30.march.99
Crime.
Crime doesn't pay (else I and mafia).
There is only one question, which took my attention in these days. Is there any difference between girls and books?
Now I'm reading A.A.Milne Two people. You can see other material about him, his quotations (Bees, Bio). I wrote I consider him as one of the best and the best in the branch of ideas. Perfect filigree realization of subconscious dramatic sense, too caviar to anybody. I wish I would have something of his skill.
One guy about whom I told in "Something Happened" read books very fluently. Letters on my page show you my correspondence with Irene (one more) from Ukraine. She has read enormous quantity of literature too. They are loony, both of them. I even didn't envy them. Of course I envy them but this is the envy of old jade to the new jet. You know no any normal living creature can absorb so much velocity in itself. I asked that Guy, "How you can read so fast? Have you time to digest the stuff?" - He grinned: "My eating and digesting are boosted." - Crazy, definitely crazy. Suppose your brain processor is able to work at high rate, but how about your mental one? Can you feel different emotions from grief to joy, from fury to condolence in a fracture of moment? When I'm reading book I can nearly stop at one place. The place "Bees" I reread three times. When I'm reading good book I want to shout to everybody about it. I'm afraid to loose even one drop from it. It's true I often see the possibility to improve something in it. I'm absolutely sober-minded about ideal, but this fact no deprives me from over-excitement. What is fascinating me it is the way things evident to me muffled up from the dirt of the world. They wrote: "Life is the thing to love and wonder." Does any normal man believe in it? I do. But I do it when I read their books. Is this a crime against reality, or may be is it the crime of our vanity in the face of godsend of life?
He, A.A.Milne is the unnaturally cunning in his skill. He is a clever guy - mathematician. All his tricks are logically impeccable. He can prove there are heavens in the universe. I wish I would have something of his skill. You know I played chess and wasn't afraid of my play. Now I had no practice - my mind is feeble. I know I already touched upon this sore subject but see - when I have got something really good or really funny, I say - "Gee, what a boy! And what a pity I can't repeat it once more when I wish it". I can't plan good pieces all the time. I even afraid to write something because I want the best I am dreary afraid to get ordinary thing. This excites me, I loose my sleep and composure. I can write only when I have up-rush and inwardly care not a damn about my style. Usually all my notes are beginning with words: "Hey, Mr., listen," and such way is no good for ladies and gentlemen's ears. I wish I would have something of their brains. But what is a solution? To open private library and promote it for big money? But I haven't these big money. A. Marshall in his "In my own heart" wrote about one "money-bags," who said once to him the next thing: "You mustn't have pots of money and you will never have them. You just waste them upon your foolish ideas. Look at me, will you buy two Rolls-Royses or will you have such expensive ancient furniture as mine?"
I know there is the difference between reading about Dolche Vita (Beautiful Life) and living it. But there is much work even in reading it for me, there is much more in writing about it. And now ask for yourselves how much work must be in living with it? Is it the crime to have Dolche Vita without earning it? Where is injustice? Sometimes I think there is injustice when somebody has a lot of without paying for it, but there are moments when I scream for unfairness of the world - why I must strain myself to the breaking point, crave for this and after ... wait for forfeit. There is injustice! Crime does never pay, but does life ever pay? In crime, the father you are - the worse. But in life? In life you are the same. There were sins, there weren't any sins at all - forfeit. What is crime? And who is Raffles?
This night I saw a dream. It was very quaint dream. I was in the car on the morning street. We, I, who sat on the back seat, and driver, who was not older than me, rushed to the city. Highway was nearly desert. There were only a few cars in town. Road was broad and comfortable. Over the driver's shoulder I was able to see speedometer. We were avoiding crashes taking sides - there were 170km - no less. He never used breaks - only manoeuvres. On the direct places the car reached more then 200km. It was not like old models of BMW with hard hanger bracket, but like old models of mersedes - it floated diving from one side to another. Driver wasn't afraid of traffic. He had nonchalant sureness that we must drive namely on the rate of speed. It was exciting pleasure - I wasn't afraid too. I felt drive. I must admit when I driving in real life with similar circumstances I feel the same. But this time it was dream, and a vivid one. At last we reached our final destination. It was very peaceful place, the park with green bushes and the not high building in the middle of it. I don't remember how I understood it should be exams for us there. Probably it become clear from my chat with driver, I don't care. From this point I grasped the main idea - it getting into ordinary bad dream with good perspectives to nightmare. So I realized it was dream, and when you realize something you can't be asleep and I awoke.
In the morning I brooded about two different parts of my dream. How much pleasure was in the first part and how much experienced dullness and stuffiness in another! There wasn't any sense or evident moral in it, there were only sensations. Why any kind of exams means so much to me? This is no court, there will not be a jail after it. But why I must prove something? They want to check you they need to try you upon something. They don't trust you. You are person not to be trusted. There is no creativity in exams there is only enormous creative will to escape. Somebody thinks we are already guilty anyhow, original sin or such like, you know. We are already sentenced. What keeps us form furthest driving to this direction?
In the childhood I tried to keep cash change for myself. It wasn't absconding, it was just accumulation after sane speculation. Children like to play the rogue. They may be avid and envious sometimes. I have a great avarice to my thoughts. I was afraid to splash something so I have done a plan for this note. Just imagine, this is no inspiration, this is the laboring under pre-determinate plan! Do you feel cheated anyhow? But I should try it. It is a new experience. (Do you know how much of pious people are inclined to new experiences? Crime? - Awful. New experience? - There is something in it.) But I am not such man. I know when my own boots pinch, - I just avid about my thoughts so I wrote it down. I even didn't find time to compose them properly, it's a bother in such composing for me. By the way, I have a little additional satisfaction of knowing what is going to happen next. And you must make futile foolish conjectures. But there is only one thing in which you can be sure - sooner or later one or another girl should be brought upon your judgement.
31.march.99
I read right now Reppie's and Dan's notes. Reppie is goofy (her own words) and Dan is a too of dramatist. He could make money from his writing, I feel he would be a real profi in dramatic style. At least his idea about "Belonging" is in more romantic context than it used by Robert A. Heinlen. My recent note is going to be without goofiness, either without real drama. - I don't care. Do you know, there are such girls about whom you can "don't care"? (By the way the funniest thing belongs to Dan. He wrote: "All I wanted was the microphone." After that I couldn't help of broad smiling. Has he ever read Faust? There was another funny thing about him. He wrote about my recent notes: "They look cool." - No way. I'm certain. When Dan scalded he would be inclined to say: "It seems as something rum thing happened to me. I would rather guess this thing hurts me in one or another way.")
Dan is a teacher for money now. As about me - I hate to teach professionally. One wise guy stole from me idea that when you utter some clever thought, you killing it. And when you repeat the same idea for dozen times - you eat dead flesh. In this sense I would declare how I wish I would have style and goofiness in my stuff but MY MAIN OBJECTIVE - TO GET RID OF WORD'S BODIES. The flesh of thoughts became rotten with time. All what was a delicious dreaming some time ago now is poisoned burden from which I must free myself. I hope some of my past life will be forever buried in your heads (or minds?). Gosh! This "rotten" stuff is writing upon influence of recent Dan's page reading.
Here you are, the story. It was three years ago. I have got a job. What kind of job could "young specialist" get? But talking about crime. I feel there is the difficulty to prove that crime is bad. Time is robbing from us our life. Why must we spare it in our turn? I guess this is the matter of taste. If you read my note "Tweety" you know Sherlock Holmes is no shallow sound to me. (Probably some people respect Pr. Moriarty.) So I was lucky. In that time one firm was just in the process of organizing. As "young specialist" I was easy to be cajoled about future big wages or even stakes. They needed me so I consented. But I was lucky too, there was something what drew me close to the famous busybody. I have got a place in the Private Detective Bureau. (Cool, isn't it?) Of course I wasn't ordinary shadow man. My realm was a "computers". It was really respectful company. The proof of it - their (and partly mine) secretary.
It was last months of winter when people are wrapped up in the drab clothes. The main detail of their wardrobe is overcoats. One way or another the rest of it doesn't give you impression of gaiety too. In one of that dank, if not clammy, winter-to-spring days homely girl came in. She was our new (first and last) secretary-girl.
Fellows who make money from computer service know, there are only one hitch in their slick work destiny - to make things to work. If things work you can loaf all trough your career pretending is that you who keeps the whole system on the run. But for this you need to tune hardware and software together. Let ask you: Do you buy brand names? Do you use licensed software? The best thing to collect computer by himself but we had no time so it should be bought "as an assembly". Mind you, this "assembly" didn't include any Bill Gates' "products". (Are there people in the world who love Bill Gates?) I don't want to load you with all my troubles. As matter of fact it were usual working moments, so I don't grumble. The result of it, (besides starting up the system), was the evident - I didn't pay attention to the secretary.
(Just forgot - One time I worked. overtime As matter of fact it was the case when I was bolted in the building and after that freed by securities, (they nearly shot me), at 1 AM. You can see about this incident in one of my previous notes when I told about subway night problems.)
1.april.99
I guess I can name you exact date when I discerned her out of surrounding scenery. It was ultimately 3 years ago - 1.april.1996. It was official opening of firm, and today, in that hours I writing these lines, they are celebrating 3d anniversary of it, many bigwigs are invited. But at that time it was only inner staff. Whole atmosphere was very cozy and comfortable. I was settled with my general duties and could take a calm breath now. But are they not April fools - to make a celebration in 1 April? No way, some of detectives are very serious people.
But it was she who surprised me, or rather her garment, or rather the absence of it. It was not striptease show, (we were very intelligent and even shy in some way fellows). Her dress was very revealing. You know the weather in my latitude is subjected to continental climate. One day - there snowstorm over pane and another - you can have sunstroke in no time. Her costume was suited to the latter weather much better. So you can call it was a real feast, and not only for food.
As I said before we were all very "intelligent," (so was our work). Her parents were from so-called "intelligentsia." In some way you can even think of her as home girl. (At least she gave me that expression up to that day.) We were bright and optimistic three years ago. Of course it was the weather influence but now it is the "samest" day in Moscow. Week ago was 32 Fahrenheit, and now it's 49. It's a pity I have no those forces I had in that time. (I presume you can have forces for good or for bad, but must have them. Yesterday I was in the Institute. I will no tell you about every painful experience but the last of was when one chap told me: "Excuse me I must leave you now, my girl is waiting me for a date".)
The girl was a fool. Her half-nakedness should have encouraged us, but somehow it didn't. Every one was itching to cover her with a dishcloth towel. Was she stealing from me my self-confidence or was I stealing a youth from myself? -You see, I can expatiate about "crime" theme for hours, but you, probably are more interested to know more about her, may be even something raping and spicy.
It became a fashion with her to walk to the job in the very explicit dressings, the weather was lenient to her follies. We, I and she, were from attendant personnel, she used computer, I used .... No, I used to be with her many hours in one room, which was auxiliary to the sanctuaries where main dicks worked. Who was she? She was well educated and well informed, and what is more important - well-bred and well-mannered. She was not mincing, as matter of fact she, on the contrary, never minced matters. She could be a good fellow and a good student. (I think, one of the reasons I didn't pay attention to her from the start, besides my extreme plunging to the work, was the fact I should ought to teach her to handle with some computer specific applications, and when you are teaching somebody - you can feel only purely paternal feelings to your student).
I am certain some of you are craving to know, (at least I hope - "craving"), what did she look like. It is very difficult and very simple to depict her. I am certain some of you have ever watched Playboy. I can only specify she was two years younger than me and there wasn't "hawk nest" haircut on her head. Her hair, as whole of her, was very appropriate. She was by no means fat. I only want to emphasize she was in no way a typical type of bony dress model, who gives you impression of a rack. Her beautiful figure didn't talk about 17 years girl but about ripe women in her pinks. All of her -distinguished (prominent) features, her stamina, her figure deportment were such as were saying: "Who could refuse?" (I'm not hypocrite, if you are interested to know.) (Another ramification: I don't remember where and when I talked about models with good bust. I think this example matches this case. I probably remembered her name - it was top model - Eva Gertsigova, (mark you Slav ;-) )). I guess I even can give you the image of her face. I would have opportunity to see it if I came to the bath - there is sister's color for hair. Her face was just like that one on the box. (I only afraid, there are too many colors and too many boxes - you can't define her face properly.)
I am not specialist in women dresses (as matter of fact, in men suits - too). I will only give you one or two examples. Example first - not half but 2/3 transparent blouse, another blouse was the blouse with enormous ornamental holes. Why are there so many blouses? - Because she as a rule was sitting on the table and you could see only her upper part, but whatever this upper part was you could see it properly and whatever was under these blouses this was "ridiculously lovely". Wow! She wore from time to time rough men jackets without anything under it. (You should stand near her shoulder in such cases.) In that way everyone will admit - she was a perfect secretary, one of whom each boss can be proud and one, of whom each boss' wife must be afraid. But I had a pleasure to see her "in full size". She used to jeans of skin-close-tightly sort, so it allowed to be enjoyed of her total ass' view.
Sometimes she fostered us with dresses. Now I watch the French comedy "Tall blond with black boot" on the TV. Have you ever seen it? Once she came in the dress with unbelievable low-back-cut dress, the similar to the dress in this film. It seemed there were no dress' back at all. It was interesting but there were another guys which thought about its cut more than I. Another day she have come in the same dress, but her hands, back and other bodies parts, which were visible a day ago, were under cover of black "diver sweater" now. (Sorry, but I warned you I don't know many terms. "Diver sweater" stands for very thin tight-close-to-body sweater.) So we lost not much, we lost only shine of her silky skin.
I asked her:
-"What happened, G?" She said:
-"His arms were sticky."
- "Whose arms?"
- "Oh that bumpkin. He touched my back in the street."
It was her practice to charm guys on the streets, and in her garments she did it without slightest tension. Her day norm was 4 men. When only 3 guys tried to make acquaintance with her, she lost her heart right till evening. In such days her eyes were out of the window, her hands - resting on the keyboard, her thoughts - where? - God knows where her thoughts were in such moments.
Did she try to charm me? She was a profi, - not professional charmer but professional secretary. She "charmed" you without much hurt to your feelings. She wasn't from those who prefer to keep you hoping. Again she would remind you a Playboy girl. Will you greatly suffer after looking even at the one of the nicest Playboy's girl? (Sorry, it happened to me just now, this question has sense only concerning male part of the readers.) But she wasn't rakish in the manners. Looking at her, at her face, you would never tell this. She hadn't that air. Have you ever seen musical group "Republic"? - She was the opposite of that. "I'm wicked, but I'm happy of it." - Not, she wasn't one of that sort of a girl. What is more - she wasn't go-getter. (Many girls in our time are go-getters. They will always use you, - not you - them.)
Why so? The system of raising in intelligentsia's families has its advantages, namely, the presence of cultured manners. She would never use dirty language, or apply dirty tricks upon somebody, (I tried to goad her about latter). Wasn't she a good sport for me? - No, she wasn't.
As the matter of fact our life principles differs. She liked men, I - girls, she liked matures even elderly men, I liked young fresh ladies, she liked men of Southern nationalities, (everyone has his own bees in the bonnet), I liked - Russian girls, (unable to explain this fact logically). And the main thing she had nothing against tough guys. As concerns me I was under influence of Sherlock, I wasn't ardent well-wisher for them. Mind you she had it purely on physical level. She didn't see where her folly nested. It is so pity (for a jolly good fellows like Sherlock Holmes and me) that many of girls, (if not whole feminine flock), like tough guys. It's true they prefer to call them new Robin Good Fellows. To argue with them about it - useless. She would say they are good because they punish bad people, thus "topsy-turvy"ing the whole business. All Sherlockian silver reasoning don't touch them in any way. The presence very expensive cars, scents, restaurants, trips (but must I explain what "Dolche Vita" is?) drive them mad. Besides it the procedure of courting is very raping to them. They splashing in the luxury and use tough guys as their lapdogs. (I think it follows after their mental weakness. But Gosh! One such chicken called me in the Internet chat a weak! Did Sherlock was weak? By the way, can anybody tell me why no one girl loved him???)
That is why I had more problems with our chief dicks then she. It was not because I was more bilious, or she was a pretty girl. It was not because she had more cash, which they used to call our salary. The reason was - she had any money from her current guy. (She liked to change them like gloves). And besides it she leaded active gripping life. Usually there is considered that adrenalin is more male ferment, and some girls used to rich the high level of it in some overdoing manner. If for ordinary man there is enough life in watching any final match, some girl would try to change one tough guy for more toughest. I already told you she wasn't go-getter. There are people who make many things who are walking on the head of others but they suffering and dissatisfied with life and with themselves. She on the contrary hadn't any goal to crave for her and to blister for her. It was pleasant sport for her. You can call her spoilt. But you would never see anything from wickedness in her manners. Sometimes she would seemed to you even plain. She was too satisfied with life and herself to be angry about anything. And it of course gave her additional charm. (Many people can't stand against kind gentle self-satisfied girl, especially when she is pretty especially when she is half-nude and especially when she is smiling.)
There are many movies where bad guys have a good nature but bad manners. It was the opposite case. I heard once the proverb: "Good habits are better then good principles." This is line, provoking thoughts. You can tell she had healthy rind but rotten core. - I don't know. I only can say I respected her in many ways, but some of her views about life I didn't respect. By the way I wouldn't give to pins to rescue her from the snivet. She wouldn't give the same two pins about me too. Of course we would help each other in Christian way. But our roles were antipodes. What a pleasure when your ideological enemy is angry with you, wish your blood and has a tail. But when this enemy had a good figure (without tail), wears decollete and smiling (not to charm you but after your jokes) it's far trying. It's a far trying for a tough guys but not for me. I was taught by Sherlockian science too well. (For further information see "Tweety").
Had I a good fun with her? Certainly, yes. But how? Now, listen to this: French philosopher-enlightener Volter said - no sin can stain pure (/virgin) girl (/man). He said pure man with pure/strong will can't be spoilt. So, we had a good time: I helped her with computer, entertained her by jokes, (I wonder, it was the first time when my rhetoric abilities were really activated). And at last I was a good listener to her. Sherlock talked the women are secretive by nature and closed to the outer understanding. She was open. She was naked (nearly) by body and naked by mind. In many ways I don't respect her position, but in many other questions I'm thankf... - What a word! No I detest to be thankful.
She told me how she took guys' car-keys and drove her parents to the country on the stupendously huge glossy-black 4-wheeler. - I didn't argue about this mild question. She told me her oldest partner was 55. - For this I argued hotly. I considered and consider now - the love is for youth. This is the kind of measles, which nearly one catches when he is young and after period of illness getting immunity against new bouts. I think the love is exuberance of life powers. You are young, earnest, in the plenitude of powers, aspiring for the best and thinking about future as good thing. She thought young man - is the foolish one. "He don't know life, he incapable to anything" - that was her logic. She didn't see in me a real danger and I didn't see in her match for me too. However she told me about one tough guy in very tough car, who lifted her. (She always consented to be lifted by tough guys). She remarked: "What a pity he is only 24." She followed her principles but she popularized her ideas between her girlfriends too. She prattles with one of them, hears she caught one tough guy, says: "Good done. How old is he? 22? - But he is only child! Poor thing!"
Don't think it was a pose from her part. Once a shady man age over 45 came in to our office, (we kept detective agency so we should be prepared to anything.) If you glanced at her face at that time you would see at once her inner blushing. (There is one sort of blushing when you see that girl is taken to her liver.)
She was late one morning on her working place. I asked:
- "What's matter?"
- "It was a busy night"
- "Very busy?"
-"Yes, until 6 o'clock."
- "And all this time you were ....? - Cool!"
- "No, of course not. We listened to the music, drank exquisite brands of wines, and talked about what not. He was interesting - we talked until 3 o'clock, and only after that we were really busy."
- Potty. All these modern girls are potty to their roots. I was infuriated - so waste of time! What was good - it wasn't lip service from her part and she used to prevent herself too. (So you can see she was sincere, reckless but not imprudent). About fear - I can't understand why she wasn't afraid of all those tough guys. She could like them - it was her own business about likes and dislikes but not to be afraid! (?) I would never take that sort of risk.
But every dog has his day. One day she was forced to ask for women's advice from my old acquaintance. I was proud up to the far end. She consulted how to get rid of one guy who pestered her. She even changed her phone number - no use. He was really "tough". So she had got qualified help from a real specialist. You see, my old acquaintance was on the level higher than this secretary with all her tough guys. The only bearable thing about "this secretary" is that she knew my old acquaintance was far more beautiful!
Talking about men and women's nature I don't want to generalize the facts but they can convey some sense to your educated mind. ...
3.april.99
I changed my mind to follow definite plan. My intention was to develop the theme of loosing opportunities. My general idea in the next paragraphs intended to be about how time robbers us, how we steal our best moments of life from us. But I am certain that it is "life theme" - too profound, too long. To make it short I consider much moral harping as untimely. Let to be us closer to facts, to stark slices of life. No morality please. (I am talking to myself).
Yesterday it was April fool day, as you know. One of jokes, which drew my attention:
-"What do you want?"
-"Million dollars."
-"What else?"
-"I wish my bed's springs wouldn't squeak."
Today I've seen girl. I was ought to help her with computer. She had nice nose, eyes, brows, (probably breast too). She had no one chance to talk with me about private themes. Her name by strange coincidence was Irene too. (You see I write only truth. No one fiction author would allow to himself so often name repeats). There is the confirmation of one old truth. "Wicked" has more chances than good. Today's girl was good. She wished to work, to live on her own, she wasn't afraid of hard work and no grumbled about her destiny. This girl Irene was introduced to me. Everybody waited I would shake her hand. She probably thought the same. But I didn't it. I confess, this Irene girl deserved handshaking far more then anybody else. But I would prefer to shake hand of girl with more good appearance, no matter of her morality. And that secretary girl, had many benefits from life, to which she has right only by her good body and features, good breeding and total lack of disgust and fear to that part of life which we usually call scum.
I liked to think such kind of girls has only their own circle, their own auditory. But no! If their dirty-ness is in the depth of their life conceptions they had attention of the main part of strong sex. I must admit, they have this attention on the streets. But they have this attention from the better ones. You can easily see, I considered myself as in one or another way refined person. And such refined person as I listened and talked and entertained such person who made good to the bandits. It reminds me a spicy story. Every one pretend to dislike it, every one is tickled to smack it.
But I have justification. I already said I was never interested in lavatory jokes. So this girl was never a prostitute (whore). She did what the most of girls do when they have a chance. It was her tastes, which were abominable. I agree I had a weakness to take a company with her. More than it - one of my favorite diversions was to stand near her shoulder. There are few things, which could be compared with it. Sexual harassment? - Did you watch Beaves & Butt-Head? The main part of very (pleasantly) annoying harassment was on her consciousness. It was she who drove mad many and many (even experienced) men.
I am lucky to say I wasn't taken by her to the heels. You have a right to make supposition that I hadn't a chance, and this kept me cool. I was very young and earnest. I was witty and fast to uptake. I was a person with a job and influence. (I had all information because it was in the computers, and I was a master of the hard drives and applications in the office). Once in the chat I called myself as "ColdHeels like Christoff Lambert" (that chat was my favorite, because you could give yourself very longest nicknames). - They didn't believe me. (As matter of fact I earned the name of the goofiest nick of the chat, of which I was very proud).
And I have one more justification - I fought with her. I crusaded to rescue her for the healthy life in respectful society. I argued, (if not preached with her), hotly. I guess I hadn't luck with my holy persuasions, because I probably sympathized with her and envied her recklessness and full absence of respect to life. But probably, women, who have cussed-ness in their veins, have it whole their life by nature.
Once in the current of our chat I asked her: how many had she? She answered. I made calculations with her and we found she changed them every season. And it wasn't free love. At least, each her fiance spent on her much of his money, time and nerves. Her pippin was Julia Roberts. She lived on her standards, but she didn't begin with the pavement. Then I asked her: "Do you remember them? Do you make any distinction between them?" She answered: "No."
I had a friend in the Institute. Talking in my terms it would be better to call him as good acquaintance. (About my touchy views about word "friend" I will tell you probably in one of my next notes). (No, he is a very huge theme in himself, I'll tell you about him in one of my following notes too.) He used to talk with me upon interesting themes too. So he said me once: "I remember every one of them. There were many of them of course, but they seared in my mind, each one separately."
It was my treatment to her. I pointed to her upon this weak point. (Now you can look at last paragraph of April1st.)
After this she suddenly remembered many intimate details about her private life. She tried to mend her reputation and reputation of her fair sex, but I didn't listen to her - I already made my mind and was enjoying as Sherlock Holmes when his chemical experiment had a success. (Or may be on the contrary, I sun-bathed in the nudity of her revelations and was glad of lucky trick?)
All three of us, I, the secretary girl, my Institute good acquaintance have similar views about Dolche Vita, but each position had its particularities. As you already know, she imagined the picture of Julia Roberts as "Pretty Woman," my good acquaintance copied the moments of tough guy's behavior. One of his favorite tricks was alighting from the car, like tough guys in the scene of robbery in the "Cowboy Marlboro and Harley Davidson." It is true he needed black limousine and three additional whack guys but he had it.
Hey, hey, hey, I remembered one very spicy detail! I craved to show my old acquaintance to my good acquaintance. I intended to boast up to my eyes before him. For this occasion I pretended to help him as detective in one of his multiple business and lured him into my office. On the other hand I was lucky - G, (my secretary), recorded my old acquaintance on her camera-recorder. So one day I had camera-recorder and my good acquaintance together. But this secretary girl messed things a bit. Instead of my good acquaintance's view on the tape he had seen this secretary in her "home dressing gown." Just imagine! She waked half-naked to the job, so what would her nightgown be! Unbelievable! She explained to us, (we, all three of us were sitting to this moment in our office room), it was a mistake. A fat lot of mistake! My good friend who knew many things and many girls, (and I will tell about it later), even he made "big eyes". Firstly I couldn't turn him away from it. Did she wink? Did she was confused? Have you ever seen a confused cat? - No, she didn't. (The result was I showed my old acquaintance to him only when we were passing the lobby and this was only to catch a glimpse. I asked him have he ever seen her? And he approved that she seemed to remind him somebody. So it wasn't my own deja vu. It was our mutual deja vu, you see).
But sorry, I have not slightest intention to tell you about my old acquaintance this time. (Otherwise I should be change the title of the note.) I was talking about different pictures of Dolche Vita. I already told about their view, now I'll tell you about my own conception of it.
3.april.99
As concerns me, I liked to stare through the open window leaning on my elbows upon the windowsill with my back to the room and to secretary too. It was fresh sunny spring days.
We sat in the building where many solid companies took their offices. On the lowers stairs there was a bank, on the higher stairs - our detective agency and legal advice office. It was very convenient. Suppose you want to order physical liquidation of your competitor or partner, (it doesn't), matter. You came in to the bank and took money needful for this business, after that you lifting to the detective office to order shadowing for him. And finally you dropping in to his solicitor chamber to minimize possible risk.
Our windows looked upon porch and the grand park before it. At forenoon current morning problems were usually fixed and I peeped through the window upon the life in the park. There were hours for strolls with a dogs and children. Dogs were more romping and scampering so I preferred to look at them. Once I told to G.: "I wish I would have good dog and live with her alone."
She had many flaws but also she had definite merits. She never knew what thought about dogs and girls Barrie, Alan Marshal and others of refined intelligentsia. Intelligentsia gave her all its advantages, but she was wise not taking rotten part from it. She held for the healthy definitions. For example one girl, (Ukrainian, Irene, (one more)), quoted: "Friendship is more tragic because it lasting longer." This phrase would look loony to her. - Love is love and friendship is friendship. Some of twisted aesthete would appreciate this phrase. I by myself was apt to think good of it. But I was sobered up when recollected that this words were said by Oscar Wilde (and he was homosexual).
When I said to her about dog, she was stupefied:
- "How? Are you intending to live with dog?"
- "Many people live with them." (At this moment I tried to quote: "The more I know people the more I like dogs," but I was interrupted in peremptory manner).
-"Normal men must live with girls."
-"I meant many people have dogs as a masters of them not as their partners."
It was no use - this girl lived by real life standards. Nothing of this superficial rubbish about unrequited love for ages and medieval knight habits. She liked another kind of medieval life. Did you see French movies about Angelica? It was her exact copy, her pippin, model for imitation. I must confess she wasn't futile on her way. If there were such things as reincarnation I would say that my secretary was real Angelica in our days.
To say true she was "my" only in figural way - we were "office-mates". And as a good office-mate I turned my back to her (only sometimes when sun was especially kind and birds singed especially clear). Once laying my tummy upon windowsill I saw remarkable picture. As matter of fact it was my picture of Dolche Vita. To the bank porch lifted fashionable car. Neatly man and stylish woman alighted from it. They said in very polite manner a couple of words between themselves and graciously moved to the parade porch.
It wasn't a pleasant sight, it was stupefying performance. All TV ads all photos from fashion journals all movies about Cannes wouldn't give you this impression. Many tough guys have steep cars, but this car shined as nothing. You cold think they polished even tires. There is no use to talk about their costumes and their manners. But what dumbfounded me it was complete lack of any worries, vice, and smugness. I would advise to compare them with pairs from ads but it would be untrue. They had never anything from unnatural podium air. They were stylish and simple, they played to nobody and played only to themselves. - It was my picture about Dolche Vita.
It was a day when I spoilt whole my life. I have got a strong inner wish to get pots of money needful for such life and to get only very exquisite girl. (You see I even didn't call her as girl first time I called her "woman" because she was even that sort of person).
Let me make a little reminiscence to the beginning of that note. I wrote there about dream where I rushed on the 200km/h. What a miserable dream in comparison with life! I have got to know now watching TV there were documentary record fixed on the Moscow streets by police radar - it was 240 km/h!!! I would never dreamt that such things can happen in reality!
(By the way, A.A.Milne said once: "How silly to write a made-up book". And really, I often wonder what a life full of strange and wonderful coincidences is!)
How I was mistaking in that case and how I mistaken in the case about that pair which I have seen from my office window! The cinch is - when I began my practice in looking from windows I wasn't acquainted with my old acquaintance yet. One day I have seen on the street a girl, - I don't want to portray her - this is very difficult for me, and by the way this note was dedicated not to her. I only can say it was a girl who was destined by me to become "my old acquaintance." Damn with crime! We can be happy without it!
PS: I feel obliged to clarify some questions.
First: this hair color box is lying now on the kitchen table. It has label "52 black pearl." (My sister colored her hair again.)
(Second: I used word "dick" for detectives. I dunno - in one of my dictionaries it stands for sleuth, and in another - for part of body. So I don't want any misunderstandings.)
Third: Talking about crime
First of all: do you know how many stolen phrases in this note? - 10! Ten quotations, (not counting officially declared), from A.A.Milne and his "Two People" were stolen by me and no one of you noticed it! (Do you remember about unlicensed software by the way. I guess there is a good topic for the next note: "I and copyright." I have my own ideas about it and hope to tell about them soon.)
- Have I ever committed crime? Yes, I stole a book. It was many years ago, but why? - I was in the district library trying to find one book. I didn't find it. I tried to find another books. I never found any of them. It wasn't rarities, its were ordinary classic books. Suddenly I came cross J.K.Jerom "Three men in the boat." It was only one book worth to read. I took her (sorry, you in English call it "it," but we give to things their real names), read it and even was intended to give it away. But something kept me from it. It was so pity to give away so good book. In one hand I was unwilling to part with it, from the other hand I was afraid to think this book would be "wasted" among nonentities. Definitely there was only one chance to save it - viz., to keep it for myself. I wasn't ashamed, I did righteous thing - I saved good book from oblivion. Neither I was afraid. I was ready to fight for it. (They tried it upon me, even threatened me with court. I knew it cost less 10$ - They would never, suit a case on this.) Of course there were unpleasant calls. Finally they excluded me from the list. I didn't regret, from that day I had more than they. Afterwards I read and reread it. I never was tired of it. I don't know, probably, this book is not so precious for world literature, - I don't care. I liked it and enjoyed it. In the long run I saturated by the scent of this book, I had it already partly in my mind. So the time have come I rid of this book. (- As matter of fact I gifted it to my old acquaintance with words: "this is the most precious gift which I able to present you in present time.")
Fourth and final - that banking couple - can you find magazine "Food and Wine," January, 1990? (By the way my magazine stuck with slip "A Al Duaij. Washington" - I wonder how have I got it?) On page 111 you could see photo of a man and woman from upper class in respectable chamber. There is the text under it: "They were first night tickets. Center orchestra. Better than front row. The performance will certainly garner a Tony. The restaurant was a secret they shared with only close friend or two. Six stars, if there were such thing. A truffle even the critics had not yet uncovered. It would have been a perfect evening had they known what a difference four generations of blending and roasting the world's finest coffees make. If only they had known that true gourmet is a process, not a label."