Short story.
“You are the first,” the redhaired woman stated boldly, stepped back and stared at her companoin, her head tilted to one side, as low women [R1] look at twometertall men.
Another lady in early middle age, who wearing dark glasses the size of saucers[R2] , with a black purse and a raven haircut, ran from the children’s store to a display with shoes to take position a couple of meters behind the redhaired woman. The phone in the black purse vibrated, but the lady was not up for calls. The woman in glasses was occupied with the most fascinating business she overheard. The start of the conversation dissolved into the buzz of the shopping mall, and now the lady was annoyed that she might have missed something important. The brunette stood with her back to the speakers, and saw in the shining glass the reflection of a man’s face, long and sad eyed, like the muzzle of a noble horse. Below, the reflection was blocked by the scattering of coppery, finely curled hair.
“You’ve told me this before,” the man said after a long silence.
A pause. The two carefully studied each other.
“But you did not believe it” the red-haired girl answered with an insult [R3] in her voice.
“And now I believe.”
“Now it does not matter.”
“Did you miss me?”
“The first time. It was difficult to wake up alone. When you stretch out your hand onto the next pillow, the emptiness reaches to infinity.”
“If you pulled me out at our days, we were late for the work[R4] .”
“You never complained about it. And on purpose rolled up closer. And you poked nose wherever it went, to wake me up.[R5] ”
And you woke up and your skin felt all grainy.
“And you … Strange, I do not remember how you felt by touch.”
The man stretched out his hand. He and the redhead were separated by a table littered with books: a regular promo action on Saturdays. Visitors to the shopping mall were rushing to the supermarket entrance, attracted by a poster: “Seasonal sale.” On the book counter, no one paid attention. Nobody, except for a chatting couple and a curious brunette.
“Call to memory how feels my tough[R6] ,” the man unfolded his hand, with palm up.
“To work hard again to forget?” – the girl rejected his proposal.
“I did not forget anything. Are you still flashing [R7] from touching your forearm[R8] ?”
“True, you really remember,” the woman shuddered, as if she had a sudden chill.
“Yes, a slow search through your fingers, upwards, from the blue wreath on your wrist, then higher, in a gentle, white, inner, secret area … Can I do it now?” The man almost touched the lady.
“Are you crazy? Do you want me to spit [R9] in front of the whole store?!” The red-haired woman crossed her arms tightly over her chest.
“I do want.”
“You’ve grown bolder. Previously you hissed at me: “Quiet!” and your hands were scared away into your pockets.”
“I’ve never been that way.”
“You were. Cowardly, wicked, selfish.”
“For this you abandoned me?”
“No. I was tired of your affairs.”
“Did you know about them?”
“Yes.”
“Were you jealous?”
“I was furious. I was insulted by your choice. You did not have the right to put me into a line with these dirty women. I learned about your affairs from the tabloids,” the red-haired woman began to get angry, she threw every phrase in the man’s face with a fluttering contempt yet detachment, as if she were rubbing a wet rag on his cheeks.
The man protected himself behind a thick book, defending himself from accusations. Waiting for a couple of seconds, he peered cautiously out of the tome.
“Are you still so angry, that you’re still in love with me?” he hurriedly lifted the heavy volume up once more, hiding from the indignant gaze of the interrogator.
“Do not hide from me using books. You tried to cocoon yourself from life by books, too!” the redhead grabbed other side of the book and pulled it down. The man succumbed, and now they stood opposite each other, each holding onto a side of the book, pressed to the counter.
The crowd began to disperse, the audibility became perfect, so the woman in huge black glasses decided to move away slightly to the adjoining shoe store. There she sat down on a low Ottoman for trying on shoes. Her knees raised up, skirt crumpled. The outfit of her legs went. She knew that her lets a seductive.[R10] While trying on new boots, she swiveled her feet left and right, waggled her feet beneath clenched knees, and knocked her heels on the ringing floor. Then, with simulated displeasure, she returned the box to the seller and threw up her hands, as they do in the mistress’s movie[R11] , upon finding a serious mess in the house. She pulled her skirt down, leaned in, chameaten [R12] chaste[R13] . But then the blouse was enticingly agape, and every attentive observer, no doubt, would note that beautiful legs are not the only virtue of a brunette.
But the man did not react to the brunette’s coy seduction. He asked the red-haired lady:
“Who is your husband?”
“My husband is the most beautiful man in the world. And he’s also a genius.”
“You also told me that I was a genius.”
“You? No, I could not say something so stupid.”
“You said that.”
“You’re a graphomaniac. A pathetic loser. It was disgusting to take your talentless opuses into my hands.”
“You’re cruel.”
“You wanted to be cured[R14] .”
“It is fair.”
The situation at the table grew heated. The brunette jumped out of the store, limping in a crookedly worn shoe, she had large feet, and she pulled them close, not in size, shoes[R15] . The brunette approached the book table, standing to the side of the red-haired lady, who continued to pour out accusations:
“You are a pathetic loser. None of the reputable publishers wanted to publish your books. Did they?”
“None of reputable ones, no.”
“You deserve it.”
“You’re right. Probably, it was all in vain. Forgive me for everything, and I will go.”
“How can I just forgive you?”
“Yes, you should just forgive me, if you do not want a tragic ending.”
The lady in glasses stood half turned to the conversation and she bent over to see the expression on the man’s face at this tense moment.
“A tragic ending! Just think about it!” The red-haired girl added a touch of irony to her voice. “Will you jump off a bridge?”
“I will not jump, but your callousness can have fatal consequences,“ the man replied.
“Will you shoot yourself?” the redhead’s fury did not abate.
Anything is all right with me, but madam with the glasses and a torn stocking perhaps risks twisting her neck, listening in such an uncomfortable position.”
The brunette pretended that it was not about her. She hastily turned away, and, with a crash, brought down a pile of books onto the floor. She bent to pick it up and could not resist examining her stockings, then she finally betrayed herself.
“Marina!” The red-haired woman turned at the noise. – “You are back, finally.”
“So she’s your friend?” The man asked.
“Yes,” the red-haired woman confirmed. “We have a weekend shopping, perhaps it’s time for us to go. Greetings to the family.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Marina hastily squeezed in front of her friend and began to look unblinkingly at the man.
“Goodbye,” the man held out a book over Marina’s head. “I drew something on here, look, if you feel lonely.”
“Thank you, I’ll think about it.” The red-haired girl accepted the book.
The man turned sharply and walked away. His walk was confident, and he himself was so broad-shouldered, with a mane of beautifully graying hair and elastic calves, tastefully depicted through a thin trouser cloth. Marina was obviously interested in the retreating male caviar[R16] , even twisting her claws into the table cloth, as if pursuing the retreating legs. After the book breakdown[R17] , the smell of perfume was thinning. Citrus scent, somewhat flippant for a man of forty.
“Wow!” Marina exclaimed admiringly. – “Shame on you, Catherine. And all the while pretending to be shy. Such a man! Will you call him?”
“Of course not, call him yourself,” the red-haired Catherine handed the brunette Marina the proffered book. Similar stories to your taste [R18] (flavor? Meaning: You are the person, who loves such a stories).
“Are you serious?” Marina started to figure out how to best handle the new possibility.
“Absolutely,” Catherine assured her.
Marina opened the book on the first page and suddenly yelled at the whole store:
“Oh my God! It is him!”
Casual customers shied away from Marina, the saleswomen jumped out of their stalls, the guard instinctively grabbed the sleeve of a shabbily dressed teenager. The man who presented the book was already about fifty yards away, but when he heard the cry, he turned around and beamed at his former companions with a long ironic smile.
“It’s really him!” Marina squeaked, comparing the photo on the spread with the wrapped original.
“He is, yes, calm down,” Catherine exhorted her friend.
“This is a writer! Famous!” Marina literally screeched and tried to compare the portrait with the original [R19] to all those who paid attention to her screams.
“He’s a decent writer and twice a laureate,” Catherine concurred.
“So why did you call him a loser”?
“Because a fictitious life should not be the same as it really is“.
“Does your husband know about him?“ asked Marina.
Marina just shook with joyful excitement. Catherine was a wallflower (grey mouse?) in their company – she just read their books at home while the girls were lit at parties, seasoning the monotony of family life with spicy, noncommittal adventures. And then it turns out that Katya [R20] had entered into a passionate romance, and even with such a man! Marina dreamed of how she will tomorrow, no, of course, today will tell this secret to her friends.
“There’s nothing for my husband to know about, let’s go.” Catherine moved along the windows to the exit.[R21]
“Of course, there’s nothing to know, do not worry, Katya, I’ll be silent as the grave.” Marina made a gesture that indicated she was closing her mouth with a zipper. “Have you known him for a long time?”
“I have not seen him for years, change the topic please.”
“Why did you break up?”
“You came, so he said goodbye,” replied Catherine dryly.
“I mean then. “
“There was no ‘then’.” Catherine walked faster.
Well, if you do not want to talk about it, you are not obliged to.” Marina was offended, and stalled at the window of a toyshop. Then curiosity triumphed, and with small steps due to a tight skirt preventing unimpeded movement, she ran to catch up with Catherine.
“Well, at least tell me, how did you meet?” Marina grabbed her friend by the sleeve.
“This is how we met. He stared at me for a couple of minutes, then came up and said that he was having a love attack. And if I do not give first aid, the disease can take a fatal turn. He stated that only my smile and our common future can save him. “
“And you?” Marina grabbed her friend’s elbow, then moved her fingers up the forearm.
“And I said that we cannot have a common future with him. Because my husband is my beloved one and my children are not strangers,“ Catherine pulled her hand away – “Let go, I’m ticklish.”
And him? – asked Marina.
“He suggested that if we do not have a common future, then let’s come up with (let’s pretend, lets’ invent, let’s compose) at least a common past. “
“And you? “
I said: “Let’s think one up. You’re the first[R22] “.
[R1]Short? Low women is a euphemism for prostitute.
[R2]What does this mean?
[R3]Accusation?
[R4]Not sure what this means?
[R5]Not sure what this means?
[R6]Not sure what this means?
[R7]Shivering?
[R8]Do you still shiver when someone touches your forearm?
[R9]Not sure what this means? Scream?
[R10]Not sure what this means?
[R11]Not sure what this means?
[R12]Not sure what this means?
[R13]Not sure what this means?
[R14]Cured of what?
[R15]Not sure what this means?
[R16]Delectable male?
[R17]Incident?
[R18]Stories to suit your taste?
[R19]Which original?
[R20]Who? Catherine?
[R21]Format change.
[R22]I don’t really understand the ending. Is it to imply that they’d never met before today?