Eye Spy
Eyewear? Spyware? It takes a far-sighted Russian to defy Dororthy Parker's Observation: Men seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses.
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It was the first thing he noticed about Tallulah Finch: her glasses. While most spectacles obscured the wearer, hers were oversized and perfectly round; they lent her the appearance of a rather grave owl. The frames were highly polished silver, as if to convey sparkle as well as smarts.
Her large lenses seemed to say 'Welcome' to all the glory and glee and grandness of the world waiting to be seen. Her eyes echoed the wisdom of Athena, yet there was an innocence that the crystal barrier protected from dust and discouragement. The other day she had glanced his direction, and a sudden shiver seized him. It was as if she were peering directly into his soul. Just In case the eyes were indeed the windows of the soul, the Russian usually kept the curtains drawn.
His own fierce black reading rims were bold; they said No Trespassing- Russian at Work.
And her scent! Unlike the ladies with their overcloaking clouds of perfume that made his nose tickle and twitch and wheeze, her fragrance was so light that one had to get very close to even imagine it lingering on her earlobes, her throat, her wrist. Very close indeed. Kuryakin always found it worth the effort.
"I've never heard you over-exercise your similes like this before," his partner Solo marveled. "What is it about this girl, and why didn't I meet her first?"
"She's in disguise," Illya advised. "And her laughter is like bubbling wine. Her vowels are soft and smooth as butter, and her consonants just glide off her tongue. She has a spirit so settled—she's never pushed or rushing, and yet everything needful gets accomplished, and beautifully. The way she sees Life—well, I'd just like to borrow her glasses for a day. She's like sunshine: warm and bright."
"I'm sure she's a paragon," Solo agreed. "But we need to direct our attention to this dossier."
The Russian was both passionate and parsimonious: he knew the balcony seats would be nearly deserted on a Tuesday evening, and cheaper than the front-row Saturday night tickets. And frankly he did not care what the cast was serving up on the stage so far beyond them.
Gazing into her eyes, not blinking, he stroked her temples in lazy circles, and with great delicacy, gently removed her glasses. He laid them carefully aside. At this intensely intimate moment, without artifice or protection, she stopped breathing.
"You're near-sighted, correct?" He posed the query even though he had peeked at her prescription.
She nodded. "And y'all are fah-sighted."
His lips formed a brief and evocative smile. "So, then, together we are perfect."
"Yes, perfect togetha." Her eyes closed quite naturally. She felt his lips brush light little pecks across her brows, then the very tip of his tongue tasting her trembling lids. His eyelashes swept her cheeks, and tickled.
"Promise me..." he breathed.
"Anythin', dahlin'." Lulu was falling through space; soaring on butterfly wings. It did seem the only appropriate response. "Illya...?"
"Your eyes are the deep river-border between longing and lullabye. Don't let anyone else take off your glasses. I don't want anyone else to know what I know, to see what I've seen."
Her nervous half-giggle almost threatened the solemnity of the moment. "Ah understand. Y'all want to explore mah dark caverns of play-zure."
Kuryakin gulped, and his eloquence deserted him. "Uh..yeah. Sure. Whatever."
"And kiss me with promises, and promise me with kisses..."
"Wellllll...if you like...I spose..."
"And grant me your raw, wretched beauty..."
"Huh?"
"Work with me here, darlin', Ah'm runnin' outta metaphor..."
"I thought that was simile."
"Lean clos-er, you Sweet Soviet Shu-gah. L'il Ol' Lulu can make her fuzzy-Ruzzy smile. And simile." It was an invitation—or a threat. Or just a really, really bad nickname.
"Fuzzie...Ruzzie?" The back of his seat raised up slowly. His spy senses now tingling. "What's your name—your full name?" his suspicious eyebrow ( the left one) raised to attention.
"Ah'm Tallulah Susannah Magnolia Robin Starling Finch, Silly."
Illya's elbows alighted on the armrests. His hands covered his face. He mumbled. "Of course. Lulu Sue. And a triple Birdie to boot." Deep sigh. He stood slowly and offered his hand to help his dream girl up.
"Y'all read mah mind, darlin.' Let's just rahd home to mah fabulous apartment and you kin see my prize-winnin' etchin's an' have a slice of mah divine chess pah that always won the blue ribbon at the state fair. Ah know!-we kin play Connect the Doctorates..." she snuggled her shoulder meaningfully into his chest. "Ah'll show you mahn if y'all show me yours..."
finis. amen.