Love Is Never Past Tense... by Janna Yeshanova Page A

our heroes aspired to go. It was a well-known restaurant of the harbor. Actually, it was well-known, because reservations were impossible to get. In each city, there are many such fashionable restaurants, with high demand because the public made them so popular.
    Of course, there were no seats available. The forcefulness of Valera opening his wallet changed nothing. They could only reach one possible agreement: the door-keeper would bring them a couple bottles of wine. They had to be satisfied with only these, though Serge was not upset. He was only upset with the prolonged company of Valera.
    They went down to the pier. The night was warm and quiet. It smelled of the sea, with anchor ropes, and crude oil. Cutters, barges, tugboats, walking ships—the small and big fleet shone with signal lights, and the long light beams bounced above the water, as they shuddered and vibrated from the ripples. The lungs greedily sucked in the damp air. One’s chest breathed easily and freely, enjoying the smells of a powerful port.
    “Hey, Serge, have a drink.” Valera pushed him sideways and handed him the uncorked bottle. Serge took a couple of swigs and started the jug around the circle. In a minute, the bottle came around again and appeared in his hands. He took a sip and put it down on the still warm stones of the pier. He became tired of standing and sat down on the pilings. It seemed Janna and Valera had not seen each other since the birth of the Christ. They briskly discussed everything. Mila stood at some distance, and then joined Serge. He silently handed her the bottle. She tasted it and gave the wine back. Serge turned the bottle towards himself, and understood that there was nothing left to share. He poured the warm contents into his stomach.
    Suddenly, a sharp noise came from above them. On the terrace of the restaurant, a carousing couple ran out. The woman, tearing the silence with squeaky laughter, tried to be rescued from a guffawing drunken hog. He opened his arms, and tried to catch his naughty girl. At last, he succeeded. Perhaps because his inhibitions had been replaced by vodka or because he had a lot of passion for her, he leaned on her with all his mass, pushed her to the handrail, and began to squeeze and slobber on her with such impatience, that soon her dress split, and the seam of her sleeve tore apart. This abruptly changed her mood. She pulled away and delivered a weighty slap in the face. The slap resounded like an echo, and she hurried to disappear through the doors. The man pondered what happened for a minute or two, leaned on the rails and began to spit in the water. Then he noticed the group of people on the pier and whistled.
    “Hey you, on the pier, treat me with a cigarette.” And he came downstairs, reeling from side-to-side.
    “Don’t bother. We don’t have more cigarettes,” shouted Valera.
    “Ayyyy, I don’t believe you. People like you can’t be out of cigarettes. Let’s have a drink.” The man was almost next to them. Valera took a step towards him and started barking at him like a pug dog, wanting to prove that the guy didn’t need to drink any more. He told him, “Go back to your company.”
    “I will still be in good time for my company,” the good-natured lout put his weighty hand on Valera’s shoulder. But suddenly, with a wrestling move, Valera removed the hog’s hand and jumped aside, holding his fists at the ready.
    The drunkard began to blink rapidly and said, “Hey dude, you shouldn't have done that. Now you fucked up.” The man got ready to pound Valera, who was half his size. This business was taking an unpleasant turn. Serge got up, took an empty bottle, and broke it on the asphalt between the two fighters.
    “This is over, guys! Hey buddy, people are getting tired of waiting for you. And we have some business to do too.” Serge turned Valera around and nudged his back between his shoulders. Not looking back, the four trudged away.
    Soon they forgot about the