Saturday Date

After a short day sleep she opened her eyes and smiled. The evening sun colored the window into pink and was gradually fading away. It was Saturday, the usual day of the date. She had been waiting for the whole week and as the days passed her excitement grew higher and stronger. She had been to the beauty salon the day before and now looked into the mirror to examine the curves of her darkened eyebrows and the newly glowing shade of her hair. She took a shower and massaged her skin with fragrant oil. Will it be black or violet for today? She couldn’t definitely tell what she liked more, neither in the shop nor here in front of the wardrobe. Finally she chose a lace underwear and a dress, applied her makeup and a little French “Fleur Narcotique”, and waved her hair. The time was 8.30, half an hour left. She felt she was hungry but she couldn’t eat, something pressed inside her belly like being glued, and her legs were hardly controlled as though they were made of cotton. In the kitchen she sliced some pears and took out a half-empty bottle of the elegant dry martini, her favorite. It was a specially bought and kept bottle, just for “weekend flavor” as they preferred to use it.

She entered the room and turned all the lights on. There shouldn’t be anything concealed or shadowed, any tiny detail or hint, any single hidden emotion. Switching on her laptop on the table she threw a fluffy plaid onto the armchair, and placed pears and a goblet of wine on a little table nearby. There stood a vase with purple cloves also; they looked so thin and subtle. He said, choose flowers any day you like and buy as a compliment from me. As soon as they fade buy new ones. And she bought different ones up to her mood, season and just impulse; it had become a kind of a habit even. Each time she went to supermarket and passed a neighboring flower shop she liked to watch through the window what flowers were on sale and what new variants had appeared. The other day a young man was going out with some orchids. She saw the expression on his face. All of a sudden she felt what there was in that guy’s soul, a special condition when eyes reflect more than just the world around. Oh, she knew it well. It seemed like all the senses were sharpening. One could see more, perceive more, and could know life better…

Five minutes left. The thin hands on the wall clock counted seconds like her heart beating. She turned away not to watch them move. Then a call rang, almost suddenly, its tunes so familiar but still so thrilling each time she heard them. She clicked the answer button automatically, trying not to predict what she would see on the screen the next moment.

He was there with the same little wrinkles around his eyes, the newly shaven chin, in one of his shiny white shirts. And she was wearing a blue evening dress and shoes with silvery heels. He turned a traditional rose round in his hand and the familiar signet ring glittered on his finger (during the first time, she remembered with a smile, he was holding a red rose between his teeth). He kissed the rose and put it into a glass with water. He liked to constantly gesticulate with it while talking but he knew she couldn’t watch a flower being treated like that, so he spared it.

“Here you are, – he said mildly, – Happy Saturday.”