Tabula Rasa. White’s move. Territory of Seduction

Chapter 17

Polina

I hadn't heard from Max all week! The last text from him on the day I returned to New York to me early in the morning, while I was still asleep.

Mailbox is empty. His Skype window is off. No calls, of course, even less so.

On the third day of silence, I try to concentrate and write a letter. But I send all my letters to virtual trash. What should I write to him - I miss you, I want you, I think about you all day long, you, asshole, don't write? He warned me that when he starts working, the real world doesn't for him. But he lives somehow and somewhere. Eating, sleeping, walking the streets. Isn't he home in the evenings?

Five days after his departure, I go to the Art Center, walk around the exhibition and sit in of his paintings. I particularly like one of his works. It is done in the manner of impressionism.

It shows a sea of wildflowers, mostly blue, with pink buds. The field and the horizon merge, and the of flowers, flows into the blue dome of the sky, on which are spread torn clouds, tinged with light. This sea is alive. The dynamics of movement are so realistically conveyed that I think I feel the wind swaying this living mass.

Looking at this beauty I feel with my skin, I realize that maybe it's for the best that we're not . Maybe I can get over him.

There are only two ways for me. One is to be with him. The second is to forget him. The option - without him, with the hope that someday it will come together - is not for me.

I don't have the strength to hold back, I don't have the patience.

In my heart, I hope the first option is possible. In a month, I'll be in New York, the city he lives. We can meet, and maybe he'll want more. To my shame, I want him to the point of . Is that real? I don't know. His silence is pretty telling.

All right, I'll try to forget him. It seems like a long shot, but maybe.

Lisa is coming tomorrow for vacation, I really want to share my doubts with her. I'm sure 'll help me find the right solution.

My sister and I are two and a half years apart. We're real friends. We know all each other's , exchange opinions and look for support. She already knows that my life has changed, I told on Skype. Now she can't wait to hear the details. And I need her advice, her perspective.

In the morning I have to attend a meeting in the Kyiv office of the company for which I am the project. The documentation I have developed will be discussed. I have been working it for a month. In the morning I am immersed in the bustling activity of the office and besides I have time to learn a lot of news from our secretary, Lena. All next week, in the mode of , will be coordinated with the head office in the States every point of the project, my presence here is mandatory. It's a good prospect for me, because being in the thick of things,

I will be distracted from thoughts about Max, and my plan to forget him will not be so utopian.

In the evening, tired but satisfied with the result of the negotiations, I went out with

Lenochka to the parking lot - I offered her a ride to the subway. No sooner had we gotten into the than there was a knock on the window from my side.

Igor.

My insides are twisting into a knot. I never thought I'd be so uncomfortable meeting him.

Rolling down the window:

- Hey.

- Hi, – he nods and bends down to look into the cabin. He gives Lenochka a quick glance, looks at me. There is a glued smile on his face, his eyes are cold. I realize that I'm in for an surprise, I don't see any other purpose for his visit.

- Can you spare me a few minutes? - he asks kindly.

- Okay, – I get out of the car, and he takes me aside.

- Here you go. I think you'll find it interesting, – he handed me a thick, weighty A4 .

- What is it? - I don't want to take it! The time bomb may look different, but there's nasty waiting for me inside this envelope.

- You can open it at home and study it, – his smirk didn't bode well. - It wasn't easy to get materials, but I did my best. You won't find it on Google, of course.

- What is it? Tell me straight up and don't go around in circles, – I start to suck under my , the first sign that I've gotten into some rare nasty stuff.

- It's about your Max. Well... if it's appropriate to call him Max, – Igor rubbed his chin. -

Although, as a derivative of his name, why not. You can throw that envelope away, but maybe 're just afraid of the truth.

- Where did you get this? - I take the envelope in my hand. Anger and doubt ignite a fire of in me.

- Through my own channels. He's skillful in his encryption. It was complicated and... – Igor through his thirty-two teeth. - I'm sure there's not even half the information about him here; 's carefully erased his past. But there are still connections to his family. I've been able to make inquiries. And you can't change his appearance. Unless you completely destroy the face, –

Igor continues coldly. - There is something that needs to be clarified, I'm sure that there is also information. It would be useful for you to meet the person to whom you’ve given ten days of life.

I turn on my heels and walk to the car. My heart feels like it's going to fly out of my chest, hands are shaking. I realize that when I open the envelope, I'll fall into darkness. Igor has proven his skill at inflicting pain.

- Is everything all right? - Lenochka squeaks excitedly.

- Yeah. It's okay, – I wish I could be so sure. The blood pounding in my temples, there was "fine" about it. He wouldn't just show up. He's dug up something that's going to undermine

Max's trust, derail our relationship. Do we have a relationship? Oh, my God, Max, what are you ? Why aren't you texting me?

At that moment, as if by magic, my smartphone vibrates, a text from Max on the screen:

"Hi. How are you?"

Out of the parallel world and into the real world?

I'm driving the car faster than usual. I'm getting impatient. What could be in this envelope? I up in front of the subway, Lenochka says goodbye to me, and I hurry home.

I tear up the envelope on the stairs, fly into the apartment and pull out the papers, reading as

I go.

"Max Cameron - name taken in 20XX, full name Alexander Maximilian Carr Beaumont-le-

Roger, born Earl of Huntington, heir to a title passed down the female line, of the Cameron family.

Grandmother is the Duchess of Seyffolk, Emma Cameroons-Carr. Father Alexander Francis

Cameroons-Carr, Marquess of Dorsett. The Duchess of Seyffolk resides in the United States, where husband Michael Gordon Carr, a third generation billionaire, is from. His main business, oil in the Pacific Ocean, has been consistently in the Forbes 100 for over two decades.

Mother is Jacqueline Beaumont-le-Roger, a Canadian of French descent, from the family of Comte de Beaumont-le-Roger, residing in Quebec, Canada. The second husband, Philippe de

Albret, renounced the title in favor of marriage to Marguerite Beaumont-le-Roger, as both had previous marriages, which is considered unacceptable by the laws of the Catholic Church.

Maternal half-sister Alexisis de Albret, age 21.

Alexander Maximilian was brought up from the age of seven at Bromsgrove School, a boarding school for boys from noble families."

My eyes go dark. I can't understand anything. Max is... some kind of count? WHO?! The grandson a Forbes billionaire?! The artist Max that I took around Kyiv?! I can't believe he's the heir to title. But what's to be suspicious about this information? Well Count... Well yeah, I guess are only allowed to socialize with countesses. I laugh nervously, but I cut it short.

My whole body is trembling. That means there's more bad stuff to come.

Why did Igor give me this information? What's next for me? Basically, why would he trump the fact that I was involved with a titled rich heir to an oil empire?

Next, I read about Max's success during high school. He got the highest grade almost all the . He excelled in painting, math, and sports.

He graduated from the Royal Cranwell Aviation College before enrolling at Sandhurst.

In the last year of college, the first scandal occurred: one Lucia Murdoch, the daughter of of the teachers, became pregnant and pointed to Maximilian. Maximilian Carr admitted that girl had gotten pregnant by him. Both were in the age of sexual consent. Carr paid for Lucia

Murdock's abortion, because of which there was subsequently a scandal. The girl's mother sued the who performed the abortion without her consent, but the UK Supreme Court rejected

Murdoch's claim. However, the scandal in the press was not so much around the legality of the of a minor, but around the identity of the father of the unborn child (this characterization caught me), M. Carr. The main topic of accusations of the press was the fact of to the nobility and impunity of titled persons. Young people, bypassing the coordination further actions with their families, went to the clinic to terminate the pregnancy. Subsequently, scandal was hushed up.

I exhale before I continue reading. Max had paid for some girl's abortion while still a boy .

"After finishing the first year at the Sandhurst Military Academy, M.C. hosts a drunken at his father's house, which erupts into another high-profile scandal, resulting in Maximilian

Carr severing all ties with his birth father. Details of the scandal are leaked to the press."

My eyes are popping out of my head. According to the material I have in my hands, it that Max slept with his father's new wife! Details of the story were leaked to the press by Marquis' father's servants. There was also information that the grandmother sided with her and supported Max, not the son. Naturally, all this was also quickly hushed up.

Max is constantly in confrontation with his own father, who has repeatedly ordered DNA to verify biological paternity. Attached is a photocopy of the article. Apparently, some kind yellow press, because the name of the newspaper is missing. Igor had highlighted all the major , but there was no mark here.

Ugh, I can barely catch my breath.

The materials handed over to me by Igor confirm that Max graduated from the Sandhurst

Military Academy, became a fighter pilot upon its completion, served in Afghanistan, having his independent desire to serve in that very country.

Further information is vague. Apparently, Igor was unable to gather anything about Max's in Afghanistan. Most likely, these are the most secret materials that are impossible to get to.

Max appears in America three years after graduating from the Academy under a different , as an artist. It is emphasized that no one remembers him as Maximilian Carré anymore. He is Max Cameroons. No one draws parallels with his past, nowhere is he mentioned as the heir to oil empire, much less a title.

How long was he in Afghanistan? He told me he only flew for a year. A year?

Perhaps there is a mistake here, as there is a note in the margin that his paintings have been at international salons and exhibitions since he was seventeen years old. Probably Igor was to figure out when Max started painting professionally.

My head is spinning. Nothing extraordinary in what I read, at first glance, now I get an idea he doesn't want to talk about his parents.

Of course, in the information "kindly" given to me by Igor, there is a separate list of Max's

"POTENTIAL" women. To be fair, it should be noted that these are only assumptions, there is no of these relationships, except for the fact that he appeared with them in public places.

This list includes the names of two Hollywood actresses, at least six famous singers of renown, and then there are dancers, strippers, fitness trainers, waitresses, stewardesses, , artists... there is no one here! Even a female politician from Italy. There are one thousand hundred and fifty-two names on the list!

If he slept with even half of them, he could compete for first place on the virtual fuck with alpha male Tiger Woods. After all, Max is only thirty-three! At this rate, he'll fuck half New York and half of Hollywood without noticing!

Bullshit! That's what I don't believe anymore.

A separate sheet lists the names of those ladies who appeared with Max more than three in different places, fifty-seven of them. What a thorough job my ex-boyfriend and "his team" .

But some of them had been in Max's bed... And it could be anyone, anyone! Pretty girls, , million-dollar girls, one better than the other. He told me that there was no promiscuity in life, I guess in his mind it was an orderly approach.

On the next sheet is information about Diana Bathgate, the girl to whom Max was engaged, the engagement was broken off. Why and on whose initiative it is not stated here, and there is other information about this relationship. But the scant information I have in front of me is . If you, Max, were planning to get married, then there was more to your relationship than sex.

I clutch my temples. My head is on fire, splintering into a million shards.

On top of all the printouts is a sheet with a picture of Max, published in a newspaper from period of his scandal with his father. A blond angel, wearing a fedora and a "world's most smile" grin, holds up his picture.

On automatic, I pick up this picture and look at it. He is the same age as I am now, maybe a older. He looks like a child - yes, no longer a boy, but still a gentle young man, with the eyes of angel. He paid for his girlfriend's abortion. He slept with his father's wife?! In his house? How!

How is that possible?

I'm not a puritan, but only an unprincipled, selfish scumbag could afford this act!

Can I believe it? Can I believe that the man I spent a delightful ten days of my life with my own father?!

And all those women?! Even if you whittle it down to fifty-seven names. God! My mom right when she said he and I were in “different weight classes”, – and I was one of thousands line for his bed. Whew! I'm not going to, and I'm not going to be in that line! No! He just, he just into bed with me!

I'm starting to itch. It's bad, it's bad! It means I have a nervous disorder.

But the horror of it all is that all it takes is one word from this asshole to make me forget and throw myself into his arms!

Would you really throw yourself? Are you sure?

Or would you send him to hell now?

Oh, Max! MAX! Who are you?! Did you keep quiet about your relationship with your because everything in here is true?

It's hard to breathe! I don't know why this information had such an effect on me.

No, not that he's some “prince of noble blood", not because a fan of women have passed his bed, no!

He wouldn't answer my questions. He told me about Tabula Rasa. Fucking philosopher!

Only it turns out the great philosopher is fucking his stepmother in his father's house! I guess that's of Tabula Rasa.

Well, now I understand the reason for his silence. I'm just an episode. One of them. Fifty- or one thousand one hundred and fifty-three. Some sort of number? Just a girl for sex, easy forget after a few days.

The smart phone vibrates. A text from Max, "Busy?"

How I would like to ask you what was going on in your father's house when you were of having an affair with his wife! Mother must not have been happy about her son's . Isn't that why you don't want to talk about your parents?!

Another text, "Write a word, are you okay?"

It's either all or nothing! Why the sudden concern?

Suddenly the phone starts ringing. Mom! Oh, no! I can't take this. Before I can reject the , a couple seconds later the phone comes alive again. It's mom again.

I throw my smartphone against the wall with all my might.

Tears burn my eyes.

Max, I believed you! Every word you said! I listened to you with my mouth agape! And now

I'm mourning my gullibility and naivety—can I still believe in your integrity? I wish I had never your theories for fools like me.

Or maybe it's jealousy? Or the loss of rose-colored glasses: I am here, waiting for a call, or least one word in a text message, believing that you are in the studio, while at the same time you amusing yourself with another beauty.

My reaction scares me even more. I'm afraid to respond to your messages now, I don't know to say, how to say it, and what to do with all of this next.

- -

In the morning I wake up to the persistent ringing of my alarm clock. The phone had been against the wall yesterday, but paradoxically there were still some signs of life in its body. The alarm clock, for example, is beeping.

The first thing I do is order a new smartphone from an online store.

Today I have a girls' night in planned with Lisa; she’ll be staying over. I'm really looking to meeting her. I need her special perspective on the events in my life. After last night's tantrum, my head cleared and I felt better. The questions remained, but with the hysterics went burning resentment. But there was anger at Igor. What kind of a man? What did this

"compromising material" give him? I can't understand his motives yet. Does he really want me ? I doubt it. He should have made a list of his mistresses and provided me for familiarization, proposing to meet. But how easy it is to make lists about others!

Today I have a class at the dance studio. Another way to shake things up: while dancing, I off, and my subconscious always tells me the right decisions.

By the way: where am I going to rehearse in New York? I'd really like to find a studio there continue practicing dance. All the more so - New York is the cradle of modern dance, I could my level. If my dad didn't insist on my education as a financier, I would love to become a . All my teachers say in one voice that I could do it professionally.

I grunt. Great excuse to text Max. He'd offered to help me with my New York questions.

Now's the perfect excuse to take advantage of his offer.

But for now, I want to listen to myself inside. I want to know in peace if I'm ready to our relationship.

After the rehearsal, the courier brings me a new phone and I'm back on the phone.

Toward evening, Lisa shows up at my door. She had brought a lot of presents, all of which spread out in paper bags. We squeal at each other, hugging and squeezing after a long , the last time we saw each other was during her winter vacation.

When the welcoming part is over and we are finally seated at the table, she pelts me with in impatience:

- Well, tell me! Tell me everything, Polina! What about Max? How's Igor? Did he leave you ?

- Oh, Lisa, there was a whole story added yesterday. It turns out that he has a lot of secrets in past, and he is carefully hiding them. Here, look, – I show her an envelope with Igor's . Liza looks through the papers, sometimes whistling, then with a smile she shows me a of Max from ten years ago with a painting in his hands:

- Is that him? - she wrinkles her nose funny, while I don't think the rest of what she's read interested her at all.

- That's an old picture. He's different now. I'll show you. I've got some pictures. By the way,

I need to get some information out of the crashed smartphone. Maybe you can help me, hacker.

- Smartphone crashed?

- Uh-huh, – I nod. - Against the wall.

- You broke your phone?! - Lisa jumps up on the spot. - My sensible, resilient sister smashed phone against the wall?! I already adore this man just for doing that, – she laughs gleefully.

- Oh, come on. You’d think I’m a stickler.

- Why did you break it, I didn't quite understand the reason, – Lisa winks conspiratorially.

- Everything came up... Igor, who slipped this envelope on purpose. Max, who turned out to , – I made a vague gesture with my hand. - I haven't heard from him for a week, and yesterday I three texts at once. My mom wanted something from me. It's all mixed up, – I nod at the . - And I was upset that he was sleeping with his stepmother.

- How do you know it's true? - Lisa waves her hand away, as if it were a passing option. -

Even if he was asleep, he was either drunk or high as a kite! It says “drunken party”! He was young.

Is his father's wife a good person, in your opinion? Why did she get into his bed? I don’t understand scale of the tragedy. After a pause of a few seconds, she adds with some disgust. – And the dad allowed his family’s dirty laundry to be aired in the press. I wouldn’t worry about it if I were . Show me his photos instead.

That's the thing about my sister - she finds a way out of any lousy situation with ease.

- Just because she washed the phone because he had a fling with some aunt ten years ago? -

Lisa clarifies and giggles merrily, as if it were a funny situation.

- Look, – I show her the pictures Max sent me of the night we'd Skypeed. Lisa whistles at picture of him half-naked on the bed.

- Wow, he's built like a God, – she says. - Nice face, too. I get it, sister. I know why you hysterical last night. Letting a man like that go alone to the city of sin is fraught. And the from Igor added fuel to the fire. Isn't that right? I read the list of women who've shone with here and there, even if they were just walking next to him. I put two plus two together, and I ten. You got it? And all this oil painting on the background of the story with the stepmother, according to the stories from the envelope, also with him had a good time.

- Lisa-ah! - I exclaim. - This is coming from my virgin sister?! Or have you already lost chastity?

- No! There's more! With who? He didn't hit on me. As soon as he blows his whistle, I'll be there, – she nods at Max's picture.

-

Oh, you! – I throw a pillow at her, and she squeals and catches it and throws it back at me.

After running around the room, and having expelled our excess energy, we collapse on the .

- What should I do, Liz? Enlighten your older sister.

- Write him first. Didn't he text you something yesterday?

- So, uh... What's up? Why don't you say something?

- That's a lot for a man. He won't send you opuses, – Lisa instructs me. - So answer him.

- What should I write to him? Listen, I’ve got an idea. He offered to help me if I need to anything in New York. I'm gonna ask him to find me a dance studio.

- Wonderful! Write.

- What am I supposed to do with this? - I nod at the envelope. Lisa shrugs:

- You can burn it. When you meet him, ask him eye-to-eye. Asking him by e-mail how he to bang his new mom is stupid. Admit it.

- Li-i-i-i-iza-a-a, – I say with exaggerated reproach, though I’m about to burst into laughter .

- Come on, Polina, think about it. What kind of sane father would let a scandal involving his and son get the attention of the tabloids?! Think about it. And it says Granny's on his side.

Why would an old lady protect her frivolous grandson? So, the dog is there somewhere, - my sister me convincingly.

- What do you think about all those titles? It's kind of... weird, – I don't know how to my concerns, my worries.

- I've been meaning to ask you, but I've been hesitating, – she looks at me curiously and 't say anything for a long time. Her question confuses me. - Is he a good fuck?

- You're embarrassing me, – I felt myself blush. The abrupt transition confused me. - There no words to describe to you HOW he does it. Maybe we're just good for each other sexually.

- Here we go! - Lisa pats me on the shoulder. - In the twenty-first century, this is more than his title. It doesn't matter whether he's the Prince of Monaco or the lovely Georges

Duroy* (Maupassant's "Sweet Friend"). For you, as a woman, you should be more interested in the he performs in bed than in the titles he wears.

I can't hold back my laughter any longer and I'm laughing all the way across the room.

- Lisa! You're killing me with your directness. God! - I cover my face with my hands, unable stop laughing. - What will you give me when you know the joys of sex?

- Then I guess I won't give anything away, – she snorted. - I'd only lose my virginity to who'd fall in love with me. And that's not easy to do, – she winks at me, and we laugh . Unlike me, Lisa has her own theory of love. She believes that love is the driving force of , but people often confuse it with passion, and throw themselves into the abyss of sex, well, like me, so her potential lover will have to endure a hundred days of abstinence before they the line of sensual pleasures.

- Speaking of titles, – she added. - Did he flaunt them, his blue blood, his connection to the of society? Looked down on you? Disdainful of people?

- No! No, I'm not! I'm flaring up. - On the contrary! He's very pleasant, cheerful, easy-going.

He stood up to all of mom's questions. I had no idea. Although... He wears suits like a blue prince, 's true.

- How did he introduce himself to you?

- Simple. Like Max. And then don't forget, he changed his name, made an effort for the to think of him as Cameroons.

- He's not just normal, he's incredibly down-to-earth, Polina! And you and I know men who hardly anything themselves, but have a star in their foreheads. Better than the Kremlin! - Lisa at me. It's hard not to agree with her.

- Okay, one last question, Lisa...

- I don't care if it's a hundred, – Lisa sits on the bed in lotus position and looks at me.

- What should I do, should I try to forget him or should I still...

- Can you get over him? - she turns to the laptop monitor and looks at Max's picture.

- I don't know. Maybe it'll work.

- What if? What if a cat gives birth to a crow? You don't believe this nonsense yourself,

Polina. You can't forget him. So don't torture yourself. I know it's hard when a guy doesn't say for weeks. But he wrote.

- He warned me he might disappear. He said the real world doesn't exist for him when he's .

- Pfft, – Lisa snorted and rolled her eyes, throwing her arms up to the ceiling. - I didn't I'd say this, but Polly, don't scare me! I don't want my sister acting like a fool! See-e-e-e, the warned you! He's a great guy. If you want to forget him, forget him. I want that kind of stuff,

I'll take it. Okay? - she's showing me her tongue.

- Oh, Lisa, you have it so easy, – I understand her reasoning, but I'd look at her if she were my shoes.

- Polina, nobody promised it would be easy. By the way, you could have written him . Did you?

- One time. Answered a text message.

- Oh! Well, of course, of course, – Lisa pulls her lips together to tease me. - One time!

What stopped you from sending him a ti-i-i-ny text like: "How are you? How's work?" Uh-uh,

Polina. Polina! I was sure you weren't conventional. But, no, I have to work here too, - then he adds . - Everything will fall into place in time, sister. You'll be in New York in a month. Write to if you want to. Make the first move if there's a need to communicate with him. Maybe he 't know what to write you either. And don't make any plans, don't make any plans. Just go with flow. You'll figure it out later when you have something to do.

I'm taking Lisa in my arms.

- I knew you’d quickly bring me back to my senses, my little Buddha. Someone’s going to very lucky to have you.

- Yes, but before he gets lucky, he'll have to endure a hundred days of no fucking first, –

Lisa laughs. - And now here, write, – she hands me a smartphone.

- No, I'll write him an e-mai. I’ll tell him my smartphone crashed. Especially since it's true.