Taking the Risk: Misha's Story Ch. 03

For those that wanted to know more about Misha before he met Froo, here is his story and how he came to be in England which is where he met her and fell in love, and his time with Suzanne the woman in his past.

His passion for Suzanne becomes an obsession, as she plunges down into a self destructive whirlpool, so for those that believe that life's many experiences make up a rich and interesting tapestry....here is Misha's story.

To read about Misha and Froo please read the companion story Taking the Risk Chapter's 1-21 under Novels and Novella's.

*

Henry stood explaining to Misha how the lighting was best placed to eliminate any strong shadows as they filmed in the open plan office area of Ingleside Holdings, the company that they were making the Corporate Video for. Working for his Uncle Dmitri and learning the ropes from the bottom up, Misha loved the production side of making the video's and an eager learner he was absorbing up any help and advice that his colleagues were giving him, building on what he had learnt with his degree.

"Direct light is too harsh and makes the face a little scary looking, so avoid, this is not a horror flick it's a business video and the people want to look their best. Avoid any light from behind, window or such like, it puts the person in silhouette, and throws shadows, and shadows have distinct edges. Go for diffused light, it softens and flatters the face." Passing a bulb to Misha, "See how the bulb is coated at the end, the light hits it and reflects back out diffused. Questions to ask yourself when setting up, where is the light supposed to be coming from, and what are we trying to focus the eyes on?"

Nodding Misha started to help set up the lighting, the physical work helping him to forget Suzanne and the scene last night in the club. Unsure of whether she wanted to see him again he decided to play it cool and not chase. He had his pride, even if a part of him wanted so much to go over tonight to the rehearsal hall, grab her and shake her. She was making him feel emotions he had never felt before, and he was not sure if he liked not being totally in control of the situation. So when he woke up this morning, his head thumping from too much drink, he had stood under the shower, the water pouring down on his face, and came to the decision to let her do some chasing if she wanted him. If she didn't then he would chalk this up to one of his life's experiences.

During the day he watched and learnt. The totally professional men in the team liked the friendly and eager young man. Naturally gregarious and laid back he got on easily with the small crew of four, and at the end of the day, once the van was loaded up with the equipment Henry asked him if he wanted to come along for a couple of beers with the others.

"Yeah, that sounds good."

"We'll unload the van at the office, and then go up the block to the Irish Pub. Cameron is sweet on the girl behind the bar and is getting the courage up to ask her out."

Later the five men sat, beers on the table in front of them, Cameron staring at the dark haired girl as she served other workers at the end of the day, his deep brown eyes behind his glasses following her every move.

"Got it bad Cam? Go and ask her. What have you got to lose?"

"My dreams if she says no."

"You can't live on dreams boy, go and ask her."

"Leave it Blane, I will when I'm ready."

Misha turned his head and looked across at the woman, a round face with apple cheeks, her thick hair falling out of where it was held bunched up on the top of her head, her face unblemished without makeup she looked fresh and sweet, until you noticed the skull and crossbones tattooed on her right shoulder, revealed by the sleeveless top she wore and the gold hoops piercing her lip and eyebrow. Looking back at Cameron, his slight frame and his preppy look he couldn't picture them together, but then who was he to judge.

"Go for it Cam, she looks like a real sweetie."

"I said leave it. I'll ask her when I'm ready."

The conversation change to sport and the latest game played last weekend, and a good natured discussion on the finer points of the heritage of the player who fumbled a pass, and then Misha stood up asking who wanted what for the next round. Walking over to the bar he stood waiting to be served by the tattoo wearing focus of Cameron's dreams.

"Yes my love,' The girl looked up at him with an interest in her eyes, "what's your poison?" her soft Irish lilt was easy on the ear, and he estimated she stood no more that about five feet and probably weighed about ninety pounds soaking wet.

"Five Bud's," he watched her smile at him, "You're Irish?"

"How did you guess? The accent gave it away huh? Just outside Dublin, small village down on the coast." She pulled up the bottles, putting them on the bar. "You're American?"

Laughing Misha told her "How did you guess? Did the accent give it away? From California, a suburb just outside of Los Angles."

"Never been, but would like to see it." Taking the money he had passed over to her, she turned to the till and got his change.

"What's your name?"

"Shevaun, Shivvy for short, what's yours?"

"Mikhail, Misha for short. Listen my friend over there; the one with the glasses really likes you. Mind if he comes over for a chat. No strings attached."

Peering past Misha to the table where Cameron sat squirming, aware that Misha and the object of his dreams was talking about him, she nodded. "Sure, send the cutie over."

Picking up the five ice cold bottles he said, "Thanks." and walked back across the room to the table where he put down the bottles and told Cameron, "She wants to meet you. Go over and just talk. The rest will come easily if you just talk and relax."

"What do I say?"

"Just ask her about herself, where she comes from, how long she's been here in New York, that kind of thing. Talk, conversation. No pressure. If you feel it's going well ask her out. If it seems it's not, well no sweat, at least you've introduced yourself and she knows you're alive."

Misha watched as the nervous man got up, rubbing his hands down the side of his jeans before picking up his beer and walking over to the bar.

"OK, bets on him coming back over here after bombing out" Blane hissed, "I'll take less than five minutes," and placed five bucks on the table.

Henry and Misha looked at each other, whilst Terry reached into his pocket and said, "Ten minutes."

"How about you guys, you in?"

Misha shook his head. "Nope, but I'll match you that he succeeds."

"You're on!"

*

Misha walked along the towards his apartment, he had stayed drinking with the guys, winning his bet, until gone eleven thirty grabbing something to eat at the pub and now he was almost at the entrance to his apartments. Getting out the key from his trouser pocket he almost tripped up over the figure huddled on the stoop.

Looking down it was Suzanne, still dressed in the clothes he had left her in last night at the club, but now dirty and torn, her hair a mess, her face streaked with the mascara that her tears had ran down.

"Jesus, what happened to you." Bending down to check her out, "You hurt? Have you been in an accident? What happened?"

Her face looked up at him, her eyes glazed, "I didn't know where else to go."

Her plaintive voice broke his heart, "What is it sweetheart, are you hurt."

Shaking her head she just started to cry, and Misha automatically scooped her up in his arms, standing, and with his key opened the door and pushed through. She was shaking and sobbing, and he still wasn't sure if she had been hurt in some way, so striding up to his place he rushed in, carrying her into his bedroom where he placed her down on his bed.

"Sweetheart, please tell me, what's wrong. What happened?"

"I was there, and then I remember there was a fight. I don't really remember sugar, I'm so tired." and curling up on her side she started to fall asleep.

Misha stood, running his hands through his hair. Not sure what had happened to her he decided to undress her and check for any injuries. Slowly peeling off her clothes and trying not to wake her, he checked for any injury, but apart from a nasty looking bruise starting to form on one arm he could see nothing. He could however smell the drink and the strong smell of marihuana. Even her dress smelt of it. Covering her up he stripped off his clothes and went into his bathroom taking a shower before climbing into bed and curving his body around hers.

He slept, but it was a restless sleep, waking every so often to check on her, worried that she might throw up in her sleep and choke, listening out for any sign of distress.

*

The next morning he slipped out of bed, pulled on his jeans, and went into the small kitchen area to make some strong coffee. He had to be into work soon, but was worried about leaving her in the state she was in, so decided to phone and explain that he would be late.

Walking into the bedroom he bent over the sprawled out figure in the bed and started to wake her. "Suzy wake up, come on sweetheart wake up.....that's it.... Come on now, open your eyes. Come on, sit up for me."

Watching her run her hand through her hair and moan, he reached across for the coffee he had put on the side table and wafted it under her nose. "That's it honey, come on... here this will help." Standing he watched as she sipped the hot liquid, the duvet falling across her lap, her naked body curved slightly forward, her slim arms holding the cup up to her face.

"What happened Suzy?" sitting down on the side of the bed he waited until she felt she could speak.

"I guess I had too much to drink."

"What else did you have?"

"Nothing....."

"I don't believe you."

She gave him a defiant look. "I don't care if you don't believe me, I was just pissed."

Misha stared at her, sure she was lying, but not sure if it was worth arguing the point. "How did your dress get torn?"

"There was a fight. I ran. I can't remember much."

"Sounds like a crazy night! You do this a lot?"

"NO."

"Ok. Calm down." He watched as she finished the coffee. "Feeling a bit better?"

Nodding her head she looked like a little girl who had been told off. "Go have a shower and freshen up. I'll lend you a something to wear over the torn dress." Then standing back up, "I'll go cook us something to eat, and before you ask no it isn't going to be a Bloody Mary. It'll be something to absorb up some of the booze still in your system." and with that he walked out.

A while later she wandered in, wearing one of his tee shirts, her hair wet and hanging down her back, face scrubbed clean, just as if nothing had happened, fresh and looking so young. Misha smiled at her as she took her seat at the little kitchen breakfast counter. "Bacon and eggs, sunny side up, toast and orange juice coming up. Get this down and then I need to get going."

"Where are you going?"

"Work."

"Can't you stay here with me today; take the day off of work?"

"Nope. I work for my Uncle and I've already phoned to say I'll be late in, but I need to go."

"Can I stay here today? Wait for you here?"

"How long were you outside last night?"

"Not sure. Maybe a couple of hours."

Shaking his head he looked at her sitting eating the food, "No classes today, no rehearsal?"

"Mmmm... rehearsal later."

"Ok. You can let yourself out when you want." He started to go to his bathroom when he heard the question, "Couldn't lend me twenty bucks sugar, I've run out of money to get home."

Turning around he stared back at her, the look on her face totally without guile, her smile sweet, her eyebrow raised in query. "Ten, and you use it to get home, and nothing else."

The pattern had started. The carer and the dependent. Tied together with each with their own unique needs. Hers to fill up the empty insecurity inside of her, his need to look after her, and to make sure she was alright.