The Path to Yourself. Aigerim Dautova
have been making coffee. A long chime of the doorbell. She ran out of the bathroom like an injured lion escaping the cage, but it was too late. Dina stared at her with her large dark eyes wide-open. Dina threw a brown paper bag to Ella’s feet and slammed the door shut. Puddles of juice on the floor, the smell of fresh croissants, and nervous male laughter. Ella drove like mad – or like an F1 driver – through red lights, without caring about pedestrians. When she found her friend in the office, she suddenly fell speechless, and only her eyes were filled with tears. But Dina flung mud at her, wildly and thoughtlessly, so Ella had to defend herself – the ancient life instinct talking. Everyone listened to them fight in utter disbelief. Their bond had always seemed so strong, unbreakable – tempered by time. Dina had once given Ella a helping hand, but then Ella had helped her out in return – more than once. And now, it was all over. Both girls went their own ways, trying to forget everything.
But one day, Dina’s number appeared on the screen of Ella’s smartphone. Ella took the call without hesitation. Half an hour later, she was already looking at a tear-stained girl called Rose.
Chapter 6
“Wanna go shopping? The flight’s tomorrow.” Ella was sipping her green smoothie, making weird noise.
“What for?”
“To dress you up.”
“No need.” Rose was checking the tasks off her long to-do list.
“Why is that?”
“Well – ”
“You don’t have money, do you? But Dina does.” Ella dangled a credit card in front of Rose’s face.
“I can’t see myself doing such a thing.” Rose blushed.
“And I can’t see you going abroad like this. This is Paris Fashion Week, and you look terrible.”
Rose didn’t say anything. She just sat there, staring at her planner, her shoulders even more hunched up.
“Hello? If you don’t know the first thing about it, I can help you, don’t worry.”
Rose got to her feet, put the planner into her handbag, and marched off to the door.
“Gee, what’s with the hard feelings?”
“I’m going shopping. And I know how to shop!” Rose marched back and took the credit card from the table.
“Alright. I’m going with you.”
They went to the largest shopping mall in the city. Sure enough, their first stop was the mass market shrine of the fashionable society – Zara. Rose immediately got into her snoop mode and began scouting the numerous stands for proper fits and colors. She completely ignored Ella who was muttering something to herself. A heap of clothes, a cramped fitting room, panting behind the curtain.
“How much longer?” Ella yawned, scrolling through Instagram feed.
A black silk dress, elegant open-toe heels, and a milky-white blazer casually thrown over the shoulders. The outfit was complemented by gold earrings and an updo with a few unruly strands hanging near Rose’s face. This girl knew very well how to highlight her looks. Beautiful decollete, slim ankles, and bright eyes.
“Are you kidding?! What the fuck?” Ella cried out.
“What’s wrong?”
“Why are you so freaking awesome? Now, I want to see it all!”
A training session for reigning beauties held by a Cinderella. You don’t see that every day! That evening, Rose taught Ella how to combine lace with motorcycle trousers, and wool with chiffon. Orange and blue? No sweat! Emerald-green and wine-red? A piece of cake! A genuine smile and elegant accessories. Who really was this woman? What was on her mind?
Ella was scanning Rose head to toe. She was starting to realize why Dina had chosen her. Dina was a shrewd judge of character and again, she had managed to find a diamond in the rough. All she had to do is to facet it, and then it would serve, faithfully and loyally, to its rightful owner. She had once found Ella and now she’d found Rose. Or, rather, found a replacement for the former.
Before saying goodbye, the girls hugged and wished good luck to each other. Each was pondering over something different: one over the past, the other over the future.
Then came the day of the flight to Paris. What could be better? Rose had spent hours scrolling through Instagram pages and had learned all the best angles for photographs. Me and the Eiffel Tower, me and the Louvre, me and a croissant, or colorful macarons on the Champs-Elysées… But everything turned out to be a bit more complicated.
For starters, Rose slept through her alarm. Then she ran around the house, a nervous wreck of a woman. “Suitcase, passport, handbag… Suitcase, passport, handbag,” Rose kept muttering under her breath, eyes wide-open. The taxi wouldn’t arrive. She kept calling and messaging the driver and kept receiving the same answer that was driving her crazy, “On my way.” Finally, the blue car appeared, and the bundle of nerves called Rose took the back seat. It was a slow go because of the traffic jams. Rose kept silent, trying to urge the car on by power of thought. When her agitation was at its zenith, the engine stopped.
“I’m gonna be late for my plane!” Rose yelled.
“You should’ve left home earlier, honey,” the driver replied.
Rose grabbed her suitcase, dashed off to the nearest bus stop, and caught a bus just in time. The bus was also moving slowly, with passengers embarking and disembarking, and arrived at the airport only an hour later. Rose showed her middle finger to the bus doors that had closed behind her, and the exhaust pipe coughed up black smoke in response.
Having surmounted other obstacles in the form of long lines and sleepy border guards behind their square windows, Rose was the last passenger to board the plane. As she walked through the business class cabin, she noticed Dina staring right at her. If one could kill with a glance, the flight attendants would already be wrapping Rose’s corpse in emergency paper bags.
On the plus side, we’re flying in separate cabins. Rose sighed and headed to the rear of the plane, unsuspicious of yet another ordeal. She had the most unfortunate seat neighbors: A man with aerophobia and a six-month-old baby with his exhausted mother. For the whole flight, the man on the right would moan and sweat, while the baby on the left would poop and cry. Rose felt nauseous and could well have joined their puke team, but by sheer force of will, she managed not to use the paper bag from her seat-back pocket.
She met up with Dina by the luggage belt. Dina was glued to her phone, while Rose tried to catch her breath and come to her senses. They were met by a Moroccan man – suit and tie. He drove a Mercedes-Maybach S-Class and took the metropolitan visitors to the hotel Rose immediately recognized. Naturally, where should a top Instagram star settle when in Paris? Of course, at Four Seasons Hotel George V.
Chapter 7
Rose took a quick shower to wash away the stress of the last few days, then slipped into her old sneakers, and went out onto the bustling streets of Paris. It was raining, and the Champs-Elysées were flooded with umbrellas that looked just like flowers. People were speaking all kinds of languages, as if the world had suddenly shrunk to a single small territory. Rose was longing to merge with the crowd. She opened her crimson umbrella and morphed into yet another flower in the city center.
People were swarming everywhere: by cafes, shops, and galleries. While scanning the shop windows and the faces of passers-by, Rose lost the track of time. The next thing she knew, she was at the Arc de Triomphe – a majestic monument that always tended to evoke a mixed emotion. Rose walked around it, looking at the sculptural groups at its base. She knew their names: The Triumph of 1810, Departure of the Volunteers of 1792 commonly called La Marseillaise, The Peace of 1815, The Resistance of 1814, The Battle of Austerlitz