Dmitry's Closet (2 page)

     "I… I've never had it," she answered, feeling slightly embarrassed and completely controlled by the situation.

     "Never?" the strange man asked, amused. His eyebrows arched.

     She nodded no.

     "Well, you will try my duck today. It is best in all of Memphis, recipe straight from Russia." He stood back up.

     She nodded yes, frustrated at her sudden lapse in verbal communication. Struggling, she tried to make herself spit out her words and stop acting like a school girl.

     "Thank you," she said again, forcefully this time. "I'd like that very much."

     "It is my pleasure," he said, bowing out like a trained waiter.

     "One question though?" she asked before he could get away.

     "Yes?" He stopped and looked over at her curiously.

     "I only have ten dollars. How much does the Russian duck cost?" Her eyes were wide. Maybe the man had mistaken her second-hand business suit for something valuable? She was in no position to pay for an expensive dinner.

     "It will cost you
conversation
with me." He looked at her sweat-stained white oxford, run over pumps and exhausted state and felt instantly responsible for feeding the woman. It was the least that he could do.

     "Now, if you'll excuse me for just a minute."

     "Okay. Thanks," Royal said, watching his long, muscular body disappear into the restaurant.

     A duck recipe straight from Russia? So he was from Russia? She looked around the restaurant again. Yes, unmistakably Russian. So unmistakable, she found the whole setting to be slightly stereotypical; all that was missing was a framed photo of Putin and the national flag. She looked over in the far corner, saw both and giggled to herself.

     The day had most certainly turned around. She was about to have free duck in a plush restaurant with a hot man out of the hot sun. And that was completely fine by her. She needed a break. She's been job hunting all day. And if she heard,
we'll be contacting you,
one more time, she would lose her mind. What they really meant was that the economy was in a complete downward spiral, and she had a degree in business and no real experience outside of working her butt off doing odd jobs to pay for school, so she would never hear from them again.

     However, she wouldn't focus on all of that now. This man had given her a millisecond break. She would just take it and forget for a while that her life truly sucked. Happily, she slipped her feet halfway out of her shoes, wiggled her toes and sighed.
Ahh.
Freedom at last.

     Minutes later, the man whom Royal guessed was Anatoly came walking towards her lonely table with a two plates. The young dirty blonde moved quickly. His stocky frame was covered in tattoos, and he wore dark blue jeans and a black t-shirt covered by a white apron. His hooded eyes never looked up from the ground. He sat the food down and walked away. Then an even shorter redhead woman came out with two shot glasses and a bottle of vodka, two red crystal glasses and a bottle of wine and set it on the table in the same manner. She also never spoke a word.

     "I was hoping that you'd still be here," the man said returning.

     He pulled his seat away from the table and sat directly across from her. She watched him carefully while he inspected the presentation of his meal. His long, muscular arms rested beside him, reaching nearly the length of the table.

     "Shall we toast?" he asked, picking up his glass once he was satisfied.

     "Sure. What to?"

     He thought for a minute then smiled. "To prosperous futures."

     "I like that."

     She toasted his glass and drank the potent contents. The burn rushed down her throat to her empty belly and caused a shiver through her body. Maybe it would do exactly what she wanted it to do - numb the awkward exhilaration of being across the table from the giant man.

     "You took good drink," he smirked, sipping from his glass. "But it's vodka that I would recommend taking straight to the head, not the wine." He lifted his glass for her to observe.

     "Well that depends on what kind of day you've had," Royal said, coyly. "If you've had a day like mine, then you take everything to the head."

     "Oh, I see," Dmitry grinned, utterly fascinated.

     Leering back, she poured herself a shot of the Jewel of Russia vodka. Boldly, she took the shot and set the glass softly on the table. With her index finger, she pushed it farther away from her. Instantly, she feels the magic burn rush through her body. She wanted to cough but held it in—defiant until the end. Her watery eyes told on her as she tried not to gag.

     The stranger looked at the empty glass, at the strange woman and laughed aloud.

     "You look like flower and drink like weed." His dimple deepened.

     Following her direction like a good host, he set his wine glass down and poured himself a shot of the expensive vodka. He toasted her again and drank it quickly. The contents went down smooth and with no tingle.

     His Adam's apple barely moved. Then, he set his shot glass softly beside hers and smiled back.

     "I like your attitude," he said leaning over. "Tell me, what is your name?" His eyes sparkled like diamonds.

     "It's Royal," she said, placing her napkin on her lap.

     "Excuse me?"

     "My name is Royal Stone." She looked up at him under long dark eyelashes.

     "Where did you get a name like that?"

     "I don't know." Royal poured another shot of vodka. She started to feel a little more relaxed and maybe even a little buzz. "Don't know my parents. I lived with a foster family until I was 18, and then I went to college. I graduate next week, and the company that I had landed a job with went under this week," she explained.

     "Oh, so, you're out job hunting?" the man asked, more intrigued.

     "Exactly," she said, taking another shot.

     Dmitry eyed her. "Try the duck. I think you'll like it even more than the vodka." His silky eyebrow arched again.

     "Oh, sorry." Royal smiled with more ease, putting her hand over her mouth. The alcohol gave her the edge that she needed. Plus, she liked how sometimes the strange man missed words when he spoke. English was definitely not his first language.

     Dmitry smiled. "So, you're looking for a job doing what?" He continued.

     "Is this an interview?"

     He shrugged his large shoulders. "It could be." He sat back in his chair relaxed.

     "Shouldn't I at least no your name then?" She was mildly sarcastic.

     "Wait. You don't know my name?" The stranger winked his eye at her. "Everyone knows who I am."

     His voice was now a low whisper as if he were telling her a huge secret.

     "I don't know who you are," she replied, whispering as well. She tasted the duck. Absolutely delicious.

     "It caught you by surprise, did it not?" He looked at her plate, forgetting their conversation for a minute. "I told you. The best duck in Mid-South. This dish was featured in... Memphis Magazine one month ago." He slapped his large hand on his equally large thigh in satisfaction. He was always pleased with a happy customer, even if she was not paying.

     Royal nodded in satisfaction and at his enthusiasm. "Yes, it is very good," she confirmed. "The best duck I've
ever
had."

     "Yes, after this, everything else will be all downhill." He looked at her for a moment, then shifted back to their conversation with a large smile on his angelic face. "My name is Dmitry Medlov." He stuck his hand out across the table and offered it to Royal.

     She wiped her hands on her crimson-colored napkin and shook his hand gingerly, feeling his large fingers wrap around her entire hand.

     "Nice to meet you.
Like I said,
I'm Royal Stone." After a few drinks, she was starting to feel a little better.

     "Nice to meet you too, Royal." His eyes locked on hers, lingering. "Tell me what subject are you getting your baccalaureate degree in?"

     "Business. Umm... would you like to see my resume?"

     "You have it with you?" he asked, watching her as she quickly turned to her little tattered bag. His head tilted as he watched her every move.

     Her long thin fingers rummaged through the well organized folders and pulled out an off-white cotton sheet of paper. It was the most pristine thing in her disheveled little existence.

     Proudly, she reached out and passed it to him. Her resume. Her life on one miserable page. He pulled his glasses from his jacket and placed them on. She was surprised for a minute. Although, they did make him look even more distinguished, he didn't look like the type that would wear glasses. The silver wire rimmed frames sat perfectly on his chiseled narrow nose, across his suntanned face and his over his dreamlike eyes.

     "Is this your restaurant?" she asked, interrupting his attention as she looked around.

     "Dah." He nodded but did not look up from the paper. "Does that word mean yes?" Another interruption. She looked back at him.

     He glanced up at her,
"Dah."
His voice was silky smooth. He looked at her with a strange gaze then looked back down her resume. Royal was finally quiet, giving him a moment to digest her unworthiness.

     Dmitry read her resume carefully with no expression on his face. She could not tell if he was impressed or like many of her other interviewers - unmoved, indifferent and ready to see her out of the door.

     "And you graduate in one week?" he finally asked, placing the resume beside him on the table and taking off his glasses.

     "Yes. I graduate next Tuesday." She sat up a little straighter.

     "Tell me, Royal. Are you particular about what job you would like?" He put his glasses back inside of his coat jacket and focused in on her, a hint of interest on his face.

     "I'd like a job with the potential to move up in the organization, but I'm willing to start anywhere."

     Dmitry smiled. "That is sign of hard worker," he said pointing at her. "You've never been given anything. And so, you know how to work hard to get it or take it."

     "If I need to,
dah."
She smiled.

     Dmitry's eye twitched. She was quick and spunky, and he was completely paralyzed by her natural beauty. He had been struck since the moment he opened his eyes, and she was standing in front of him while he played the violin.

     She had appeared like a dream, standing there like she had just fallen out of the sky. He had to blink when he saw her. He blinked hard to make sure that she was real and not some figment of his imagination, some illusion due to his aching loneliness. He knew that she was real when he saw the sweat glistening from her body. It was the only sign that God had given him to let him know his angel was human.

     Her long, shapely figure was concealed under her baggy clothes. Her gaze spoke of trust, not deceit. She was refreshingly innocent. Her bright eyes told her entire story. She was what he was playing for and praying for a sign.

     "So what do you think?" she asked finally.

     "You've done good work," he said, realizing that he had zoned out far too long. "I'd like to make you a proposal." He smirked at how fluid that statement was for him.

     "Okay," Royal said, putting down her knife and fork. She listened on attentively.

     "I'm opening new business not far from here. Really just couple blocks over. I need someone who is willing to give it their all. It's a new clothing store. I call it
Dmitry's Closet.
It's full of nicest clothes for women. However, I need young shop keeper for this one. Do you have kids, husband, something like this?"

     "No," Royal said, clearly seeing that this guy knew nothing about HR. One was never supposed to ask those types of personal questions on an interview, but she didn't care,
as long as he gave her the job.

     "Good. This is just what I want to hear," he said, slyly. "The person that runs my shop will have nice apartment just above the store. You see, I own entire building. You have the degree, the professionalism, the drive I need to make
Dmitry's Closet
into Memphis' next big boutique."

     "So, you want me to manage your store and in exchange you'll give me an apartment?" She was suddenly unimpressed. It was only half of what she needed.

     "No… I want to offer you much more," Dmitry said, excited about her ability to bargain.

     "How much more?" Royal asked, leaning into him in anticipation.

     "As long you work for me, you have this and to start off sixty grand. You have to hire part-time staff, do inventory, and keep books. But I see from your resume that you have experience with this." He knew in this economy, he was offering her a lot more than he had to, but he wanted to keep her, even though her experience was actually very limited.

     "$60,000?" Royal sucked in her own breath. "Are you starting to be interested now, Royal Stone?" he smiled.

     "Of course. Since it is close, can we go there and see it?" Suddenly, the duck was not at the top of her list. She could eat later, after she had secured this job.

     Dmitry smiled a little smile of success. She had taken the bait. He would have easily paid her $80,000 to take the job, to keep her near. Now, he was simply saving twenty grand.

     "Yes. After you finish your meal, I'll take you over."

     Dmitry smiled at her. He could see the passion in her eyes. She was a young businesswoman. Her ambition would drive his newest investment, and if she wasn't careful she would drive him to give her much more.

     "Anatoly, get my car to the front. I want to take Ms. Stone to my new shop," he ordered, absently. His eyes were still fixed on hers.

Chapter 2

     When Royal finished her late lunch with Dmitry, he escorted her back out to the front of the restaurant, where his silver SRL McLaren Mercedes-Benz was parked waiting for them. He opened the door for her and waited as she hesitantly loaded herself and her little bag inside. He slid on his shades as he closed the door behind her and made his way to the driver's seat.