Chapter Twenty-Nine The Performer
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The Performer
Central Park was for stealing moments with nature between all the brick and concrete. You could almost forget you were in the city if it weren’t for the tall buildings watching over the green space.
The season was maturing, the sun luring out every body in Manhattan. You started to truly believe that three million people somehow lived here on days like these.
The fresh air mingled with the passing smells of perfume, horses, or a pipe.
The trees shimmered, the cherry trees and the magnolias dancing above.
Sunlight filtered through the greener trees, painting splotches of light along the dirt footpath.
You could see every cloud of dust kicked up by hoof or shoe, beating the path we walked along.
It was the perfect day to be an ice-cream man, handing out cool glass cones and fresh vanilla cream.
The cafés were busy, leeching customers from the crowd that gathered to listen to the music coming from the gazebo—there would be several concerts, luckily not all so close in vicinity.
The sheep were out today, grazing and gathering under trees in the meadow as their shepherd stood by.
The menagerie would be open by now, and sometimes you could hear the song of a loose peacock roaming about.
No matter how they tried, the pigeons and peacocks were impossible to contain.
“How about here?” Arkady’s voice broke the surface of my thoughts.
I squeezed his arm, readjusting my parasol to follow his pointing. There was a free space in the grass just along the perimeter of a pond, shaded by a looming tree.
We settled down, laying out a blanket and opening our picnic basket.
“What a hassle, we are lucky to get a free space with this crowd.” I sat down on the blanket, folding my parasol beside me.
“Focus on the positives. It’s a beautiful day, the activity is good for you, and the sun will give you some extra energy.” He began to take out some strawberries we’d bought at the market, as well as some cheeses, crackers, and a small jar of marmalade.
I watched the field, picking absently at the cubed cheese.
Blankets dotted the green space like clover buds in late summer.
Even with the park’s natural beauty, the most interesting thing about it would always be the company.
Couples sharing lunch, not unlike us. Groups of girls gathered, parasols planted in the grass to shade them from the sun.
Kids running around a leisurely mother. Some of the loiterers were familiar.
“Look.” I nudged Arkady, taking a bite from a strawberry before tilting my head. “Do you see the couple? Five blankets away, blue pinstripes?”
He leaned back on his hand to look past me, legs crossing as they were outstretched. “The couple? Middle-aged?”
I nodded, scooting closer to him while glancing in their direction. “They’re patrons—were patrons of mine.”
“The two of them?” His brow creased.
“Yes”—I smirked—“except neither of them knew.”
His brow raised high, and he offered a small smirk of his own. “And how is that?”
“They would never come at the same time; neither of them knew the other was visiting the ballet. It was phenomenal. I wondered when the day would come that they both arrived on the same night and discovered they were hiding the same secret.”
“It sounds a bit messy”—he took a bite out of a cracker—“and unnecessary.”
“Many things, especially in my circle, are unnecessary.” I laughed, picking at some of the other berries. “Some days it feels like strange and unusual punishments. The customs, the socializing, the rules.”
“The rules?”
“Just the act of remembering them all. The goalpost moves by the day, it’s hard to keep up with.”
“Is that why you insisted we didn’t go so early?”
“A habit.” I shrugged. “First meal shouldn’t come until ten or after.”
“Is that really a rule?”
“Well, my mother said only the working class eat so early.”
“Afraid of mingling with the working class?” His tone was serious.
“It isn’t like that—”
“Would you be ashamed of being seen with me in work clothes, then?” He looked stern, his shoulders tense.
I took a second too long to reply, so he shook his head and looked away.
“I don’t . . . care about those things. I wouldn’t have married you if that were the case,” I explained, though my hesitation was hard to brush off.
“Why do you care about these rules, anyway?” He tilted his head at me. “If you struggle to keep up with them, why bother at all? You don’t even like being in public.”
My fingers picked at the pilling blanket as I took my time with his words.
“If you want to be free of your parents, their expectations, whatever they may be, you have to allow yourself to be uncomfortable. I think you find safety in the privileges of your parents, even if it is to your detriment.”
“It isn’t easy, you don’t know them,” I snapped.
“Oh? Did I hit a nerve?” He smirked.
“No I . . .” I pushed a sharp breath from my nose, gathering my next words. “I want to be free of many things. But I don’t think it would be possible unless I disappeared into obscurity. It’s hard to wean yourself from a life you’ve known for so long. It takes time to weed by the root.”
He nodded, seemingly entertained by the idea as he looked out in the distance.
“Run away with me, then,” he said finally.
I laughed. Perhaps I shouldn’t have.
“Is it so foolish an idea?” He nudged me.
“Someday”—I placed my hand over his, squeezing—“may it be.”
“It could be today.”
I shook my head, then leaned to rest it on his shoulder. “Ask me at another time, maybe the answer will be more in your favor.”
“Arkasha?” a voice said behind us.
Arkady twisted his head, looking behind us before his face brightened. “Kostya! What luck we have running into you.” He laughed, reaching his arm up as his friend hoisted him to his feet.
I rose to greet him. Much like ourselves, Kostya was paired up. A blond woman with a pram, I assumed his wife, stood idly beside him, smiling and giving a tired nod to myself and Arkady. She rocked the covered baby trolley back and forth on its wheels.
“May I?” I whispered to her as our husbands finished their hardy greetings.
“Yes, of course, she is sleeping off the meal,” the woman answered, lifting the hood of the trolley.
A small baby, plump with red cheeks, sleeping soundly in white cotton.
“What a darling.” I beamed at the tiny swaddle. No matter how normal children were, it was always hard to believe they were so small. Frail, pudgy things that somehow learned to eat and talk on their own. “Oh, where are my manners? Petronille Kameneva.” I pulled a card for her.
“Emily Bezkorovainyi.” She traded her card with mine. “I’ve heard much about you. Konstantin keeps me up to date with his dear friend’s endeavors. I think he talks about him more than his work.”
“I don’t blame him, I wouldn’t imagine cadavers are cheery to hear about after a long day.”
“You have a point.” She laughed, sighing as she wiped her temples with a handkerchief. “Would you like to join us? We were just heading to the menagerie.”
“Yes, of course.” I glanced at Arkady, who was occupied talking to Kostya, though even within earshot, I couldn’t understand. It sounded vaguely Slavic, I wasn’t sure which kind. Whatever it was, the conversation was lively, excited.
The zoological gardens were so small, it was hard to imagine fitting so many animals inside. Though once we entered, it became clear how they managed.
Along the paths were either cages or bars, depending on what animal lurked inside.
The camels stuck their heads between the metal, allowing the visitors to feed them small carrots and oats.
Peacocks fluttered about freely, as much as they could with those heavy tails behind them.
Their calls were odd, so exotic. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine myself somewhere tropical, especially in this heat.
The lions lay on the concrete floors of their cages, napping soundly in the shade.
Birds and monkeys took their turns squawking, sitting on high stoops in their enclosures.
A buffalo used the bars of the gate to scratch its side, its massive form making the metal shake.
I’d always wondered what kept the beasts from running free through Manhattan.
I suppose it could be pure luck that one hadn’t decided to make an effort to escape.
“It’s very nice to see you keeping out of trouble,” Kostya said, slapping Arkady’s shoulder with such force he nearly stumbled.
“You say that like it’s a common occurrence.” Arkady rubbed his shoulder after the hit.
“No! No, I know. You’ve been a straight arrow for so long.
It just feels like yesterday we were young and causing havoc.
Ah, are we truly getting so old?” He laughed.
“The way you used to run from that lumpy fella, you’d never have guessed he would become a commissioner.
It certainly wasn’t from chasing down criminals, not that he could catch anything that way. ”
Try as I might, I still found my shoulders tensing at the comment. I supposed we couldn’t escape our stress, not even on a day out.
“The only way he can close a case is if he pins it on others,” Arkady replied bitterly.
“Yet not you, not yet—I won’t manifest it.” Kostya knocked on the wooden fence.
I looped my arm with Arkady’s, falling behind Emily and Konstantin.
“Has he really been on you for that long?” I asked.
“He used to respond to the calls during any disturbances at the homes,” Arkady explained. “He’s been on my tail ever since, convinced that I couldn’t have possibly changed in ten years. I suppose it’s easier to pin the blame on vulnerable people than actually solving crime.”
“Do you think he will find a way to pin Vincent on you? Without evidence?”
“Can’t call someone a murderer before you find a corpse.” He shrugged. “Which he won’t. I promise,” he assured me.
“I’m not getting into that thing.”
“Come now, Petre.” Arkady held out his hand. “If you fall in, I promise you won’t melt.”
“I know you’re not above pushing me!” I crossed my arms, chewing my lip.
The line for the rowboats was long, people waiting at the boathouse for their turn.
I wished I could have the excuse to stay on land with Emily, but she and Kostya left because of the baby fussing.
The glimmering of the water around the dock made me dizzy.
Everything was too bright, I just wanted to leave.
Then, hands at my waist.
“In you go.” Arkady grunted as he lowered me right down into the boat.
“Stop it!” I demanded, clutching the sides of the vessel.
He tossed the folded parasol and our basket at my feet, stepping in.
“Let me out.” I tried to stand; it only made the boat wobble more. “Pull it to shore.”
“We’re doing it. Look at you!” he said as if encouraging someone far too young to be me, his tone patronizing at best.
“Pull this boat around now.” Tears pricked my eyes. “Turn it around!”
Arkady whistled a happy tune, gracefully rowing us through the water. The lapping sounds against the wood encouraged the nausea, the movement not making it easier.
I shakily reached down, opening the parasol to shield the midday sun from my eyes. I could feel my scalp beginning to redden; the same would be true for my cheeks and nose.
“See? It isn’t so bad.” Arkady stilled the paddles, looking at the other boats around us.
“I’m going to be sick,” I muttered, taking deep inhales through my nose.
“Here, a prize.” He reached inside his coat pocket. I thought he was going to offer at least a cigarette, only to see him pull out a silver flask.
“Arkady!” I shoved his hand down, out of view of anyone else. “Do you want people to assume we are some pot-shotten derelicts?”
“Your dress costs half a year of the average working wage. Trust me, no one thinks that.” He looked unimpressed with my word choice, then held it up again. “Take a sip, relax.”
I straightened myself, holding the parasol low over my face. With a swipe of the hand, I held it close, gingerly flicking open the cap. The liquid was cold yet stung my throat with a floral sweetness.
“Gin?” I glanced up at him.
“Isn’t it fitting?”
“I suppose it’s . . . immersive. Why walk in the gardens when you could drink them instead?”
“That’s the spirit.” He took the flask back, taking a sip himself. “I may need educating when it comes to your world, but you need lessons in loosening up.”
“I am loose.”
He rocked the boat slightly.
I gripped the edge quickly, nearly dropping my parasol.
“Right.” He laughed.
“Please, Arkady,” I begged, my stomach beginning to sour, “I’ve entertained your outing. I’ve done all you ask. Please, can we go home?”
He sighed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “I don’t know, do you deserve it?”
I lowered the parasol to the side, hiding our faces from shore. The shade from the fabric made his eyes so bright between his dark lashes, his tanned skin. As I leaned forward, we were almost nose to nose. “Can I earn it with a kiss?”
“Depends on the kiss.”
“I was hoping for one as sweet as the marmalade in our basket.”
“Perhaps. I’ll need a reference.” He reached down, digging the small jar from the basket at our feet.
He popped the lid open with a snap, his eyes never leaving mine as he did so, locking me in a trance. He dipped his finger in, then brushed it across my lip. The aromatic jam made for a sweet balm.
“Will you taste just as sweet,” he whispered, “or will you be bitter?”
“I suppose you will have to tell me,” I breathed, closing my eyes.
His lips were always so soft, though when I felt his tongue dancing in the marmalade, my stomach fluttered, heart pumping loud in my ears.
He cupped my face in his rough hand, our kiss mingling with the fruity taste, made all the richer by each other’s taste. His cologne of figs and cedar heightened the palate, making me hungry for more.
As soon as the sweetness faded, he broke the kiss but not the contact.
I opened my eyes hesitantly.
He smirked, his thumb running over my cheek. “You make it very hard to be in public when you look at me like that.”
“I’m not—”
“We better get you home before our appetites get us in trouble,” he joked, pulling away.
I rolled the parasol in my palms, fighting it upright again above my head. “I don’t know what you mean.” I licked my lips, brushing a finger at the corners to check for leftover jam.