The Lovers
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“She needs to retake the exam with Barbara, and unless she studies her butt off in the reading room, she won’t pass.”
“True.”
Dina entered the room in that moment, together with the boiling kettle and Rimma, the fourth occupant of the room, whom Vera and Valya had just been gossiping about.
Rimma
Rimma, an eye-catching brunette with dark gray eyes and the graceful moves of a capricious cat, was a very attractive girl. Yes, it could be said that Rimma was the only exception to Dina’s theory that beautiful people were either not real or lived in faraway places. Like Anna Magnani.
Rimma was good at utilizing the modest arsenal of makeup that the poor university students could afford: pearly eye shadow in either gray or light blue, often bought from gypsies, made from goodness knows what, and placed in a plastic black or white checkers piece, covered with a piece of cellophane, and dark pink lipstick, which she saved for special occasions. Her eyeliner was the same as most of the other girls: a black pencil from the Artwork pencil set. Rimma wore her hair in a ponytail, like Dina and most of the girls, but her hair was thicker and shinier than the others. Yes, Rimma could certainly be called a beautiful girl.
She was also very good at drawing. She had a large set of pencils in a huge carton, which opened and could be set up in a special way, so that the pencils were displayed at a few different levels, and a box with pastels. Rimma used the pencils for the usual drawing album, and the pastels for large and small pieces of black paper, which were used to cover photoplates, and which, Rimma said, her father especially collected for her from his photograph friends. Rimma Yakovleva also sang beautifully and played the guitar.
But she studied at university without any desire or diligence. Maybe not everyone, but Dina knew that it was not because Rimma was stupid. It was just that she found it boring. Nobody knew what she was really interested in – perhaps drawing, singing and reading?
Dina poured the hot water into the special infusing teapot that Vera and Valya had prepared, while Rimma said cheerfully,
“Hi! I’m just in time, as usual.”
Vera, who liked to say something spiteful at every opportunity, did not fail to do so. “Oh yes, as always, straight to the table.”
Rimma, who must have been in a good mood, laughed. “All right, Vera! I’ll wash the dishes today.”
“What wonderful news!” Vera replied sarcastically.
Rimma did not respond to that, but took out a block of chocolate and placed it on the table.
“I almost forgot – here – I got a present. I haven’t even taken a bite of it myself!”
Vera, deciding to completely kill Rimma’s unexpectedly good mood, spoke again. “So who is feeding you chocolate, then?”
“Someone,” Rimma replied mysteriously and started spreading butter on a slice of baguette.
“Someone Someonevich Kolotozashvili?” asked the horrid girl.
Rimma looked at Vera in bewilderment, her eyes filled with tears, and she threw the unfinished sandwich on the table and ran out of the room.
Valya timidly criticized Vera. “What did you say that for? You know that…”
Vera, feeling guilty but refusing to admit it, snapped back. “No, I don’t. She didn’t say anything to me personally.”
“I told you.” Valya spoke timidly but reproachfully.
Dina took Valya’s side. “Go and apologize.”
“I won’t. What a princess! It’s her fault for being such an idiot around a guy like him.”
Valya stood up and left the room.
Vera, who had learned since childhood that the best form of defense is attack, turned to Dina. “Did Kokon give you an automatic five just because, or is he making a move on you too?”
“Could be just because, and could be because he’s making a move,” Dina spoke calmly, without pausing her tea drinking.
“Why the vagueness? Is he making a move or not?” Vera persisted.
“If I were you, I would find Rimma and say sorry.”
“Did you know about Rimma’s abortion, too?”
Dina nearly choked on her sandwich but pretended that the news had not shocked her. She waited a moment and said slowly, between sips of hot tea, “Whether I know… or not… is not important… But you know… and you’re using it against her.”
“It’s her own fault. What an idiot, falling for that one…”
The door opened, and Valya and Rimma entered. Vera, defiantly slurping her tea and eating the chocolate, stared out the window.
In the evening, Dina took a mirror out of her bedside drawer, carefully inspected her face and wiped it over with a cotton ball soaked in almond milk, whose smell she had loved since childhood. Her mother had the same one, in the same glass bottle. She used a pencil to fix her eyebrows and drew a line over her upper eyelids. She then opened a round cardboard box with powder and dabbed the white puff over her face. She barely touched her lips with a pink lipstick and started to paint her well-tended nails with a pearly pink nail polish.
Vera and Valya, who were still poring over their books and notes, looked at Dina’s actions with envy.
Vera, who could not keep quiet for very long, found a reason. “Lucky Dina! Now you can paint your nails and do nothing.”
Rimma, who was reading a book in bed, glanced up at Dina but did not say anything.
Dina was quiet too. She approached her cupboard.
“Where are you off to?” Vera kept pestering her.
There was nobody to control the arrogant Vera in this room. Valya did not dare to speak up against Vera, being in a sort of subservient position. Rimma simply avoided her, like a puddle, to avoid being accidentally splattered with mud by a passing car or bicycle. Only Dina sometimes told Vera what she thought of her most flagrant violations of polite manners. But in truth, it was like water off a duck’s back, as only a more rude and vulgar person could have shut up Vera.