by Kenneth Eade
“No, you’re special.”
“Look, I'm hungry, just come around the corner with me. There's a cafe.” Daria ponders for a moment. I'm hungry Daria, it’s just around the corner.”
“You're persistent.”
“I'm that too.” He offers his arm, and she reluctantly takes it.
CHAPTER 8
Who is this mysterious woman and why does she fascinate me so? Walking Daria home, neither of them speak. Eventually, they get to the outside of Daria's apartment and stop.
“Thank you, it was wonderful,” Daria says, breaking the silence. “Here we are again, flirting until the end of the week.”
“We're not pressed for time. The world is small now.”
“I thought the world was only America and its TV.” Andrew playfully buckles as if he’s been punched in the stomach.
“Ahh, that hurts...”
“I'll give you more with dumb lines like that.”
“It's good to be dumb sometime, and plus, I'm going to sound really dumb next to writers like Dostayavsky and Tolstoy.”
“It’s Dostoyevsky,” she says, correcting his pronunciation. Andrew smiles. “I have to go. Tomorrow’s an early start. Andrew nods. Daria turns at her door.
“Stop by again before you leave.”
Daria enters her apartment building. Andrew smiles and walks away, past two tough looking guys, dressed in leather, and smoking. They’re sitting in an Audi, parked across the street, watching Andrew leave. Their focus is on Daria's apartment, as if they await a signal.
CHAPTER 9
A pebble strikes Daria’s window. Daria turn around but sees nothing. After a moment, another pebble hits her window. Daria looks out the window down the street. There’s Andrew, standing there with a smile on his face. After a moment, his beings wobbling a circle, as if he were Charlie Chaplin imitating a penguin. Daria smiles and walks away from the window. Another pebble hits, and she comes back, opening it.
“You’re going to pay for a broken window.”
“Come out, it’s a lovely night for a walk!”
“Andrew, I really can’t.”
“Do you want me to break all your windows? It’s not summer, you know.”
“I’ll be right down,” she says, laughing.
The Place de la Concorde is beautifully lit at night. Andrew playfully pushes off from a lamp post and puts his arm around Daria’s waist, pulling her toward him, playfully. They reach the river bank, with its magnificent view of the Alexander III Bridge on the right and the Invalides on the left. The Eiffel Tower glitters in the background. Andrew looks deeply into Daria’s eyes.
“So, is there a man in your life,” Andrew says, breaking the moment with the essential question. Daria just stares out at the bridge and tower.
“How can you be sure, who someone really is, in the beginning, I mean? It seems we never do know, until it's too late. How do you know,” says Daria.
“You don't. I guess, when you feel it, you either have to stop yourself or just take a deep breath and jump. But you haven't answered my question yet. Is there a man in your life at this very moment? “
“Yes, this very moment there is a man in my life.” Andrew looks defeated.
“Oh.”
“Yes. You.”
“Me?”
“Well, you are a man are you not?”
Andrew's not sure she's going with this.
“Yes, I am...a man...”
“Very good...I wasn't completely sure before but now you've said you are so I guess I'll just have to believe you.” Andrew’s eyes are glued on her.
“Why are you staring at me like that? You've been doing it all night.”
“I was just thinking, I should have danced with you...”
“Danced with me? When?”
“At Jacqueline's party...I just wished I had asked you to dance that's all.”
“That's nice. But next time when the opportunity presents itself, and you want to ask me, don't. Just...take me.” Daria lips form into that smile that intoxicates him.
“You're...staring again...”
“Sorry, you're just...so...so different...And yet, it’s as if I've known you forever.”
“Come on, I want to walk.”
“You mean, we're not going to take the metro?” She laughs.
“If you weren't leaving so soon, I'd show you all my secret parts of the city.” Daria searches his eyes, trying to get a closer glimpse of what's really inside.
CHAPTER 10
It’s a bright day for Paris’s usual grey blanket of clouds and drizzle. Andrew and Daria walk along the Pont des Arts.
“Do you ever get sick of your work, you know, dealing all the time with divorce?”
“Yeah...Couples eventually end up arguing about the same things. I'm sure most of them know it before they got married. They probably hoped that...getting married would take them somewhere better, a place where life would have meaning and they would be special. But strangely enough, it just makes them like everyone else.”
“And you're worried about this?”
“I don't know. People think being in love makes you special. I guess we all have that desire to be special and to be part of something special. So... I don't know. If what someone believed to be special went wrong, then it’s relative just like anything else.”
“Yes.”
“What about Russia? All this time you've avoided the question.”
“Russia is very different. It’s beautiful. I love it very much. I know that there's hardness to it at first...”
”It seems so far away from my world. What was it like, growing up there?” “Like anywhere else I suppose. It was good.”
“Good? You know, I would have thought it was anything but good from what I’ve heard. They used to come to school and lecture to us about the ‘evil Soviet Empire’.”
“You’re right, I too have heard from other people that our life in Moscow was terrible during the Soviet Union.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, somehow the cold war never stopped. It was a lot of fun in Soviet times. I went to a great school. First, I studied music, then dance-that was my passion.”
“Your parents must have been well off to put you through all that training.”
“Oh no, not back then. Everything was free.”
“Free?”
“Yes, nobody worried about money.”
“Can’t imagine that. I’d really like to see your country someday. “I know its cliché to mention, but Paris does stir up some strange stuff, don't you think?”
“I think you could say it and you still would be here.”
“Say what?”
“You're afraid.” Andrew looks away.
“I wouldn’t say love...but it’s something - something so much like it.”
“It’s OK, I forgive you, but only because you're a scared American.”
“Well, I'm glad my citizenship let me off the hook.”
They smile at each another and stare straight ahead, watching the river flow beneath the beautiful sunset.
Andrew and Daria continue to walk side by side. Suddenly, Andrew notices he is talking to himself. Daria is two steps away from him in front of a large puddle. Andrew is already halfway through it. He sees her trying to walk delicately through it, but it doesn't work. They are both laughing. He picks her up in his arms and carries her across the puddle.
Finally, they find themselves again at the door to Daria’s building. Andrew comes close to her and they kiss. Daria softly breaks away.
“I'll see you tomorrow? We have one more day...”
“You will. “
Andrew leaves, and as he does the same Audi pulls up, parking directly across the street from Daria's apartment. Andrew looks up at Daria’s window and sees her light go out.
The driver's side window rolls down on the Audi, revealing the same two rough looking guys. They watch Andrew leave, wait until he's completely out of sight, then turn ba
ck. Seems Daria's apartment is their true focus.
Daria, dressed in her pajamas, pulls open the covers, gets into her bed, and gets cozy. She looks out the window at the park across the way. The moon hangs low over the footbridge there, turning the usually beautiful bridge into an ominous shadow. She looks away and shivers to herself, then picks up a book from her night stand and begins reading.
CHAPTER 11
A great white stallion is tethered here. Beside him on the floor is a lantern. A figure enters the scene, his face in shadow, obscuring it from view. Moving further into the room, we see he's carrying Daria in his arms. He moves to the horse. With a gliding motion, he lifts her upon the horse's back. Daria mildly resists, but fixes herself upon the horse, and remains there.
The figure picks up the lantern and leads the horse out. Daria's wardrobe, a satin white nightgown with along flowing drape, adds just the right touch making the scene resemble an oil painting.
The figure leads the horse through the darkness to a set of stone steps. He heads up them to an iron door. The figure pulls a ring attached to a heavy chain hanging from a hole in the masonry on the left.
The door swings open. As the figure enters, a flood of dazzling light reveals Daria draped limply in his arms. A mandolin, an organ, a violin, a harp and a musician's composing stand.
The instruments shift slightly. All of a sudden, out of the silence, there is a sound like a mandolin string being plucked. At first the sound is unidentifiable, then all the instruments begin to move in rhythm to one another. The instruments alone are creating the music themselves. It’s as if some invisible entity were guiding them to play. They work together, playing in harmony, a ghost orchestra.
At the far end of the room a trap door opens. The figure carries Daria to the entrance, down a short staircase to reveal another anti-room below. The lantern's wick has burned down considerably and there is very little light to guide them.
Barley visible through the darkness, a table is positioned in the center of the room. The figure carefully lays Daria on the table. He reaches below the table and picks up a small wooden chest. He stands there holding it out in front of him, as if she has been programmed to do so, Daria mechanically turns her head to one side and stares blankly at the small chest.
The figure reaches out, lays his hand on the lid, and opens it. Inside-a frog and a scorpion. Suddenly, the scorpion's tail comes to life, rears up, and then stabs the frog squarely in the back, instantly killing it. This jolts Daria right out of her trance-like state. She sits up straight. Surrounding her are horrific looking surgical contraptions. It’s a torture chamber. Daria lets out a blood curdling scream and bolts straight up in her bed. Thank God it was just a dream. She's trembling uncontrollably, obviously it was a nightmare she was having. Daria still feeling frightened, scans every corner of the room, scrutinizing every shadow.
It takes her a few moments until she feels totally safe again, safe at home. She climbs out of bed, goes into the bathroom, splashes cold water on her face. Staring hard into the mirror at her reflection, she's searching her face for answers, desperate to make sense of the nightmare, seemed so real.
Grabbing a soft towel, she pats her face and returns to bed.
She pulls the covers up around her as far as they will go. A second later, she grabs the entire duvet and yanks it over her entire head completely disappearing from view.
CHAPTER 12
Daria and Andrew sip wine on Daria’s balcony, overlooking the majestic Louvre. A soft breeze comes up. The sound of wind chimes in the distance is extremely soothing. Walking next to the river now, they stop briefly, watching a river boat as it cruises past.
“Daria...I'm going to ask you a question and you're not allowed to think the answer, just say it.”
“Please...”
“When were you most happy?”
“Now, because you're here with me.”
“Okay, when were you least happy?”
“Now, because you're leaving.”
A strong wind blows from the river. It’s cold. Andrew shields Daria from it and holds her from behind.
“What do you like the most...?”
“What do I like the most? I like chocolate cake, the forest, animals, and children, if they never lie! “She looks deep into Andrew's eyes. A light wind blows again, a single strand of hair falls across Daria's face. Never taking his eyes off hers, Andrew reaches up and gently places it behind her ear.
“Anything else...?”
“The sea, I love the sea! Sleeping. I love to sleep. Islands. The sound of your voice. There are so many...too many things...oh….” Andrew stops, looks at for her a moment, searching her eyes...then continues.
“What makes you the most angry?”
“Hate, cruelty, hateful people. People who say things but don’t really mean them. What makes you angry?”
“Rules, politics. And what really makes me crazy are the people who make the rules.”
“I feel the same. I make my own rules.”
“You know, there was only one other time in my life that I felt as good as I do now.”
“Where was that?”
“A long clean empty beach North of Los Angeles. A place where you feel very safe and almost pure. A place called Malibu...”
“Malibu...I'd love to see it.” Moved by the moment, Andrew turns her around, kissing her tenderly on the lips. She reciprocates, the kiss becomes much more passionate... Daria, still kissing Andrew, walks him to the door. She breaks, and steps back from him.
“I can't, you should go now.”
“Why?”
“You know why. Everything I love leaves, I turn around and poof...its' gone. You're leaving. Tomorrow. Going back to America.” She kisses him on the cheek like a blessing, opens the door and literally, but gently, pushes him out.
“Good bye.”
“Bye.”
She leans against the door for a moment, trying to calm herself down. Andrew walks away. He is confused. After down the street a bit, he stops and turns around, walks back, and then begins running toward Daria's front door. He raps at the door continuously. Daria opens it. Andrew pauses a moment before frantically entering and kissing her. The door closes.
The makes their way to the bedroom, kissing and peeling off clothes as they go, in a ritual dance choreographed by nature. A combination of moonlight and the flickering flame of the fireplace dance over Daria’s naked body as Andrew moves with hand and mouth slowly over each of her breasts. Daria sighs with passion and begins to moan as Andrew traces small kisses and a trail with his tongue down to her glistening lips, which he devours with the same passion as their initial kiss. Daria writhes with ecstasy as Andrew drinks in her musk with fervor. “I want you,” gasps Daria, as Andrew changes position alongside her, and she takes his hardness between her lips.
Their bodies finally meet as he enters her. Where his ends and hers begins is a mystery to Andrew as they move in unison.
CHAPTER 13
Raf’s massive master bedroom, furnished with exquisite conservative simplicity, suits its sleeping occupant, a man of maturity yet who exudes a glow of enthusiasm. Although asleep, there is an uncommon restlessness to him. The wind comes up. Through it's rustling, he hears something. He wakes.
“...Yes...someone there?...Bear? That you, boy?” Raf blinks, has he heard something, has he not, he is not sure. He shoots up straight in bed, hand on the trigger of his gun that he instinctively pulls from his pillow, gets out of bed now, gun first, moving toward the door. “Hello...someone there...who is it? Who's there?” Was that a BANG? He's sure he heard something and it sounded like it came from downstairs. Raf walks out onto the landing at the top of the stairs. It's very dark. He looks around, sees no one. He walks downstairs, checking each room. Nothing.
Raf turns back to his bedroom. Was that another BANG? Confused, he looks around once more, climbs back into bed, trying to trace the source of what he has heard or hasn't heard; he is not sure. He pulls the co
vers up, tries to close his eyes.
“Victor? Say something, damn you!” Raf sits up again-he seems full of indecision. Should he get up or not? He looks out the window: absolute stillness and silence, Raf closes his eyes but then they flutter open, he glances up at the ceiling and finally, exhausted, falls back asleep. It’s nothing. Just my imagination.
