Chapter Text
“You can’t be serious!”
The sparkling tip of his cigarette pointed towards her, arrogant and challenging. Her own hands shook from the cold as she tried to light her own smoke. She felt an obligation to savour the very last taste of quality tobacco, before having to inevitably switch to one of those disgusting, cheap brands like Belomorkanal or Java, and even then - limit herself to 2 packs a week!
And yet, despite all of that, she stood there bravely, arm in arm with Andrey Stamatin, two equally brilliant minds (sic) faced with the terrible reality of no longer being able to burn their insides with an endless stream of cancer sticks. Yulia focused on trying to control her habit, while Andrey went in the exact opposite direction, overindulging on the smoking delights, mixing tobacco with local herbs, harsh spices and whatever the charcoal parts of incense sticks are made out of, until his nose would start bleeding and the air around had gained the consistency of whipped cream. And yet he smiled through it all, the very same, terrible smile which was now aimed at Yulia’s face.
“That’s an interesting diagnosis coming from you, the man famous for not taking anything seriously, but please go on” she didn’t look at him, knowing that she would be only met with slightly bloodshot eyes and a set of sharp teeth, already on their journey to become dull and yellow in the next couple of years. So instead, she focused on her hands. They were still jittering, painful.
“I just can’t wrap my head around it…” Andrey grinned to the sky and ran a hand through the thick layer of pomade lying on top of his head “You fancying our little Eva, in the most literal sense of the word. Pardon my arrogance, but you’ve always struck me as one of those women too angry at men to succumb to their own libido. And yet here you are, an honest to God friend of Sapho!”
She hated it every bit. The words he used, the way he kneaded each sentence like a runny pile of dough, the sound of the Greek poet’s name in his philistine mouth.
What gave you the idea I wasn’t interested in anyone?”
“Well, you were the only woman not to respond to my magnetic pull for starters”
She swallowed a chuckle down with the next inhale. The joints of her palms cried out in fear. Was rheumatism finally ready to tackle her, just as she entered the golden autumn of her early adult years? Was it just familial diseases all the way down?
“Guess I’m one of the lucky ones then” she replied, choking ever so slightly on her smoke.
He didn’t like it when she bit back. And she loved that he didn’t like it.
“Oh, don’t be snide with me Yulia! Think of it this way, we may finally have something in common to discuss.”
“Such as?”
“The ampleness of the female form, of course!” he cawed, with all the subtlety of a paperback harlequin cover.
“I’m starting to regret bringing that up in the first place…” she said, but she knew why she told him that, didn’t she? Because he was a libertarian and a pretty juvenile one at that. Whether he had something of substance to say, it didn’t really matter, he took all ideas presented to him like a dog licking the dinner plate clean after his family finishes their meal. All were equally amusing to him, all equally boring. His judgement or lack thereof was thus inconsequential and paradoxically, it made him a rather good conversationalist.
“Hey, I didn’t mean to offend, far from it. I always admire that inherent drive of yours to mold yourself into what is the most interesting state of being…” their eyes finally and he saw something in hers, something warm and stout, something that spurred him on even further “and I can see it in your eyes now, you have the eyes of someone who has gazed upon her lovers from across the room and then beckoned them with one finger curling inwards, down to their knees. Is it really that surprising that I want to learn more from you? To discover the pleasures hidden beneath the horizon? Terra incognita, Yulia, terra incognita!
“I think you have an overreactive imagination, which is better suited for erecting statues than interacting with actual humans. What do you wish to know?” She looked at him, actually looked, wondering what kinds of thoughts and images were rolling behind that big forehead of his “Whether we, strange, terrible women, have our own dalliances, meeting spaces, secret codes of conduct? Yes, of course we do, although it is hard to ignore that the spaces have been getting sparser, the dalliances less enticing, and most of my dear urbanite friends became… colder, in the last couple of years”
A series of snapshots circled through her memory, belt buckles, bruised knees, opium and wineglasses, eyes with tears in them, eyes refusing to cry even though they should. And for some reason, a lot of dogs. Every parlor with a dog scooting up next to her and her sad, pale girlfriends.
“Some of them outwardly stated that my manly manner of dress made them suspicious. Of my intentions, that is.”
Andrey’s eyes turned into saucers at the sound of that. He eyed Yulia up and down and failed to notice anything.
“Is that really all it takes to scare a dove? Donning a pair of pants?”
“No, it obviously doesn’t. But sometimes it may almost feel like that.”
“So from what I hear, your latest harvests haven’t been exactly… fruitful”
She rolled her eyes at the sound of that. What was so scary about the word “sex”? Just three letters, one syllable, even less than that if you are brave enough. Or quick enough. Or. Hm. God. She missed sex.
“By some crazy coincidence, you are actually right about it.” she finally confirmed.
“How long has it been since last time?”
She bit the inside of her cheek, searching her soul for the latest material she could work with. But then she realized that that one time her lover got up in the middle of the act just to go organize her spice rack for the fifth time that evening because she was annoyed that she had way way too much oregano and didn’t know what container to put it in. Or that other time when her lover promised to take her to one of those gatherings where people tie each other in fancy knots, but bailed at her at the last possible moment to go see her other lover play some secondary role in a boulevard theatre, leaving Yulia alone with a group of strangers for the night. She got to know one of her favorite local columnists there, at least. She was nice.
“2 years at least.”
Andrey gasped in exaggerated horror.
“Yulia, that is simply criminal! How can we stand here twiddling our thumbs, when you have been kept deprived of the life-sustaining nectar of a woman's touch upon you!”
“I fail to see how you consider that a personal matter for both of us…”
“Let’s just say I might have a certain proposition that should interest you.”
His smile was not exactly crooked, maybe a little lopsided. She didn’t say anything, curious despite herself. After all, how many venues able to cater to her finer tastes were there even in this Town? She would have to build it from the ground up with the streets she was planning, perhaps. Make a place strange, peculiar and queer and wait until the artists, hedonists and shy, shy women gravitate towards it like moths to a carbide lamp. But right now? She could do with something easy and non-committal.
“So you are probably well aware that we have our little thing with Eva. Not anything soul-binding, thank God, but as some dull philosophers would say, a union of two egoists in the name of a shared goal.”
Yulia felt her pulse accelerating. This whole discussion started because of Eva, but so far she tried her best to pry her thoughts away from the flaxen supernova of one Eva Yan. A woman brilliant, bright and feather-light, so unbefitting of this rural hole. Anywhere else she would be the mistress of hearts and minds of so many great, brave idealists. And yet, she fell into the elusive glue trap known as the comfort of being adored by desperately mediocre men, valued not for her sparkling soul but for her legs, warm vitals and the connective tissue that held all of the parts together.
And Yulia wasn’t a hypocrite just because she as well couldn’t take her eyes away from Eva’s physical form whenever she entered the room. But with years of experience from talking with all different types of men (whom for whatever reason, took a liking to confiding in her), she came to the conclusion that the majority of that sex did not like women at all. Even worse - many of them would mistake their dislike of women as an expression of desire, just because it burned just as bright as lust, but it was different, it was smoldering and pitiful, blown out before they could even fathom the idea of their lovers being more than sacks of meat with hair attached on top.
Those men would come crawling to her, asking her what they were doing wrong? Why were there no dames willing to go to bed with them? She never knew how to react in those cases. Part of her wanted to laugh it off, safe from on top of her high horse of moral lesbianism, so different and fuller in her understanding of desire than those blind, arrogant calves. She could never do that, however. Because behind every man drowning his sorrows in his own, secluded corner, there were always three more men who would reach for pocket knives, handguns, leather belts, or even just their own hands, and they would just rip the only semblance of comfort provided to women apart. And those were the scars that would never heal.
Those were the scars that she saw in other women’s eyes. This terrible realization that perhaps, even as she gave her partner the gentlelest, most gentleman kisses and caresses, there could still very well be an ember of fear buried deep inside of them. The same fear she felt when she noticed how her lover’s shoulders recoiled from the sound of Yulia unbuckling the belt of her pinstripe trousers.
And then there was Andrey, another pinstripe aficionado, who carried pocket knives but preferred suspenders over belts. Yulia was so genuinely not afraid of him that it almost felt comical. Maybe that’s because she could tell he loved Eva, or at the very least the tiny idea of Eva he was able to comprehend. And why did he love her? Because she didn’t want his love. Or at the very least, that’s what Yulia wanted to believe. Because if Eva loved Andrey…
“Yes, you parading around town with greasy, crimson mouthmarks all over your chest is not exactly subtle” she finally commented, pulling herself out of her stupor. Andrey was still standing beside her, still as willing and colorful as ever. What a strange experience that would be. To be a man and never have to think about any of those terrifying things.
“The point is that Eva is an angel, but has some less than saintly thoughts in that little head of hers. She comes up with ideas that would make any decent man burst into flames on the spot. One time she asked to be tight up completely and remain like that for 12 hours straight! She didn’t even ask for anything more than that, the idea of being restrained like that was enough for her… or another example, she loves it when my brother and I liken her to a common dancer girl, she drools at the idea of being sold and rented out at other men’s disposal…” Yulia’s eyes widened at the sound of that, not out of prudery, but rather doubt and disbelief. Apparently to Andrey it all looked the same, because he only smiled wider and continued, lowering his voice.
“You should have seen her face when I told her that next time I could throw a little get together for some of our closest comrades and let her be the main attraction of the evening… to this day I didn’t quite manage to wash away that delicious stain she made on my pants upon hearing my offer, ha!
“You two seem awfully close.” Yulia realized she had been clutching her fist so hard, the joints started screaming in agony without her even noticing.
“We certainly are, but Eva is a hostess first and foremost, and she embodies that spirit in everything she does. And I can see from the way you just tensed up, that you already know what I’m getting at.”
“Well, triangles are definitely a stable figure for constructing breathtaking monuments. Not so sure about human relationships, though”
“And yet, you aren’t opposed to the idea.”
“You are right that the primitive instinct in me has already agreed. Fortunately, I still use my brain, unlike some of us.” She took a drag of her cigarette and let her punchline punch away on its own “I’m still unsure I am of Eva’s liking. And the idea of being rejected in such an intimate scenario is not something I want to go through again.”
Yulia imagined a possible scenario. Her meeting Eva at the Broken Heart after everything is said and done, Eva becoming immediately on edge the moment she would see Yulia, exchanging arsenic-lined niceties to keep up appearances, only to then learn from one of their mutual friends that thanks to Eva’s interference Yulia had once again gained the title of That One Woman Who Is Not Welcomed At Our Place.
“Oh, she doesn’t care about such details. She likes the attention, first and foremost. Everything else comes second. Hell, she once mentioned the idea of wanting me to blindfold her and hand her off to some alluring stranger for a night. Who said this stranger couldn’t be a mysterious, beautiful mathematician?
“Terrible choice of words. If I didn’t know you I would have already walked out at the sound of them. Secondly, why are you so invested in this theoretical scenario that you are already coming up with emergency plans?”
“A certain type of wanderlust, as I’ve already stated. Besides, what possible objections would I ever have to our Eva getting something nice and sweet?” He stretched out those “s” sounds so hard they were about to snap “That would make me a truly rubbish lover, don’t you think?”
Make you? Yulia thought to herself. The hashish-eyed monster known as jealousy entered her field of vision and stared her down. But what was it, if not buying into his rhetoric? How can she be jealous of Andrey owning Eva, if Eva cannot and will never be owned by anyone? No, actually this is a perfect opportunity to shatter this whole narrative to pieces. Andrey doesn’t own Eva, Eva doesn’t owe Andrey, and Yulia does not have… owt to prove to anyone.
Scratch that, this consonance wasn’t her best work, but in the end, she never aspired to be a poet. Which was actually a good thing, since most women of her demeanor hardly did anything besides poetry. And who would they crawl back to once their tax forms needed corrections or their sink had a leaky faucet? Exactly.
“Alright, Stamatin. I am giving you permission to arrange your rendez-vous but only if you make sure Eva is authentically willing to do such a thing, aware of the possible consequences and not intoxicated. I personally find that women who only bed other women when drunk out of their mind, have a tendency to become extremely vicious once morning comes. And I would rather such a trivial thing not destroy my friendship with Miss Yan.”
“She’s not some porcelain doll, I tell you that much. But I suppose you will learn that from practice soon enough. So, would you like to join us tonight evening?”
Yulia blinked several times at him through dry eyelashes, irritated from the smoke.
“Tonight? No, that’s out of the question. I need to make certain arrangements. We should reconvene three days from now.”
Andrey’s face lit up crimson, his brain no doubt firing on all cylinders to imagine what kind of debauched and alien technology Yulia must have been referring to. Poor, innocent Andrey.
“Well, let’s just say I am already dying from curiosity.”
“I genuinely think you will come out of this experience a changed man”
“Cheers to that! Change and the neverending molding of our souls and bodies. Or perhaps just bodies. Who said our flesh deserves any less reverence than the immortal spirit?”
Most Christian denominations. Grammar schools. Almost every single mother by the time her children reach the age when they start being interested in sex. She could have spent the rest of her day pointing out how ridiculous Andrey’s blabbering was, but somewhere deep inside of her there was this spiteful ember, one that made her smile at the thought of achieving two of her deeply held desires - to hold Eva Yan close enough to see burn her fingers on the others skin, and to see that arrogant speckle in Andrey’s eyes disappear the moment he realizes that he doesn’t know anything about women