personally paid for with money that Lera had honestly earned. Here you are, all of you who discouraged me from going on a linguistic university, she thought! You can earn money on "chat," as her relatives disparagingly called her profession! For renting a great apartment where Lera is dancing now, and for the vacation.
The coveted ticket didn't want to fit entirely into the tiny purse, showing Lera its tongue, forcing the girl to smile more widely. Lera winks back at it. In the last few minutes before leaving, she went through a list of things she might need during the trip.
However, it's a stupid idea! Lera knew that as soon as she drove far enough away, it would be too late to return, she would definitely remember something absolutely essential, especially left in the most visible place and forgotten in her apartment.
A loud bell rang in Lera's ear and the girl almost lost her balance while dancing. Looking through the peephole, she recognized Kostya, Irina Konstantinovna's driver. Kostya, who was always gloomy and serious, stood on the stairwell, with his hands in his pockets, looking at the floor. Lera quickly clicked the lock and smiled at the guy joyfully. Nothing could upset her that morning. Except for the damn pills.
At the sight of Lera, who seemed radiant, Kostya even smiled a little, but quickly returned to his usual cloudy expression. Glancing around the hallway, he reached for Lera’s suitcase.
"Valeria Sergeevna, I’ll help. Are you ready?" he asked softly.
Lera suddenly realized that she had never heard his voice before, and it sounded as if Kostya himself could hardly remember how to use it.
“Of course! And just call me Lera, okay?” Lera picked up her down jacket and purse and gave Kostya a bright smile again.
“Okay” Kostya muttered a little more softly and, with one hand, easily picked up the suitcase that Lera was pushing into the hallway with considerable effort.
Lera flew down the stairs as if on wings. Everything seemed beautiful to her. Kostya was not disgustingly gloomy, but mysteriously stern. It was not beasty cold outside, but Pushkin's creaking frost. And they were not going to get stuck in traffic on their way to the airport, but beginning a magical journey. Overall, Lera felt as though she was barely touching the ground with her stiletto boots.
“Lera, get in. I'll put your suitcase in the boot.”
Lera nodded, so that her red curls flew up and whipped her face. She laughed happily and galloped to Irina Konstantinovna's expensive SUV's passenger door, but hesitated. It was difficult for her to climb such a height without outside help. Kostya was forced to push her up with a light laugh. The SUV drove smoothly, and Lera pressed her nose against the window.
As Kostia promised, they spent a long time suffering in traffic jams stretching far south of Moscow. But it didn't bother Lera at all. The car was incredibly comfortable and the driver finally gave up under a hail of Lera’s questions and joined the conversation.
At the airport, Lera removed her warm jacket with great pleasure and put on a lighter coat. In Rome, it was a pleasant autumn temperature of fifty-four degrees. An ice apocalypse for the aborigines and a trifle for a native Muscovite.
After annoying checks, removal of shoes, numerous metal detector frames, and passport control, the girl was finally allowed onto the plane. Lera had flown a lot for work, in particular to Rome, but she had never done so for her own pleasure before. Admittedly, this greatly brightened the more than five-hour flight and added flavour to the disgusting airline food and no less disgusting tea.
Five hours later, the city finally appeared through the porthole. The small brownish-beige houses arranged in almost regular rows along the valley for some reason reminded Lera of diced fudge sold in a shop near her home. The standard announcement came from the speaker:
"Signori e signori, per favore prendete i vostri posti e allaccate le cinture. Arriviamo all'aeroporto di Fiumicino – Leonardo Da Vinci. Grazie."
Lera looked impatiently at the seaside town over which the plane was circling. After successfully overcoming all those usual "Buona Sera! Qual è lo scopo della sua visita in Italia?" she, with her huge suitcase, finally boarded the Leonardo da Vinci Express, which would take her to the centre of Rome in half an hour.
Everything seemed unreal to Lera. The people around her were chatting loudly in Italian, smiling unusually frequently and gesturing a lot. This relaxed, cheerful crowd, so different from the gloomy Muscovites, finally made Lera feel like she was far from home. All the surroundings were a bit unfamiliar. Everyone was new. Absolutely nothing reminded her of her usual life. It was relaxing.
It was like Lera was escaping from something and had finally managed to break free. With each new mile, some invisible tension left the girl and a faint smile appeared on her face. She didn't even realise how she straightened her back and stood up straighter.
Getting to Testaccio, where Lera had booked a room, was not difficult. However, during the journey, Lera said goodbye several times to her life, while a taxi driver, who was crazy like all Roman drivers, rushed her through the streets of an ancient city with screaming tyres and illegal U-turns.
Most of all, Lera was worried about the fact that, for most of the way, the taxi driver was sitting facing her, constantly waving his right hand and lisping "Che bella ragazza!" in all possible variants at her. So, Lera herself was the only person in the car looking at the road.
Only when Lera's eyes became ideally round with horror, did the driver reluctantly turn right ahead to jerk the steering wheel, wave his hand through the open window, and yell, "Chi ti ha insegnato a guidare?!". Then everything repeated. Lera was more than ever glad Rome was half the size of Moscow. Her nerves could not handle a longer trip.
Rome welcomed her with warmth. Lera giggled at local dwellers wrapped in down jackets. A light coat was enough for herself. Passers-by looked on at her in disbelief, like saying, these turisti were completely mad if they could walk around naked in such frosty weather.
Lera entered the hotel with a serious face of russa turista, but as soon as the girl tipped the porter and closed the door, all assumed seriousness flew off her. Lera ran forward with a girlish squeal and jumped into bed to bury herself in pillows and blankets, stifling laughter. Tired of freaking out, she went to the window and opened it wide. She leaned over the broad sill and inhaled fresh air of freedom with all her chest.
The room overlooked the Tiber technically, but the view was obscured by trees that grew thickly along the embankment. The river burned with fiery flashes in the setting sun's rays, sending fervent sunbeams through the leafless crowns.
Lera, without undressing, rushed back into the hallway to jump into high-heeled boots and run outside. The muddy Tiber, clad in stone, was slowly rolling south towards the sea, where Lera's plane had landed. The girl leaned against the stone parapet and looked at the river for a long time. That night, she slept peacefully, like in her childhood. Everything was fine.
The next morning, Lera got up nearly before sunrise and hurried out. Yesterday, during her extreme taxi ride, the girl realised that the ten days she had left were too short to see everything. So she would have to rush.
Even the damned morning ritual of taking pills did not cause her usual desire to turn her stomach inside out this time. This time, Lera put on comfortable sneakers and went out in search of new experiences.
It was the thirty-first of December. This was almost an ordinary day in Italy. The Christmas holidays were over, but the city was not in a hurry to get rid of the festive decorations. Decorated Christmas trees were everywhere, and tipsy tourists wearing cheap Santa hats walked the streets.
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