was assigned to Lyra. By the way, no one stroked her violets; she didn’t allow them. “Don’t crush the flowers,” said Lyra, if someone’s impatient hand hovered over her flowers. “They are not ritual,” she added in a stern voice.
***
When I opened the closet that belonged to Lyra, I saw only a couple of T-shirts and jeans. I carefully examined the shelves and things on the hangers. Looking closer, I saw something colorful in the corner. I reached out with my hand; it was a silk handkerchief. As luck would have it, I didn’t understand fashion or styles. But then I remembered that stylists don’t understand them either. Sometimes you look at some stylist or fashion designer and think that this is a homeless person who has just escaped from a landfill. Or you look at photos from a film premiere on the Internet, and there is some kind of tastelessly dressed party, and then you take a closer look – and it turns out that these are our celebrities, led by a socialite, who often changes lion. In general, everything is relative. This thought calmed me and reconciled me with reality. That’s why I adopted the handkerchief, because women usually disarm men with their femininity. I also took a light, summer, pink dress from Katya’s closet; it looked like the dress from the very photograph that I saw on Greta Abran’s table. Katya had a lot of dresses.
I also really needed a straw hat, like the girl in the photo, but I didn’t have one, but I did have sandals. They matched the dress, and that made me endlessly happy. I think that if I had asked for these things, the girls would have lent them to me, although without much joy. But I didn’t want to tell them this, even over the phone, so as not to scare away my luck. Well, so that they don’t pawn me if something happens. Of course, I also borrowed a suitcase from the girls and put the things I liked in there. This was mainly Katya’s wardrobe. Mentally I conveyed my gratitude to her for the clothes shopping, it was now in my favor… and on my leg, and on my head, and there was also a suitcase, well, why not a holiday?
***
Ondine Karpova gave me her address on the phone, and now I had to rush to her. I understood that a lot depends on the first impression, and I probably needed to take a taxi to go out like a king. But Ondine lived outside the city, and I didn’t have money for a taxi. Therefore, I decided to get to her house first by metro, and then by buses with transfers. It wasn’t easy given the heat.
When I was traveling on a subway train, I carefully examined my reflection in the glass door of the car. I really was dressed awkwardly, and the checkered suitcase only added disharmony to my outfit. But there was also a positive aspect: I stood out, which means everyone will think it’s just my style. In fact, there was no specific plan in my head, or rather the plan was to get there and say hello to the hostess of the house the way Melissa Abran, a fashion designer from the UK, would say hello. I simply didn’t know what would happen next and was afraid to guess. I didn’t want to be punished for cheating, but I also didn’t want to return empty-handed.
***
The house in which Ondine Karpova lived was located outside the city in the picturesque area of K**. I heard that only rich people live there. For some reason, I thought that if I told my neighbors in the hostel that I was going to work there as a housekeeper, they would tell me: “Oh, how lucky you are, you can at least see how people live! Touch the beauty! When you wipe off the dust, of course.” In fact, I wasn’t going to serve there and I wasn’t going to wipe off the dust. I didn’t know at all what I was going to do there, and at some point it seemed to me that I wouldn’t even know, because the bus stopped at the edge of the forest and the driver announced that this was the end.
I was confused because the area where Ondine Karpova lived was located much further away. Sitting next to me on the bus was a small, elderly woman in colorful clothes and a purple cap. She looked like an overseas bird with bright plumage. When she was getting ready to go out, I asked her what bus could I take to get to the K** area. She looked at me the way they look at someone who is not the smartest woman, and said:
– What are you saying, baby, only rich people live there. Nobody goes there by bus. Only on expensive jalopies,” she nodded. -What should you do there? – she asked with a sly smile.
“I’m going to steal something,” I answered boldly. “Maybe even someone’s heart,” I added, winking cheerfully at the old woman.
– Oh-oh-oh, what a joker! – the creative woman in the purple cap laughed.
But I wasn’t laughing. I thought angrily about Greta Abran, who had not warned me that there was no public transport there.She probably didn’t even know that she couldn’t get there by bus, because she herself always drove only expensive cars.
***
The bus left, the people dispersed. I stood alone at the bus stop and didn’t know what to do. Occasionally cars passed by. I had a checkered suitcase with other people’s things. “Well,” I said to myself, “you’ve lived well. But only in dreams…” It became sad. I can’t go on foot. I might get lost. The thought flashed through my head that it would be better for me to stay in the hostel, cram textbooks and look for a job based on my abilities, that is, a job as a cleaner. I don’t know what happened to me at that moment, because a coffee-straw-colored car appeared from afar, and I instinctively raised my hand, saying, stop, comrade! And this had to happen, the car stopped, pulling off to the side of the road. I froze in surprise and indecision.
The driver was a fair-haired man, but when I looked closer at him, I realized that he was a young guy. I approached the car.
“Girl,” he said to me loudly, opening the door, “what happened to you?”
“Yes, basically, nothing,” I said, coming even closer to him and figuring out as I went what else I should say. “I need to get to…” I hesitated because I forgot the address, but immediately pulled out my phone and called it in full: “Lilac Valley, 48,” I looked up at the young man.
He looked at me questioningly and then smiled.
“I’m just on my way,” he said very sweetly. – Can I help you put your suitcase in the trunk? – He smiled at me again.
At first I wanted to answer as I usually answer: “Oh, no, I’ll stuff it myself.” This is exactly how Ilse Dalma, that is, I, answered throughout my twenty-six-year life. But then I remembered that I was already Melissa Abran, and she definitely wouldn’t say that.
“Yes, of course,” I smiled and paused, wanting not to say anything unnecessary and not start making excuses for I don’t know why.
“Be silent and smile,” I commanded myself. “Be silent and watch how they help you,” I ordered myself, keeping a smile on my lips smeared with someone else’s lipstick.
He quickly completed the task and got back behind the wheel. I sat down next to the driver and immediately felt like a queen. I was afraid to look at this handsome guy, but I liked driving in the car. Apparently it was very expensive because we were driving fast, but I didn’t feel the speed. The pictures changed very quickly outside the window. I didn’t know what to talk about with this guy, but I didn’t have to come up with a topic for conversation, because he started communicating himself.
– What is your name? – he asked politely.
Out of the corner of my eye I looked at his tanned hands that were on the steering wheel,
