Читать книгу The bride of the silver dragon - Dmitry Nazarov - Страница 11

– Shea, are you sure you didn’t get the wrong show? – I stare incredulously at the movie titles on the big scoreboard, and the name of the hyped sequel to the famous horror flick about exorcists is lit in the red room for the appointed time.

– Scared? – he winked and, taking advantage of my confusion, put his arm around my waist, pulling me in close enough to put his thighs against mine. – Don’t tell me you wanted to go for pink snot.

– Where’s me and where’s the pink snot? – I grumbled back, and slowly, trying not to do it too sharply, I let go of his grip. – But you don’t like low-intellectual movies, do you?

– Margo, it’s an exorcist movie, and it’s based on true events! It can’t be a priori low-intellectual! Come on, let’s go buy the two biggest buckets of popcorn.

When Shea takes my hand, I don’t break out anymore.

We’re kind of on a date, even though I’m dressed like a scarecrow again. This time, even more than usual, so that even my sisters wouldn’t recognize me, even if they looked at me point-blank.

Shea is also a moonshiner. And, as ridiculous as it sounds, it was only after the “enlightenment” that came over me while I was talking to Twigson that I realized that Shea and I would be exposed in the same way.

I should have broken up with him the very next day, when he called and happily informed me that he had found the perfect movie to watch together, and that he wouldn’t take no for an answer this time. And then I suddenly realized that seeing Shea had become… necessary to me, or something. His admiring gaze, his witty flirting, his care and attention, and even his sweet good morning wishes, which were completely different each time. And if I drove him away, my life would certainly not go off the rails and no heartbreak would happen to me, but I would no longer have an outlet.

And amidst the bickering between me and Twigson and the lack of prospects for its imminent end, I needed an outlet like air. A little more than that.

– Since you bought the tickets, I’m buying the bad stuff. – I push his hand away as Shea reaches for his wallet to pay for our popcorn and Pepsi.

– I actually make good money.

– You said that before.

– And you didn’t hear it again.

To end the bickering, I shove both buckets at him and pull him into the hall by the sleeve. The girl at the entrance checks the tickets and shoots Shi an expressive and playful look. No wonder-he’s definitely very attractive, and I don’t look right for him in my Kikimora outfit. But Shea doesn’t even bat an eyebrow and, shining his phone flashlight on the road, looks for our seats.

As we settle into our comfy seats, Shea glances a little jealously at my companion on the right, an older but good-looking man with glasses and the look of a professor who is very uncomfortable with the fact that he looks like he went to Discovery and ended up watching a horror movie about two, god forbid, exorcists. And I can’t get the look the girl at the door gave me when she “rewarded” me goodbye out of my head. Obviously, I’m in great shape, and I don’t look like I’m thirty-five, but I’m older than Shea. I’m certainly not old enough to be his mother, much less his grandmother! But yes, I am older. And for some reason, it turns out that in our totally crazy society, with a seven-year difference in the man’s direction, it’s always a bonus for him, a plus. Like, a handsome man, since he took a young woman at his age! But if that seven years goes to a woman… Well, that’s where the problems begin. Because: “Couldn’t he choose a younger woman? And when she’s forty, he’ll be only thirty-something, she’s already an old woman, and he’s a young dog!”

Ugh, man!

I scoop up a generous handful of popcorn in frustration, pop it in my mouth, and crunch on the caramel icing a little irritably. Strictly speaking, I don’t care what anyone else thinks, much less what some girl whose personal life is so miserable that she has to drool over other people’s men. But it’s annoying in itself. Still, the specter of sexism is very much alive in the minds of our patriarchal society.

– Is everything okay? – Shea asks Shea thoughtfully.

– What could be wrong?

– You don’t usually eat half the popcorn by the end of the movie,’ he nods at my bucket, ‘and now I’d bet that in five minutes you’ll be chewing cardboard.

It’s bad enough that I’m so damn relaxed with him that I completely forget to keep my cool and not fall down on basic things. But it’s good that Shea notices it all. Means he’s watching. Means he cares.

It’s bad enough that I should be happy about all this, and I just… No, he’s nice and sweet and warm and comfortable. And it would be hypocritical of me not to say that I’m not flattered that my thirty-five-year-old carcass has attracted the attention of a much younger man. But something has to click somewhere, right? Like Nana and R’ran, or Aurora and Ma’nu. Or is my inner cynic incapable of clicking?

When the lights go out in the hall – and the other viewers’ attention turns to the screen – Shea furtively puts her palm on the armrest, then touches my fingers, as if unintentionally. I gently nudge my hand toward him. He covers it with his hand and squeezes it lightly but surely.

I cover my eyes and wait. Maybe I’m just not listening well enough – and things are actually clicking?

Apparently not, because within five minutes the events of the movie are already gripping me head-on – and until the closing credits, I have no recollection of Shea’s hand or our crossed fingers. And even after the lights come on, I pull my hand out rather instinctively, as I always do when I feel eyes on us in the back of my head.

– Does it always bother you that much? – he wondered as we got into his car from the hall. It’s almost eleven, I’m tired, and we’ve agreed that tonight is just a movie, even if his masculine instinct to feed his woman comes back into play.

– What are you talking about?

– Margo…” He shakes his head a little judiciously. – You understood perfectly.

– I just didn’t want anyone to see us,” I reply. – We agreed that there would be no tenderness in public.

Instead of responding to my explanation, Shea nods to a side window that clearly shows a couple of teenage girls just holding hands, laughing about something, and going about their business.

– They’re just girlfriends, and they’re just holding hands,” she declares her thought. – But no one looks at them and thinks they are non-traditional.

– Is it your moon gift to read minds? – He shook his head in the negative, and now it was my turn to explain. – You can’t know exactly every thought in every head to draw such unquestioning conclusions.

– And you’re an incorrigible pragmatist, Margo! – He throws his head back and laughs.

And I listen to my inner voice again, waiting for the damned click.

It’s all right, you green trees.

Quickly, so as not to get bogged down in the subject, I feign enthusiasm and drag him into a discussion of the movie. We don’t even think about that little incident until Shea stops the car in our usual spot, but doesn’t let me escape by holding his hand either.

– I’ve been thinking…

He, like all well-behaved young men, is a little embarrassed to talk about important things, and that worries me. I miss talking about “us,” especially when all I do all day long is go over and over in my head the threat of Koryaga. It gives me a cold sweat to imagine what a bomb my appearance in public with a moonchild might turn into. Especially one much younger than me. But this time Shea is determined, and speaks before I can think of a good reason why I should run right now, this very second.

– There’s a big fundraiser next Saturday…

– Shea, you know… – I try to interrupt him, but he’s just so damn insistent about squeezing my mouth with his palm.

– …and I want you to come with me. It’s not customary to go to these events without a date, and my entire management team will be there-and I wouldn’t want to look ridiculous for being the only one without a date.

Charity evening. In a circle of rich and influential moonbats. And I – Margarita Sheremetyeva, in the middle of it all, in a beautiful dress, on heels and on the arm of one of them.

It couldn’t have been a bigger disaster.

– I can’t, Shea, – I pulled his hand away from my face and squeezed his fingers with two of my hands to avoid looking rude. – We agreed that you wouldn’t rush me, and not only am I not ready to force our… um… communication, I’m not ready to be in the company of moonshiners either.

– With a moonshiner,” he finishes what I never had the courage to say.

– I’m sorry.

– Will you spend your life burying your head in the sand because one of us hurt you long ago?

– No one, not one Lunnick, can hurt me! – I unclench my fingers and grab the doorknob. – He was simply the nastiest creature I’d ever had to deal with, and every moonbat I’ve encountered since has only confirmed my opinion of them.

I get out of the car quickly, but I slow down when Shea yells after me:

– Me, too, Margot?

Of course, he’s not “neither.” But maybe it’s because he likes me as a woman, and all his lunar personality traits and locks have been successfully masked behind a romantic veil so far.

I hate myself for thinking too categorically and even overreacting somewhere, but I can’t help it. Sometimes even one encountered person is enough to forever stigmatize everyone who is even a little bit like him. And in my life, all the moonshiners I’ve met have only exacerbated the nightmare I endured because of that first one.

– No, Shea, you’re the exception, which only emphasizes the rule.

– Two weeks, Margot, – Shea repeated, as if I hadn’t said no. – And I will hope that you will change your mind and make me the happiest man on earth.

Of course, I can’t help but notice that he deliberately refers to himself as a “man” rather than a “moonshiner.