Metronome, The (7 page)

We try to keep the radio on; Nastya winds it up with whatever little energy she has. There is still a daily reading of poetry or occasional music, but mostly it’s the metronome ticking. I feel a mystical connection to it – as long as the metronome is beating, we are alive. It’s like a tiny beam of light in the midst of darkness.

Supply from the cinema? More pages are gone. Where are they? Were they used to light the
burzhuika
in 1941?

31 December, 1941

At the end of our patrol, Makar gives me a box of cookies wrapped into a paper. When I protest, he waves me off. “You have a child to care for. My wife’s been saving this for him. Happy New Year!”

We have our little celebration. Nastya saved a little bit of tea, and we open a can of ham and spread it on three pieces of bread. There were eight of us just a few weeks ago, only three are now left, one from each family. We listen to the broadcast from Moscow, which has not fallen, and we cheer the New Year hoping that’s the year we’ll break the blockade. Olga Berggoltz is on the radio:

It will come,

The bright day of victory,

Of quiet, and peace,

And aroma of fresh bread
.

Hope is everything. So many times this winter I wanted to die. I kept going only for Nastya and Andrei. This night, I want to live.

The plane’s captain announces we are an hour away. I have to stop; I am overcome with emotion and can’t read anymore. I’ll finish the diary later.

I get to my apartment by 4 p.m. It’s been just over three days since I left home. A few voicemails on my answering service, only two of significance: one from Sarah wondering about my well-being; one from Jennifer, my daughter, asking when I’ll come to visit. I want to talk to both of them.

But first I look up Mary Gorossian, the travel agent we’ve used. I figure, correctly, that she works during the summer Saturdays.

“Mary, hi, it’s Pavel Rostin. Remember me?”

“Of course, how are you? I am so sorry…”

Evidently, everyone in our Connecticut town knows about my bad fortune. “Thank you. Look, do you remember me bringing in my father last year? He needed to make some changes to his itinerary and I left him with you while I was doing shopping in town.”

“Yes, I remember him. He was a dear, trying to use his little dictionary to explain things.”

“Do you remember what he wanted?”

“Yes, I do, it was kind of unusual. He had a ticket to Los Angeles, but he wanted to get to Santa Barbara. He was not sure about renting a car and driving, so he asked me to arrange for a commuter plane and a hotel.”

“Santa Barbara? Did he explain why? He was not a wine country type person…”

“Well, that’s what was so unusual – he wanted a place near the Santa Barbara Police Department.”

“What?”

“Yes, my reaction exactly! I’ve been a travel agent for eight years and nobody ever asked me for a hotel near a police department. But I found him a nice little place called The Garden Inn only a block away, booked him for two nights. I also checked on a taxi service from Santa Barbara airport to the hotel.”

“Do you know where his was going after these two nights?”

“I am sorry, I don’t remember. He already had his itinerary, I only helped with the Santa Barbara trip.”

I thank Mary and hang up. The Santa Barbara Police Department? What was my father doing?

I call Jennifer. She screams in delight, “Dad!” and my heart melts. I don’t know if it’s a special father-daughter connection, but Jennifer and I always have been close. I think Karen has been a bit jealous about it.

There are voices in the background.

“Sweetheart, where are you?” I ask.

“We are in Laguna Beach, in grandpa’s and grandma’s house. Mom and Simon are here. So are Uncle Roger and Aunt Toni. Dad, where are you?”

“I am in New York.”

“Are you going to come over and see us?”

I hesitate. I don’t really want to visit my in-laws, but I do want to see my children. And Karen. And I probably should go visit the Santa Barbara Police Department.

“I’ll try to. I’ll give you a call beforehand. Are you all done with your classes at USC?”

“Yes, I am done! I’ve got a 3.7 average!”

“I am so proud of you. I love you.” I have to stop because tears well in my eyes.

“I love you, too, Dad. I miss you, please come see us soon.”

“I will sweetheart, I will.”

I have to take a couple of deep breaths after hanging up. She is in my in-laws grand estate, overlooking the ocean. My in-laws are loaded from the chain of automotive dealerships that my mother-in-law inherited. My father-in-law parlayed the money into a long political career. He became a congressman in 1984, and over twenty years has built a network tied by mutual favors. “Uncle Roger” is their only son, with political aspirations of his own. “Aunt Toni" is Roger’s wife and the only person in this family I have a human connection with. No, that’s not fair. I had a deep connection with Karen. I am not sure if it’s completely broken or there is still a strand holding us together.

I call Sarah next. She sounds genuinely happy to hear from me. I tell her a little bit about my last three days, and say I want to find out more about Martin.

She sighs theatrically. “You are just using me to get the dirt on your ex-partner. Well, I am a willing participant, happy to oblige. You had a rough week, so give me your address and I’ll be over 8-ish with dinner and more.”

As I hang up, I realize that I am really excited to see her.

I search through the boxes I brought in and dumped in the corner of my small apartment when I moved here from Connecticut. I am looking for the original agreement establishing the Grand Castle Rock investment fund that Martin and I managed into the ground. The official name of the primary investor was the New Treasury Island ELP, based in the Caymans. I have to find who really was behind this. In looking through the Blackberry’s “Rolodex,” most people there would no longer take my calls now that I am tainted with a scent of failure.

I come across Jack Mikulski’s name…the risk manager at the investment bank where I worked before getting involved with Martin. The old curmudgeon has been pushed aside into a position where no one would listen to him, because he kept warning of the risks of leverage, accumulating collaterized debt obligations, and other strategies that were generating enormous profits – and bonuses. He has not been pushed out completely because he knew where too many bodies have been buried, just made irrelevant. “The old Cassandra” became his nickname. Well, Jack was one of very few that called me after the Grand Castle Rock investment fund collapsed. I always liked him and I think he liked me back.

I dial Jack’s cell phone number.

“Hello?”

“Jack? This is Pavel Rostin.”

“Pavel? How are you? I am sorry about your fund; you got a pretty raw deal there.”

“Thanks, you told me earlier. Jack, look, I want to find out more about the main investor into our fund, the one that caused the liquidation.”

“Hmmm, where are they based?”

“The Caymans.”

“Oh, that’s a tough one.”

“That’s why I am calling you.”

He cackles. “Flattery will get you everywhere. How about lunch next week?”

“I may need to fly out to California. Can we meet tomorrow?”

“You are a pushy SOB; you need something and you want it on a Sunday! I’ve got a life, you know?”

The line is quiet, Jack must be thinking. Finally, he sighs:

“All right, you have helped me in the past with these crazy formulas that you quants were making up. I owe you one. I have someone in mind to help; let me check and I’ll call you back tomorrow morning.”

I give him my number and hang up, grateful for not being told to go and pound sand or worse.

The intercom rings; Sarah is downstairs. Funny how we ended up in the same Murray Hill neighborhood. It’s relatively inexpensive for Manhattan and conveniently located. A great place to hide amongst millions of people. She energetically sweeps into the apartment, declaring, “Chinese food, a bottle of wine, and a pretty girl!”

Despite surface cheerfulness, I detect a note of anxiety in her voice. I am anxious, too; I am excited to see Sarah and am not sure what it means.

While I was gone, Sarah changed her hairstyle: her dark hair is now cut short, framing her oval face and diamond-shaped eyes. I think every woman in my life has a facial feature that makes her stand out. In Sarah’s case, it’s her lips, full and bow-shaped.

I provide a partial story of my trip while we eat, omitting the story about the package. I am not sure how to explain my suddenly strong interest in Martin.

Sarah is a smart girl, she sees that I am not telling her everything. “So why exactly did you come back so quickly?”

“The Russian investigator insinuated that my father may have been murdered, and that I am a suspect. I did not want to hang around.”

“Wow! You said it looked like a suicide.”

“Yes, and the man in the morgue said so as well. But I was still weary.”

“And how is Martin connected to this?” she asks incredulously.

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “There is probably no connection. But I had time to ask myself some questions that I probably should have asked much earlier.”

She sips the wine, thinks about it, then says, “OK, you are my FWB, I’ll tell you.”

“What’s FWB?”

“Friend with benefits,” she laughs. “I picked up this phrase from a girlfriend. I am freshly liberated, I like you, and I would enjoy a bit of a revenge on my ex.” She takes a deep breath. “Martin and I have been on the rocks for a long time. We married young, and I think that at some point Martin decided that he wanted a wife that could help him to climb the ladder so to speak, not a third-generation schoolteacher.”

I knew that Sarah taught elementary school; I did not realize it was a family thing. Seeing my puzzled look, she confirms, “Yes, three generations of schoolteachers. I wonder if this is some kind of a record. Do I sound bitter about Martin? I guess I am. I wanted children and a simple life. He wanted success and no children. ‘I want to be a player,’ is how he put it to me. We’ve been discussing divorce for over a year, but I was hoping to walk out with a bit of money from your hedge fund venture. I got greedy and paid for it – not only there was no money after your fund’s disaster, we lost the house, and the attorney told me that if I go to court I may even have to pay Martin since he doesn’t have a job. I just signed the damn papers and moved to New York.”

“Do you know anything about that investor that Martin brought in? How did he find them?”

“No, we did not talk about his work much.”

“What is Martin doing now?”

“No contact with him since the papers have been signed a month ago.” She shakes her head. “Sorry, Pavel. I guess I am not much help to you.”

“No, Sarah, you’ve been a great help. And it’s great to see you.”

Sarah pours herself more wine and drinks it all. “Here, I needed this to gather up the courage. Are you up for the ‘benefits’ part of the FWB? There was always that bit of a pull between us, wasn’t there? Or did I imagine it all this time?” Her hand sneaks up my leg.

“You did not imagine it. I am just worried that my body doesn’t even know what time zone it’s in now. This morning I was in Moscow, I am working on a thirty-plus hour day.”

She waves it off. “No worries, we’ll try another time. Just my luck, I gather up the courage and the guy is dead tired.”

I can’t help but laugh at her easy-going cheerfulness.

She says more seriously. “Look, don’t be fooled by my acting. You are the only man I slept with since the breakup. But I’ve known and liked you for years and I need some closeness now.”

I reach for her. We do make it to bed as we dump our clothes on the floor. Sarah gets into her favorite position on top – I know from our first encounter – plants palms into my chest and starts slowly grinding her lithe body into mine. Unlike Karen, she does not ask to turn off the lights and I watch her face. Sarah’s eyes are open, looking into mine.

I squeeze out, “I am going to come.”

She slows. “Not yet, not yet. When we first made love four days ago, I was afraid you are just using me for revenge ….” The last word hangs in the air, tagging an unfinished sentence.

“Revenge for what?”

She is silent, moving slowly, not looking me in the eye now.

“Sarah, revenge for what?”

I grab her hips and pull myself out.

She climbs off and stretches on the bed not looking at me, then says in a halting voice:

“I thought you wanted to get back at Martin and Karen for their affair.”