Moonlight in Odessa (44 page)

‘Whoa?’

‘Because it just didn’t seem right. Looking at those pictures. I thought it made me desperate and crazy. So I stopped.’

This reassured me. He felt the same way I had. I took his hand in mine.

‘But then winter rolled around and I was so lonesome that I thought I was gonna die, so I started looking again. There’re no single women in Emerson. It seemed like every girl has a guy, you know? Everybody my age is married and anyone younger leaves this town for bigger and better things. So I started looking on the net again and planned a trip to St. Petersburg.’

‘You went to Russia?’ Bells went off. He told me he’d never traveled before. Was that a lie, too?

‘No, no,’ he said quickly. ‘I chickened out.’

‘Chickened out?’

‘Wimped out. Got scared.’

‘Oh.’

‘Then I saw the Soviet Unions site. You were in photos at the socials, but not in the profiles section, so I figured you worked there. The way you smiled . . . you just glowed. I wanted to be happy like that. It probably sounds stupid, but it just seemed like you were looking at me. Like your eyes met mine. Like there was a connection. Like you wanted to meet me, so I gave my credit card number and created a profile on the website like the girls did. I hoped you’d see it, that you would feel the same connection and contact me. Is that what happened?’

‘My boss asked me to correspond with someone. I chose you.’ I felt a pang. I missed Valentina and her forthright, shrewd way. Why had I cut myself off from everyone? If I told her about my situation, I wondered what she would advise.
Take him camping, where neighbors aren’t so close and you have a large piece of wood at hand?. . .

‘You chose me?’ His voice was awed, as though he’d never been first choice. ‘Why?’

I couldn’t tell him I’d been annoyed and didn’t want anyone, so Valentina had chosen. I stole a common phrase from the couples at our socials. ‘You had the kindest eyes.’

‘Awww.’ His hand reached over and kneaded my hip like it was tough dough. I felt no chemistry, no spark. I cursed Vlad. If I’d never been with him, perhaps I would have been content with Tristan’s wet kisses and his awkward attempts at lovemaking. I told myself that it was a blessing that Tristan wasn’t a gifted lover – it meant that he wasn’t a player. That good sex didn’t mean anything. But I didn’t believe my own words. I wanted strong, sensual hands. I’d tried to show Tristan what I wanted, but as usual, he continued his own litany of moves. I closed my eyes tight and prepared for the onslaught. Every time was the same. His tongue spun in my mouth like a pinwheel. Then he whispered, ‘I love you.’ The effect was ruined when his tongue went back into my ear, as if to block the words from crawling out. I tried to inch away, but he pulled me tighter to him. This time, I spun around so that my breasts were squished against the mattress, my head twisted away from him. My legs were tangled in the flannel sheets and my bottom was raised slightly as I tried to shuffle forward and away like an inchworm.

‘So that’s the way you want to play it,’ he said and thrust inside me. I looked at the pine headboard and started to count. It was over by number eight.

Chapter 22

Dear Boba,

I hope that you are well. I am

The phone rang; I hadn’t even finished the word hello when I heard, ‘Daria, is it you? Have I finally found you? You’re in America, but where? I don’t recognize the area code.’

Tears welled in my eyes. I didn’t want to tell him. And anyway, it seemed ridiculous. Lost. In America.

‘Do you need help? Are you ever coming home?’

I tried not to cry.

‘I miss you. We need you here. Vlad is breathing down my neck, the rates keep going up at the port, and Vita and Vera have made life hell for your replacement. If you were here, I know those bastard inspectors wouldn’t have dared raise their “fees.” You could rein in Vita and Vera. You could get Vlad off my back.’

It had been so long since I’d had any reminder of who I’d been: an audacious, clever girl. I couldn’t respond to a single thing he said. Bile and mucus and blood pounded together. My throat constricted. My jaw quivered. I fought to regain control.

‘How did you get to America?’

Hiccough.

‘Please don’t tell me you married one of those losers from your socials.’

Hiccough. Sniffle.

‘You did. I can’t believe it.’ He sighed. ‘Didn’t I tell you that they were all pathetic freaks who couldn’t get a wife in their own countries? Why didn’t you listen to me?’

I sobbed. And sobbed. It felt good that someone knew the truth. That I didn’t have to say a word. If he would have shown any sympathy at all, I would have died. Instead, and rightly, he pretended that nothing was wrong, that I wasn’t bawling my eyes out on the end of the line. He started talking about Odessa: the weather (perfect, of course. It was, after all, Odessa), the opera he’d seen the evening before, the monuments going up in the city center. These details, the sound of his voice calmed me and I could finally respond with a sniffle, ‘No city in the world has more monuments than Odessa.’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘You’ve told me ten times. You also told me Odessa’s opera house is the third most beautiful in the world after Sydney’s and Timbuktu’s.’

I laughed. ‘What can I say? We Odessans are proud of our city.’

It was so easy to talk about Odessa. I was mortified that he knew, relieved I didn’t have to explain. He didn’t talk about his life either. As he spoke, my tears dried and I felt happy for the first time in months. Finally, I worked up the courage to ask, ‘How did you get this number?’

‘How do you think? I stole it.’

I smiled. He really was an Odessan.

‘I knew your grandmother would call you. I’ve been stealing her phone bill for months, hoping. And she finally did.’ He sounded very proud of his intrepid self.

‘I’m glad you didn’t give up.’

‘I was about to. I felt ridiculous loitering around the entryway of the courtyard, waiting for the postwoman to pass, avoiding nosy neighbors, then prying your grandmother’s mailbox open with a penknife. But after your call, I knew you needed a friend.’

‘More than ever.’

‘No one knows where you are. Why didn’t you tell anyone you were leaving for good? Why not write to Valentina and some of your other friends?’

‘You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking. Afraid to jinx everything, I guess.’

‘You Odessans with your superstitions.’

‘We can’t help ourselves.’

‘You sound so unhappy. Isn’t there anything I can do?’

I sighed.
Move back time. Get me a green card so I can get a job in San Francisco. Offer me my old job in Odessa. Find someone to put Tristan down
.

‘Can you really hear that I’m unhappy?’ I hated that I sounded pathetic. That he could actually hear I was miserable.

‘Only because I know you. Hasn’t your Boba said anything?’

‘No, but I hide everything from her.’

‘What do you mean “hide everything”?’

‘With Vita and Vera, you have to stand up for yourself. Tell your new girl that. Tell her to shout that they’re nothing but a two-headed, one-brained pink monster any time they start in on her. If she makes a scandal in front of co-workers, they’ll back off.’

‘What are you hiding?’

‘Threaten one port inspector. Say that if the company lodges enough complaints, he’ll be fired. Remind him dozens are lined up in his shadow, just waiting for a shot at his goods-paying job.’

‘What did you mean?’

‘Tell Vlad you can’t concentrate on earning money and running a business with him breathing down your neck. Tell him if you have the space you need, he’ll see results.’

‘Won’t you tell me?’

‘Don’t make me say,’ I whispered. ‘Everything you imagine is true.’

‘Why won’t you let me help you?’

I didn’t say anything.

‘Tell me what to do and I’ll do it,’ he said, his voice hoarse. ‘Tell me what you need and I’ll get it to you. You know I’d do anything for you.’

I closed my eyes. I wanted help. Needed help. But didn’t want any more debt. ‘I have to go.’ I started to put down the phone.

‘Wait!’ I heard him yell. ‘Vlad still asks about you. He’s here all the time. He thinks I know where you are. He tore up all of Odessa and Kiev looking for you. I heard he has someone tailing your Boba. You should throw him a bone.’

I imagined Vlad emaciated with love for me, destitute after spending his millions looking for me, riddled with self-anger, no, self-hatred, at having let the best thing in his life escape. I imagined him on his knees before me again.

‘Why do I care about Vlad?’ I asked. ‘Besides, I’m married.’

‘So?’

Just so.

I folded down the first page of the marine biology section in the University of California catalog, put it in a manila envelope and sent it to Vlad with no note, no return address – just the postmark from Emerson. This simple act gave me such perverse pleasure. I imagined it was somehow cheating on Tristan and torturing Vlad.

How was I to know a month later, I would go to work only to find a black Mercedes with blacked-out windows parked in front of the café? There was a ticket on the windshield, since the car was parked in a handicapped zone. Perhaps the driver was a wealthy oligarch who didn’t care about other people. Or perhaps he was from a country that didn’t have handicapped zones or priority cashier lanes for pregnant ladies. Vlad? No, it couldn’t be. Could it? I smoothed down my hair, just in case. No, it couldn’t be. But how I hoped it was him.

Comme la vie est lente

Et comme l’Espérance est violente
.

Yes, life is slow, and hope is violent. It couldn’t be him. I put my hand to my ring – his ring, to my heart.
Beat-beat-beaten
. I entered the café. Vlad was sitting on one of the metal chairs facing the door.
Shake-shook-shaken
. He stood when he saw me. Instead of his all-black uniform he was wearing jeans and an Oxford shirt. He’d come. All this way. Surely that meant something, I meant something to him. Hope tore through my body.
Sing-sang-sung
. He stared at me, taking in my face, my brown polyester uniform, my white socks and tennis shoes. All he said was, ‘
Nyet
.’

He was here. My heart rejoiced as my pride wallowed.

‘
Da
.’ I looked down at my sneakers. In Odessa, I’d had so many fine high heels. In Odessa, I’d been someone important. Here, I was no one. My only solace had been that nobody had witnessed my descent. Now the one person I didn’t want to see me like this was here. Here! He was here! I bit my lip. Emotions flurried together like snowflakes coming down in a winter storm over the streets of Odessa. Shy hopeful scared flattered thrilled ashamed. Everything would be fine. Everything would be fine.
Fling-flung-flung
. I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. And couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

‘When the man at the grocery store said you worked here, I assumed you were the bookkeeper.’

My chin shot up and he laughed. ‘Don’t be offended, my darling. It doesn’t matter to me what your profession is.’

‘Really?’

‘You’re beautiful, like a melon in a field of scarecrows.’

I smiled shyly and took a step towards him.

‘What’s that?’ he asked, looking at my left hand.

And he did not take his eyes,

Staring blankly, from my ring.

‘What do you think it is? How do you think I got here?’ I responded, suddenly angry.

He walked around me and out the door.

I sat down and stared at the wall.

‘Jesus he was a handsome man,’ Pam said. She’d walked out of the kitchen and stood in front of me. ‘Look,’ she held up a twenty. ‘This is what he gave me for a tip.’

‘He’s a very rich man. He can buy whatever he wants,’ I said bitterly.

‘You know him?’

I looked up at her. ‘He’s a guy from home I dated right before I came here.’

She sat down. ‘You married Tristan instead of him? Why?’

A bitter bark of laughter escaped my lips. ‘I’m having a really hard time remembering why.’

She tucked the twenty in her pocket. ‘He must really love you. Do you still love him?’

My lips twisted into a sour little smile. Love. What was love? I still didn’t know. ‘What kind of guy flies all the way to America to see a girl and break her heart all over again?’

‘Maybe you made the right choice.’

‘Maybe I should have gone with choice c: none of the above.’

She put her hand over mine. ‘Aw, hon.’

‘Please don’t tell anyone I said that,’ I said.

‘Your secret’s safe with me.’

And I knew it was. She was like a lot of women in Odessa. One look at their faces and you could tell they’d endured a lifetime of crap. All the things I couldn’t admit to Boba, couldn’t divulge to Jane, Pam knew them. Why can we tell things to strangers, things we can’t tell our closest friends?