Every evening, Samantha passed by Alfredo’s bar on her way to work. The crooked neon sign dominated the old, faded display window, filled with bottles of expired wine and liquor, discolored marzipan pastries, and old trinkets gifted by hasty traveling salesmen who no longer stopped at the place.

Samantha was a regular there. The few remaining customers at that hour knew her well, and upon her entrance, they all rose unsteadily, driven by an irresistible display of gallantry fueled by alcohol.

«Samantha, mon amour! You look splendid tonight,» Jenny exclaimed, making her way through the patrons.

«Leave me be tonight. I’ve had a terrible week. I caught the flu and couldn’t work. Look at my face, Jenny!» Samantha replied.

Though still a beautiful woman, Samantha showed all the signs of her fifty years. She had to dye her black hair that cascaded down her shoulders and wear heavy makeup to conceal her wrinkle-lined face. She tried to cover her neck with light silk scarves, but she loved slits, transparencies, and plunging necklines.

Jenny, originally named Gennaro, was an elderly viveur who spent his evenings at the bar. Among friends, he claimed to have been Gina Lollobrigida’s personal hairdresser in his youth and to have had a great love affair with Luchino Visconti. No one could vouch for having seen him with them personally, but everyone enjoyed spending evenings at the bar with a celebrity.

«Don’t worry, fairy,» Jenny retorted. «You have the cloak of the night to hide in.»

Samantha left the bar, leaving her sweet perfume behind, and continued along the sidewalk. A breeze billowed her light dress, weaving its way through her hair like a lover’s fingers, disheveling it along with her thoughts.

Samantha sold love just next to the Archaeological Museum. There, she spent her work nights under the amber glow of streetlamps that turned her into a true diva, waiting for her audience.

The amber light pleased her clients, who had confessed to this more than once. It enhanced her figure and colored her face, highlighting her full lips that evoked indescribable visions.

But as she approached her work spot, she noticed something was amiss. From afar, the museum appeared a different color than usual, almost bluish, and the lights resembled those of her old refrigerator at home.

She inquired with some colleagues and learned the bitter truth. During the week Samantha was away, the mayor had replaced the old mercury vapor lamps with brand-new LED lamps. Guaranteed savings, reduced maintenance, and clearer, brighter light. It was a touted innovation for the city, patented by a company in Verona.

In all honesty, it was a true tragedy. Under those lamps, Samantha looked like a corpse, with visible dark circles, wrinkles around her eyes, and even some cellulite showing on her hips. The light was blinding and uncomfortable for her eyes. She couldn’t recognize the approaching cars seeking companionship.

That evening, very few customers stopped by, only the most loyal ones. They preferred her younger colleagues, who didn’t need cinematic tricks to be appealing. Samantha felt awkward, out of place.

She lit one cigarette after another while fast cars zoomed past her, not sparing her a glance.

She returned home at dawn, shaken by the long night, but above all, furious about the lamp situation. She threw herself on the bed and remained in the dark as time passed. She had to do something, and she decided to go to the City Hall to seek explanations from the responsible parties.

The next morning, she dressed in a modest blue velvet suit, freshened up her makeup, and quickly drank a coffee prepared with a stovetop moka pot. She wasn’t used to going out so early, and as she stepped outside, she remembered that the last time she had risen so early was for her father’s funeral. The suit was the same.

After more than an hour of waiting, she managed to speak to the mayor’s secretary, explaining that she had an urgent need to be received. She boasted of high-level connections and took advantage of a last-minute canceled appointment slot. The mayor could see her.

Timidly, she knocked on the door, her heart pounding. She was used to dealing with men, but only in her territory, where she truly felt safe.

The mayor was seated with his back turned, engrossed in a phone call. Without even looking at her, he gestured for her to take a seat. Samantha sat on the only available chair in the room. The others were overflowing with bags, magazines, and catalogs.

That voice, however, was familiar. She tried to associate it with a face but failed. She thought she couldn’t have heard it in a speech or any talk show since she didn’t frequent public places during the day and didn’t even have a TV.

The phone call ended, and the mayor turned around, revealing a campaign smile that faded immediately once he realized who his guest was. Several endless seconds of silence followed between the two. Samantha knew him well, and he knew her just as well.

The meeting lasted a long time, and several appointments were canceled. No one ever knew what those two had talked about, but from that day on, the lamp in front of the museum shone with a warm and amber light.

Officially, it was to protect and promote one of the city’s main assets.