Celebrity Chekhov Read Free Page A

skin and might be struck by lightning.
    Standing outside during a storm when one is breathless with the wind and feels like a bird, thrills one and puts one’s heart in a flutter. By the time we decided to go inside, the wind had gone down and big drops of rain were pattering on the grass and on the roofs.
    One of the front windows was open and needed closing. Justin Timberlake began to turn the handle rapidly. He was trying to beat the storm. I stood in the doorway waiting for him to finish and watching the slanting streaks of rain; the sweetish, exciting scent of wet grass was even stronger in the front hall than in the yard; outside, the storm clouds and the rain made it almost twilight.
    â€œWhat a crash!” said Justin Timberlake, coming up to me after a very loud rolling peal of thunder, when it seemed as though the sky were split in two. “What do you say to that?”
    He stood beside me in the doorway and, still breathless from closing the window so fast, looked at me. I could see that he was admiring me.
    â€œBritney,” he said, “I would give anything only to stay here a little longer and look at you. You are lovely today.”
    His eyes looked at me with delight and supplication, his face was pale. He had not shaven in days, and on his beard were glittering raindrops that, too, seemed to be looking at me with love.
    â€œI love you,” he said. “I love you, and I am happy at seeing you. I know you cannot be my wife, but I want nothing, I ask nothing; only know that I love you. Be silent, do not answer me, take no notice of it, but only know that you are dear to me and let me look at you.”
    His rapture affected me too; I looked at his enthusiastic face, listened to his voice, which mingled with the patter of the rain, and stood as though spellbound, unable to stir.
    I longed to go on endlessly looking at his shining eyes and listening.
    â€œYou say nothing, and that is splendid,” said Justin Timberlake. “Go on being silent.”
    I felt happy. I laughed with delight and ran through the drenching rain out of the house and then back to it; he laughed too, and, leaping as he went, ran after me.
    Both drenched, panting, noisily clattering up the stairs like children, we dashed into the room. My father and sister, who were not used to seeing me laughing and lighthearted, looked at me in surprise and began laughing too.
    The storm clouds had passed over and the thunder had ceased, but the raindrops still glittered on Justin Timberlake’s beard. The whole evening till suppertime he was singing, whistling, playing noisily with the dog and racing about the room after it, so that he nearly upset the woman who was there cleaning. And at supper he ate a great deal, talked nonsense, and maintained that if you eat fresh cucumbers and then lemon, you will smell like springtime.
    When I went to bed I turned on the small lamp beside it and threw my window wide open, and an undefined feeling took possession of my soul. I remembered that I was free and healthy, that I had put some songs at the top of the chart, that I was beloved; above all, that I had charted, had charted, what a feeling that was. Then, huddling up in bed at a touch of cold that reached me from the garden, I tried to discover whether I loved Justin Timberlake or not, and fell asleep unable to reach any conclusion.
    And when in the morning I saw quivering patches of sunlight and the shadows of the lime trees on my bed, what had happened the day before rose vividly in my memory. Life seemed to me rich, varied, full of charm. Humming, I dressed quickly and went out downstairs.
    And what happened afterward? Why—nothing. Justin Timberlake came to see me from time to time. He quickly became the kind of acquaintance who was charming in Louisiana or Orlando, in a storm, but lost his appeal in Los Angeles, in less dramatic weather. When you pour out iced tea for them in town, it seems as though they are wearing