Kotik

Chapter 5 The First Date

The First Date

Midnight blue. That was the color of my ‘best dress.’ It used to have shoulder pads, but I snipped them out because they did nothing for my figure but make me look like I stepped out of a science fiction movie.

Thin silver threads peeked out here and there, just subtle enough to reflect direct light, like stars, and just glamorous enough to skip over in my closet for casual events.

I tried to do my hair up like Natalia Vetlitskaya wore hers on MTV before she got bangs causing a national scandal, but my locks weren’t blonde and far heavier, leaving me with a loose wave pushed to the side. It was too late to do anything about it because Vitali called and said he was on his way.

Mama gave me a disapproving glare, crossed her arms, and said nothing as I dug through my wardrobe for a coat that wouldn’t appear so plain next to the dress. A green puffer with yellow striped cuffs just didn’t have that alluring ‘I will give you a chance to win me over’ look.

“He’s a nice boy,” Mama observed as she leaned against the doorway. “He already likes you. Do you have to wear that?”

“Don’t know what he’s doing with you,” Maxim piped up as he passed.

“I think so too,” I agreed, ignoring the little vermin squeaking in the hallway, and her question.

“If I wore something like that to my first date with your papa…” She couldn’t help herself but tsk.

“It was a different time, Mama,” I said, and pulled a thin fur coat veiled in plastic from the back.

It was perfect and smelled like winter when I removed the covering.

Not just any winter, but a happy winter when there were fireworks and olives, and someone brought Belgian chocolates in the shape of seashells.

When everything sparkled like champagne.

“You’ll freeze in that. Look at your bare legs. You are going to catch a cold.”

“We’re taking a car, and I’ll go right inside.”

“Wear a hat.”

Why did everyone feel like they could tell me what to do lately?

“Yes, Mama,” I sighed, but I wasn’t about to ruin my hair further; it was only October and I would have plenty of time to negate my efforts once it began snowing the following month.

“Katenka,” she said, “I have to ask you. You’re an adult woman now, and I thought you would be married after university—is this what you plan to do?”

Oh God. First date. First official date.

“It’s too early to tell. I don’t want to waste time—”

“Like Elena.”

“—but that doesn’t mean I’m jumping into anything. There is a lot I don’t know about him.” Most things, really, but I would not tell Mama that. “But I would like to marry someone eventually.”

“And have kids.”

“And maybe have kids,” I agreed. My cheeks warmed. The first man I brought around in over a year, and she was already snooping for grandchildren before we ever went out.

“Be careful,” she said quietly.

The words immediately caught my attention. Olga Nikolaevna did not take that tone on lightly.

“It will be alright, Mama.” I took her hand in both of mine. It was warmer than my own. Age had made her skin thin and veins more pronounced, perhaps before their time. But they were strong hands, and could deliver a swift smack to the back of my head at any age. Of course I’d be careful.

When Vitali arrived, he removed his hat but never moved past the doorway, and only held out a hand to help me into my heels. After some quick goodbyes with Mama (her goodbyes to him, not me) we were off.

The Jeep had gone the way of the Mercedes, and instead, he gladly helped me get into a BMW. His eyes slowly moved from my heels and up my body until his gaze met mine. He made certain I saw—and he wasn’t apologetic, only appreciative. Approving. Those weren’t the same thing.

“You look beautiful,” he said with that tone that made it more than an observation. The words mattered.

Wait until you see the dress, I thought, and this sudden onset of confidence surprised me. I didn’t lack self-esteem, for the most part, but he made me nervous, and nerves manifested in cruel ways when it came to boys I liked. But him… it was different with him.

The CD clicked and in the momentary pause before it started playing, I tried to guess what kind of music he listened to when alone in the car. Maybe he was clever enough to have something ready for me, but I didn’t want to be so self-involved to think so—

‘I tried to build walls strong and high,’ Chloé Dae interrupted my thoughts. Vitali flinched, and his fingers tightened, hovering over the volume button. ‘Convinced I was safer inside.’

“I like Chloé Dae,” I said with a light smile. His jaw flexed, and eyes dashed to the CD player.

He reached out after all—but instead of turning it off, he turned it up.

“Me too,” he said quietly, looking ahead as we pulled onto the road. He rested a hand on my knee, and my breath became heavier. My awareness of its every movement sharpened—and each time his fingers lightly stroked the nylons, I held in a sigh.

Windows and streetlamps passed us by, glowing gold and blue before fading in the rearview mirror.

It was fully dark now, and the oncoming headlights flashed across Vitali’s features, both sharpening them and softening his expression.

I could see myself in the passenger seat (any one of them) next to him, day and night.

The feeling was that of falling in love with a stranger at a stoplight because you made eye contact.

Ridiculous, as this was technically our first date. Mama’s words had gotten to me.

He stopped in an ex-residential street. The kind off the main road where wooden log houses with cement bases were converted into offices and furniture stores. There weren’t many lights on in the windows.

Two men in thick leather coats were smoking by a lamp post, and their attention immediately turned to us.

One put out his cigarette and started for my door.

He reached for the handle and I frantically tried to locate the button to lock it, but Vitali was already beside him and casually waving him off with one hand. He opened the door instead.

He looked pleased with my expression as I got out and took his arm.

One of the strangers rounded the vehicle for the driver’s side and, to my horror, got in.

The car hummed, and the tires screeched as Vitali led me to a dark set of narrow doors.

The once-white paint remained only in the grooves of the frame, and the windows behind metal bars in the shape of a sun were pitch black.

If there were ever a place to get murdered, this would be it.

I glanced at him just as he placed his hand on the knob.

“Trust,” he said, and opened up a whole different world.

Soft golden lamps lined the hallway wallpapered in textured fleur de lis patterns, and piano notes carried an aroma of leather and apricot liqueur, which only got sweeter as we approached.

Vitali leaned in, his lips almost caressing my hair, and quietly said, “They have pizza, if you like.”

I snorted and slapped a hand over my mouth. He chuckled, tightening his hold on my arm.

The restaurant was intimate and dimly lit, not so large that they needed more than three waiters. They ducked in and out of masterfully disguised kitchen doors as a mustached man poured cocktails at a sturdy oak bar, with foreign liquor proudly decorating the wall behind him.

Our table was set in the corner, and of course, he helped me take the coat off, letting out a satisfied, deep breath as he took in the dress underneath.

I tried to hide my smile, because a girl must be hard to get, but the thoughts he inspired put me a centimeter worth of willpower from sitting on his lap.

An attendant was immediately beside us to take my coat, and did not bother to give me a return ticket.

“Why do they not accept those at the door?” I whispered as he pulled out the chair. Even shopping centers had a coat check.

“Their clientele often prefers to keep theirs on,” he said, and I noted the tension with which he studied the room before returning his attention to me. “Saves everyone the hassle of having to refuse the service.”

His coat remained on, only showing the top of his cashmere sweater. A turtleneck, of course.

A part of me wanted to know how he could afford this place, but the other part didn’t.

This was either a very extravagant way for him to try and impress me, or a sign that warehouse managers were far better off than I thought.

A lot of people moved to private businesses when the infrastructure destroyed the public sector, but he looked like he’d always been comfortable.

I didn’t want to be rude by looking at the prices, but found I couldn’t even do that because there were no menus on the table at all.

“Is there anything you don’t care to eat?” Vitali asked, steepling his hands. He was clearly aware of my eyes dashing for the specials board. At least one of us was amused by it.

“I don’t like solyanka,” I said, and waited for God to smite me right out of being Russian by admitting it.

“Mhm.”

The young, beautiful server came over and examined me with dark, doe-like eyes. Her delicate hands held no paper or pen. Instead of asking for our drink order, she placed a bottle of champagne and two crystal glasses on the table.

“Thank you, Nastinka,” he said. “Could you bring us the oysters and the crab mimosa salad to start?”

Oh, so he did know how to ask.

Nastinka.

“I thought you didn’t drink?” I asked as he reached for the champagne.

Somewhere, a woman’s high-pitched laugh tried very hard to convince her date he was funny.

“Only with the right company—and on special occasions. To you.” He raised the glass. I smiled, and the delicate clink began the evening that started so beautifully, and would end so… memorably. He was right about that; I’d never forget it.

“Have you lived in Kurov all your life?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I spent time in New Zealand.”

I leaned forward, immediately interested. “For work?”

“No.” His brows furrowed, and some internal battle was fought and lost in the span of a champagne-warmed breath.

“My sister and I… our parents died nine years ago. She was lucky enough to be adopted; it’s easy for infants to get placed.

Not so much for me, I was too old, but fate intervenes in ways we cannot predict. ”

“I’m sorry to hear about your parents.”

“It’s alright, Katya. That is in the past.”

“Do you get to see her often?”

Again, he shook his head, absently fingering the glass stem. “She went to the States. New York. We write, but there is little opportunity for me to travel so far away.”

“Because of ‘business?’”

“Because of my business,” he agreed.

“Why did you return? I’ve heard such wonderful things about New Zealand.” I didn’t, but foreign countries were fascinating in the same way books you haven’t read are fascinating.

Again, that hesitancy. Vitali didn’t seem eager to talk about himself, and it took visible effort to do so. I was grateful; clearly, it wasn’t a gift given lightly. My decency urged me to switch the subject, but my curiosity quickly suffocated it.

“I love my country,” he uttered, and gazed at me with those mesmerizing eyes. This time, the sadness in them felt real. “I realized I did not want to leave Russia. You go where the heart is, so I returned. And yourself?”

“Kurov has always been home. I’ve never left.” I sighed then said wistfully, “Did have the opportunity in university with my ballet troop. They went to France. But Mama couldn’t afford it and I wasn’t working yet.”

The server returned with a set of plates balanced on her arms in a way that would impress a circus director. I peered at her as she floated around us setting up the dinnerware. No nametag. So, he must have come here often enough to know her name.

Interesting.

Nastia. What a fun name.

“Pesto lamb chops and the risotto in forty-five minutes, if you would,” he told this ‘Nastinka,’ then turned to me with an expression which made me feel like the only woman in the room. “Try the oysters.”

I almost reached, but should have known better because he already held one out between his fingers, his attention fixed on my lips.

“I’ve never had one,” I said, staring at the ice-cooled jiggly awfulness in his hand.

“It’s alright. Open your mouth,” he said slowly. “Don’t swallow when it hits your tongue. Take your time. Enjoy it.”

Oh my God, I thought, his velvet words tasting better than any outrageously expensive shellfish could.

His thumb brushed my lips, parting them with a heavy breath…

Then it slipped into my mouth… and I immediately gagged.

Oh no—

I looked at him helplessly, the slimy thing still inside because I was afraid if I swallowed it, everything would come right back up. This salty, wet snot-jelly was easily the most disgusting thing I’ve ever had, and that included eating a multi-legged bug on a dare in fourth grade.

He gave me a crooked smile and sipped his champagne. “I hate oysters.”

I spit it out into a napkin, and the laugh exploded out of my chest so suddenly, there was no lady-like way to cover it up. “Oh my God—how—why would you do that to me?”

“I told you, Kotik, I want to find out what you like. Everything you like. We just have to try it all one at a time, and see how it feels.” He was grinning; my tear-inducing giggles were apparently contagious. “Here, wash it down.”

“I think I need vodka to burn the taste out of my mouth…”

His face lost its humor. “No vodka. Order whatever you like, Katya, but never vodka.” He patted my knee with a softened expression. “The mimosa salad is better—”

“Blyad!”

The deep voice did such a good job disturbing the ambiance that nearly every patron’s head turned. The giant man stood in the doorway, wearing a huge smile and a peacoat that must have taken a hundred sheep’s worth of wool to craft.

Vitali rubbed his temple, the frustration and weary acceptance leaving him in a deep exhale.

Misha gestured toward us. The big man wasn’t alone.