Hotlips is Gone

We called her Hotlips. We didn’t find out her real name until months after her passing. She was a fixture of the neighborhood, usually standing in front of the casa popolare (public housing) on Via Pignolo, waving and blowing kisses as we passed. If we should pass without her noticing, she’d call after us to get our attention and send those kisses less we think she forgot.

People said she smelled. That she was mean. To us, she was Hotlips who blew us kisses and brightened up our day. And boy did she wear the brightest lipstick we ever saw.

Specifically, she wore fluorescent pink lipstick that was completely out of sync with the rest of the greyness that was her. But in that grey, those bright lips and the kisses blown from them are what caught your attention. Did she approach her mirror every morning and say, “just a touch of lipstick and there, all done and ready to face the world!”? Or maybe she slept with the lipstick on?

She wasn’t always allowed in the cafe we frequented. She came in only when the owner was away and the barista — with a softer heart — let her in to give her a brioche. When the owner was there, Hotlips waited outside the cafe door and waved some money for the barista to bring out her brioche.

The cafe owner’s mother, perhaps sensing the unfairness of the situation, once offered 200 euros worth of brioches to Hotlips. Mom was discouraged from doing that, and in the end just donated 20 euros to fund Hotlips’ morning brioche.

We heard that Hotlips was the forgotten sister of one of the restaurant-empire-building families of Bergamo Città Alta. She clearly wasn’t enjoying much of the family’s success. In fact, there seemed to be some coded avoidance of her by other Italians in the neighborhood. Being strangers (can we say that now after 9 years?), we didn’t get the memo.

Sometimes when leaving our palazzo, we would see her in front of the tabaccheria, a sigaretta or gratta e vinci ticket in hand. In colder weather, she wore a bucket hat, which just seemed to accent those lips even more.

Once, we were walking by the large stone-arched entrance of the casa popolare where she often hung out and she called us over. The elevator in her building was out and she needed to get her groceries to the 3rd floor. She asked for help and we brought the groceries up and left them at the door. That was the closest we got to her. After exchanging pleasantries, we left. We didn’t even think to ask her name.

We miss you Hotlips and your air kisses.