They went out onto the balcony to have a smoke. The non-smoking Nina went out with the crowd and found herself side by side with Aliska, a famous femme fatale of their year who had managed to get married twice while they were still in university. Aliska had a bit too much of everything – legs too long, breasts too large, clothes too fashionable, make-up too thick. However, all that put together looked quite bewitching. “And what about you? Why do you have to be such a scare-crow?” Aliska asked Nina, enveloping her in clouds of cigarette smoke. “Nobody has worn such skirts for five years at least. And where did you unearth that blouse? At a flea-market?”
Nina was embarrassed. She took little interest in clothes, which she herself considered as proof of her lack of femininity.
“You’ve become quite a cutie, though, Shuvalova,” Aliska acknowledged suddenly. “If you only got dressed up a bit…”
The methodical Nina fished out a notebook and asked Aliska to enlighten her about fashions. By the time Aliska finished her second cigarette, Nina had made up a whole list – designs, trade-marks, shops.
After the party, they all walked to the underground station as a noisy, intoxicated crowd. For one night, they had been carried back five years, to the time when they had an illusion of community, almost kinship. But the party was over and they had to return to the real world. Looking at the excited, laughing faces of her mates, Nina thought, “I wish I knew what they really have on their mind. Do they know how to live? Me, I don’t know…” But questions like that were not discussed at parties – everyone had to decide them on their own.
Aliska’s instructions were not lost – Nina spent the whole of the next week fitting herself out according to her list. By Saturday, a fair sum of money had moved from Nina’s card to the accounts of fashionable shops, but Nina was almost totally equipped.
She only lacked a hat. Nina had never in her life worn hats, always doing with berets or knitted caps, but the Italian coat of a famous brand that she had bought required a hat. “Don’t buy it just anywhere, or you’ll spoil everything,” Aliska warned her. “Hats can only be bought in…” – and she named a couple of boutiques.
In the shop, Nina spent a long time browsing, unable to pick anything suitable. There were lots of hats, but all of them too pompous or flashy – simply not her. The shop assistant got exhausted trying to figure out what Nina wanted. “You see, none of this is my style,” Nina tried to explain. “I’m a serious-minded kind of person – actually, an accountant.” The assistant took it for a joke and smiled wanly.
Then Nina saw her hat. Placed apart from the others on the shelf, it was quite small, and at first glance, quite plain. However, when given a closer look, the hat attracted and excited – there was something about it that made one think of Paris, French Riviera, posh automobiles, elegant men, and beautiful, dangerous women. “Ah, that one, I forgot about it,” said the assistant. “It’s the latest lot, a trial model. Trend of next season.”
Nina put on the hat and stood before the mirror. In it, she saw a young lady, impeccable from head to toe, who seemed to have just stepped down from a magazine cover. Involuntarily, she straightened up her back and raised her chin.
The shop assistant who was serving her gazed at her open-mouthed. The other assistants went out from behind their counters, surrounded Nina, and stared silently. That silence spoke louder than any words.
Without taking off her new acquisition, Nina paid up and went out into the street. It was a fair autumn day. For once in a long while, Nina had absolutely nothing to do, and she decided to take a walk. Actually, she had a motive for doing so: she wanted to check what effect her new image had on people around her.
And it did have effect. Nina was walking along a boulevard, stepping languidly on yellow leaves with high boots from the best firm, keeping an absent look on her face but feeling almost physically the glances of passers-by on her – intrigued glances of men and envious, spiteful glances of women.
She sat on a bench and crossed her legs. In fact, she never did that – she just did not have the habit – but her new clothes dictated a new behavior. Hardly a minute had passed when she was approached by some clot of a man. At first, the man did not dare to speak, then he sighed and remarked, “Yeah-ah, it’s autumn already.”
Having made that deep remark, he grew bolder and started babbling something about him being on a business trip – only one night in the city and not knowing how to best spend it – while in fact he worked in the gas industry and was a somebody in his company, too, so he could afford it.
“Good heavens, what does he take me for?” Nina thought, outraged. She jumped up from the bench, put on a pair of dark glasses from a famous fashion house, and walked hastily off. “Serves you right,” she said to herself when she had calmed down a bit. “Next time you’ll know better than to sit on boulevard benches luring males.”
She believed that she had never been to that part of the city, but then she recognized the place – it was here that she and Dima, her husband-to-be, went to the movies for the first time. She turned a corner and saw that very movie theater – now it advertised itself as having dolby sound, 3-D, and other improvements. “By the way, why wasn’t Dima at the party?” Nina wondered for the first time. “I’d like to know how he is doing. Poor Dima. I hope everything’s all right with him.”
She paused for a moment before the theater, recalling that show and her hand in Dima’s palm. It seemed to have been ages ago. Good God, how young they had been!
A voice behind her said, “Nina?”
She turned around. It was Dima. He had not changed a bit and looked the same nondescript student guy. His face, hair and figure – everything was the same. Nina even recognized the anorak – the one that he had been wearing as they had been running to the lectures together. The anorak was a bit short, and the bottom flaps of his suit jacket showed from under it. That show of poverty had not been depressing when they had both been penniless students, but now… Nina’s heart was stung by the sight.
Dima was staring at her fixedly, clearly staggered.
“You…” he mumbled at last. “Wow, you’ve become so…”
“So – what?” smiled Nina.
“So chic,” whispered Dima.
“Come off it!” Nina waved it away. “What are you doing here?”
“I… I was just going to the movies.”
Nina felt sorry. She had not expected Dima to become a successful, worldly man, but to see him that way – in a pathetic short anorak, going to the movies by himself…
And then it came home to her. Dima was not going to just any movies – he was going to that movie theater. Their theater. He was still in love with her and lived on memories of her… Dear Dima. A warm wave spread in her breast.
“How are you? How is Tatyana Yurievna?” she asked hurriedly. “Let’s find somewhere to sit down, and you’ll tell me everything.”
“Mother has retired on a pension. She’s out of town now, visiting with her sister in Pushkino,” Dima reported.
“So you are alone?” asked Nina.
“I am,” confirmed Dima.
Nina was gazing at his face with traces of removed pimples, his bluish eyes and locks of colorless hair coming out from under a skiing cap. She saw his despair and anguish. Once he had failed to keep his great luck – he had lost the princess who had come into his hands – and now he saw the queen she had turned into. The queen recognized him mercifully, but the next moment she was going to vanish into her royal spheres, and he was going to remain with his miserable destiny – sitting alone in a dark theater, recalling their holding hands for the first time…