Incredible Spy Detective. Poets and Liars. Stella Fracta
Shakespeare Festival was a cover that hitherto gave rise to no questions – only baffled awe.
In a month he’s not moved an inch forward, he found no new data, no disproof, no proof of the dangerous activities of the Poets – and he could find no way to approach this strange writer, it was as if she didn’t notice him. He was acting with a jeweler’s precision, he couldn’t attract suspicion, he didn’t intrude by acting as a fan or an interested party – and at the same time he had a specific objective: to enter her intimate circle.
The most intimate circle.
The official part of the press conference was over, the autograph session was coming to the end, the guests drifted into the hall with food and drinks. Stella Fracta was guzzling water near one of the tables on the sideline, Venceslav Renev, the literary agent, was whispering something in her ear, flailing his hands, she was staring off into space.
She resembled a teenager at times – with her nose piercing, tattoos all over the left side of her body, the fang extensions and a whimsical hairdo with bangs and two buns on her head made to resemble horns; she’s extremely serious at times – when she frowns, thinking about something, when she says complex things in a convoluted manner, but with racy, dirty jokes. She, too, lives under a pseudonym and wears social masks – even though she hates them, spits on them, as if she’s trying to scare the layman away with her grotesqueness.
Richard looked at her and didn’t understand anything. It wasn’t in his habit to anger at failure, but he did have a habit of never putting his guard down.
The joke about the MI6 agent who came to the writer’s home was forgotten, but in an incredible way described the extreme that Richard will have to go to, if need be.
He’ll have to get into her apartment and take his clothes off – if necessary. Such is his job.
2. Robot
[Russia, Moscow, Domodedovo]
“Excuse me. Would you mind switching seats with me? My seat’s near the emergency exit, 13C, there’s a lot more room there.”
The man whom Richard approached from the back was throwing his luggage up onto the rack. He turned around in confusion, his typically Russian sullen face didn’t smoothen even when faced with the stranger’s white-toothed smile.
“I’d really love to sit next to my girlfriend—” Richard motioned at the seats between them and smiled even wider. “Please.”
The head – with a messy chestnut-haired bun on top of it – didn’t budge, and the sullen man nodded after a second’s pause.
“Fine,” he grumbled and went to get his bag back down.
There was no catch – he would really be getting the better seat.
“Thank you,” sighed Richard with relief.
A few moments later, as if it was nothing, he took his seat beside the young woman in headphones who didn’t even raise her eyes at him, busy writing something into a red notebook.
Her handwriting was unintelligible, littered with crossings-out, but she didn’t mind. Richard’s eyes slanted to her hands, her face and bangs, the dark long lashes, the sharp nose with a ring between the nostrils. Stella Fracta looked different without makeup.
Her real name is Alexandra Stern, she’s thirty, her pen name is only for her books – and it, too, has special symbolism.
“Bad call,” she spoke. “It’s a four-hour flight, you’ll rue the day.”
She heard. Richard agreed with her – but appearing foolish was to his advantage.
His knees, spread to the sides, were pushing up against the back of the seat in front of him, he was uncomfortable already – and they hadn’t even left the airport yet … He was over six feet tall, he felt like he was in an incommodious dollhouse.
“An emotional call,” he said.
They crossed gazes. His eyes were blue, hers – brown.
Alexandra shook her head.
“You can always ask to switch back,” she smiled.
“Yes, I can, but I don’t want to. I’m Richard.”
She was looking at him closely: sculpted features, a clean-shaven chin, blue eyes, a long narrow nose and thin lips; dark brown hair, wide shoulders, a dark gray unzipped jacket, a blue jumper.
A fresh but unimposing perfume, even and calm breathing, a direct and open gaze, the iris – if looking at an angle – appears to be lit up from the inside.
“Alexandra,” she replied.
There were three kinds of her smile: just with her lips; with her lips slightly parted – but so that her fangs wouldn’t be visible; and with a fully open mouth, unashamed. Richard knew all of them – and now she had simply spread her lips.
He extended his hand for a handshake, Alexandra, in a returned gesture, gave him her hand – with long nails that resembled sharp claws.
Her hand was cold, his – warm, both had a firm handshake.
“The damn air conditioner,” noted Richard.
She laughed – and now he had time to see her fangs.
“My hands are always cold,” Alexandra shrugged, putting her hand over the closed notebook. “Even without an air conditioner.”
He could act out a fuss, try to turn the air conditioning off – despite the rules – he could even ask the flight attendant for a blanket … But something told him she wouldn’t fall for that.
He had a feeling she can see right through him – even though it was impossible.
“You’re going to London for work?” he inquired.
Alexandra looked at him again – on her face, he read faint displeasure: a stranger opting to distract her with idle chit-chat. She was still wearing headphones – though since the moment he approached her row, there was nothing playing in them.
“Yes,” she confirmed. “A meeting with readers.”
“Readers?”
“I’m a writer. I have books. Readers read books.”
“But ‘Cats Don’t Drink Wine,’” Richard smiled, putting on a show of bashfulness. “I’m sorry, I’m joking. I got it. I know you – I mean, I know your books.”
“Wonderful. I’m very glad.”
Her friendliness was neutral. It was a balancing act between indifference and gratitude, but it wasn’t arrogance or disdain for excessive attention. Before he had the opportunity to see how warmly she greets fans, readers, those wanting to take a picture with her or tell her their opinion – of any kind … And for some reason, she didn’t react to him the way he’d anticipated.
He didn’t expect her to appreciate his attractiveness right away, but he assumed she’ll consider his attention appropriate – and that’s how he’ll start the conversation. She was open to dialogue – with all who approached her … And yet she’s barely looking at a blue-eyed dreamboat.
It wasn’t in his habit to reflect upon his attractiveness – but it was his habit to compare facts to consistent patterns.
Richard knew that at the moment she had neither a long-standing partner nor an object of romantic interest.
“I won’t distract you if it’s inappropriate, sorry.”
Richard breathed hard through his nose, tried to settle in the seat to get into a comfortable position, hugged himself by the shoulders, touching his elbow with his neighbor’s. He saw Alexandra smile from under his lowered eyelashes.
“It’s