Max
It's just over an hour until the grand opening of the exhibition. I take one last, quick glance the mirror. Waiting for the call. A car from the organizers of the exhibition should come to pick up. I take my camera case and decide to take a little walk around the square in front of the hotel.
It's silly to live in such a beautiful, historic place and not see anything at all.
Kyiv is an inspiring city, I want to capture it in photographs and then on canvases as I see it.
I have a need to wander its streets, to look into courtyards, to stop by ancient facades and look at the . I want to spend more time in its company.
By the time the car comes to pick me up, I manage to get enough shots.
I haven't seen Polina yet today. How will she hold it together with me after our video chat ? I'm hiding a smile. I'm very curious what her reaction will be, hopefully adequate.
Her eyes wide open in memory, with a frozen look of admiration. It's beautiful! The memory my "cockney" jerk in my pants! I laugh at my body's reaction to this girl-woman.
Polina is waiting for me at the archway to the Arena City courtyard, where the opening of exhibition will take place. She's gorgeous. I want to eat her. Just by looking at her.
- Hi, - I kiss her hands in turn. Our eyes meet, and she holds my gaze with dignity. There's embarrassment, no awkwardness. Nothing to suggest weakness. I like that.
- Hi, - she replies simply.
- You look beautiful, - I smile at her.
- You too, - she nods back at me.
Polina is wearing a strict turquoise-colored, low-cut dress that emphasizes her dark, hot eyes in a stunning way. It fits every curve of her fragile, perfect body. Knee-length, her slender legs. But I'm in for a surprise. As soon as Polina turns her back to me, I at the sight of her back naked to the waist. Quite a playful and promising outfit. Today,
Polina is surrounded by a light cloud of Pleats Please by Issey Miyake. This is a totally unexpected for me, but it suits her very well.
- I didn't know you were so versatile in flavors, - I smile. - Do you like the Japanese?
Polina looks over her shoulder and smiles warily.
- Sir Cameroons, are you an artist or a perfumer?
- Every self-respecting artist should be a bit of a perfumer, - I joked.
- I'm beginning to fear you, Sir Cameron. Did Süskind, by any chance, write his hero from ? - Polina makes big eyes.
We join the crowd, including many television crews working all around the perimeter of the
Arena. One of the journalists, who I remember from the press conference, immediately rushes us. After saying hello, he discusses something with Polina, she shakes her head negatively, something to him, and turns to me:
- I've agreed on a list of interesting interviews for you, recommended by the PR department the art center. While I was waiting for you, I made an appointment with one of the studios, 're here. Just a couple questions. First, what attracted you to participate in the exhibition, and , what you expect from cooperation with Pinchuk Art Center, - she says in a businesslike, tone. On the one hand, I can put her restraint down to concentration and work, on the other , I have no idea what she has in mind. Maybe she's trying to mask her feelings.
As soon as I finish the first interview, Polina brings the next member of the press to me, tells what questions he or she is interested in and translates.
After the recording, she reports:
- Now we need to coordinate your participation in the opening ceremony with the organizing . Your boss wants to meet with you after the ceremony. Have you prepared a speech?
- Yes, of course, - I confirmed.
No sooner do we get to the organizers' table than Igor appears on our way. Hmm. That's . He's here, too?
- Max, wait a second, - Polina asks. They step aside, Igor kisses her, his hands sliding down naked back. At that moment I clearly realize that I'm internally resisting what I'm seeing, but I to watch the scene of their meeting. Polina carefully removes his hands, briefly explains to him, and immediately returns to me. We are silent.
I'm disappointed and my mood is ruined. His appearance ruins all my plans. My reaction to meeting says one thing: I'm too caught up in this game. All I'm planning on doing is just a fuck or two. Then why the reaction? It doesn't change anything in my life.
The opening of the exhibition is top-notch, all the details are well thought out. I make a brief about the value of such events for art, including for the country in which it takes place. A interprets me, according to protocol. Coming down from the stage, I notice Igor and Polina something not far away. Noticing his hand on her lower back, I look away.
The opening party is in full swing. Its unofficial part takes place in one of the nightclubs at ARENA DANCE CLUB.
Polina and I don't manage to be alone for even a few minutes. Someone comes up to us all time, I meet different people, and I realize that the more time passes, the less chance I have of in Polina's company. Do I even have any?
Damn it! I want her! It's the only explanation why I still rely on chance.
During a planned conversation with Victor, Polina completely disappears from my sight. The lengthens, we discuss important matters. He invites me to lunch and a tennis set . Well, that's great for future business relationships and devastating in terms of plans for
Polina.
After finishing my conversation with Victor, I immediately go in search of her. I climb the of the amphitheater in front of the dance floor, searching the hall for her with my eyes. There too many people, but I look all over the floor carefully. I spot her bare back at the opposite end the hall, very close to the stage. She is standing at one of the tables around the perimeter of the , facing the stage. I cross the hall, maneuvering between the people separating us, approaching
Polina. She is still standing with her back to me, not noticing me. Assessing the situation, I quickly around. Igor is nowhere to be found, all the people standing nearby are acting distant towards , which means that his observers are not here either. The last thing I want to do is get her in .
I admire her back for a few seconds, then move closer, to within elbow distance. I can't deny the pleasure of touching her skin, though it's a dangerous zone of proximity. The risk of her away with my actions is at the upper end of the acceptable limit. But I know I will be the opportunity to touch her, at least today and tomorrow, at most forever. The back of my touches her back at the base of her neck, sliding my hand down along her spine, running my over each vertebrae. At the first touch, she flinches, but stays put. Moving down to the of fabric at her waist, I repeat the neckline of the dress with my thumb. This intimate , brings a wave of pleasure through me. At this moment, a new composition plays from the - jazzy, slow, exciting. The singer has a deep, velvety voice, which gives the melody a special .
I lean slightly toward Polina.
- Lady, let me ask you to dance, - she nods and turns toward me without raising her face. In dance circle, I draw Polina to me. She is very quiet. My hand is above her waist, my thumb circling her naked back.
- Look at me, - I ask quietly. She makes a vague gesture with her head. I pull her a little and say it even more quietly, but very firmly. - Polina, look at me.
She's stubborn for a while, then she lifts her gentle face to me, tears in her eyes.
Our gazes merge, and we stare into each other's eyes without breaking away. She brushes a tear, her gaze moving to my lips and her hand from my shoulder to my chest, stroking the thin fabric of my T-shirt, following the movement of my finger on her back. Her touch negativity through my body.
- Look at me, - it's not a request, it's an order. She understands me correctly and lifts her . Our gazes do their own dance, invisible to others. I hold her gaze, not giving her a chance, not a single opportunity to look away. She sighs softly, a tear running down her lashes again. I her as close as I can in the dance. I can feel the beats of her heart through the fabric of the separating us. I'm already frankly caressing and stroking her back.
Her looks are sometimes more eloquent than her words and actions. I see her sadness, her , her resentment toward herself and a little toward the whole world. I want to say encouraging to the beautiful girl, but I keep silent. I hope that she hears in my deafening directed to her that everything will be as it should be.
From the side I notice Igor, he appears near the dance floor from the side of the , I suspect he can see us perfectly well.
- Polina, you won't get in trouble for this dance? - I'm checking with her. - He's here, and
I'm sure he's looking in our direction.
- It won't, Max, - she replies, still looking me in the eye. - It'll be fine. But after this dance, Cinderella, I have to leave the party. Will you be okay without me? - she asks, sighing.
- Hmm... I told you yesterday that I don't jerk off, - I answer her as if nothing had happened, looking into her eyes. Her lips finally quivered into a tentative smile.
- That's rude, Max, - I could tell I'd cheered her up a little. - You know what I mean, don't ?
- Yeah, you've totally characterized me. I'm rude. Get used to it, - I smiled back at her. - I you understood what I meant, too.
The music stops. I take a step back, lowering my hands, letting myself slide my open palms her arms.
- It's time for you to go, Cinderella. I'm invited to Victor's tomorrow, - a shadow crept her face at those words. - But if you let me, I'll call you tonight. You promised me a walk Andriyivskyy Descent.
She nods:
- Yeah, sure. When you're free, call me. Andriyivskyy Descent is especially charming in the .
She turns around and walks toward the tables. Igor meets her, holding out his hand, palm up.
I catch his disdainful glance, and he defiantly puts his arm around Polina's waist, pulls her to him, kisses her on the temple, leading her away from the room.
I stay here for a while longer. I meet and talk to people, more than half of whom I won't tomorrow, dance with some girls, eat cake, drink champagne, but mentally I'm else. I want to know why her eyes are full of tears. What did he say to her? What's her? I glance at my watch-it's time to go back to the hotel. It's time to call Lady Emma, usual time for socializing.
Traditionally we socialize on Fridays, whether we've met during the week or not. I've called Lady Emma since she was a little girl.
I return to the hotel, and immediately dial her on Skype. After a while, she answers:
- My boy, - she exhaled, as if a mountain had fallen from her shoulders. - I'm so looking to your call. I haven't seen you in four days, my darling.
- Granny, you know I'm on another continent. It's nighttime here.
- Yes, I know, darling. Add more light, I can't see you very well, - she asks. - What have you doing?
- Attended the opening party, Lady Emma, - I adjust the table lamp this way and that, light to my face. Grandpa peeks out from behind her shoulder and waves at the camera:
- Hey, Max! You look great, - he laughs.
- You were certainly the prettiest one there, dear, - my grandmother turns to me.
- Grandma, I am always the most beautiful to you, - I smiled at her. - I love you too.
We chat about household chores. She recounts the news that happened while I was away for whole days - that's a lot, isn't it? I smile at the thought. I obligatory tell about the city where I , about Kyiv, about the hotel where I stayed, about what I eat and how much I sleep. I bring my to the window and show her St. Sophia Square, arousing her admiration. My grandmother be very direct.
I kiss her index finger goodbye and put it to the monitor. She sends me the traditional air , adding:
- Max, you know how much I love you. Take care of yourself.
The screen goes out.
Our feelings are mutual. My grandmother, grandfather, and sister are the only souls in the whose sincerity of feeling I do not doubt, and whom I can trust. All other relatives, it seems, be glad if my name had nothing to do with them. So I changed it, shortening it, causing a fit rage in my father, though it seems he should have been the first to welcome my decision.
It was only a few years ago, after nearly a decade of silence, that we reconnected, since the that had turned everything upside down. Even before that unpleasant event, he had little in me. The main condition was that I did not get in the way, was busy from morning till with the business, which he approved for me personally, at the same time, in no way dropped honor of the family. From morning till night, seven days a week, I was busy doing something , in my father's opinion. Every misstep, every mistake was a convenient excuse for him to once again my unenviable position in his hierarchy of relationships.
For my mother, I am an abstract being: I may be somewhere, but at the same time, I am absent. Since her divorce from my father when I was seven years old, I had fallen out of circle of responsibilities. Long-distance love was quite convenient for her. Especially that I, the very link that had been a hindrance to her happiness. The restrained, rather attitude of my mother to her own child, to me, I write off to the transference of her to my father. After all, I am the son of a man I do not love. A simple, trivial explanation that marked the existing relationship between us. Although, admittedly, she always reminded me her existence.
Even from an early age I knew that I was not the desired son of my parents. It took me a to realize that love cannot be bought or earned, it is either there or it is not. It is the ultimate from heaven.
For these reasons, my upbringing, if it can be called that, was handled by my grandparents, my parents. We rarely saw each other because the old people wanted us to get closer to my , but they were the people who were always there for me if circumstances demanded it. As I older, I learned to solve all my problems by myself, so their participation in my fate was their personal desire.
I poured myself a generous amount of whiskey, about a third of the way down the glass. I a big gulp, rolling the alcohol over my tongue, pleasing my receptors. I like strong drinks in quantities. The stronger, the juicier the flavor. This one isn't too over the top, only fifty alcohol. There's a warm aftertaste in my mouth and a fever in my chest. I sit down in the by the window, stretching my legs out, looking out at the square outside.
I rarely reflect on my family. Only in moments of stress or uplift, which are exceptionally . Today must be one of those days. Because of Polina.
Damn! What was it about her that drew me to her? Maybe the contrast between her youthful appearance and her inner adulthood? Beauty, intelligence, and playfulness are uncommon in women who have passed through my bed. But youthful looks have never been to me. I've never noticed teenage girls. The women around me are style icons or socialites the height of their beauty. Apparently, I'm attracted to her, something else, but I don't want to dig it and try to figure out "what". The main thing is enough: my desire to fuck her.
I take another sip of whiskey. I rest my head back in my chair. A memory comes to mind. A days before I left New York, my mother had called to invite me to visit them. I'm sure she me to influence Alexis, because she's out of my parents' control and no longer amenable to .
Alexis is my mother's younger sister and, ironically, the third person after my grandmother grandfather who is not only attached to me, but loves me. I don't think my mother paid enough to her either. Although my sister, unlike me, is a "love child". In her relationship with her husband, however, mother was disappointed. Despite all the assurances of devoted "love", second husband Philip, unabashedly satisfies his needs with other members of the fair sex. After trip to the left, he repents his sins, assuring her of his love, her mother forgives him, but, after while, he cheats on her again.
Love... My lips contort into a dismissive smirk.
My mother's life is the best proof that love is nothing more than fiction, self-deception, even .
A mother's "love" for a man has won out over her "love" for her son, but what does she have return? Constant betrayal? "Love" by a father is a DNA test of an only child, the purpose of is to annoy the one who became my mother and couldn't "love" the sperm donor. "Love" is up decades ahead of time because it's the only thing that will save the family from .
I chug the rest of the whiskey, no longer savoring it.
I let it go. A long time ago. My life is Tabula Rasa. In rare moments of mental weakness, I myself to look back and see what was there, in the "other" life.
Diana's behind, too. Far behind. To her, I am especially grateful that she opened my eyes to true value of "love." It was a masterful lesson. Filigreed.
I undress and go straight to bed. To hell with all thoughts and memories! I am free of all , naive hopes and meaningless promises.
The time when I was pure as an angel is also far behind me. I've been getting what I want a long time, taking it without asking. Now I want Polina. To hell with her male and his plans! I'll what I want. I'll take what I want.