1956

15.12.56

"Listen to yourself, like a confused child."

Mila faced Theresa, "I have not a clue of what you are talking about."

Theresa sighed. The car light turned the snow into a shimmering trail. 

"Nevermind," She kept driving, "oh, I have some news about this Friday,"

"Oh Theresa, no," Mila said, pinching the end of her index finger, pulling off her right glove and then doing the same with the other hand. She struggled but finally at the third try managed to insert them inside her small pocket, then placing her icy bare palm on her forehead, "I'm too tired for this, you know work is difficult as it is." She pleaded.

"Actually, when you hear the gentleman I found, you will say quite the opposite. 'Oh Theresa, you're such a fabulous friend! The best!'" She teased, smiling. Mila's forehead was freezing. She removed her hand from it as it just froze her more, placing the hands between her thighs in an attempt to heat them. 

"Fine, well, surprise me." Mila could barely see outside, the engine rumbled warmly and the sound calmed her. "Who is this divine gentleman?"

Theresa's fingers tap-danced on the wheel as she approached a careful turn into a different street. Mila mentally counted that there were two blocks left. 

"Oliver,"

"Oliver?"

"Hills. Oliver Hills."

The name clicked in an instant for Mila, "The Oliver Hills? From Hills Industries?"

"The one." She smiled as Mila's hand slammed on the dashboard, looking at her wide-eyed. Her heart beat quickly. Oliver Hills was the son of the founding father of Hills Industries, a business that managed to reach financial victory through The Great War, funded by the Government to supply the military with the widely sought out machine guns and other arms, which then would go to equip the Western Front troops, providing prideful assistance in their defenses. From this established trade, the Nation learned - through propaganda - to regard the Hills Industry as a 'respected savior' - quoted by Mila's mother. Oliver Hills was her mother's dream son-in-law, she always regarded him with such admiration; such adoration that Mila herself began to regard him with such as well.

"H-How?" Mila stuttered in an understandable shock, turning back at the highway with a sigh.

"A little birdy - being my beloved Mike," Theresa turned and the headlight lit up a new path, illuminating the familiar street that displayed shops and apartments, "provided me with his contact after a pleasurable night out the two had as old school friends, at The Potter, in fact." Mike was Theresa's boyfriend, and The Potter was the local restaurant bar, popularly regarded a the best in the city, named after it. In fact, they had just driven past it.
"Well, won't you thank me for my worries?"

"Thank you," Mila reached for Theresa's shoulder closest to her in a gripping affection, "oh, thank you!" Mila smiled brightly representing her mum's foreshadowing delight, retrieving her hand. Her mother would be so pleased to hear this over the telephone that night.

"I'm always happy to help my best friend," The Blackhawk slowed down, Mila looked up at my apartment as they rolled up until the car came to a steady halt, crushing the snow beneath the tires. Theresa and Mila made eye contact.

She recited knowingly, "This Friday, 6.p.m, The Potter. Look as beautiful as always and you will most certainly blow Hills away." Mila smiled, they said their goodbyes and she pulled the handle, leaving the car. 

Theresa drove off.

*

As soon as Mila entered my apartment she got changed into a two-piece cotton, maroon pajama, with cozy socks.