Alyonka chocolate

Steve Norris didn't understand what was happening to him. His career was growing like yeast, he'd been promoted twice in a year, he had plenty of money—way more than he was used to…

"What more do you need, you son of a bitch?" he asked himself, trying to understand the cause of the dull melancholy that gnawed at him more intensely the more stable his life seemed.

Was it about the women?

Steve didn't have a woman; or rather, he had many—keeping one was considered boring and expensive, and he never questioned if that was true. If even the ones he had bored him more than tequila—what could you say about just one?..

And yet his women were the best chicks in the Bronx,

— and they gave it to him. Not for free, of course. Though, if Steve didn't have a pretty face, if his manner didn't have that winning aroma of confidence and success—they wouldn't give it to him no matter how much green he stuffed into their bras…

But they bored him too, and Steve resorted more and more often to the shameful act of masturbation. Need to find new ones, he told himself—understanding it was just an empty "need." Thousands of chicks grazed around—luxurious, pretty, big-breasted… and as alike as peas in a pod.

Brunettes, blondes, tall, short, plump, slender—there was something in all of them… like in Barbie: cute and all, and not alike, and different prices, and yet—all the same. Mass-produced.

Deep down, Steve even knew WHAT that "something" in them was—but he suppressed that voice, imposing on himself the familiar morality of New York: "all women are bitches." His father, who raised him without his slut of a mother, had firmly instilled this truth in him—and everything that didn't fit into it, Steve declared to himself as stupid illusions, the pink snot of pimply youth, unworthy of a successful man.

And everything would have been right and good, if Steve hadn't forgotten when he was last happy.

And then this damned New York gloom: not rain, not sun, not wet, not dry, but some kind of leaden murk everywhere, as if everything had turned black and white…

***

And then this goddamn job, Steve thought, standing at the bar. The hottest season. Running, driving, flying, closing deals, acting like a charmer… Fuck! And tomorrow, on his day off—a trip to that thrice-damned Carnegie Hall… Some celebrity is arriving, and the boss ordered all members of the management board to be present at the classical music concert, where his, the boss's, fucking partners would be. Mozart-Shmozart, motherfucker!… Sit like a statue in the orchestra seats, and don't you dare fart!..

Steve got so angry that he downed his cocktail in one gulp, which he had planned to savor all evening. And at that moment, he saw a girl entering the bar.

Every woman in the bar endured his keen gaze. Steve assessed women, guessing what their voice was like, what their character was, what their manner was, and found grim solace in his "knowledge of women." The bar was a traditional meeting place: women wanting new men came here, sat at a table, and waited. They didn't have to wait long, even if the woman was older: the bar was always crowded, and there was a buyer for every kind of goods. It was an age-old ritual, fine-tuned like clockwork. Steve knew it down to the finest details, but lately he found particular pleasure in the role of an ironic, knowledgeable observer. His colleagues hung out at elite restaurants, but Steve still went to the bar, the good old Golden Feets, where he drowned his melancholy in irony and double shots of whiskey with soda…

The girl who entered was beautiful, and Steve noted it immediately, even though he was standing far from the entrance. As she approached, Steve looked at her more and more intently.

At first, he realized she wasn't just beautiful, but VERY beautiful. Steve's trained ear immediately noted a change in tone in the surrounding hum—as if a silencer had been put on the bar. Then Steve realized she was young; then—that she was beautiful not like the usual local chicks, but somehow completely different.

A second later, he realized the girl had entered a bar for the first time in her life. Her manner was defiantly unsure, her movements—awkward, though even her awkwardness was sexy. On her face, Steve read a volatile mix of bravado, uncertainty, excitement, and childish terror.

So, the girl decided to earn a little extra, Steve thought. For the first time, then…

A table freed up next to her, and the girl, shuffling her feet, sat down two meters from Steve. He saw, or rather—felt the stir in the male ranks. Some force suddenly pushed him forward, and Steve approached the girl—unexpectedly even to himself. He didn't have time to understand why he was doing it.

 — Is this seat taken? — he uttered the code word signifying the start of the game.

"Not to take advantage of such an opportunity, damn it…", he thought, justifying himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the movement of male figures who weren't so lucky.

The girl flinched, looked at Steve like a child at the boogeyman, blushed, fidgeted on the chair—and unexpectedly answered loudly:

 — So, little boy, will you buy me a drink?

And blushed even more.

Anyone in his place would have laughed like a horse, but Steve for some reason blushed along with her.

 — Why not buy you one? What would the lady care to order?

 — Ummm… a "Bloody Mary"! — the lady blurted out, fiddling with the tablecloth with her hands.

Steve had never seen such beautiful hands—with slender, graceful fingers. The girl spoke with an accent. "An immigrant, Steve thought. — Makes sense: why let such beauty go to waste? Better to sell it, and for a high price. Soon more than one diamond will settle on those little fingers…"

 — A "Bloody Mary"? Are you sure? Such a delicate nature should love champagne.

 — S… sure. Why? — the girl looked at Steve with offense.

 — Nothing-nothing. Maybe with vermouth too?

 — Well, yes, of course! I… I… — and the girl laughed nervously, looking at Steve through splayed fingers.

 — Alright then. One "Bloody Mary" with vermouth, one Hennessy Gold! — Steve shouted to the bartender and for some reason said to the girl: — Don't worry. Everything will be fine.

 — But I'm not worried! What makes you think I'm worried?

 — Not worried?… Well, then I was mistaken. My name is Steve…

He looked at her questioningly, and she at him.

 — … Well? And you? What's your name?

 — Uhh… do I have to say?

 — Hmm. I introduced myself, didn't I? Shouldn't I have some way to call you?

The girl took the "Bloody Mary" with vermouth from the bartender, brought it to her mouth, looking at Steve with sparkling eyes, took a bold gulp—and was seized by a hacking cough.

 — See! I told you: champagne is better! — Steve said.

 — I… I just choked! — the girl wheezed. — Call me… call me Au.

 — Au? Never heard a name like that.

 — That's what they called me as a child. Aaaaaah!… — Au knocked back her glass of "Bloody Mary."

For a minute, her eyes widened so much that Steve got scared. Her face, already pink, turned crimson, as if the "Bloody Mary" had dyed it from the inside…

 — Why do that? Burning such a delicate throat with such a hellish mix…

 — Who cares! To hell with it! — Au croaked. Her voice dropped an octave.

 — To hell then to hell. But don't drink any more of that. Bartender, a glass of mint! With ice… You… I like you, Au, — Steve said. — How much for the strawberry these days?

This meant "how much does it cost to fuck you?"

Usually this was said later, after exchanging barbs and pleasantries—but Steve suddenly felt he couldn't wait. Well, well, he thought, staring wide-eyed at the crimson Au, sniffling.

She was a brunette—not dyed, a natural one; curly hair of a rich chocolate tone escaped from a bun at the nape and framed her face, oval, slightly irregular, with delicate, nervously mobile features. It was that very beauty where one unnoticeable detail, breaking the boring regularity of the face, makes it piercingly attractive. The taste of such beauty—gently bitter with a hint of sourness, like expensive chocolate. The "sourness" for Au was the harmony between her elegantly nervous, sensual mouth—and her nose, straight, thin like that of Renaissance beauties, and the slanted shape of her eyes, large, timid, and alluring like dark beacons.

Au was tall, taller than Steve, smooth and slender without being skinny. She was dressed elegantly, but not at all like people dress in a bar: she didn't have a single bit of cleavage, and this made one mentally undress her supple, flowing figure. Her breasts rose high, and her whole body was flexible, firm, and mature—and it was this contrast of sexual maturity with the childish fright in her face that was a knockout. Au was a child who had the body of a mature woman, and—damn it!—at the mere thought of her naked tits, of her wet, hot pussy, of how delicious it would be to fuck her, sinking in to the hilt into her moist depths—at the mere thought of this, Steve felt a sweet ache in his groin, as he hadn't for a long time.

Mixed with the ache was another feeling, poignant and semi-forbidden—the feeling of initiation into a new female world, completely unlike the one Steve was used to—the sweet feeling of corrupting a child, tenderness and pity for the girl who would soon be fucked in every hole. Today this girl will become a whore, Steve thought, frightened by this thought and aroused by it like never before…

 — … So how much for the strawberry these days?

 — Strawberry?… What do you mean… — Au looked at Steve, and suddenly a nervous spark flashed in her eyes. — I think I… Probably it's… You thought that I… Yes? But I don't know, I mean… well yes, damn it, — she laughed fearfully, — it is a bar after all! Such a place… But I…

 — So how much?

 — Listen, I…

 — No, you listen, little Au. I get it, you didn't know, didn't want to, didn't understand, and so on. Right? But maybe we could try? Spend some time together? And then—we'll see? What do you say?

Steve wasn't about to give up; besides, he didn't believe Au had accidentally sat down at the table.

She looked at him. A struggle boiled in her eyes, which would have convinced Steve of her innocence if he didn't "know women." He knew well that all women are bitches, and all bitches are actresses—even when they don't want to act, and seem as sincere as infants…

 — I like you, Au. I like you so much that… Well, everything in its own time. And if I'm not repulsive to you, — Steve smiled at her with his tried-and-true smile, — let's have a little fun. Just be together for a bit. And see what comes of it. Okay?

Au hesitated, looking at Steve plaintively.

 — See those mugs around? Do you see those wild males, those rabid dogs? If I don't at least walk you to the exit, they… you know what they'll do to you? You're too brave, little Au. You can't have come in here and not known you'd get fucked right at the bar. Huh?

Steve was bluffing—no one was ever raped in the bar—but Au believed him. Or, at any rate, played trust superbly. Looking at Steve with wide-open eyes, she whispered:

 — Alright. And… what will we do?

 — Oh! That's a whole different matter! A different little voice… Instead of—"little boy, buy me a drink!…"

Steve laughed, and the crimson Au laughed with him.

 — What will we do? First, we'll sit in the bar for a bit, have a drink—just not "Bloody Mary," okay?—get to know each other a little… You'll tell me about yourself—after all, I still don't know who you are…

 — No! — Au suddenly jumped up. — I don't like it here anymore. Changed my mind. Let's go somewhere else!

 — Where?

But Au was already heading for the exit. Competitors hurried to intercept, and Steve quickened his pace, keeping up with her. It wasn't customary to fight over a lady, but just in case, he felt for the handle of his brass knuckles…

It went without complications. They stepped outside… and Au cried out in surprise, while Steve stopped, inhaling the damp air incredulously.

While they were sitting in the bar, it had warmed up considerably, the sky had cleared of haze, and a bewitching eye of the moon floated over the city. The air suddenly became pungent, intoxicating, the smoky trail of the streets had evaporated, dissipated in the fresh breath of the sea…

 — How wonderful! Steve, how wonderful! — Au shouted, jumping in place.__P_END