Say it in Russian Page 2

  “I’m sure I cannot,” said Daria. Andrew chuckles nervously.

  “This is the man who saved me from that horrible purse snatcher at the airport this morning. He came tonight-the night of the eclipse. Isn't he a prince? I named him...Out of The Blue.” Jacqueline laughs. Andrew quickly extends his hand. Daria shakes it, indifferent.

  “It’s Daria?” Daria nods. Jacqueline finishes her drink, then looks around. After a moment, she strangely slips away without mention, and if she were chasing down a taxi, leaving Daria and Andrew on their own. They look at each other, awkwardly at first, and then it becomes almost serious. They wait in silence for a very long time before Andrew eventually cracks the it.

  “We greet sternly here,” Andrew quips, smiling. Daria does not.

  “You should have tried to hold out a little longer.”

  “I know...I couldn't help it.”

  “Is that an American trait?

  “I don’t think so. Where are you from?”

  “Russia.”

  “Interesting.”

  “How so? I thought most Americans believe that there’s no television in Russia and bears are running the streets.”

  “Ooooh. We're frostbitten. Cold across the board.”

  “Like the Snow Queen,” says Daria.

  “Who's the Snow Queen?”

  “Nobody you'd want to meet.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because... she'll freeze your heart.” Daria smiles and walks away. Andrew is a little stunned.

  As the party moves forward, Andrew continues to wash his inhibitions with alcohol, as the buzz coats him in a new suit of confidence. Jacqueline scoops him up by the arm. “So, tell me, have you finished with all your meetings? Do you really have to return to America?”

  “End of the week.” Jacqueline hangs on Andrew like a fine drapery, snatching the drink from his hand and putting it down at the nearest table.

  “So soon? So Soon? Come-dance with me.”

  As the quartet plays a waltz, Andrew balances Jacqueline delicately in his arms, and she spurts out her life story to Andrew. Out of the corner of his eye, there is Daria, across the room, dancing with an old distinguished gentleman, holding her like a china doll. To Andrew, she seems a creature from another world.

  “...So - Husband number one was a doctor, picked by your parents. Decent guy, but no passion. Number two was a musician with a drug problem.” Andrew scans the floor for any sign of Daria. None. “The crazy love of my life. Died of a heart attack when he was 40.”

  “And number three....”

  “A Russian businessman, an idealist, actually a MORALIST. After we slept together he insisted we had to get married,” she sighed… “We drifted apart.”

  A small cloud of smoke surrounds two old geezers, drinking cognac, smoking cigars, by the billiard table.

  “His time had come!” said the first Geezer.

  “I say kill the timer!” said Geezer Two.

  Andrew catches his laugh before it becomes embarrassing. Then he notices Daria again, bringing a canapé and drink to an Old Lady. The old woman places a hand on her head as if in a blessing, when she kneels down to give her the food. They exchange a few words in Russian. The next time he notices her, Daria is mingling with some younger students, joining their conversation, passionately discussing the politics of poetry.

  “I wanted to talk to you about something,” said Daria to one of the students.

  At that moment, Andrew quietly walks up behind her and whispers in her ear, “No, you didn't.” Daria turns around, and sees Andrew grinning, as he walks toward the corner of the room. Daria turns to her company and excuses herself, and walks over toward Andrew.

  “I thought we already spoke and addressed the many issues regarding American wit.”

  We did.”

  “So?”

  “You walked over to me.”

  “Well, I can fix that.” Daria smiles and turns to leave. Andrew puts his hand gently on her arm to stop her.

  “Wait…” Daria turns around. “About this Snow Queen....”

  “It was an analogy, it doesn't mean anything.”

  “I know, I just had a thought, though...” Quite tipsy now, he backs her into a corner with his arm resting on a wall over her head. “The heart is a muscle...that ticks like minutes and hours and with every tick, blood is pumped through the veins and life moves...(whispering) if this Snow Queen could stop that ticking, stop time by freezing the heart...then didn't she give us an eternity of time? Wouldn't that be a good thing? We could live in a fairy tale...in our heads. I would welcome the idea of...no time.” Daria smiles and stares at him a moment.

  “Mmm, a philosopher, and an American.”

  “Anyway...I just wanted to tell you, the Snow Queen could be widely misunderstood.”

  “You're confident and optimistic, obviously.”

  “You may threaten that, though.”

  “How so?”

  “Because I don't - KNOW. I didn't believe in anything.”

  “And now?” Andrew smiles and nods.

  “...Now, I lose objectivity.”

  “Oh, of course, you need the freedom to go in any direction. Should I be jealous?”

  “No... The Snow Queen knows what she's doing.”

  “I told you--it's not me.”

  “I know, you need a literary reference, that's your freedom.” Daria wiggles her finger in front of Andrew's face and walks away.

  The party dangles on. Jacqueline and Andrew sit in a corner. The alcohol has turned up the volume of Jacqueline’s voice. She insisted that Andrew talk about his work, a subject he had no interest at all in talking about. Being a divorce attorney, it was difficult to be proud of yourself. Of course, there were a few times, but the memories were bittersweet. Like the time his opponent, who had the better case, agreed with Andrew. The opponent’s client, the father, was molesting the child. But there was no way Andrew would win because his client was a drug addict. Instead of going to trial, which would have put the child in the custody of the molesting father, the attorneys worked out an elaborate shared custody arrangement with the parties continuing to live together. Andrew was getting weary of the practice; abused women claiming they reconciled with their husbands and begging Andrew to dismiss their divorces (which he always refused, insisting they get another lawyer); husbands trying to seek custody to lighten their financial load. It all stunk to Andrew. The most used piece of equipment in his office besides the typewriter was a box of Kleenex on his desk, replenished weekly. Jacqueline laughs—too loudly.

  “No, No, No,” she says to Andrew.

  “No, it’s the truth. Basically I pray on human misery. People start romantic and sexually ecstatic, then it goes wrong and there's bitterness and recrimination. And that's when they call me.... the Terminator.”

  “You help them start their lives again.”

  “I help them abuse someone they used to love, for as much money as humanly possible. It’s a dirty job.” Jacqueline shrugs, sipping her wine.

  “Oh, you're too hard on yourself.” She watches him watch Daria across the room, dancing with a little boy to a hip song. Daria bows to him at the end of the dance, turns to go. Jacqueline rises and stands behind Andrew, playing with the back of his hair.

  “Ah, mon petit enfant, did you have golden curls when you were young?”

  “Oh yes, my golden curls... but they darkened right up, like my heart.” Andrew can't take his eyes off Daria, who's putting on her cloak and coming toward them.

  “I can see you're quite taken with her.”

  “Taken with her?”

  “Yes, I believe you are. Daria's a truly amazing person--if you take time to get to know her first. You know, you can’t deny destiny.”

  “Destiny?”

  Daria approaches Jacqueline. “Je m'en vais. Au revoir, Chérie. Merci pour tout.” She kisses and hugs Jacqueline.

  “As always, it's a pleasure seeing you, Daria. Andrew bows mockingly, of
fering his hand.

  “Enchant, mademoiselle.”

  Daria looks at him, bats her eyelashes and whispers, as she takes his hand, “Enchant, Monsieur American. Au revoir,” and hurries out into the Paris night.

  CHAPTER 5

  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BUdLUs2opu8

  The misty rain lays an uneven mirror on the Paris streets, distorting the beautiful lights as Daria passes the flat-iron building, scooting across the street. Andrew hurries after her. Daria, sensing someone following her, turns and sees him, walking closer.

  “Are you following me?”

  “No, I’m escorting you. Never can tell what stalkers may be lurking out there. Can’t be too careful, you know.”

  “Right.”

  “Why are you in Paris?”

  “Why are you?” Andrew smiles and shakes his head.

  “What do you do when you're not acting like a mystery?”

  “What do you do when you're not interrogating women, and making cracks in the beautiful silent road?”

  “Ah, Snow Queen...Harsh...cold...and fair. If you must know, I'm here on business until the end of the week.”

  “And what will happen to this flirt at the end of the week?”

  “I don't know...I'm very curious.” Suddenly, without warning, she runs out into the middle of the street, looking up into the sky. The moon is preparing for a full lunar eclipse. The full moon still looms overhead in the clear sky, a sliver of a shadow beginning to appear, marking the beginning of the eclipse.

  “What is it?”

  “Look. Isn't it beautiful?”

  “I guess.” He looks back at Daria, in her childlike amazement of something as ordinary as the moon, but takes advantage of the opportunity.

  “You know, it's funny.”

  “What?”

  “We live so far away from each other, yet every night we look up at the same moon.” Daria looks back at Andrew and smiles.

  “But you hate the moon talk?” Daria stops in front of the metro station at the Place de la Concorde and looks at him.

  “It's too easy, glib, gets into that language of love thing. In my experience, love is so casual, it's no longer unique...” Andrew looks at her. “The lonely ones need to take a deeper look,” he says.

  “Only the lonely ones, huh?” Andrew smiles and nods.

  “Not me, of course.”

  “If you're not lonely then why did you follow a strange girl home from a party?”

  “Loneliness and curiosity are not the same thing.”

  “Oh... a loophole. Is that how they say it in your work? Loophole?”

  “Yeah, loophole. It’s my job to find those.” They head down the stairs into the Metro.

  CHAPTER 6

  A Strange Man in a black trench coat follows them into the station. Andrew, forever the gallant escort, has his arm, protectively but politely, around her shoulder. A Drunk, passed out and drooling, sits slumped on the seat across from Daria and Andrew.

  “We should have taken a taxi.”

  “No, when I want to go to life's real theater, I go to the metro.” Down the way they hear the echo of a Russian piece on balalaika.

  “That's Russian music, isn't it?”

  “Yes. Do you like it?”

  “It's great. Makes me feel like dancing. What compelled you to leave there?”

  “Russia? I came here to Sorbonne to finish my studies. Litterature et culture francaise. Better to live it than just read about it, don't you think?”

  “Yes. Much better.”

  “And you? What really brings you to Paris?”

  “I did have some meetings here about a different kind of work. But I really just wanted to get away from my life for a while. I want to get lost in Paris... Paris, my mother's favorite city.”

  “She's a wise woman.”

  “An idealist. She never gave up on fairy tales until the day she died.”

  “I'm sorry.”

  “Me, too. It's been over ten years and still I can't bring myself to look at her picture.”

  A whoosh of wind brings the train, cutting off their voices. The gush of wind blows Daria's overcoat, exposing her frilly dress. They sit silently as the train speeds by. Daria gets up as the train slows down.

  “Ah, home at last! End of the drama. The curtain comes down. It’s only a little way to my apartment.” The train comes to a stop at the station, the station sign becoming visible through the windows.

  “This is your station? Louvre Rivoli...I will rename it "Daria Station." The doors open and they exit. Without notice, the strange man exits the train at the same time. He follows them, although keeping his distance. Meanwhile, Daria and Andrew continue walking, oblivious to everything around them.

  “So do you have a name, or should I call you...Out of The Blue?”

  “Andrew.”

  “Andrew...did you really stop a thief from stealing Jacqueline's purse?” Andrew nods. The two of them continue to walk silently, until they reach Daria's apartment, where she stops. They look at each other and smile.

  “Thank you for walking me home, I’m pleasantly surprised.” Daria turns to walk into her apartment. Andrew stops her by touching her arm. She turns around.

  “Can we have dinner tomorrow?” Daria puts her head down, sorts her keys and looks down the street, and then looks at Andrew.

  “I would love to...but you're leaving soon.”

  “So... it’s just dinner.”

  “Ah...What's been going on tonight...anything we did from here on out would be something else, you know that.”

  “I do...But I would like to have dinner with you tomorrow.”

  “Why?”

  “Because something's happening to me here. It could be Paris, it could be you, it could be a lot of things. I just want to see it through. I'm like that. I like to see things through.”

  “Well that's nice, Andrew...But you don't know me. And feelings aren't projects to complete in a week or so. You know, they have different endings; maybe not for you since you're a non-believer, but for me, they're different.” Andrew is stumped. He looks around a couple of times and then looks at her.

  “It’s not that I'm a non-believer on a night like this. I just look more deeply at the stain than others do. Maybe because I'm a lawyer. I don't know.”

  “A lawyer? So you really do look for loopholes.”

  “Yeah.” Daria smiles at him. He smiles back. Daria grinds her teeth and moans on decision whether or not to have dinner tomorrow.

  “Come on…what do you say? Let's not have regrets.”

  “I don't have regrets, I have hesitations.” They look at each other, Daria eventually gives in. “OK...tomorrow...eight...Gerard Besson, 5 rue coq Heron.”

  Andrew smiles. Daria turns and walks away. Andrew calls out, “How about a kiss?” Daria does not even turn around.

  “Whoa there, Monsieur American.” Daria opens her door and walks in. Andrew smiles and walks away.

  Meanwhile, peeping around the corner is the strange man in the black trench coat. He seems to be concentrating his efforts on Daria's apartment.

  CHAPTER 7

  Andrew sits at the small street side café by himself, having a glass of wine. Fifteen minutes is about normal to wait, but 45? No, he’s been stood up. The waiter comes over and leans in to hear his order.

  “Are you ready to order, Monsieur?

  “Umm.... Not yet.

  The minutes move on and the optimistic Andrew continues to wait. After a while, he accepts the fact that she's no longer coming. Dropping some cash on the table, he leaves the restaurant.

  Andrew hurries down the street. He's not angry, just confused about being in a unique emotional place. He rings the doorbell at Daria's building. Then, a miracle, she comes out. Andrew and Daria stare at each other for a minute. Is she irritated? How could she be the one who’s irritated when he was the one stood up?

  “You're too persistent.”

  “You stood me up.”

 
; “But you don't know me and you're leaving soon. We're from different worlds.”

  “You stood me up, Daria, is that what they do in Russia?