Tabula Rasa. White’s move. Territory of Seduction - Chapter #4 - Free To Read

Max

The day's sleep had clearly done some good - I woke up at 8pm local time feeling like , or at least not a ruin like I had in the morning.

I've looked at e-mails, surfed the net. Staying in my room is not on my agenda. Time to go a walk. Where's my assistant's business card?

Dialing the number.

- I'm listening, - she answers after the fourth ring, just as she used to answer her boyfriend's . Apparently, this is her way of talking on the phone.

- Hi, Polina. Am I interrupting?

- Uh, no, - she replies, a little hesitant. - I'm listening to you, Max.

- You told me to call you if I needed you. Can we have dinner together? - I ask in a low . She doesn't say anything for a few seconds, then asks me to wait.

- If you're not alone, why don't you invite your girlfriend? - I'm asking a leading question.

- Join us. You want me to call you a cab?

- I'll order it myself, just tell me where to go, - I smile.

- I'm not alone, we're hanging out at a nightclub called the Loader Pub. I'll text you the .

- Okay, see you later.

Twirling the business card in my hands, a smile stretches across my face. Well, Ms.

Unkempt, are we going to have fun tonight? On an occasion like this, I'm ready to fool around and out an outfit that'll take a little of the serious look off you, babe. Going through my clothes, I out the most ridiculous ones that make me look like a hipster from a distant bedroom . To complete the look, I get a gray youth cap my sister gave me. Ha-ha! Now I'm all ! I haven't looked this fucking dorky since I was a teenager. I'm well aware of the effect 's clothes have on women. It's a joke, a sort of innocent joke-check. A test of Polina's self- . How she'll behave when she presents a fool like me to her friends now.

I take my favorite Nikon with me and push a light windbreaker into the case. The club is , apparently, on the outskirts of the city. I get out of the cab and look around. Let's shake our , buddy.

At the entrance, visitors are greeted by security guards of impressive size. I guess that this is cult place for music and food lovers: all the walls are covered with posters and posters of who have performed here. I buy an entrance ticket and walk into the hall. It's noisy, all tables are occupied, and it's hard to find anyone in the crowd, so I dial Polina's number again.

- I'm right here at the entrance. Already inside, - I said, trying to shout over the crowd.

- Stay there, I'll pick you up, - she yells back.

I'm taking a look around. It's sure to be a rousing evening.

Someone touches my back, I turn around and see Polina in front of me. We stare at each for a couple of seconds in complete silence, and then, unable to resist laughing. Polina is thin afghans, Converse, a T-shirt over a white T-shirt, and a youth sports cap on her head.

Except for the white T-shirt, the colors of her clothes repeat the color of the clothes on me - gray black. But come on! We look like mirror images of each other. Even on the wrists are wound bracelets, only the number and shape differing from each other. The rest is a complete ! That's what really gets me. We laugh for a long time, unable to stop. Polina even bends in , blushing with laughter.

When the first fit of merriment passes, I ask one of the visitors at a nearby table to take a of us.

Polina leads me into the back of the hall, to a table near the stage, where a very impressive of ten people, no less, has gathered. She makes an attempt to introduce me to everyone at , but the general laughter overrides her voice. Our appearance has had an effect! No one hides impression that we have agreed to dress like Siamese twins, and it looks like fun. Polina tries to that this is not true, but no one seems to hear her.

I take a seat next to her at a table laden with appetizers. It's like a banquet.

- What are you going to eat and drink? - Polina asks, leaning as close to me as she can, off the charts even though the concert hasn't started yet, while the recorded music plays.

Her breath burns my skin, touching my ear. I flinch. What a number! I'm amused by the reaction to girl. Meanwhile, the waitress is already arranging the dishes in front of me.

- I'll have a tequila, what kind do you have?

The waitress shows me the options on the bar card.

- Do they serve fried shrimp here? - I ask Polina in response, moving as close to her ear as , almost touching it with my lips. Without touching it, I exhale through my nostrils, directly her ear lobe. I'm satisfied by the girl's reaction - Polina recoils and lowers her gaze to her . I watch as she overcomes her inner struggle and finally decides to look at me:

- Yeah, I'll order, - she ordered the waitress and sat down half-turned toward me. - Help to whatever you want. We're having a little celebration today, Zhenya's son was born, - she , pointing toward a lanky guy with glasses. The man sitting to Polina's right joins our :

- You should definitely try the black toast with lard, - he gives me a grin rather than a smile.

The man looks to be at least forty, salt-and-pepper hair, a sharp, hard look in his dark brown eyes, a chin. The sleeves of his snow-white shirt are rolled up to the elbow. He puts his hand on

Polina's shoulder and squeezes it lightly, saying something in her ear:

- Max, meet Igor, - Polina introduced him. - My man. And this is Max, an artist, an exhibitor the Art Center.

- I hear, Max, you are Vladislav's new discovery and the new star of this year's exposition, -

Igor addresses me freely in English. I grin:

- I don't know such details, apparently I wasn't informed, - I shrug my shoulder. The waitress tequila, lime, and salt.

With a glance, pointing to the alcohol, I ask Polina if she will keep me company.

- I suggest having a drink with our American guest, - Igor announces loudly. Everyone , and Polina takes a glass and pours a little tequila into the bottom, pours a pinch of salt at the of her thumb, and sprinkles lime on it. I fill the shot glass to the brim and without any pour the contents into myself.

Looking at the people at the table.

Igor presses Polina demonstratively against him. She doesn't look too pleased, trying to her personal space, but the guy doesn't seem to care, and he holds her firmly by the shoulder.

The guy... Hmm... He's old enough to be her father. Polina's teenage looks only emphasize their big difference. I take another shot of the liquor.

Her breath touches my ear again, wow, my reaction is exactly the same as the last time:

- Why don't you use salt and lime? - she asks. I turn to her, and our noses collide. Polina back sharply.

- And you try to drink it in one gulp, without salt and lime, - I pour tequila into her glass one finger, looking at Igor, who is watching my actions carefully. - Do you mind?

Fuck. It's like I'm asking her daddy for permission. I smile openly, not wanting to hide my . He moves his glass toward me with his finger. I pour him the same amount as Polina, both of them, and drink it again in one gulp.

Polina tastes the tequila, holds the liquid in her mouth, exhales, rounding her lips.

- What do you think? - I look at her sideways.

- Hmmm... Very interesting flavor, very different than seasoned with lime and salt.

- Yes, tequila is a rich drink. The salt takes away the spice, and the lime takes away the . It's like emotions: if you want to experience pure, unadulterated emotions, disconnect external stimuli, - I winked at Polina.

I am served my order. Now I take the lime, squeeze the juice onto my food, and send shrimp shrimp into my mouth with my hands. Polina stares at me for a while, at my mouth in motion, looks away. I hold back a smile. Is it really even like this?

I catch a glimpse of the girl across from me. A bright blonde with a short, intricate haircut red lipstick on her lips sends me a playful look from under her eyelashes. I wink at her and Polina wrinkle her nose slightly, even though we're sitting sideways to each other. She's looking at me sideways, like I'm looking at her.

Musicians appear on stage, with the first chords the hall explodes definitively. The music like American country music, and the crowd fills the area in front of the stage. With a nod of head I invite the blonde to dance. Polina doesn't hide her surprised look. If we keep this up, 're going to get squinted eyes.

The girl hurriedly slips from the table and, swaying her hips, follows me. When I catch the , I habitually involve my partner in my dance. I slightly guide her and she supplely repeats movements, as I want to. We mimic a wave. Slightly pushing my partner away, I pull her in with growl, press her back to me and rotate her hips. She echoes the movements, resting her head on chest. The girl laughs contentedly, overlapping the height difference, and I lean in, asking:

- What's your name?

- Rita.

- Do you speak English?

She nods:

- Yeah, a little bit.

- Are you here alone or with your boyfriend?

- No boyfriend, - she smiles promisingly and shakes her head negatively.

When the composition ends, I offer Rita a drink. At the table, I catch Polina's glancing gaze . Rita and I drink tequila, she ceremoniously, me in my usual way. After grabbing a couple of , I extend my hand to Rita and invite her to dance, but before I leave the table, I lean toward

Polina and Igor:

- Join us.

The music is driving, a mix of rock and country.

- What's the name of this band? - I ask Rita.

- "Crazy seven, - she informs me.

The audience in front of the stage seems to have released the brakes. A few of the girls have onto the bar and are wriggling around on it, and we're unrestrained in our dancing, too. I Rita were Polina, but considering her, um, what's the right way to put it, daddy, it would be of me to drag her out on the dance floor. I don't think he'd be happy with my initiative.

Almost all the company from the table has already moved to the stage, and finally Polina Igor join us. On the next song, Rita pulls me to the vacated podium. Holding her by the waist, I the girl up, and she openly wriggles to the music, clearly performing a dance personally for me.

Our gazes meet, and she beckons me with her finger. I play along, encouraging her activity. Later,

Rita takes off my cap, puts it on herself, and fools around.

"Eh, Rita, if I had met you twenty-four hours earlier, maybe something could have worked , - I smirk at my thoughts.

I look back towards Polina, she is dancing with her eyes closed. It looks like she's been professionally. I can't bear the thought! This discovery makes me even more excited: are so flexible in bed. Next to Polina, Igor is dancing, swaying slightly, although, I must , he is quite plastic. Signaling to Rita that I'll be back soon, I go to the table to get my camera.

I want to take some pictures. I take a picture of the hall, look for Polina with the viewfinder and her. As many as I can. Shamelessly.

I notice that Igor is not around, and Polina is returning to the table. I walk over, sit across her, and openly shoot her up close. She makes a few funny faces, and before I can get a good of her, a red-haired beauty with a hairdo à la Angela Davis jumps up to me. This girl is from company, too, but I don't remember her name. She grabs my hand and pulls me to dance. A slow plays. I put the camera on the table and pull the girl to me with one hand, noticing from the that Polina takes the Nikon and points the lens in our direction. Pretending not to notice her, I away. Rita was still dancing on the barrel, sending me a kiss, not taking her eyes off the and me.

- Max, we're going home. You need to get some sleep, - Polina turns to me about an hour . We're sitting at the table, I'm drinking a juice and trying to talk to the guy across the table. We a common theme: he's into photography and is trying to convey to me in broken English his on the cameras he prefers. I nod to Polina:

- Yeah. It's time.

I say goodbye to the whole group, and Rita hands me a napkin with numbers scribbled on it.

A phone number. She takes off my hat, but I return it to her head, flicking my finger lightly on the of her nose. There's a Bentley waiting for us at the entrance. Well, Igor lives up to the nickname

I gave him, "Daddy." The psychological profile is almost complete.

The driver is at the wheel of the car. Igor sits in the front seat, Polina and I take the seats in back. This is a pleasant surprise for me. However, everything is simply explained, Igor is vividly something with the man behind the wheel. Polina, turning away, looks out the window. I the glass on my side, take the camera out of the case and click the city whizzing by. When I taking pictures, I put my hand on the seat, touching Polina's fingers with my little finger. She slightly in an attempt to remove my hand, but leaves it in place. Her thin, fragile finger is covered by mine. I hold my palm still, as if it's meant to be. She acts just as nonchalant.

When we pull up to the hotel, I stroke her pinky lightly, just a couple of strokes back and forth.

Thanking her for a pleasant evening, I quickly jump out of the car, wave, and walk toward the hotel.

I don't look back.