut butter toast on the plate before her and decided against any more.
The everyday received a jolt with the sound of running in the corridor and Vinny’s voice shouting something about ‘dad’. Vinny slid into the kitchen wearing only a pair of boxer shorts. His hair was wild and his eyes were red. Fi stood up. Vinny didn’t make much sense and snatched at words between deep breaths, bending over in hopelessness and putting his hands upon his knees.
Fi put a hand on Vinny’s back, comforting him. ‘Vin. Vin. Vinny! Calm down. Don’t kid me now, say again what’s –’
Vinny tried to suffocate his emotion and mucus formed in small bubbles at his nostrils. He stood up with a despairing groan. ‘Dad’s gone, freaked and gone.’ Vinny wiped his nose with his sleeve and put his hands to his head seemingly in shock at his own words as tears ran down his cheeks unchecked.
‘What do you mean ‘gone?’ Gone where, who –’
‘Dad’s work called yesterday, he didn’t show. Mom didn’t tell and now the cops have been on I heard the talk, and Mom crying. She said everything. Dad’s car’s been found near Derby.’ Vinny could barely breathe and put his arms around Fi for support.
‘It’s okay Vin, you’re okay. Derby? Where’s Derby? That doesn’t mean he’s –’
‘He left his wallet Fi, and phone. He’s gone Fi.’
A cloud passed in front of the sun and the light through the window dimmed. Fi’s hair dulled and she became like a shadow. ‘I don’t believe it. Vin, c’mon, we have to help mum?’
‘He’s gone. Done it Fi, like he said he would. He’s damn done it!’ Vin screamed and shook his head like he was having a fit. Fi squeezed him tightly and he stopped. He said quietly, ‘Seen the dim light up the dark tunnel. The yellow lights. Two lights. The narrow road. Took him.’ He looked at Fi and blinked back tears.
‘No lights. No road. No dark tunnel. Dad’s gone somewhere. Now c’mon Vin, we gotta help Mom.’
The End