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"Fuck
your café-bar." Finally extricated form the booth, she stood before him
quivering in fury. "And fuck you!" She grabbed the vodka-juice and
threw the drink in his face. She slammed the glass down, turned on heel, and
stormed out of the café.
The cold November night did nothing to calm her fury. She
stomped across the square, glaring balefully at the cupid fountain, daring it
to comment. She felt insulted and disgusted with both Oliver and herself.
Oliver was a reprehensible crow, and she'd allowed him to get under her skin.
He had an inflated sense of self – for no reason that she could discern – and
was a flake into the bargain. She hated egomaniacs, and she abhorred flakes! She'd known people like
him back in Denver, basketball players mostly that she met a jock parties with
Shaun, and she'd always made a point to steer clear. But, once again... She
wasn't in Denver anymore. Again she questioned the advisability of deciding to
spend the year abroad, discover a new culture – part of her mother's culture –
meet new people that had nothing to do with Shaun and his jock crowd…But at
least back in Denver she'd be on familiar ground. She wouldn't be so bored and
lonely she'd resort to socializing with a flaky crow!
Normally when Nicole 's emotional circuits were
overloading she'd call on Maura or Leese to settle her down. Here in the middle
of a Saturday evening, with no phone card and not near enough credits on her
cell, she didn't have that option. There was Martina, sure, but the punk girl
didn't seem the nurturing type. She scrolled through the few names in her cell
and came to Matija's. Of course, Matija. If there was one person who could
brighten her mood, it was Matija. She hit the call button.
"Allo,
Nika. Šta ima?" What's
happening?
"Hi, Matija. I'm sorry if it's late or if you're out
with someone." She realized belatedly that he might have Saturday plans
that were working out better than hers. "But I just… argh! I'm just so
angry and I need to, you know, talk to someone!"
"Oh, allo,
it's ok. It's not late, and I'm not out. Where are you?"
"I just passed the stupid fountain. I'm sorry. I
feel bad for calling…"
"No, nothing. You're downtown, then?"
"Yes. Now I'm going past the ice cream shop – one of
the millions of ice cream shops this stupid little town has."
"Ok, it's ok. Do you remember where I live?"
Nicole had only been there once before. "I think
so."
"It's on Mihoeljec
street. Go through the passage…" Matija explained to her how to get there,
his deep, gentle voice soothing her. The attention she had to pay to his
directions further calmed her temper. By the time she'd reached the twisty,
cobbled street that led up the hill to Matija's ground-floor flat, the blood no
longer thundered in her head.
Matija lived in a good-sized studio with windows looking
out onto the street on two sides. A quick glance told that he spent the
majority of his home-time either at the computer or before the TV: papers, books,
and even a plate with the remains of a sandwich were scattered on the computer-topped
desk, adjacent to a decked-out TV stand with stacks of DVDs as well as a set of
hand weights propped against the television. A big bed – this evening with
notebooks, papers, and Matija’s gradebook spread out – took up most of the rest
of the room. A wardrobe huddled in the corner, looking ashamed of itself. His
sparse kitchen and equally Spartan bathroom sat side by side in the rear, like
sad sisters not invited to the dance.
Matija had his head stuck out the side window so he could
watch for her. When he’d spotted her, he greeted, “I don’t see any blood on
your hands so you can’t have murdered anyone. I was afraid of that when you
called.”
“No, I haven’t, but I was tempted.” She followed him into
his apartment but stopped short when she saw the shambles of his bed. ”Oh, no,
I’m interrupting something.”
Matija surveyed the mess and laughed. “Yes, I was having
an orgy with all this paperwork, but I had finished anyway.” He stacked his
gradebook onto a pile of notebooks, which went onto a stack of other notebooks;
he removed these to his desk. “Have a seat,” he invited. “Do you want something
to drink? Ah, I don’t have wine, but I have beer or rakija…”
“Rakija, please.”
“Wow,
that bad? Ok.” He went into the kitchen to pour the brandy. As he did so, he
called through the archway, “So, who do you want to kill? Not me, I hope. After
hearing how angry you sounded on the phone… well, I’ll apologize if it’s me.”
Nicole
perched on the corner of the bed he had cleared for her, already feeling her
mood lifting. “No, of course it’s not you. It’s stupid Oliver again.” Matija
returned with a rakija for each of them. Once he’d handed her one of the
glasses, he sat at the head of the bed, back braced against the wall and naked
man-feet planted on the bedspread. Nicole took a tentative sip of the brandy,
which burned the whole way down, before continuing, “He’s just such a flake.
And an asshole.”
“What
happened?”
“Oh,
it’s stupid anyway. We were supposed to go to the movies, but then when I
showed up to his café-bar as agreed, he acted like we hadn’t made plans at all.
He just wanted me to hang out at his stupid café-bar.”
“Was
it a date?” Matija asked, a curious neutral tone to his voice.
“Stars,
no. Just a friend thing, like you and me.” Nicole flashed on the maybe-kiss;
she put it out of her mind. “Only Oliver’s not cool like you.”
“Well,
thank you.”
Nicole
wasn’t sure if she detected irony in his voice. She looked over to him, but he was
taking a swallow of rakija. “No, seriously, you’d never… I mean, Oliver called
me his girlfriend and a whore.”
“Which
was worse?”
Nicole’s
eye shot up to his face; as she watched, amusement twinkled in his eyes.
“Excuse me?”
Matija
held up a hand in placation. “I’m joking. Did he say it in English or
Croatian?”
“What
difference does it make? He called me ‘kurva’.”
“That
can also mean bitch.”
“Now’s
not the time for a language lesson,” she snapped.
“Any
time-“
“Matija…”
However, when she peered into his face she saw a smile tugging at his mouth.
“This isn’t funny,” she insisted. However, she felt the knot she’d been
experiencing release its hold of her chest.
Matija
agreed, “No, not really. ‘Kurva’ is a
pretty strong word. But this is Croatia, and we use strong words a lot. You
said yourself you couldn’t believe how many times you hear ‘Jebi ga’ as you’re walking around.”
“Yea,
but ‘fuck it’ is different from ‘She’s a whore’.”
“I
assume you told him to fuck off – did you at least remember how to do it
Croatian?”
Nicole
ducked her head sheepishly. “Well, I did it in English, but I’m pretty sure he
got the message.”
Matija
didn’t appear to even be trying to hide the amusement now. “What did you say?”
He took another sip of rakija and shifted against the wall, as if settling in
for a good story.
“Well,
it’s not so much what I said as… I yelled at him in the middle of the bar.”
Matija
flinched expressively. “That’s not very discreet.”
“And
then I threw a drink in his face.”
Matija’s
eyes went wide, glittering as he stared at her. Then he gave himself over to
amusement. Laughing almost helplessly, he choked out an admonishment. “Nika,
this isn’t Denver. Rovinj is a village. You’ll see Oliver again and again.” He indulged in another fit of laughter.
“Matija…
he provoked me.”
“I
got that from the thrown drink.” He calmed his mirth. “ ‘Ajde, Nika you do have a temper, and I get it that he made you
angry.”
“I’m
not apologizing,” she warned.
“I
wouldn’t ask you to – not while you’re holding that rakija. I don’t care if
it’s in my face, but I have to sleep in this bed.”
Nicole
shot him an apologetic look. “Matija, you know I would never…”
“My
point is, this is Rovinj, Croatia, not
Denver, USA. There is a big difference.”
Nicole’s
earlier frustration came out. “I know. It’s a tiny, boring little town and I
hate it!” Mortifyingly, she felt near tears. She looked down, into her rakija.
“Ah,
Nika, just because Oliver-“
“Not
just Oliver. Oliver and sometimes Martina and Tena and that Dejan guy and…
everyone. I’m not- I’m an outsider here, and I really feel like one. I just
stay home and-“ She stopped herself. She
couldn’t admit to I how lonely she felt.
Matija
scooted along the bed. When he was close enough, he put his hand on her
shoulder. In his gentlest voice he said, “I’ve never done it, but I think it
must be very hard to live in a foreign country. More so when you come to a
village like Rovinj, where we’ve all known each other since we were children.”
He lightly squeezed her shoulder. “We have a history that you can barely know
and never share.” He exhaled loudly. “But that is also an advantage, if you
want it to be. You can be…someone different.” Nicole, who had been looking into
his brown eyes, sweet like milk chocolate, saw them go flat for a moment before
the amused twinkle returned. She thought briefly of his scars before he
continued. “Of course, for now you are the Crazy Woman of Café- Bar Oliver.”
She
winced. “I really messed up then?”
“Ma, fuck Café-Bar Oliver.”
“That’s
what I said.”
Matija
grinned. “Pa, that is not the place
to hang out anyway. We will stick with Sax and Bolero.”
He
started to move back across the bed, but Nicole reached out and grabbed the
hand he’d put on her shoulder. He looked at her small hand on his for a moment
before looking up at her face. She stated, “Matija, I feel like you’re the only
real friend I have here. Thank you.”
He
returned her look for a long moment. Then he smiled his characteristic impish
smile. “Well, I could say you’re a real friend, too, and we could cry on each
other’s shoulders. Or I could just poor some more rakija.”
Nicole
thought she would have taken the hug-out if he had offered it; not wanting to
seem weepy, though, she smiled wryly and said, “I guess we should go for the rakija.”
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