Chapter 2
Meet Me at the Podyezd
“Katya! Phone!”
I set down Maxim’s half-completed homework.
Mama liked me to check it once in a while before he went off to school, to make sure we caught any issues before the teachers did.
He was so good. They started learning English this year, and he’d already watched enough MTV to speak in full sentences.
Not any phrases that would come up in polite company, but he could.
“Yes, Mama?” I peeked into the kitchen, which always smelled like green onions and potatoes.
She held up the red phone receiver on the coiled cord and raised an eyebrow.
I squinted, mouthing ‘who?’ but she shrugged and folded her arms. I wouldn’t be lucky enough to have her leave the room because a man was calling, and she needed to know whether to judge me a hussy or an old maid.
“Allo?” I uttered hesitantly, glancing back at her once more.
“You don’t have a phone, Katya,” the deep voice on the other end said, and my heart jumped from my chest and right off the balcony, tumbling all the way down from the sixth floor.
“I didn’t have a phone for you,” I said, braver once I ensured I was at home and not somewhere he could disarm me with those eyes.
“That’s a shame, Kotik. How am I supposed to hear your voice?”
“Who is that!” Mama said unabashedly. Funny, it sounded like a question, but wasn’t.
I turned away, to the wall and spoke quieter. “You’re not, that’s the point, isn’t it?”
“Do you like pizza?” The wind whistled through the payphone on the other end—now who was without a phone?
I bit down on the smile, only half of it making it to my face, the rest dispersing into a bright red blush. “There’s no pizza in Kurov.”
“There’s pizza in Kurov.”
“Give me the phone! Who is asking you about pizza? Pizza!” Mama demanded. I dodged the hand trying to snatch the receiver, but not the one that delivered a smack to the back of the head.
“I don’t like pizza,” I said, and was surprised to find the red cord wrapped around my finger. When did that happen?
“We can go to McDonald’s. They just opened one in Old Town. I’ll get you a Happy Meal.”
I couldn’t help the laugh. The restrained breathy noises told me he chuckled, too.
“You have to ask Mama,” I said, and glanced at her red face. But she stopped trying to grab the telephone, and didn’t press down the switch hook to disconnect the line, so I was back in her good graces.
“Give Mama the phone.”
I nearly ugly-cackled because he couldn’t be serious, but caught myself and held out the receiver to Mama. She examined it with distrust, but pushed up her sleeve as if it was going to get dirty, and put it to her ear. I hadn’t been in this situation since I still carried a school bag.
“Allo? And what are you calling about?”
Now she’d scare him off, and I wouldn’t have to worry about it. Let Mama fight my battles when someone couldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. I didn’t need to get mixed up with boys like Vitali—
“Alright, but not past dark,” Mama declared, and my mouth fell open. “She works Monday through Friday. No weekdays.”
I mouthed a ‘what?’ and it was my turn to grab for the phone. She surrendered it willingly with the dignified look of a cat and a nod of ‘make it quick.’
“I asked Mama, now what? Let me take you out,” he said.
“We can go on a walk,” I conceded. “And I’ll let you get me tea. With no sugar.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow then, Kotik.”
And he hung up, leaving me holding the phone to my ear to the loud buzz of an ended call.
“And where did you find him?” Mama asked, crossing her arms again.
“A friend of Elena’s,” I muttered, setting the receiver down. “Just a friend of Elena’s.”
* * *
The whole next day at work, I couldn’t think of anything else.
I tried to bring myself back from blushing several times by thinking about the mysterious, and oh-so uncomfortable circumstances of how we parted.
The rumors, the Mercedes, the big guy in his backseat.
The still fresh blood in the seams of the leather. His expensive shoes.
No, it was silly to think he was in the mafia, for God’s sake. But was it? Maybe he just came from a New Russian family? Moved here from abroad? Had a parent high up in the government offices in Moscow or St. Petersburg? Normal people didn’t mess with such things.
Maybe a girl got her period and sat in his passenger seat?
The thought of a girl being in there didn’t sit well with me.
Least ideal situation, my brain said as it continued its vigorous gymnastics. I snapped the tip of my pencil and stared at the deep groove in the paper that I wouldn’t be able to erase.
“It’s past four, what are you still doing here?”
I looked up in a daze to see Ira, the plump woman from the budgeting department, staring down at me. The sense of something knife-sharp and scented like mothballs always clouded around her. Maybe self-importance.
“Lost track of time,” I said, and hurried to get my purse. He hadn’t actually told me what time he’d be coming over, now that I thought about it.
And I didn’t actually tell him my address, which was my first thought as I rounded the corner from the bus stop to see him standing with his back to me, in front of the podyezd entrance to the stairwell leading up to the apartment landings.
He must have heard me, because he turned to reveal he’d been holding a large bouquet of bright, purple asters.
“Hello, Katya,” he said, and flashed me a smile.
Vitali was dressed in a tailored black peacoat and a gray-knit scarf wrapped all the way up to his chin. Everything pristine; everything clean and new, and undoubtedly expensive.
“How are you, Vitali?” I asked. My eyes drifted to the flowers.
He clicked his tongue. “No, Katya, you said we can go on a walk and I can buy you tea. These weren’t a part of the deal. These are for Mama. Are you going to let me inside?”
What?
I stared at the door, then hurried to the keypad by the entry, where the worn plastic buttons had been labeled with an uneven marker.
6-4-6-6-4. The lock creaked and metal ground on metal as I reached for the handle, but he was faster.
His gloved hand guided me aside by my lower back, the flowers carefully held under his arm.
He opened the door with the other, holding it above my head to let me through first.
Such a gentleman. He quickly built the case of ‘too good to be true’ and falling for it would make me an idiot.
I took a moment to glance at him, but not for long enough to blush.
There was something so different from the last time I’d seen him. His features softened, although his eyes remained just as sad. He appeared younger—I thought probably my age, maybe a year or two older. His face held a boyish charm beneath the rough mask of a hard life.
When Mama opened the door, she looked more shocked than I. She took a loud, dramatic inhale and threw up her arms, immediately falling into hurried words to invite him in. I wasn’t sure if she knew I was there too. She was worse than my babushka used to be when it came to company.
He bowed his head and handed her the flowers.
“Olga Nikolaevna, I’m happy to come in on another night. There isn’t much daylight left, and I’d like to take Katya on a walk before it gets dark.”
Mama waved her hands in defeat, but didn’t lose the smile she so dutifully tried to hide as she left the hall and made her way to the kitchen with the flowers.
“I’ll put my work bag away and be right back,” I told him, but he stopped me with a firm hold on my arm.
Leaning in to my ear, he quietly said, “Leave your purse. You don’t need it.”
I glanced at him, and he returned my gaze with a completely unreadable expression.
I left my purse.
I’ve lived in Solovechni District all my life—the same building, the same apartment. I walked those roads thousands of times. This was the least ‘date’ kind of date I could think up, because despite knowing better, he made my heart thrum.
He hadn’t tried to hold my hand, even though he had taken some liberties in what physical contact we had up to that point. Simply kept his hands in his pockets and curiously considered the area.
Autumn had colored the trees in beautiful shades of yellow and red.
Of course, today had to be the one day it didn’t rain, making it hard to imagine the death that awaited them come winter.
The whole neighborhood was out enjoying the early evening.
Benches were filled with elderly gossips, and colorful chalk sidewalks were crowded with kids playing marbles.
Young couples walked arm in arm, whispering and igniting each other’s smiles.
It was all too easy to imagine that could be us.
I really must have been lonely.
“What do you do, Katya?” Vitali asked.
“I work in an office,” I said, “as a secretary. Afraid it’s not very exciting. What about you?”
I waited like a hunting hound to see that momentary pause when I asked, but it wasn’t there. He very naturally said, “I’m a warehouse manager. We mostly work with high-end clothing stores. Imported goods.”
He casually tilted his head as he scouted the area for a drink kiosk, and I took that moment to examine his clothes again. Nice. Expensive. Imported. Completely justified.
Oh, I was so stupid. Making things up like a bored babushka. Misha made sense, too; a warehouse needed big, strong guys. My muscles relaxed, but only momentarily, because I couldn’t deny the exciting ping of disappointment.
“I like your car,” I said, once again trying to trap him and regain the thrill of my absurd thoughts.
“I’d like nothing more than for you to think so, but it is a company car. Sometimes we have to deliver custom-made items. I use it on the weekends, when I need to.”
Oh.
For all I knew, the blood was fabric dye. I vowed to never drink again.
We stopped at a small stall with thick glass windows and metal bars covering everything but the narrow gap to slide payment over to the cashier.