Chapter 8 The Broken Elevator
The Broken Elevator
“Anoose, Kotik. Around my neck.”
He was merciful in that he didn’t force me to react to the words and turned away instead, pulling another sweater out of a lineup that must have seen every season. Of course, he couldn’t just walk around with a t-shirt on… couldn’t go swimming or get a decent tan…
“Tell me about work, Katya,” he said as the wool settled atop his muscles, transforming the person I’d just seen back into Vitali.
“It’s fine…”
“No, tell me about work. Are you still showing up?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because they’re not paying you,” he said, adjusting his sleeve. The look on my face gave away everything he needed to know, and he motioned for the living room. “Sit down.”
“That’s… there is just an issue with the budget this month…” I muttered as he patiently waited by the couch. He didn’t sit, but I plopped down, silently begging him to drop the topic.
“There is no issue with the budget,” he said, “because there is no budget. Is this a job or your career?”
“Both,” I admitted. “I’m not where I want to be, but networking is important. I just have to wait until something opens up.”
He nodded slowly. “So you’re going to keep showing up. Good.”
What business was it of his? I wasn’t keen on being irritated with him, especially after the whole… that whole mess. But, none of this concerned him and had nothing to do with us going on dates.
“I took a couple days off for Mama and the doctor,” I lied, because the thought of facing everyone after the news spread made me nauseous. It would happen sooner or later, but I’d rather it be later. “I’m going back tomorrow.”
“Good.” Vitali went over to the bookcase where a row of drawers crowded what should be the bottom shelves. Mama kept the silverware and holiday tablecloths in ours. There was a keyhole, but she lost the key before Maxim was born and it never locked. Vitali’s was locked because he unlocked it.
He did not keep tablecloths in his.
One by one, he casually began pulling out stacks of neatly pressed dollars crowned with hundreds.
“You keep showing up to work,” he said as he thumbed through one, “and you don’t tell Mama they’re not paying you. Find somewhere safe to hide these so they don’t come out all at once. Don’t deposit them in a bank—”
“No!” I finally regained my voice and sprung up, moving my back to the hallway. Ten different voices screamed inside me, and they all said this was wrong. “I’m not taking money from you. What are you thinking? Where did you even—” I spread my arms as if holding a crate of dollar bills.
His hands slacked, and his face took on genuine surprise. “What do you mean you’re not taking money from me? This is your money. I’m just counting it for you.”
“No, Vitali!”
“Katya.”
“No.”
“Katya.”
We faced off, my wild-eyed expression to his curiously calm one.
“Katya,” he repeated. “Take the money.”
“No,” I drew out, in case he didn’t hear me.
“Take the money or I’m not taking you to the movies.”
“Take me home.”
“Did you decide on the rabbit or the bear?”
“He isn’t a bear; he is cursed and unspecified.”
“Take the money.”
“No.”
He gave it another moment with some undoubtedly nasty thought turning over in his head, then shrugged and heaped the money back inside the drawer. “Are you hungry?”
“No.”
We were already on our way to the cinema with the leftover pirogi from lunch when my mind caught up to me, but only in flashes.
I glanced at him in the driver’s seat, then at the radio, then at the road.
We were going to see the matinee of Beauty and the Beast, and it had been a day so overwhelming, not a lick of it made sense.
For a second, I’d forgotten about the tattoos. I’d forgotten about the stacks of dollars. I’d forgotten what tea I ordered.
That bliss of denial ebbed through me as we watched Belle insult the existence of her entire town, then dance around with some furniture, and finally decide that she was in love with the bear. His transformation at the end was off-putting; I preferred him as the Beast instead.
Vitali had his hand on my knee the entire movie, but still hadn’t tried to hold my hand, and I would be damned if I made the first move.
The pirogi were nearly frozen when we got back in the car.
“I didn’t like what he turned into,” Vitali said. “It was off-putting.”
And then we were at my podyezd and he was typing in the numbers that strangers weren’t supposed to know.
Strangers like Vitali Konstantinov with his not-prison tattoos and honestly-earned bricks of banknotes.
The elevator dinged its arrival, but the sound was broken, and I knew no one would repair it—probably ever.
The little light moved to the second floor, then third, then Vitali flipped open a thin switchblade and jammed it into a slot below the numbers, and the elevator came to a jarring stop between floors with the violent shake sending me off balance and right into him.
“What—” There was no reason to ask, but I did anyway.
“Katya,” he said patiently, but did not let go of me.
He did, however, allow me to stand on my own two feet as he left me locked between him and the gross, sticky wall that had potentially been peed on, more than once.
“I like it when you get an attitude, because then I get to iron it out. But in the end, Kotik, it will be ironed out.”
My shallow breaths matched the wild beating of my heart, and all I could do was look at him impishly with my head tilted back.
His brows twitched, then drew together. “What is this?”
He brushed aside my hair with one finger, exposing the side of my neck, then tugged the sweater collar until I felt the leather choker shift against my skin. The frown on his face made me regret my good idea.
“Why are you wearing this?” he asked sternly.
“I just wanted to—” It wasn’t my day to finish sentences because his finger curled underneath it and painfully ripped it off, leaving a burn I immediately tried to grasp, but he caught me by the wrist and pressed my hand against the wall before I could.
“If I want you in a collar, I’ll put one on you myself,” he said quietly.
I swallowed, my throat tight, yet so guiltily intrigued with that hungry look in his eyes. The man didn’t blink.
“Don’t do anything you see Ana do. Understood?”
I nodded.
The elevator light flickered, and some mechanism struggled above us, but it didn’t move.
“There was a terrible technical problem,” Vitali said, “and the elevator got stuck. A real shame. I’ve got all night, Katya.”
“What do you want?” I asked, my eyes on the spot where his sweater allowed me to see just a glimpse of the tattoo I wouldn’t have otherwise noticed.
“I want you to keep showing up to work. I want you to tell Mama you’re still getting paid. And I want you to put these,” he reached inside his coat and produced two tightly packed stacks of bills, “somewhere safe, and not the bank. Repeat it so I know you understand.”
“Not the bank.”
“Kotik, you’re setting a bare hand against a hot stove,” he warned, and his tone sent an unwelcome warmth coursing through me. I became too aware of the tight leather pants rubbing between my thighs.
“I show up to work,” I began slowly, as if he were restraining my breathing, because at that moment his gaze was absolutely stealing my air, “and I tell Mama I’m still getting paid. I put those somewhere safe, and not the bank.”
He grinned in approval. “Good girl.” And then guided my wrist so that the stacks of dollars rested in between my hands. “Because it’s your money, and you will do with it as you please. Say it.”
“It’s my money, and I will do with it as I please…”
He leaned back and took hold of the switchblade, snapping it out of the slot. The elevator whined and clicked, then shook and began moving again.
“I like that outfit, Katya,” he said as I exited the elevator, “but I prefer you in a dress.”
I gave him a dishonest smile and waited until he left me on my landing and his elevator was in motion before I doubled over and retched, the stacks of money clenched tightly against my chest.
* * *
About Russia
pirogi - hand pies usually filled with meat, potatoes, or cabbage (try them if you get the chance!)
About the dollar: although Russia’s official currency is the ruble, during the 1990s there was a HUGE financial crisis (inflation in 1992 was over 2,500%) where the ruble became worthless.
Many people bought dollars in hope of preserving their savings and they were widely accepted in restaurants and stores.
These did not go in the bank as Russia completely lost its faith in the banking system following its partial collapse.