This site suddenly has a fascination with deleting anything I post. Many apologies to those fo you who have me on author alert for the repetitive messages. Hopefully, this will stay put this time.
A huge thank you to Ali for betaing this. I hope you enjoy! All thoughts are more than welcome and greatly appreciated.
Freddie Trumper was no stranger to surprises.
In fact, most just seemed to pop up wherever he was. Irritating little pests, the lot of them. Mostly because they were never positive in nature.
No matter though. He had his own ways of rectifying their results. Not only was he familiar with surprises, he seemed to have constant run-ins with heartache too. They were strange bedfellows, to be sure, but Freddie was an optimistic guy. After all, nothing bad could last forever, right?
But, when heartache came to call, he would simply pack-up his sorrows, head down to the local bar and proceed to drown them in the strongest stuff available. His usual drink of choice would be brandy; straight forward and simple, much like he saw himself. Funny how others never tended to agree.
Tonight, however, called for something with a little more zing. After all, he had managed to lose his career, his lover, and his dignity all in one day. He scoffed. That had to be some sort of record.
"What'll it be?" the bartender asked as the American pulled up a chair.
Freddie shrugged. "What do you suggest for the day from hell?"
The older man grimaced, "That bad, huh?"
He gave a wry grin and shrugged. "Can't win them all, I guess."
He received no response as the bartender turned away and began to search his inventory for something that would help to dull the pain. He returned a few moments later, his hands holding a small bottle and a glass. "Here you go," he said as he placed it in front of the chess player. "Just got this in this morning. Pure Russian Vodka. It'll make you forget your own name if you drink enough of it."
Great. I can't go to a bar without his shadow hanging over me. The irony of it all. Instead he simply nodded his thanks and poured some of the amber liquid into the glass, downing it in a single gulp. The vodka slid down like liquid fire, burning his throat, but leaving a warm, comforting sensation in its wake. At least it's good vodka. Maybe the Russians do have something going for them.
Freddie released a breath, squinting and pinching his nose to will the burn to recede. Once it had, he waited only a moment before downing another shot. God, that felt good.
He never even noticed the queer gaze that was shot in his direction but the bartender; he didn't particularly care. He simply kept drinking, pouring all his sorrows into that small shot glass. He had completely forgotten Florence's name and was halfway to forgetting his own when he heard the bartender ask again, "What'll it be?"
Freddie opened his mouth to request another bottle when a new voice sounded on the air. This one was sugary sweet and smooth as silk. "Agua Vitae. On the rocks."
Whoa. And he thought he was having a bad day.
Clearly the bartender felt the same. "Isn't that a little strong for a pretty young thing like you?"
A bitter laugh. "Looks can be deceiving." Her voice grew softer. "Let's just say I've got nothing to lose"
Freddie looked up in time to see the bartender shrug and leave to fill the order, then turned his gaze to the woman a few seats down. She was attractive enough. About his age, long, golden hair to her waist, and minimal make-up that brought out her natural beauty. Her nails were immaculately manicured and he doubted she had ever worked a day in her life. She turned to face him then and his blood ran cold.
Those eyes.
When they say that the eyes were the windows to the soul, they weren't kidding. Her eyes told him things words never could. They were cold, hollow, empty. He thought that if there had been vibrancy there, it had been drained long ago. Her eyes reflected exactly what he was feeling on the inside.
"You're staring."
Apparently he was. "Apologies. If you don't mind my saying so, you look like you could use a drink."
She smirked. "Isn't that why you're here too?"
"Yes," he allowed a ghost of a smile to cross his face. "It's funny when you think about it. Who'd have thought you could lose it all so fast?"
She scoffed. "Maybe it's been happening for longer than you know."
"It happens like that?"
She nodded. "It always does. Lord knows it did to me"
He knew he shouldn't, but… "What did happen?"
The blonde laughed. "What always happens when you're married to a dreamer. Nothing is ever enough. If he spent as much time with me as he did with his blasted chess board…" She let the sentence hang.
Wait a minute. Chess board? No wonder she looked familiar. "You're Svetlana?"
Another smirk. "You're quick. Are you always this charming or am I just lucky?"
He shook his head, smiling down at the bar. "Sorry. It's just a small world, I guess. I'm Fred-"
"I know exactly who you are," she said as the bartender brought her drink. She smiled her thanks, then poured herself a glass.
Freddie watched, amused. "And you're talking to me?"
She shrugged. "Why not? It's not like my husband and I have much to say to each other."
"You mean there's trouble in paradise?" quipped Freddie, downing another glass of liquid courage. "Pity."
Svetlana downed her own glass leveling a glare on him. "You're one to talk. Didn't your girlfriend dump you for my husband?"
Well, that certainly killed the mood. "Technically," he grumbled. "We were on the rocks anyway."
"And you'd go crawling back to her in a minute," she stated.
Freddie was quiet for a moment. "Aren't you going home with Anatoly?"
Her smile was teasing. "Technically." Then it faded. "I'll always love the man, even if he is a cheating-" She stopped, pouring herself another. "What does it matter? We've both changed so much."
The American twirled the glass in his hands. "Ain't that the truth. When I met Florence, she was just like me. Young, beautiful, carefree. She trusted easily, loved deeply, and lived fully. Somewhere along the lines, we just grew apart."
Svetlana rose a brow. "I loved Anatoly as long as I can remember. We married as soon as we could. He had dreams. Big ones. So did I. We thought love could see us through." She shook her head as she studied her glass. "How wrong we turned out to be, eh?"
"So you're not going to leave him, then?"
"Why should I?" She turned to face him. "We have a family. Anatoly loves his children. Despite everything, he is a good father. That's perhaps the one thing that hasn't changed. Besides, the world today has no place for a single woman like me. I got myself into this situation and now I have to live with the consequences."
He shook his head. "So you would spend your life with someone who no longer loves you?"
"Wouldn't you?" she countered. "If Florence would take you back, even if just for the sole reason of companionship, can you tell me you wouldn't go willingly into her arms even though you knew in your heart she didn't love you like she once did?"
He didn't deny it. "That's a different situation."
"Not really," Leaning back, Svetlana flipped her long blonde hair over her shoulder and regarded him with raised brow. "I know Anatoly loves me in some way, if only for the children. I'm not denying there are problems. Sometimes it seems that those are all we have in common anymore. But there's also a security. We're comfortable with each other and that can be a problem itself. To him, your girl was exciting and refreshingly different. They shared the love of the game, something he could never find with me. I begged him to give it up after the children came, but he would hear nothing of it." She sighed, tracing the rim of the glass with her finger. "Sometimes it's deciding if you care for someone enough to live with their faults."
Freddie glanced over at her. "And you care for him, then?"
She scoffed. "He's my husband. How could I not care for the man? Bastard," She swore as she downed her final shot.
He chuckled, "You're a strong woman."
His opponent's wife shrugged. "I have to be. No one else is going to do it for me."
Before he could reply, the bartender returned with two slips of paper in his hand. "Your checks," he said. Freddie signed for his, sliding it across the bar. He saw Svetlana reach for hers, but intercepted, his large hand landing on top of her smaller one. "Let me. Please."
She glanced up at him surprised. "You don't have to." She smiled wryly at his two empty vodka bottles. "It seems like you have enough to pay for."
He returned the smile. "Just one of those days. Though you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
She smirked. "You'd be surprised."
Freddie squeezed her hand, then reached for her check, signing his name to her tab. Coming around to her chair, he helped her into her coat as she readied herself to leave. "Thank you," she said, resting a hand on his arm. "You're a good man, Freddie Trumper. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
"You're not so bad yourself," he conceded. "Anatoly doesn't know what he's losing."
Svetlana scoffed as she slung her purse over her shoulder. "Tell him that."
Freddie held the door for her. "I just might."
She smiled and shook her head. "I was wrong. Maybe you are this charming."
"Or you're just lucky" Freddie winked, pressing a kiss to her hand. "A pleasure to have met you, Svetlana Sergievsky. Don't ever change."
She simply smiled, placing a hand alongside his cheek. "Likewise."