Tabula Rasa. White’s move. Territory of Seduction

Chapter 19

Polina

All week I was loaded with work, maintaining an intense pace. II went to the office by eight the morning and didn’t return home until after eight in the evening. But as a result, the project hardly exemplary and I have been assured that I will supervise it from the head office. This is personal big victory!

Because of my crazy rhythm of life, Max and I didn't communicate much. After the first -awaited conversation, we managed to Skype only once. It was an evening call, I was like a lemon after work, and the conversation didn't really work. Max talked mostly about the studios he had seen for me during the week, what conditions were in each studio and who there. And I just listened and watched, enjoying his voice. He found several options, and I had to choose the right one.

Location plays a determining role. I already know what neighborhood I'm going to live in.

My dad rented me an apartment in Brooklyn. Max promised to look for something near the , because all of his "finds" are in Manhattan. It's also an option, I can go to classes work, in the evening group. Almost all studios require you to show your skills. That doesn't me. I've been dancing for seventeen of my twenty-two years, and now I'm truly excited about opportunity to continue dancing.

I am three weeks away from leaving for the States. As soon as we reconnected with Max,

I'm counting every day until I leave. I can't wait to see him! Not on a monitor. I want to see him in . To breathe in his special, incomparable, intoxicating scent. Touch his hair. To look into his -blue eyes.

I have a lot of questions for him. I don't know if I have the courage to say them, or if he'll to answer them. I'm not even sure if I need to know the answers. I remember the old Jewish , "If you don't want to hear the answer, don't ask."

All my doubts dissolved, dissipated. They were swallowed up by the routine of everyday life my own reflections. Lisa was right: let the past remain the past. With me, Max behaved - he promised nothing, and showed himself a man of his word - he promised to help and responded to my request. But I need to ask him, to clear my own conscience. It's as if I through a keyhole or went through his personal belongings without his knowledge. I'm by that fact. I don't read other people's letters. Though I can hardly imagine my tongue to ask him a single question.

But as soon as I saw the gift on his finger, my tension evaporated like pre-dawn fog in the sun. I rejoice like a child. He's wearing a ring! This fact speaks to something I've been to think about - Max remembers me. He thinks of me.

Early Saturday morning we are leaving as a family for a week in Odesa. My mother insisted a vacation together before I left for the States. A few years ago, my parents bought an apartment the seashore, near Victory Gardens. Now, every year we go to vacation there for at least a couple a year. My mom lives in Odesa for months. She decorated the apartment to suit her needs: to the latest design trends, complete with the latest technology.

If the opportunity arises, and circumstances are fortunate, Lisa and I try to escape here my parents, but due to my departure to the States, this year it's going to be as mom wants it be.

Our family vacation is going on as usual. In the morning I go for a run and swim for about an hour in the sea, although the water is still cool - in June the Black Sea is rarely warm. Then, with Lisa we go to the nearest market to buy fruit. In the afternoon we definitely make trips the city center or play poker. We adore Odesa. In the evenings we have a family dinner and, as a , a night beach or a night club, of which there are many along the sea line near us. Sometimes arrange a home theater.

I'm nostalgic for our conversations with Max. There's no way we could coincide in time, from the obstacles of my ubiquitous relatives. We've tried e-mailing, but we're both not great writers. I outline my day to him and he sends me photos and studio information. It's more telegraphic messages than correspondence.

He recently sent me a recent photo of himself, from some private gallery opening party. His was noticeably longer and he had grown a neat little beard. This is the first time I've seen him this! His skin is lightly tanned, accentuated by the whiteness of his shirt. And a permanent, smile for the camera. I could stare at him for hours, but my mom almost caught me doing , and I don't want to have another confrontation with her.

But I was "pleased" with Lisa. She looked at the photo for a long time and said with a look:

-

Purebred boy. If you start kicking, I’ll take him away from you. And to hell with a hundred of abstinence.

-

Sometimes he sends me short texts, further fueling my imagination, "You come over, we'll a walk in night NYC”, "I want you in my shower in the morning”, "Save the delicate skin for me."

I try not to fuel myself with fantasies about him, but before I go to sleep, lying in bed, I him...next to me.

The black day for me came at the very moment when my mother told me that Igor would be dinner with us tonight. It turned out that he was also in Odesa and had a couple of things to with my father.

I haven't seen Igor since the day he handed me the unfortunate envelope. I have no desire to him. I'm sure he'll insist on talking to me, and I have no idea what to talk to him about. So I of something for me and Lisa to do this evening - we're going to the IMAX for another movie .

We get back quite late, but Igor is still stuck at our house. He and his father have locked in the study and are discussing business matters. Before I can hide in my bedroom with

Lisa, they come out into the hall.

- Hi, girls, - Igor said with his usual Hollywood smile, his eyes remaining cold. He looks . Slim (though he's always in athletic shape), tanned, in a light-colored suit - just from the of a magazine. I can tell from his mood that we're going to have a conversation.

- Polina, will you walk me out? - Igor asks, as if by the way. I notice my father's ironic look.

He calls the elevator, inviting me to ride with him.

- Your posture is so closed, it's like I'm about to torture you, - a smile like Lestat’s on his . My arms are indeed crossed over my chest. I set myself up to hear something unpleasant. And it is, just as the elevator door closes behind us, he gives out:

- I take it the image of your Brit didn't raise any questions for you, - he emphasizes the word

“Brit".

I shrug silently.

- You probably want to ask why I'm so insistent on giving you information about him, - Igor .

- I don't want to admit it. But you're apparently eager to tell me why.

- You're aggressive, Polina.

- Igor, please spare me from analyzing my person. You can talk. The sooner you speak, the we can end this useless, unnecessary conversation.

- Useless? You think my anxiety is useless? I'm trying to keep you from doing something . You just don't realize who you're dealing with. You don't care about his hit list, am I right?

I interrupt him:

- Igor, have you studied your list of girlfriends to the end? Or should I remind you that when were in a relationship with me, as you called it, you didn't shy away from fucking your . And as it turns out, more than once. And not just with her.

- I think we had it all figured out back then. No?

- Yeah, but why talk about someone who's not here? There's you and me. And I guess it's to clear the air once and for all, so we don't have to go back and forth anymore-I can hardly how we could be in a relationship now, and for a year at that!

- Okay, we'll talk about that, too, - Igor took me aside in the courtyard, clearly away from ears. - But first I want to finish talking about your connection with this British Don Juan.

Polina, the guy you're involved with is easily getting rid of the women he brings close to him. If do bother to peruse the information, you'll find the name Diana Bathgate. She's a ballerina with American Ballet Theater, former fiancée of your Alexander Maximilian, or whatever his name . Her career was well on its way until a mutual acquaintance of ours- prince, count? It doesn't . Diana got pregnant by him, which for a person of her profession, as you understand, means least a break in career, and maximum - leaving the stage forever, but she took this step, for the of their future together. Unfortunately, for an aristocratic Brit, having a child with a common is a social mismatch, and he bought his way out by paying a million dollars for her to the unwanted pregnancy. He insisted on an abortion, and after that their relationship . After repeatedly catching him in lies, she could no longer stay with him and broke off the .

- What are you talking about, - I was seething, but I tried to control my indignation . -Why are you telling me all this? Where did you get this information? Where's the logic that? If she was his fiancée, why would she have an abortion?

- I talked to her, a few weeks ago. He saw her as a toy. You may have noticed he has a hatred of children. Barely seventeen, he helped a minor girl get rid of the child, a gift he himself bestowed upon her. He didn't want kids. Not then, not now. Basically, Diana clearly him to me - a child-hater. He's a childfree man. He doesn't care what his women want.

I recoil from him.

- What goals you are pursuing, Igor, I can't understand.

- You're too hung up on him, baby. We only know two episodes of his life. How many more these unhappy people are out there? You want to be one of them? You're driven by your baser . It's time to use your head.

- I realize one thing, Igor, that these are all words. While I have much more trump cards on hands, and I know for a fact that the man who was by status my boyfriend was having an affair his secretary at the same time. I caught you with her, remember? And before you give me information about another person, think about your moral character, - I can't hold a sarcastic smile. - Of course, from your perspective, it’s much more humane to father children then get rid of their mothers with monetary handouts.

He wants to punch me in the face, but I intercept his arm.

- What do you think you're doing? - He hissed in my face, throwing my palm away. - All my are settled, and all the women are loaded, no one's offended. I gave you everything to make feel like a queen.

I bravely face him:

- You mean The Princess and the Pea. Remember how often I had to guess who you were this time. Igor, we would never be together. Never! We're too different. I never lied to you.

Never! I've always been completely honest with you. I've been faithful and respectful of your , forgiving of affairs and weaknesses. But it all comes to an end. I can't live under the hood, 's suffocating me, killing me. I don't want to subjugate my life to yours. This isn't about Max. If it 't, we'd still be broken up. Meeting him was just a catalyst. That's all it was. It's time.

Igor's gaze dissects me, but I withstand it honorably, only wrapping my arms more tightly myself.

- I'll get you proof. But not to get it back. No, Polina, to make you realize how cruelly wrong 've been about the man you trusted. You don't live with your head, you live with your cunt! I'm you have no more brains than a stupid chicken.

Listening to his insults? I step around him, intending to walk toward the entrance. In a of minutes, he grabs my elbow and pushes me against the wall of the house, pinning me with body. His mouth sinks into my lips and with his foot he pushes mine apart, trapping and pinning arms against the wall of the house, effectively immobilizing me. We're in a dark corner where 're hard to see. My heart is pounding in my throat, my pulse thudding in my temples. In response,

I bite his lip until it bleeds.

With a sharp shake, he slams my back against the wall so that I hit the back of my head. The pierces me.

- Fuck made you lose your mind? Did he show you the sky in diamonds? What can he do I or the men you fucked before me can't, - he spits the words in my face.

I kick him in the groin with all my might. He yelped in surprise and loosened his grip, me a chance to push him away and break free of his rage.

- He gives joy, and you only take it. That's the difference between you two, - I said as I on my heels and sprinted quickly, almost jogging, toward the house. He catches up with me the steps. The concierge can see us through the glass door, and I know I'm safe now, and I'll if he lays a finger on me again.

- You're going to regret getting involved with him! But you'll regret humiliating me even , - he threw at me.

- We could have parted like two intelligent people, - I open the door so that he understands -

I’m not going to let him hurt me. - Now there's all this dirt between us. In the name of what? You 't believe we can make it work.

Igor, wipes the blood from his chin with the palm of his hand, which oozes from the bitten :

- The question is sanity! And you think, - he swears profanely, again pointing to the body he thinks I'm thinking with. - Our union would be justified and rational for both of us. For reasons. You're making a big mistake, and you're going to regret it.

That last one sounds like a threat.

- Regret what, Igor?

- All in good time. That's goodbye, - he walks off toward the parking lot. I run into the house hear the roar of his car and the squeal of tires.

Quickly hiding in my room from my dad and mom, I fall onto my bed.

- You've got blood on your lips, - Lisa cries out. - Polina!

- Shh! - I raise my hand, stopping her, wiping my mouth.

- What's wrong?

I briefly recount to her the conversation I had with Igor.

- What does he want from you? Did you hurt his self-esteem? - Lisa squirmed on the , apparently so uncomfortable hearing all this.

- I don't know. We cleared the air with him a month ago! We had a difficult conversation, we explained and understood each other, I thought. However, Igor was sure that from my side, up with him was a whim or a joke, and in time I would come to my senses, - I explained.

- Then I don't know, - Lisa hesitated. - Maybe he was counting on you to come to your after Max left. It was an attempt to control your return, to insure your safety.

- I hope this whole relationship thing is over! God, what the hell is this Max crap? Why he pay his fiancée money for an abortion? Is he a sadistic, moral freak? - I clutch my head my hands, it's ringing with the pain of the blow.

- Nonsense. The puzzle doesn't fit. Polina, Igor is going to tell you a lot of things. He's after . But what is it? To get you back? With these methods? Hmm. You can only talk to Max the meeting, not now. Anyway, I'm sure it'll all come out.

- I don't want to think about it right now. I don't understand anything anyway. Get me some , I've got a headache.

She brings an ice pack wrapped in a kitchen towel, which I apply to the back of my head.

- Listen, maybe to the doctor? - Lisa's worried. - What if it's a concussion?

- I'd better go to bed, - I said, getting under the blanket and getting a chill. A delayed to the shock.

Lisa sits down next to me and takes my hand in hers:

- My good girl, - she said. - Get some sleep. I'll be nearby. Don't let in all the nasty things Igor. Don't let the bad stuff in.

A tear rolls out from under my eyelashes, and she brushes it off my cheek with her finger:

- Don't cry. You don't have to cry. After all, if Max turns out to be an asshole, you'll just send away. Yeah, it'll be a disappointment, but...- She takes a long time to find the words. - It's now. You’re just in the warm-up phase. It’s just thirst. And the asshole who just left isn't crying over. I'm gonna tell my daddy what a jerk his partner is.

I open my eyes and grab Lisa's hand:

- Don't you dare! I forbid you. Don't bring Daddy into this! They have their own business. I 't want to drag him into mine and Igor's.

- I will. I promise. But it would be right if you told me yourself, - Lisa says, kissing my . - Get some sleep. If you feel sick, tell me, and I'll call a doctor.

In the morning at breakfast, Dad studies my face, later wondering:

- No jogging today?

- No, - I answer briefly. The headache is gone, but the dizziness is still there. I must have a mild concussion.

- Did you talk to Igor? Did you have a deal?

- I hope so - another conversation like this I don't even want to imagine.

- You need to explain it in a way that, daughter, the man will understand. We’re perceptive.

The key is to choose the right words.

- Dad, I explained myself to him almost a month ago. But I guess he didn't believe me, - I my tea.

- All right. Be good. I'll also ask you to tell me if something's wrong, - he salutes me with a of tea.

- I promise, - I nod.

- Are you sure everything is all right now? I know you well, you'll hold out until the last , - Dad looked furtively in Lisa's direction.

- Dad, I'll tell you if anything's wrong. I will. But you're right, I have to deal with my own .

He pats my shoulder, and I exhale.

As soon as I walk into my Kyiv apartment, the first thing I do is check Max's Skype. I need talk to him. Right now. Just to see his eyes. The distance between us, all of Igor's throwaway , his "digs" at Max - slowly but surely doing their job, poisoning me. Distancing me from . He doesn't seem as real to me as he was a week ago.

It's 7:00 p.m., which means it's noon. I hope he's online. It's Monday, though, and Max is working in the studio. But his Skype confirms that he's online.

I call him. After a few beeps, his account screen flashes on the monitor, and I see Max. He's a bandana on his head, his shoulders bare except for the straps of his jean overalls, his stained with paint. He's grown a beard, keeping it in shape. It suits him. I'm just not used him like this yet.

- Hi, - he smiles.

- Hey, you're covered in paint, - I say. He laughs:

- It's a regular thing when I'm working.

- What are you wearing? - curiosity takes over. He gets up and walks away:

- See? - He's wearing light-colored denim overalls, also covered in paint in places. - These my work clothes, - he takes off his bandana, ruffling his overgrown hair. He looks incredibly in this jumpsuit, which barely covers his naked torso and is at least a size larger in the . Max in those clothes gives me a rush of desire.

He settles back down in front of the monitor:

- You got a tan. And you cut your bangs, - he smiles. - I asked you to keep your peachy skin for me.

- You notice everything, - I can't hold back a smile.

- I'm an artist, I guess. It'd be weird if I didn't notice. Tell me about your vacation.

- Swimming, sunbathing, reading, biking.

- I like to ride a bike too. When you come to New York, we can ride together, at least on . Would you like that? - he laughs again. I think he's happy.

- I'd love to.

- It's gonna be great. We can ride in different places. I'll show you the suburbs. What else you been doing?

- I was thinking about you, - I said. - That I didn't really know anything about you. I even

Googled you, - I don't say anything. He doesn't say anything, either.

- Lots of pictures with hotties. Different ones. Interviews. I really like your site. Did you it yourself?

- No, of course I ordered from freelancers. I have no idea how to design a website. What did google excursion get you, besides seeing me with the hotties? - he smiles. I note that Max is relaxed, waiting for me to speak.

- I realized that it's an honor for any pretty girl to be with a macho man like you, - I'm not to ask him anything now, especially since I can see that he took my remark calmly.

- Macho? That's new. Polina, when you get here, we'll talk about me, too. We'll have time to .

- Okay, I'll take your word for it. I just remember you didn't want to talk about anything . Get back to work. I'm distracting you, - I send him lots of air kisses.

- You're not a distraction. You work as my muse, - he winks at me.

- No way, - I look at him incredulously.

- You doubt it? - He smiles broadly. Max, with his beard and long hair, is definitely my , I can't take my eyes off him. He's mature and handsome! And I want to admire him as long possible. - I have a couple of orders, I intend to finish them before you arrive. I want to be free you get here. You're not going straight to work, are you? Is there some kind of adjustment ? I know you've been to New York, but you haven't seen everything. Now I'll show you my .

- Are you growing a beard? - I blurt out.

He laughs, so infectiously that I laugh along with him:

- For now. You don't like it?

- I do. I'm just not used to you like this.

We talk about some more trivia, but the most important thing is that I see him. At the end of conversation, I kiss my index finger and put it to the monitor, like Max usually does. He does same. The screen goes blank.

A warmth spills deep inside, like honeyed gold. It's only a quarter of an hour into the , and I can feel him again.

No more doubts! Lisa's right, if it's a mask and he turns out to be dishonest, that would be best reason for me to cut him out of my thoughts. And now I think I'm singing to myself I saw his infectious smile and warm gaze. Max, you're so desirable!

The next two weeks before my departure are jam-packed with things to do: questions at the , meetings with friends, dinners with my parents, packing, beauty salons, dance class. Every of the day is filled.

I rarely get to Skype with Max, as routine business eats up my entire day, but a few times we manage to have a full conversation. And it was sweet and agonizing communication. One day conversations took us to the dangerous topic of desire. He persuaded me to show myself to him.

And I, having lost all shame, caressed myself, seducing him and driving myself to madness.

Skype was our friend and foe at the same time. After that agonizingly sweet session, we only once. I sensed that he was as in tune as I was: we needed to communicate, but the distance us made any intimate conversation a torture. Until a couple months ago, I couldn't have that I'd long for someone like that.

But we started writing to each other almost every day.

Max took the final choice of a dance studio and had already made arrangements with a who would assess the level of my training.

The night before I left, my mom threw a party: noisy, crowded. Like it was someone's . Later that night, Lisa and I ran away to my house. If all goes well, she'll come to New

York for at least a week, a promise I don't have to beg from her; she's happy to accept any offer.

Lisa's giving me instructions:

- Don't let doubts consume you, Polinka! Whatever it is, always listen to what's going on you. Intuition is everything. If you feel that a man is "yours", then he is.

- I remember.

- Put everything Igor told you out of your mind. Please. Listen only to yourself.

- How did you get so wise beyond your years, sister? - I smile at Lisa and she hugs me.

- It's a family thing. You're just, uh. uh, uh, a little out of sorts. Is Max gonna meet you?

- Yes, he asked me to log every flight. I've already sent him a schedule of my connections.

- That's good. Now I feel good about you.

The next day, my parents and Lisa see me off to the airport. I was clearly overweight - two and a large bag. No matter how hard I tried not to pack for three lifetimes, it was still more I had anticipated.

I'm totally sleep deprived, after a riotous party and a night out with Lisa, but I have a long .

They're boarding my flight. I'll be in New York in twelve hours.