radicalducati Chapter 12
Chapter 12
Max
We sit in the back of the cab. Polina rests her head on my shoulder, and I run my fingers her hair. I would call this state the lazy Absolute. If you move, you move slowly. Going your eyes go. Not thinking about tomorrow. No remembering yesterday. That kind of is very rare. Polina looks just like me – a person basking in idle bliss.
We're checking into the hotel, I have to change.
While Pauline looks around the room, I shave, unload yesterday's clothes into the dirty bag, and pull on my favorite, shedding, skinny jeans.
Pauline sits on the table and dangles her feet, she scrutinizes me from head to toe as I walk the room.
- Don't look at me like that, or we'll never get anywhere, – I laugh. She's encouraging me:
- I can't help it. Your naked torso gives me a very definite urge. Do you want to show me shirts? I want to pick something out for you. If you'll let me.
I push open the door of the closet. Pauline goes through the hangers and chooses a thin -colored T-shirt.
- Who's this? - Pauline asks, pointing to Lady Emma's picture.
- My grandmother. Emma, – I take the photo in my hands and look at it with Polina.
Pauline looks at the second portrait. I guess that she wants to ask about the girl in it, but she to voice the question.
- That's my sister. Alexis, – I hold out the photo to Paulina. - She's my maternal sister. We different fathers. She's only a year or so younger than you, by the way.
The flicker of tension disappears from Pauline's face.
- Are you close to her? - she asks, looking at the photo. - I think you two are very different.
I laugh:
- Of course we're different. She's brunette, I'm blond. Different on the outside, but very alike on the inside. At least in personality. When she was a kid, she was a tomboy like me.
I remember Alexis as a little girl, always knocking her knees out, being the best Cub Scout school, and a good shot with a slingshot. Later, I taught her how to use firearms, and I had to , she had a talent for it.
- So you're friends, then? - Polina smiles.
- Yeah. She comes to visit me a few times a year. Shall we? - I fasten my watch strap as I . Holding hands, we leave the hotel.
Polina turns out to be an excellent tour guide. First we head to Saint Sophia of Kyiv. We around the territory of the city's oldest cathedral. Everything in this place is imbued with and enveloped in a special aura. By right, this place is considered to be the cradle of ancient
Kyivan Rus. I touch the walls that were touched by the princes who ruled this land and lived a ago. In this place it is very easy to realize the capacious notion of "time". I feel its here in every detail.
Polina takes me up to the bell tower, where a bird's-eye view of St. Sophia Square and the area opens up. No matter which way I looked, there was something to catch my camera .
I do a lot of shooting with little to no choice of angles. There's plenty of room to spread out.
In the meantime, I catch Polina in the lens.
As we wander around Sofia, she wraps a stole around herself. It turns out that in Orthodox you can't me in short skirts. She has a wide scarf tied around her head. It looks funny,
Polina looks like an oriental woman now. And, knowing this, she covers her face up to her eyes a colorful cloth, pretending to be a girl in a burka when I take her picture.
Next on our list is St. Andrew's Descent. On our way there is one more beautiful square - St.
Mykhailivska Square with a large cathedral. It is noticeable that it was built not so long ago, but it is blended into the city landscape. Polina tells us that once this cathedral was completely and it was rebuilt at the end of the twentieth century.
Nearby I see another object for photography. It is a rather powerful building, by architectural , with an impressive colonnade, contrasting with the church complex of St. Michael's
Cathedral. It turns out that the Ministry of Foreign Affairs is located here. Given the scale of the and the scope of this architectural complex, I know exactly what I want to achieve from photos.
- Look, – I show Polina the pictures. She gasps. - Do you see now why I can't pass by? It's Art Nouveau. You don't see this kind of thing anywhere else.
The cityscape in this part of the city changes so rapidly that I don't have time to switch from building to another. So I shoot on the move. I like this kind of photography too.
When we reach St. Andrew's Descent, it becomes clear to me what Polina meant when she it the Mecca of local artists. We've been wandering down the curved, snaking street for over hour, and I can't get enough. I buy two paintings that would cost several times as much in the
States-a cityscape and a work reminiscent of an early Kuindzhi. Along the way, I buy a bunch of things that are begging to be picked up. I can't miss the salons or the small galleries. I even not renting a hotel on this street. It would be great to sit on the balcony of a small hotel in the with a cup of coffee, feeling the pulse of the city and listening to the noise from the courtyards.
- Do you want a snack? - Polina asks when we get downstairs.
- I'd love to, – I agree.
- Come on, I'll take you someplace nice, – she smiles conspiratorially. We walk down a , lovely street that reminds me of northern Europe. The buildings here are no higher than three , painted in different colors, built at least at the beginning of the last century. We enter one of cozy restaurants, of which there are many. We choose a table by the window, in the far corner.
Taking advantage of the long tablecloth that hides everything going on under the table, I put my hand on Pauline's leg. She's in a short safari dress and her long, shapely legs been tempting me all day, finally I can indulge a little. I slide my palm down the inside of her . She tries to close herself off from me, but I don't leave her any chance. Her gaze is fixed on lips. I'm sure I'm understanding her correctly. My lips and hands are busy now.
Pauline lets herself get naughty, too. I hold my breath as her hand rests over my pants on the
Gringo. With her other hand, she ducks under my T-shirt and caresses here and there in a unconcealed manner.
- What are you doing? - I whispered loudly, pulling away slightly.
- Same thing you did to me, – she laughs shamelessly.
- You're getting ahead of yourself. I haven't gotten my hands under your dress yet.
- And I got you under my shirt, you see, – she retorts defiantly. - And I like it, – she purred rubbed my nipple, scratching my skin lightly.
- Stop it, – I backed her into a corner.
- No way, – she snuggled closer to me.
When the result of her manipulation of my body is already too obvious, Pauline pulls back and brazenly undoes the top button on my jeans.
- What are you doing? - I feel like laughing.
- Making life easier for Gringo, – she teases me, showing me her tongue. But then, in an , she freezes and exhales noisily. I pull back a little.
- What's wrong?
- Oh, God, – her cheeks flushed. - My parents are here. They're sitting at that table, – she her head toward the next room, which is visible from our table. - Do you remember if anyone sitting there when we came in?
- I have no idea, – I shrugged. - I don't think anyone was there at all. Don't be nervous. Just like it's meant to be, – I wink at her.
A waitress approaches our table.
- Just a couple more minutes, – I stop her. She nods and leaves us. I turn to Polina. - Why are tense? They'll probably continue to pretend they haven't seen us. But since they've seen us and here, they're probably waiting for you to pay attention to them.
- It's all Mom's fault, – she said, a hidden desperation in her voice. - I know Dad wouldn't put me... us, embarrassed. Mom won't let up until she meets you. I don't remember when they in, before or after us.
- It doesn't matter anymore. If they're here, they could see that you and I aren't counting goats. They're your parents, it's your call.
- How... I don't mind introducing you, – she says, uncertainly. - I don't know how to get out this situation any other way. Unless we disappear into space or slip out the window.
- Well, then introduce me, – I said, amused by the situation. It's the first time I've been in this , and it amuses the hell out of me. It's clear that they saw our intemperance and could quite paint a picture of what the tablecloth hides. I can see Pauline's hesitation. While she's making her mind, the woman at the table turns around, as if unintentionally, and then, staring at us, plays .
Pauline grunts through her teeth. I, on the contrary, want to laugh, after this completely performance. I keep my eyes down so that I don't burst into homeric laughter. Polina me in the side, clearly thinking I'm a traitor.
I feel rather than notice some movement at the table in the neighboring room, and I hear
Polinin absolutely false, sluggish sigh. My girl, you're completely inept at playing to an audience!
- Uh-oh... Parents-ee-ee, – her voice is more like a squeak now, and I lift my head to gauge magnitude of the disaster.
Polina, her cheeks burning, fidgets next to me. I get up from the table and greet our
"unexpected" guests, not even trying to define my role in this comedy. I have the nerve to help
Pauline's mother sit down at our table, pulling up a chair for her. I am sure that my undone button my jeans was noticed by her.
We shake hands with Pauline's father. His face remains impassive, but I detect the he feels. Polina's mother, on the other hand, radiates curiosity disguised as joy at the
"unexpected" encounter.
They look great and are more than youthful.
Paulina's mom is a beautiful brunette, with a lush mane. She has bright blue eyes, maybe it's lenses, I don't know, but they don't look natural, or she has a unique eye color. White-skinned, an expressively shaped mouth, a lovely figure, well-groomed hands, like herself, actually. She a scanner look, under it I feel myself a patient of X-ray room. I smile at her with all thirty-two . And though she smiles back, her gaze doesn't soften in the slightest.
Nice to meet you.
Pauline's father is much younger than I would have guessed. His eyes are as black as night, he has the right facial features that remind me of a Roman patrician.
- Dad, Mom, meet Max, – Pauline tries to overcome her own awkwardness.
- Max, these are my parents. My mom is Tatiana, my dad is Konstantin. Max is a painter, I him during the exhibition, – - this is apparently the end of the introduction. Polina's "help" in context looks doubtful.
Konstantin breaks the silence by asking the standard questions: "where I'm from", "how long you been in Kyiv", "how did you settle down".
- How long are you staying with us? - Pauline's mother chirped in very confident English.
The tone of her voice and the x-ray-beam stare are inconsistent.
- I'm going back to the States in four days.
- Is a visit to us more of a travel or business visit?
- I'm combining vacation with work, – the waitress interrupts us, and we switch to ordering, it only takes a few minutes. As soon as she leaves, Polina's mother literally pours questions at . They're endless. From general topics, she moves on to private ones, to the point where she asks why I chose the profession of an artist, how lucrative it is for me, and whether I can earn else besides painting.
Am I having deja vu? I feel like my father has gotten inside the head of this woman I'm for the first time, and is giving me another competency test.
Pauline, with cheeks flaming with indignation, interrupts the "interrogation."
- Mom, you can go to the exhibition at the Pinchuk Art Center and see Max's work live! -
She's showing irritation with her whole look now. I cover her palm on the table with mine. This does not go unnoticed by Tatiana.
- Max, I'm sorry if I'm asking a lot of questions, – she says quickly. - It's a pleasure to with you, so perhaps I got carried away.
- It's okay. I can show you some of my work on my phone, – I open a folder with pictures of . She scrutinizes the photos.
- Really need to see it live, – Tatiana turns to her husband. - Maybe today? - She switches to
Ukrainian, and while they are discussing something among themselves, I take a moment and turn to
Polina:
- Relax. It's okay. Now we'll finish lunch and go for a walk like we planned. I have an idea.
Maybe you can back me up on this.
In honor of our acquaintance, we drink a bottle of Moet Chandon Brut and say goodbye to
Pauline's parents on a friendly note.
- Do you know a decent shooting range? - I ask her when we get outside.
- Yes, of course. And in more ways than one, – she hums. - I should have signed up in . Do you want to shoot?
- Since you know decent shooting ranges, maybe you like to shoot?
- Now, hold on, I'll dial and see if there's a window to get us signed in, – she nods back.
There's a free time in an hour.
We have just enough time to take the shopping back to the hotel. Pauline suggests a ride on funicular, which will speed up our movement around the city. We go up in a full carriage, to the of the hill, to the park where our acquaintance with her really began. Pauline looks up from , leaning against me:
- You're not mad about mom's attack?
- Do I look angry? I'm sorry. I'm having fun.
- She doesn't know that Igor and I broke up, and she's freaking out, – Polina runs her along my arm.
- You broke up with Igor? When? - I'm surprised to hear that.
- The day before yesterday.
- Um... - I don't know what to say. - Is everything okay? - is the only thing I can think of.
- Can't you tell? - she laughs softly. - I think you of all people should know that I'm doing fine.
I didn't expect to be pleased to hear this news.
We take the subway to the shooting range. I like the subway. Here it is monumental, solid architectural. If it were possible, I'd do a photo shoot here. At night. Without the crowds at station. I'm sorry to leave in a few days. I'd find something to do if I stayed here for a month.
The range is small, the difference from the NYC one where I train is noticeable, but the is pretty decent.
- I forgot to specify, – Pauline explains. - It's a pistol range. I hope you're okay with that?
Dad and I sometimes practice here.
We go through all the necessary formalities - we show our passports, I show my right to bear .
- What are you going to shoot with? - I ask Polina, and ask the receptionist to show me a
Glock.
- Walther, – she chooses a gun, and we go to the shooting hall.
The shooting range is designed for three shooters. Two positions are occupied by Polina and , the third by an elderly man.
I stand, hold the gun with both hands, as I usually do at the shooting range, and empty the into the target at high speed. I change the magazine and repeat the procedure: stand, sight , rapid fire.
The result for me is far from ideal, even the training of a month ago does not justify the shot in my hands. Out of thirty-four shots - four in the eight, five on the border of the nine and , ten in the nine, all the rest in the ten, if not the only one that hit the border between the seven six.
Polina shoots, according to the rules, holding the gun with two hands, aiming carefully each . She got a very nice result. Out of twenty shots, only three hit the top five, the rest were quite to the center of the target, and a few hit the top ten.
We walk out of the shooting range into the fresh air.
- Feeling better? - I take her hand.
- Yeah. That always helps. Why do you prefer Glock? - she asks without transition.
- I'm impressed with his 'pull and shoot' principle, – I explained. - No safety. And it fits in my hand. Lightweight. Lots of advantages.
- Daddy loves it, too, for not having to take the safety off, – she nods. - Do you have a weapon, Max? - Polina asks.
- I do, of course. Including cold ones.
- Why do you need it? - she wonders.
- It is convenient to use in close combat, - I explain lengthily.
- You're a very versatile person, – Pauline summarizes. - I wouldn't be surprised if it turns that you can play music, drive a horse and a race car. I'm amazed at your shooting skills, – she about something.
- Don't forget about my education. Besides, all my childhood I had to live up to my father's that I was capable of learning anything in this life besides drawing, – I can't hide my .
-You mean your father doesn't support you in your choice of profession? - I can hear the in her voice, but not idle, but bewildered. So I hesitated and answered.
- In his mind, painting is bliss. A dalliance.
- Why? - she marvels. - I've only seen some of your work, but I think you have your own, way of writing. What did he expect from you?
What should I tell her? The truth? That my father sought any way he could to burden me everything he could to keep me busy from morning to night, seven days a week, and out of his ? Clarify that he was looking for any way to point out my inadequacies if I failed at ? Or should I keep silent so as not to develop this topic?
- That I'm going to do something serious, – I quipped.
- Army service? - Polina insists.
I nod.
- You don't want to talk about it? - she looks at me carefully.
- There's nothing to talk about.
- And mom? You don't say anything about how she perceives your main occupation in life, –
I can see that Polina won't just let go. She's waiting for an answer. I put my arm around her waist pull her to me.
- Pauline, you have a wonderful family. Of course, I can only judge from the outside, not the details of your relationship. But today I saw that your parents love you. They are in your life, even if it's curiosity about the man next to their daughter. They are worried you. There's no question about that. I'm sure they've noticed. You wish they would have left in the dark, been correct, but they decided otherwise. That's not wrong. It's parental. They care you.
We walk in silence for a long time. I guess that Polina is going wherever her feet take her, I don't want to disturb her self-absorption. After a while, she pulls away slightly, stares at my for a long time, her eyebrows raised.
- We have different families and.... Did I get the answer to my question right? - she clarifies.
- I'm flattered, Paulina, that the girl next to me is not only beautiful and sexy, but also smart,
– I don't even try to smile. She stares at me for a while, then wraps her arms around my waist:
- All right, Max, let's drop the questions. I'll just tell you that I'm annoyed at the . I'd like to avoid my mom's questions. Oh, I'm sorry. Let's decide where we're going . Do you still want to go out?
- If you're not tired, yes. We also wanted to stop by the exhibit.
We spend the rest of the day on a quick look around the exhibition, and a walk through the streets of Kiev.
I take a lot of photos of Polina, now completely undisguised. I shoot her from different , I take portrait shots, I take sports shots in motion. Polina is a born model. She obediently all my requests and instructions, poses and sometimes fools around, which I use with .
During the walk we eat ice cream in waffle cups, discuss our favorite styles in painting and water in the fountain. Everything is so natural, so simple, so artless that I try to suspend time .
We dine on the eighth floor at the hotel where I'm staying. The restaurant is on a terrace the square where our journey through the city today began. Pauline is sitting across me, sipping red French wine, and I am eating a steak with blood with gusto.
- Max, I want to ask, – she tilts her head slightly to the side, her expression now childlike. It especially touching in the fading light of day. The shadows soften her already delicate .
- Ask.
- I want an answer, but I suspect you may refuse to answer. I want to ask you to answer, – hands folded on the table like a junior high school student.
- If I can refuse, it's worth asking, – I don't want to compromise my principles, even for her, her expression is disarming. - Okay, it's a deal. I'll answer. One question, – I lean back in my and stare at Polina.
- You didn't want to tell me about your family because you don't want to talk about your in general, or you don't want to talk about your family with me?
- The first.
That's the end of the questions. Dinner's over, too. The day is drawing to a close.
- Will you stay here with me tonight? - I asked, intertwining my fingers with hers.
- We can go to my place. I don't feel comfortable staying in a hotel, – she explains.
- It's been a long day. Wait for me in my room, I'll take care of things, you have nothing to about.
- Okay, Max. I just have to stop by the house in the morning to change. Tomorrow's a long , too. You have an interview, a press conference where you'll be the main character. Before that, have to stop by the office, finalize details and get instructions.
- All right, then we'll get up early tomorrow.
After settling all the formalities at the reception before going up to my room, I walk into the
LoraShen floral boutique, which is located on the first floor.
I enter the room quietly, so Polina doesn't notice me. She's sitting by the window, looking National Geographic magazines. The room is filled with K-Maro music. The song Sous 'œil de l'ange fits the moment.
I walk up to Pauline and she looks up at me, aghast at the surprise. I put a bunch of French at her feet; I had bought all the ones in the hotel boutique that evening. Lots of them, I them around her, kneel down and look into her eyes.
"They smell as sweet as you do. And they don't have thorns on them, because they're as as you are", – I said mentally to Polina, but my lips were closed.
- Max... - She exhaled, covering her face with her hands.
I pull her to me.
We have sex, right on the floor, among these roses, without taking off our clothes. We just 't have time to get undressed.