Things Not Subject To Gravity

CERTAIN PHYSICO-CHEMICAL TRANSFORMATIONS: 13

13. DATE WITH THE FRENCH GIRL

Fortune is a woman; if you let her slip by today

Don't expect her to come back tomorrow.

(Napoleon Bonaparte)

(God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, Pentatonix)

Fifteen minutes before eight, Dee gazed at his reflection for one last time. He couldn't say he liked it, but it appeared ordinary and reassuring, as it should've. The mirror reflected the kind of man a woman would have considered dependable – a neat, tasteful, and meek intellectual, good-looking and rolling in money, yet not conspicuos. Neither traffic police nor airport security would stop him for a check – basically, the best cover possible.

Mr. Green had hazel eyes embellished by thick, dark eyelashes, lush brown curls properly held back with a hint of gel, and a fair complexion devoid of distinguishing marks. He wore no trinkets beside the black-rimmed Armani glasses – wide and square-framed, as the harmless-employee-look required – and a 1931 Louis Erard watch showing off on his wrist to give credit about his stay at the Penthouse.

In fact, Mr. Green didn't have anything to do with Dee's real appearance.

Maybe, a trained eye would've been able to spot the tiny scar beside his right brow, although it was well hidden by a professional concealer. A daring woman could've noticed his pierced ears, even discovered the tattoo on his chest – a little gift he made himself when he was sixteen, while his father had his hands full with the Bosnian war. Nevertheless, the midnight-blue Huntsman's suit he'd picked for the evening fit him like a glove. To an inexperienced eye, the only noticeable details were the missing tie and the open-neck white shirt, which were perfectly appropriate for a casual meeting.

Dee flashed the mirror a daddy smile, exposing his perfectly white teeth. "It's showtime," he told himself in his heavy, finely-honed accent from Glasgow.

A few minutes later, he reached the lobby. There was the Red Moon – a Japanese-Vietnamese fusion restaurant and, in his opinion, one of the absolute best dining choices. At night, the place was too dark and intimate for a business meeting, but it became a perfect setting for a date, thus Dee had made the reservation without thinking twice.

The hotel, originally chosen by Sybil Vain, held a modern interior with a minimalistic vibe. It was almost a cultural shock for the Doctor, who was used to a more orthodox and traditional environment, but all in all, it was sophisticated and pleasant.

At ten to eight, David Green took a seat at his reserved table. The idea of waiting stirred in him a sudden urge for smoking, but he held it back, gracefully adjusted the collar of his shirt and ordered a shōchū on the rocks. The doubt that Angéline might not show up didn't even cross his mind. To prove him right, six minutes later, the girl was approaching his table.

Her brown hair was held in a French twist, with few curled locks falling on the sides of her lean neck. She wore a knee-length, burgundy dress. The strapless corset clung tightly to her breasts and fell into a soft A-line skirt. Two delicate points of light pierced her ears, matching the dazzling, lily-shaped pendant that lingered provocative over her chest. She was sexy in a tactful way.

Mr. Green stood up and welcomed her with a slight bow.

"I'm honored that such a fine lady has chosen to join me," he started in his most seductive tone, slowly lifting his gaze to meet her eyes.