Free A Million for Eleanor: A Contemporary Story on Love and Money by Danil Rudoy

locked the doors and invited her to follow him.
    They began walking toward a monumental granite edifice with tall Corinthian columns that looked like a public library or a hotel rather than a restaurant, two figures almost dissolving in the Saturday noise of a big city, drifting through the air with such tranquility as if they had an eternity in front of them. It seemed to him the surrounding space along with Eleanor by his side shrank to a dot and disappeared among the neurons of his brain, letting his imagination take over. The grey stones of the pavement, the evasive smell of gas and the wrangle of distant klaxons all seemed as illusory, unreliable and deceptive as a dream from which he was about to wake, and all he wanted was to keep dreaming and remain a prisoner of this blissful thoughtlessness. But when Eleanor’s heels hit the marble stairs leading to the entrance, a loud clatter ensued, hitting his ears like a razor and cancelling every memory of the fleeting serenity he had just enjoyed.
    “Are you afraid it’ll crack?” Eleanor asked, making her every step resound in the air as loudly as possible. “It’d be a disaster: it must have endured so much in its lifetime.”
    “It was already washed away by the rain,” he said, trying to suppress the urge to search for the oblivion lost.
    They ascended the last flight and saw a doorkeeper, a pale old man of intimidating height dressed in an old-fashioned brown double-breasted jacket with tasseled shoulder-straps. He bowed, pulling the door open and revealing a spacious hall resembling a waiting area of a railway station. They stepped inside, and a youthful maitre d’ in a white vest and black trousers grew in front of them, his every move showing there was nothing he wanted more than to please his guests.
    “Good evening. Do you have a reservation?”
    “You bet,” he said, studying the maitre d’s vest which had the name of the house embroidered on its every button. “Under “Charlester”.”
    “Sir, your party has already arrived. Please follow me into the cloak room – you will be able to leave your luggage there.”
    “We’ll take the valises with us.”
    “In that case I must ask you to open them. Out of precaution, you understand.”
    “Are you serious?” Eleanor exclaimed with indignation.
    “Madam, such are the rules,” said the maitre d’. “I sincerely apologize for any inconvenience.”
    “Before we proceed, I want you to know the stuff’s hers, and I’m just a porter,” he said, winking at the maitre d’. “Although you can consider me guilty by association,” he added, walking up to the receptionist’s desk attended by an old portiere. The man observed him with an expression of professional boredom, but only until the contents of the first valise were revealed. Then he flinched, as if presented with a jar of tarantulas, and looked at Eleanor perplexedly.
    “Would you like us to open the other one as well?” she said charmingly.
    “If that’s okay,” the maitre d’ said in a weak voice.
    “This might be timely: you still haven’t seen what was in the second one. What if I brought you only a half?”
    “You didn’t.” Eleanor sighed. “You never stop half way.”
    He quickly scrolled the locks and opened the second valise.
    “Perhaps you’d like to feel through the batches?” he said to the maitre d’. “In case there is a bomb or poisonous snakes underneath.”
    “This won’t be necessary, sir” the man said, regaining his composure. “Please follow me.”
    The maitre d’ opened a mirror-panelled two-fold door and led them into a large area with some three dozen tables scattered around a tall marble fountain lit by violet lights. He eyed the visitors with great interest, wondering if a single one of them would catch sight of Eleanor or him, but as far as he could tell their passage remained completely unnoticed.
    “There they are,” he exclaimed joyfully, nodding at a table straight ahead. Two ladies