Alexander sat down in silence.
'Shall we order a bottle of red, perhaps?' Anzhelica suggested, and the order was placed.
Apparently, Anzhelica was incapable of revealing her true nature - sensual, burdened by experience. That immense pride, the pretense, a certain fragility, and affectation repelled me. She was consumed by playing a role, casting herself as a screen goddess. Meanwhile, dramas full of chaos and a whirlwind of emotions were being born around her, but her lot, even here, remained the same: to continue acting.
Throughout the evening, despite my sincere impulse to reach out to Anzhelica, she strove to appear exactly as she thought I would want to see her. The actress in her never vanished for a moment, making it impossible to reach her core. Everything Alexander had said turned out to be the absolute truth.
Her silver earrings shimmered in the gloom, and she spoke to her husband without a trace of warmth - sharply, mockingly, ruthlessly. They dredged up a recent quarrel over a yellow sequined dress Anzhelica had desperately wanted. Alexander had dismissed the masterpiece as a 'shiny rag for whores.' Their bitterness and venom made it painfully clear: these were two sides at war, clashing over a mere trifle.
The quarrel had cut so deep that it seemed a physical brawl was only a heartbeat away. The woman looked ready to claw at her husband's face when Yuriy finally intervened to break up the dispute.
'Perhaps the talk of the exquisite yellow dress could wait until you are alone? In that case, a night of passion might even follow!'
Suddenly, Anzhelica expressed a desperate urge to smoke and suggested that I keep her company. Alexander and Yuriy decided to stay behind, so we headed to the exit alone.
'My Sasha doesn’t even understand what he wants — what he likes or what he doesn't,' Anzhelica began once we were outside. 'But I know. I know how to choose what is necessary and reject what is useless. It takes him a year just to figure people out. You know, when he told me about you, he missed the essence. He didn’t understand you at all.”
"At that moment, Alexander’s words came back to me: 'Sometimes she seems insane to me.' The abyss of her insincerity yawned wide, terrifying in its depth. Fragility. Fluidity. Elusiveness. Where was she, this Anzhelica? Who was she? Before me was only a woman who fired the imaginations of others, and that was all.
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'I read very little. Everything seems watered down to me compared to...' she continued.
'To your life?'
'I know Alexander thinks I’m touched because I’m always keyed up, in a fever. I have no need for objectivity at all. I don’t want to be an impartial observer, I don’t want restraint, and I don’t want to stand on the sidelines.'
'Yes, of course, I understand you. But...'
"Anzhelica, cutting me off mid-sentence, continued her story, nervously puffing on her IQOS. 1 'Alexander loves me roughly, like an animal. He thinks I am far too proud.'
'But you know, he made his choice; he chose you. He talks and thinks about you a lot!'
'He yields to me. I cannot stand men who fear strong women.'
I look at Anzhelica’s firm neck and hear her voice - deep, husky, and tragic.
She tried to subdue her nervousness, which was so at odds with the serene atmosphere. She tried, but nothing came of it: the incessant smoking and quick, searching glances gave her away.
'It seems I know what to do next and how to be, but at the same time I realize that everything I’m doing is wrong, and sooner or later he’ll be ruined over some stupidity!'
"Right then, the secret of her life was laid bare before me. She trusted only in closeness, in intimate relations, and in confessions born in the darkness of the bedroom - in quarrels fueled by alcohol and the shared understanding forged during long walks through the city. She believed only in words that burst forth like a criminal’s confession after a long cross-examination and the relentless presentation of evidence.
Afterward, we spoke of our favorite colors. She always wears black and lilac, while I prefer warmer tones - reds and gold.
By the end of the evening, after she and Alexander had left, it became clear that Anzhelica, when faced with all the legends, fables, and tall tales she had spawned, felt utterly helpless.
At night, lying in bed, my thoughts turned to her. Not to the magnificent, stunning Anzhelica, but to the small, weak, fragile girl hidden behind the diva's mask. That weakness and vulnerability were appealing. Driven by a lack of self-confidence, she felt an insatiable thirst to be liked. She lived as a reflection in the eyes of others, never daring to become herself. There was nothing to grasp, no core by which to truly know her. And she understood this. The more she was loved, the more she understood.
That white face, vanishing into the darkness, still loomed before me as she and Alexander were leaving. An urge arose to run out, to catch up with this fantastic beauty and say: 'Anzhelica, you have done away with my former clarity, with my heartfelt sincerity. Never again will I be able to understand who I am, what I am, what I love, or what I want. I am drowning in your beauty and gasping for air. You take with you a part of me reflected in you. Your beauty has besotted me, and I have dissolved within it.'
Anzhelica appealed to me for what she dared to be — for her defiance and heartlessness, for her egoism and ruthlessness, for her pride and her fatality. I feel a wave of sympathy, compassion, and empathy for her wash over me. Here is a personality expanding its boundaries!
- IQOS is an electronic cigarette.