He is real. A novel. Alisa Roft
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once again, as if I had swallowed my tongue.
I couldn’t fail to notice the weirdness of his look. It swept across my face, lingering on its outlines for a split second, and then stopped. Misha began to peer into my eyes, and a smile flashed across his lips, almost imperceptibly, with a bit of regret. Honestly, I felt somehow uncomfortable. He seemed to have seen a familiar person in me, a person he had known for a long time, and could not believe that we met again, apologizing deep inside for the innumerable amount of time that separated us with an abyss of long years.
How could I understand this? I have no idea, it might have seemed to me. I have not heard the words of my “invisible friend”, confirming the accuracy of my assumptions.
– Well, shall we take a walk to the bar? – He spoke in his low voice, full of calmness.
– Let’s take a walk, – I agreed, once again, beaming with a smile.
***
We took seats at a wide wooden bar counter, in one of the cafes on the sandy beach of Bat Yam. A refreshing sea breeze searched around the open log-in porch lit by colorful lights. Foot tapping club music was making its way through the hubbub of the visitors.
Misha moved so close to me that our chairs stood close to each other, thus increasing the distance between him and a young, dark-haired Israeli woman sitting next to him. While waiting for the bartender, she seemed to touch Misha accidentally several times with her elbow and knee, trying to attract his attention.
Yes, the majority of Israeli women never lacked the impudence and audacity. And just try to object at least one of them, she will instantly bring down a squall of nervous cries, even if she is not right, even if her arguments are stupid and not substantiated, she will still thoroughly throw mud at you. I usually resolved similar difficulties quickly and easily. While working in a striptease, I often encountered the attacks from snooty Israeli strippers. As for beauty, they, of course, were inferior to girls of Slavic appearance, so, the richest visitors of the club were more interested in us (the Russians and Ukrainians). They shared their generosity – we were treated to drinks, they gave their tips just to extend the minutes of our communication. All the Israeli women could do – was to show their hot temper, to us, in order to intimidate us. Over the years of work in the club, they learned how to move competitors aside. On each regular customer they hung, an imaginary label – “private property”, and the Russian girls tried not to linger with such clients for a long time
Their system worked well, but (How to destroy the system? – To break it!) a few clashes with battering were enough to ensure that these impudent girls did not bug me anymore. The strippers were mainly fighting for the pieces of paper with indelible paint, and I was steadfast to my principles, but it turned out that I still protected these pieces of paper.
Having thrown a short glance behind Misha on his vulgar neighbor, (who was sitting now not so close to him), I imagined her long nose hitting the bar counter with a crunch, you just had to press her head down sharply and firmly. Moreover, all these thoughts, associations and memories flashed so quickly that in real time everything took about five seconds. Possessive instinct sparkled in me. And to whom? To a man who I did not really know.
Misha, of course, was not interested in all this; he took a packet of Marlboro light from his jeans pocket and put it on the table. He threw his hand on the back of my chair, put his arm around my shoulders, and suddenly I felt so good and warm in my heart because he was here and now, side by side with me.
– And I thought that athletes do not smoke. – I said jokingly, and took a cigarette out of the pack.
– You will be surprised, but they not only smoke. – He snapped his lighter, giving me a light. – Order the whiskey – you are an expert. – He offered and gave me the menu with alcoholic beverages.
Although not being a bartender, I really knew a lot about whiskey.
– I can do without the menu. Have you ever tried Macallan?
– No, but I’d like to try.
I decided to parade my knowledge, pointing to an expensive single malt whiskey. I have no idea how things stand for Misha in terms of his financial possibilities, but ordering even a couple of shots will cost a considerable amount. I never take my wallet to a date, and have never encountered such a situation where it could be useful.
– Two shots of Macallan, – Misha turned to the barman who approached us.
The bartender poured the golden drink twenty-five years of age into shots, Misha and I picked them up, touched their rims with the clink and drank quickly. Throwing back my head, in order to take a sip, I felt a sharp pain in the muscles of my neck. They constantly ached after the nights spent at work, because I had to twist my head so that the hair would stream as if in the wind, fly up with each movement, and fascinatingly, a little disheveled, fell on my shoulders. It seemed to me that it added sexuality. I restrained my emotions, preventing them from reflecting on my face, and the warmth of alcohol with caramel tinge, which began to spread over my body, quickly drowned out the pain.
Misha ordered another couple of shots. We talked at ease. I was listening to him with interest, asking questions, being eager to find out as much as possible about him, and to understand what kind of person he is, but he answered somehow evasively. He tried to tell jokes, and I laughed at them. He tried to flirt, and I was embarrassed when he touched me. Everything seemed to be an interesting game that I really enjoyed playing with him.
Misha ordered another couple of shots. Then he treated the bartender. The latter asked to leave a credit card as a pledge, reaching out his hand with the card to him, Misha gave his permission to withdraw the tip, specified – a couple of hundreds. And the eyes of the young bartender shone with joy, with respectful gratitude.
A dub tip, goes as it should be, fifty is already flattering, a hundred rarely happens, and two hundred is actually an exception. He might be coming off like a big shot, I thought. Now I could only continue making guesses, because my friend, still did not want to tell me anything.
– Do you want to take a walk? – Misha suggested, and I gladly agreed.
***
After midnight, the sea was smooth, Misha and I were strolling along the surf line, walking on the damp, cool sand feeling a little drunk with the whiskey I had chosen. The night beach, filled with empty plastic sun loungers with tables, was lit by lanterns that were stretching along the coast, mounted on high metal pillars. And in the darkened areas, inaccessible to light, hiding from the unwanted eyes, there were loving couples. Besides them, pretty drunk tourists, and Ethiopians, waiting for the moment when these tourists leave their clothes on the beach and go swimming in the sea, in order to search their pockets, no one else could be met.
– What else do you know as well as whiskey? – Misha asked his question.
– So you think I will just tell you all my secrets? – I jokingly answered.
– C’mon, don’t be so secretive. Everyone has their own story, for example, I am interested in yours.
The story of my life would have sounded a lie to him, made of concocted moments. I couldn’t tell the truth. I can imagine his disappointed and surprised face when I say that in fact I’m not a bartender at all and have never been one. During my time at the strip club I was friends with the barmaids, that’s why I know some features of their work. Or about the period spent under mind-blocking pills. Yes, or about the addiction to whiskey. You can actually recall much more, but I think we shouldn’t.
– Look, girls like to talk nonstop, then you will get tired of listening to it, – Walking with a relaxed gait, I now and then clumsily bumped my shoulder onto Misha’s shoulder, slightly pushing him.
– But, everything begins with communication. –