Chapter 7
Linka
I am moving slowly towards Greg, distracted and disturbed by my conversation with Wheeler. I do not like the fact that Wheeler can look inside me so easily, like a mirror, and read things about me I am not ready to disclose. His perceptiveness frightens me a little. I cannot stand his arrogance, either, for the Yankee must always be right in order to be happy. I have that aspect to my personality, as well, so maybe that is why I find it so difficult to let myself go with him. It is like looking into my own reflection, where all positives and negatives are painfully highlighted.
Greg is ending the conversation he is having with an elderly lady and when he turns to me, I see his smile fading a little. I notice the muscles in his jaw becoming tense, his eyes becoming one shade darker. He takes my arm, his fingers closing tightly around it, and he leads me back on the dance floor. His grip is like steel and I do my best not to wince.
"Since you enjoy dancing so much..." Greg half explains when he sees the confused look on my face, and his tone reflects his touch on my skin. I do not care for his smile right now. It is jagged somehow, badgering, with an almost cruel aura to it. His arms move to close around my waist and we are lost in the crowd of dancers.
For a moment I panic. It is an irrational sensation; it reminds me of that split second when one fears being trapped inside a stall in a public bathroom. A flash of primal fear. Instinctively, I place my hands over his chest and push him away slightly, since he has pulled me in so much I barely have any room to breathe. I do not like the firm grip he has on me, probably because I am not used to feeling so constricted.
"Is it Wheeler's arms you prefer around you, then?" Greg is musing, seeming entertained by my need for freedom, but also angry.
"What?" is my one outraged reply, holding back a string of Russian swear words I badly want to utter, instead.
"God, Linka, don't play dumb blonde with me!"
And suddenly I am fuming and indignant. "How dare you?"
"It's so obviously plain he fancies you. How do you think it feels watching that from the sidelines? Well, let me tell you... shitty! That's how it feels! And you know what's worse? All these people here know we're together! Do you know how ridiculous that makes me look? I hate that, Linka!"
Greg's body is nearly shaking with the strength of his emotions and all I can do is watch him wide-eyed. His outburst has left me speechless. I am now a mixture of rage, guilt, confusion, and doubt. I cannot believe he would think I would openly flirt with Wheeler in his presence! I guess I may have done so when Greg is not around... and maybe that is why I feel so wounded in my pride. Is it because I feel like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar? I know that Greg's behavior is wrong, unacceptable even, but then I wonder how much of it is caused by me? Surely, Greg is not a bad person! Is it true, then? Is the way I act with Wheeler too outrageous, too out of hand? Is Greg simply correcting my behavior? Well, even if that were the case, he does not need to be so harsh with me! Right?
"Greg, Wheeler and I are friends! And we work together. If you feel threatened by that, there is not much I can do about it." I have settled on this cool response, and I hope he cannot hear the treacherous beating of my heart. His brash behavior is awakening a guarded vulnerability inside me I am not used to. It is rare for me to reprimanded by someone.
Greg's eyes light up at my words. His hand travels up my arm to grip my shoulder a little too firmly. "Here's some advice. Don't jump so quickly into his arms next time."
"Bozhe moi! Let go of me, Greg!" And now I am the one who is becoming fired up as I try prying him off me. I take a step backwards but his hand is on my lower back, pushing me against him.
"Don't even think of walking away now! You can play those little games with him, but you won't mortify me in the same way, not in front of all these people!" Greg is hissing at me, eyes narrow and jaw clenched. Immobile, I breathe in and clearly hear the blood rushing in my ears. A few minutes of never-ending silence pass between us. My head is nearly spinning at this point from the tension and my shoulders slump a little. Maybe it is a covert sign of defeat, it is hard for me to say.
I hear Greg sigh and suddenly, he has releases me from his vice-like grip. "Linka," he's voicing with a calmer tone as he runs a hand through his hair. His eyes are now less intense and he is thinking carefully about which words to use. "Look... I don't like doing this. Arguing. I just... can we forget about it?"
He pulls me in for a hug but my body is uncertain, stiff. How confusing! I am not fond of emotionally-charged rollercoaster rides. In all fairness, it can be argued that I go through those with Wheeler, but that is totally different from what is happening at the moment. I never have anything to fear with Wheeler. Sure, sometimes he raises his voice to me, but that is as far as he will ever take it. And even then, that only happens when I really provoke him. Apparently, I am capable of doing that well. I am the first to admit that I am no angel; there are times I act despicably. Maybe it is because I like Wheeler's attentions? So, then, does that make Greg right about everything? Is he angry with me for legitimate reasons?
"You want to go have a drink at the bar?" Greg whispers close to my ear. He has softened suddenly, his swift change of mood confusing me, making me wonder if our argument in the middle of the dance floor really happened. Did I really see that animalistic, savage glint in his eyes?
I nod a little in response, unable to find words, not even wishing to speak, actually. Greg places a kiss on my cheek and smiles, seeming satisfied at how pliant I have become. If there are alarm bells going off in my mind, I silence them with my insurmountable stubbornness.
