Revenge is a dish best served cold.

— Are you leaving?

We both drift in cigarette smoke and the sticky swamp of unspoken grievances.

— I am.

I pour my hundredth cup of coffee, add my hundredth spoonful of cognac.

— Why?

I wince with irritation. I don't know the answer to that question. There isn't one.

You turn me to face you.

— Explain. Do I at least have the right to that?

Boiling water from the cup drips onto my hand. I let out a quiet cry and blow on the burn.

— Sorry. I didn't mean to.

You sit back down at the table again. There's no remorse in your voice, no pity in your face.

— You need explanations? That's funny, darling.

Your fingers clench into a fist and slam onto the table. The ashtray

falls to the floor, scattering cigarette butts. I note that down in your favor.

— Is that all you can say to me? After all 18 years? You are a rare piece of trash.

I smirk to myself: "And this is after Tanechka?" I never cheated on you, it's not a habit of mine. Not even when you went on that two-year voyage. I note a point against you. We're even for now.

— Fuck, I get it all. But I explained it to you. My friends suggested it, so you'd start getting jealous.

Funny. So, it's my fault that YOUR friends suggested it to YOU. I note another point against you, leading 2:1. And... yes, I don't know how to be jealous, and that always drove you crazy. But I'll learn, just without you.

— Do you want me to leave her?

Finally, I turn and look you straight in the eye.

— I don't. I don't want that sin on my soul. That cute little fool would slit her wrists the very next day.

You shrug, turn away, look out the window at the snow-covered streets.

— Well, now do you understand why I can't leave her? — you say almost inaudibly.

If you were looking at me, you'd see I'm smiling.

— Am I supposed to understand that? Isn't that a bit much to ask of me, darling?

I'm leading 3:1 and the bickering is tiring me out.

— Go to her. Your cell phone is about to explode.

How do you see off a ship? Not at all like a train.

After many years, I'm left alone. For a life without love, you have to pay with love. In the ocean of life, we collide hulls. I have a small schooner, and it gets the first breach. And I'm a bad captain and didn't even notice the compass was broken; the course was plotted by a crazy navigator; the helmsman at the wheel is dead drunk, and the pilot is asleep on the bridge.

I don't know where fear lives or in which corner of the soul despair nests. I don't know how to be afraid and I don't know how to despair. And I know everything will be fine because I want it to be. The schooner "Fate" will make it to port on auxiliary power, dock, and patch the holes. I'll fire the navigator and dismiss the helmsman. I'll take the wheel myself and navigate through the reefs.

***

— Elena Sergeevna, — secretary Mashenka carefully opens the office door, — a candidate is here for you. The interview is today.

I hate interviews, but my deputy accidentally went on maternity leave. Now I have to sit here all day like a doll and listen to streams of boasting. Deadly boring.

I glance at myself in the mirror, the reflection smiles back.

— Hello, — I hear from the entrance, look at the candidate, and realize the interviews are over.

She has never seen me, but I've seen her a couple of times in the passenger seat of my car. You timed it so I'd see you. I don't know what explanations you prepared for me. I remember thinking then: "Good choice, Vova." This doll knows how to present herself.

And now: her light hair is perfectly styled, her blue eyes are made up just enough to emphasize their depth.

Documents fan out on the desk in front of me. Diplomas, commendations for excellent studies, certificates of completed courses.

— How interesting, — I say with feigned curiosity, — it turns out we have the same last name.

I see a slight surprise in response and hear a quiet, gurgling laugh.

— Indeed, — Tanechka replies, — a funny coincidence.

You're right, baby. Our whole life consists of coincidences. And now, everything has aligned perfectly.

— I'll call you, Tatyana... — I know her name, but I glance at the diploma.

— Viktorovna, — she prompts.

— In two days, Tatyana Viktorovna, I'll call to let you know my decision.

I watch the back clad in a gray jacket walk away. She's a looker, damn her. You always had excellent taste in women, Vova. But what's with the sudden thing for blondes? You always preferred brunettes.

***

Tanechka comes into my office and perches on the edge of a chair. She stares stubbornly at the floor, her thin fingers nervously fiddling with a handkerchief.

— What's the matter? — I start the conversation. — Did someone offend you?

Our people can. Half the staff consists of retired seamen. And sailors don't swear, they converse in swear words.

— Elena Sergeevna, — long-restrained emotions break through the dam, — I think I'm not coping with my work.

She really isn't coping, but I don't care. In the evenings, I finish what she didn't get to and redo what she messed up.

I pour water into a glass, hand it to her:

— Oh, come on. You're doing great. A bit short on experience, but that comes with time. Want to stay late tonight, I'll explain everything to you.

She, of course, agrees. After all, I got her a full salary, even though during the probation period we pay half.

And we stay late in the dead office. We sit in front of a humming monitor and I explain the intricacies of calculating wages for the ship's crew. This girl isn't stupid, she grasps everything quickly.

— Yes, — I tell her, — your husband is a seafarer, right? When you get home, ask him yourself how overtime and fire watches are allocated.

— He's on a voyage, — Tanya concentrates on the timesheet sent by the captain.

I know he's on a voyage. He doesn't know his dry cargo ship is registered at my port. And it's me who sees his name in the captain's reports. Vova, aren't you surprised where the reports on you disappear to? They're all in my desk. That's why you've never been fined, even though you deserved it.

I get lost in thought. I miss what this little chick is chirping about. We're already packing up, Tanyusha is touching up her lipstick.

— And I got my license, Elena Sergeevna. When Volodya comes back, we'll buy a car.

Of course. Because I didn't give him that one. I was ready to give everything, just not the car.

Tanechka clicks her purse shut.

— But I'm afraid to drive myself. I want to take a few lessons. Can you recommend someone?

I can. I'm a good advisor.

— I'll teach you, Tanya. No need to waste money.

A little more, and she'll squeal with joy. Another minute, and she'll throw her arms around my neck. So, I turn, walk away, and hear behind my back:

— You're so awesome, Elena Sergeevna. I'm so lucky to have you.

Don't count your chickens, baby. It's a dubious kind of luck.

***

She's so focused on the road. Gripping the wheel like it's her last hope. Blue eyes scan the highway for any trick.

— Relax, — I soothe her, — no need to be so tense. Learn to see three cars ahead. Leave the rearview mirror alone, it's not much use. Try to use the side ones.

A jerk in a racing car cuts us off, whom I noticed a couple of minutes ago, but Tanya turns pale and slams the brake pedal to the floor. The ABS kicks in and I can feel the vibration too.

— Now imagine, — I say with mild reproach, — that there's a truck behind us. The braking distance is measured in tens of meters. And you stop sharply at speed right in front of its nose. Want me to tell you what would be left of you then? And if it's raining? You'd spin like a top.

***

In the three months we've been working together, we've become real friends. She tells me about her husband, complains that the first mate took a dislike to him. Calculates his salary, happy that her husband is so disciplined. His dry cargo ship arrives in two weeks, and today I invited Tanya to my place. She's so lonely...

Tanya, Tanechka, Tanyusha... I'll miss you. Surprisingly, I've grown attached to you. Didn't expect it from myself, but I'll miss

your sweet chirping.

***

She is beautiful and the candlelight plays on her neck where a vein throbs. She's drunk to that stage where you stop caring about everything but want more. She lies across the bed, one leg crossed over the other. From under her short skirt, the elastic of her stocking insistently peeks out.

And she resists so cutely when I sit down next to her and unbutton her blouse. Somewhere in a corner of her tipsy head, a thought about the absurdity of what's happening flickers, but the trembling glints in the blue lakes of her eyes betray desire. She always wanted to try something new, I learned that a month ago.

— Don't, Lena…

The weak movements of her hands can't stop Elena Sergeevna. Her skin smells of mint. So soft and silky. So… delicious.

Neat half-circles of breasts, adorned with cherry points, jump out of their lacy shell. And Tanechka arches towards me, moaning softly when I press my lips to them. I feel them harden under my tongue; her breathing quickens, and thin fingers dive into my hair. Vova is too impatient, right? Especially after voyages. I should know. And you want long, tender caresses. For your body to be pierced by arrows of pleasure, and for a fire to burn between your legs.

Well, that's enough for now. I pull back and admire what I've done. (Specially for .org) The half-undressed nymph looks at me with pleading eyes. A tanned belly with a pierced navel, slender legs in rolled-down stockings. I see she wants to undress as quickly as possible, to feel the touch of my hands all over her skin. But that's not part of my plan. So, the clothes come off her magnificent body slowly. The skirt goes to the floor during a long kiss with a bite on the lower lip. The ravaged bra, crumpled blouse, and thoroughly soaked panties follow. A drawn-out moan is my reward.

I trace a path with my tongue from the lobe of a small ear, over the collarbones, down the tense chest to the pierced navel. I play a little with the silver earring inside the charming hollow, making Tanya shudder. How little it takes for happiness, only sometimes you can't get it anywhere.

She tries to reach my body, but that's not part of my plan either. Today is your celebration, baby.

Vova loved it when I gave him head. Said I had a special kind of tongue. I see you appreciate it too. Because you bite your wrist to keep from crying out loud when I just touch the red berry of your excited clitoris. You have a piercing there too. My pierced beauty.

Let's dance, baby. You, me, and there, on the horizon, your (and also my) husband.

My insistent finger slips into the moist, wild-passion-scented vagina.

And my tongue… I have a special tongue and I know how to use it.

Scream, baby, scream. I feel with my finger how the muscles contract, how the moisture of your arousal wets my face. Scream, baby.

***

— Elena Sergeevna…

The door opens and Tanya slips into the office with a folder under her arm. I push my chair back from the desk and admire her. I know what's coming now. I've memorized this look over the week. Because at the same time every day, she always appears at my door.

She clicks the door lock shut and comes over to me. Pink lips part just a little: just enough for the sharp tip of her tongue to slide over them.

— Lena…

— Oh, you little rascal. When did you manage to take your panties off?

Tanya makes a guilty face, like a naughty child. Blushes cutely and giggles. And then she leans back, breathes deeply, and tries not to scream when I do what she came for. The dance of passion, wild lust. Even my skirt gets wet from her secretions. And she constantly whispers my name.

And then I remain sitting in the chair and watch her compose herself. Wipes herself with a tissue, takes her panties out of her pocket, sprays air freshener in the office.

— I wrote to my husband that I want to leave him. I've already filed for divorce.

I wouldn't say I'm surprised by her words, but I diligently put on a surprised look.

— What are you talking about, Tanya?

Slow motion. Her eyes widen and fill with tears.

— Lena…

— Elena Sergeevna, — I correct her.

— Sorry, Elena Sergeevna, I forgot myself. I thought that you… and I… We were good together, right? I thought you loved me. Because I love you.

I get up from the chair and walk to the window, turning my back to her.

— Sorry, I don't know what you've imagined in your head. I don't love you. I'll say more, I'm getting married.

It would have been better if I'd hit her, but that's not part of my plan either. The door slams, leaving me alone. The dry cargo ship arrives in ten days.

***

And don't ask me that question. Ask your dearest wife. Why does she mention my name in every conversation with you? Why does she tell you how awesome I am? A total bitch, but so awesome.__P_END