Evening in New York

It was last month when I was driving to new York from Philadelphia.
On that day, sleet was falling as never before, has adhered to the windshield wipers and car Windows.
Usually I have a lot to wander in the cases of their clients. And this day was no exception. Then I went to his personal Affairs.
Barely keeping the car on the snowy Highway, 150 miles away was difficult. I fully trusted my Buick and was driving slower than other.
But four hours is too much! At six in the evening I was already on Fifth Avenue between 37 and 38 streets.
-Do you like Beethoven? she asked.
I'm not hard to answer such a question so casually.
-Of course love. Especially his Moonlight Sonata ' I replied.
-What's with the questions?
-So just wanted to ask.
She put my Chrysanthemums in a vase and looked out the window. 35 floor. It was snowing. New York in the snowy haze.
I love Beethoven and I love you ' I said.
Anastasia smiled.
-Didn't you write me almost two week. Why?
Late in the evening we went outside. The Blizzard did not stop. On the street Nastya got glasses.
Glasses why would you? in surprise I asked her.
Is that snow falling on the eye.
Anastasia - ballerina of the Mariinsky theatre of St. Petersburg. In America for the third year.
Met her randomly at a party with friends and for the second year we are together.
Meetings, farewells, goodbyes, sorry
Decided to go away - go away -she said to me. But I could not. And always told her Sorry and gave her a white Chrysanthemum as a sign of their affection and love.
Today is just the evening. We walked along the snowy Avenue, the wind and snow whipped us in the face, as if punishing us for our fight.
Sorry, sorry - I repeated to myself like a prayer, considering always the one to blame for our quarrels.
Small, fragile island of my happiness - she is.
Where am I without him, without his island.
In a strange country, among strange people, these feelings are especially aggravated.
A small theatre in SOHO: "Ohio Theatre" 66 Sharp Street, in the 21 hours must begin performance of young dancers. Something with Balanchine. I do not remember.
We were in a hurry.
Wardrobe, hangers, pink cheeks, removing the boots, twisting at the mirror, some young people wearing scarves, all kiss. All a holiday. Anastasia snapped.
For an hour she watched, transfixed to the stage, where young artists showed their art of disguise in dance.
On the way back stopped in a small restaurant. She ordered Pinacolada with tiramisu, I have a Cup of coffee and a biscuit.
-Did you like it? she asked
-Very! - I lied - though don't know anything about ballet.
She knew my indifference to dance and so this was yet another obstacle in our relationship.
She quietly as from low-alcohol drink.
And so it became a little untied and dissolved. From under the dress is frankly flashed her legs in black stockings.
-Here we're so much familiar, and you've never not carried.
-All go to Florida, Hawaii, even in California to relax, and I sit here not getting out and sometimes dance when offered.
-Why? Don't you love me? Like Beethoven perhaps?
Even the snow in Russia! -she was nervous.
Anastasia lit a cigarette. She was always grabbing for a cigarette when drunk.
She's already 35, it did not become a prima ballerina. Her talent is not appreciated at home, and here on the stage more blue boys. But still she dances. Here love Russian ballet and good pay.
Nastya, Nastya - I held her close. And we swam with her in a slow dance along with accidentally abandoned in a winter storm a couple.
In all that time with her I learned to feel the mood, catch her melancholy. She laid her head on my shoulder. Loves.
Quarter by taxi - $ 45. Home. Bed. I kiss her salty lips from the tears. We're back together, this will continue as long as we live love and hope for something better in life.
And only on the window a reminder of the fight will remain standing bouquet of white Chrysanthemums.