In the middle of evening leisure, he suddenly appeared at a doorway, penetrated in the faceless mass of people, and stood as if he alone exists, obviously a long time ago reconciled with his own beauty. On the other side of the room, she stopped in the middle of the sentence, struck by lightning on a clear day by his unreal appearance, while Selma immediately headed to attack, tossing her head in an attempt to stun him with her chestnut hair. She watched him for some time, confirming to herself that yes, he is indeed that beautiful, and in spite of everything and all, she approached him, asked for his phone number and went home.
She had no time to think, but she immediately called him the next day and they agreed to meet, that night, alone, downtown. She started to get ready in a hurry, but passing the mirror, she stopped and stared deep into her own visage, uttering in a low voice: “Oh my, oh my…”. Hana didn’t really want to think about what she did, nor what will happen tonight, and while her hand in the reflection followed the line of her eyebrows invoking God, she remembered that she really didn’t need this God. She didn’t want that old, fat fart to mess around here, the one who’s constantly reluctant weather to fulfill some of her wishes, the one that would even throw guilty conscience at her because she sort of stole him right in front of Selma’s nose, forcing her to think how normal girls do not go for (such) handsome boys, arrange night meetings with them or imagine all that shameful details which were running between her eyebrows.
Nah, really, she would have much better use from monsieur Devil, actually the repaired type, modern and new, polished dandy, the one who was no longer limping or he was redheaded, let alone wore that ridiculous goatee. No, she thought, the devil surely already follows trends and walks around in a black Hugo Boss suit, slick, polished and fragrant, shaking his large, lacquered stick in hand with the diamond at the top, and you hear bling when you zoom at the corner of his smile or ring on his hand. That devil, what is more, don’t run without reason for the sake of some soul trade, no, he was now so influential that he rather generously shared them away, tossing them around like chips in Vegas. No, no, no and no, Hana knew, she currently didn’t want to be in heaven where stuffed little angels were vacillating, switching lazily from one cloud to another, who had floating worn-out halos over their heads, and who played on harps, calling for peace, peace! Anything but peace, she prayed, she feared that permanent peace and choose rather anything else, wishing for something to bite her every nerve in the body, to get goosebumps, that shake and tickle, to hold her captive in any turmoil, but just not peace, again. She was ready to go.
It was long since the sun had set, and he again rapidly penetrated into the evening with his straight-lined face, straight-lined nose, straight-lined beard, almond eyes, full lips, round cheeks, high forehead, and apricot color skin that Hana stood amazed in front of him, once more. Horrified, she realised that for what it took her almost more than four hours, he barely spent half. Yes, as she was so fervently preparing and bathing, rubbing, putting on makeup, spraying perfume, applying baths, shampoos, creams, powder, concealer, eye shadow, liner, mascara, and gloss, while she was indefinitely long dressing, changing outfits, making up her mind, blow-drying her hear, scenting her neck, putting on shoes and taking them off, he came in jeans and white shirt, shaved. She looked at him a little resentful for that, but stood unwinking and silenced before him, when he spoiled everything.
– Wassup baby girl? You were waiting for me, huh?
He spoke, and Hana realised that second that he was equally useless as he was beautiful. She was disappointed. He looked at himself in every window shop they passed by, winked at every minx and slick back his hair every time he thought it had wiggled out for half an inch.
Right before her actually stood, she thought then, an excellent copy of Titian, not original, but an amazing reproduction at its finest, but really just a copy. Hana felt that she didn’t win or bought this painting-copy, but received it as an inheritance from her late miser-grandmother who gave the cash to the unknown foundation and left her to keep the painting, instead of vice versa. And now she stood alone in the city, in front of and with that counterfeit of value, not knowing exactly what to do with it. Oh yes, certainly, it was beautiful and amazing even with an astronomic price, but it was time for Hana to hang this Titian in her middle-class apartment (which was leaning to poor), this wonderful work of art she now should put somewhere between tapestries, old photos and all of a sudden other unforgivably amateur paintings. Of course, she blamed herself for always saying to her late grandma that the painting is beautiful, and now she cursed as she revolved around the apartment in her head and streets in reality, irritated, because the image was too perfect, too gorgeous and didn’t fit in too much. So she circled with Titian, piece of the eye that blueprints so masterfully, having nowhere to put it except in the attic, she thought, to wait for some better times until her future children (she have already foreseen that) dig it out and destroy it out of fun because they have absolutely no idea what it is. After that, for Hana, unbearable walk around town, they sat in his brand new car and moved on.
He was driving with his masculine arms, glancing under the eye every second, throwing comments at her that he’s sure that she kisses really good because she has such lips and saying sentences like “I see it in your eyes that you like dirty things” which all made Hana’s stomach flip. Therefore she was looking at her new painting and further thought: ”Okay, I changed my mind mister Devil, you can take off that expensive Boss suit and be reddish again and continue to limp, just not this, this is really not fair! Give me back that lousy limp man,” she demanded (because heaven was still out of the question), “but get this useless pretty boy out of my face, take him, this perfect quasi-Titian, whom I had nowhere to hang, nor with whom I had what to do, except maybe to sell it, if anyone wants it…”. And then she decided to do just that. He asked with his infectious smile: “Where’re we heading sweetheart?“
Not listening to him and seeing that incredible smile, Hana still didn’t want to surrender that easily. She literally pushed her tongue in his mouth, and he was surprised for a second, but then his hands went right to her chest. “It’s no use!” she yelled frustrated and returned to her seat, “Drive!”. “Well, where to?” he asked, obviously confused by her actions and comments.
“Damn you grandma!” she murmured, but the corner of her lip was smiling.
“What you said??”
“I say, let’s go to my… Well, friend. She’s home alone. Her name is Selma.”
In the end, it is just a copy.