July 18, 1993
Sunday
The morning turned out sunny, glaring through the curtains and promising heat and stuffiness.
Woke up at nine. Not a trace of sleepiness left, had to be at VychMekh by one. The day before, I’d agreed with Zhorik that I’d sleep in as long as I wanted.
Wandered around the apartment, no idea what to do with myself. A hundred thousand in salary sat on the nightstand, demanding to be spent. On what? Too lazy to figure out what to buy. The fridge was stuffed with sausage, cheese, and every other ingredient for a nourishing sandwich. Didn’t need a thing.
The only task I could think up was laundry. Loaded socks, T-shirts, jeans into the washing machine, pressed the «Start» button, heard the phone ring. Someone was calling. First time in my memory.
I picked up the receiver, cautiously announced: «Hello?» A girlish voice chirped away on the other end:
— Romka, is that you? Finally. Where’d you disappear to? I’m sick of trying to get through! Come on, invite me over! I’ve got a ton of news! Hello! Roma! Roma?
— Yes, I’m here.
— Don’t recognize me or something? It’s Vera!
— Oh, — I breathed a sigh of relief into the receiver. — Hi!
— So, are you inviting me over or not?
Before I could even process «What for, where, what guests?», I recited my address and heard in response: «Wait for me, half an hour! Muah!»
The scraps of thought that had been drifting through my brain all morning vanished. I burst into a flurry of activity, dashing around the apartment. Tidied up everything at once, erased the traces of sloppy bachelor living. Finished setting out the clean dishes right as the doorbell rang. Muttering, «Come in, don’t bother taking your shoes off, it’s a mess in here, well, if you already did, here’s some slippers,» I let Vera in.
She kissed my cheek, handed over a bottle of Cinzano, changed into the slippers, and walked through the rooms, carefully inspecting the layout, the interior, and even the exterior view, in every room studying every detail down to the furniture and the baseboards, peering out the window, surveying the surroundings. Conducting some kind of inspection, for reasons unclear. I busied myself setting the table in the living room. Pushed the table toward the couch, set out glasses, arranged plates of sandwiches across the surface.
— Open it up, — Verochka curled up on the couch, feet and all. Face pleased. What was making her happy: the results of the apartment inspection, or the anticipation of drinking? I opened the bottle, poured out a hundred grams each, sat down across from her.
— I rented the container at Luzhniki. Starting Wednesday, — Verochka bragged.
— To the container! — I offered up an unimaginative toast and downed half my glass. I wasn’t just some watchman on a melon patch either, I was doing serious business too.
About five minutes later Verochka drained her Cinzano to the bottom, set the glass on the table, and leaned back on the couch, stretched out sideways across it. Wanted a nap? She waved me over with her hand. I obeyed, hesitant, a sentence stuck in my throat: «I’ve got work in an hour.» Lay down on top of Verochka, pressed my lips to hers, started tearing off my T-shirt, my jeans, muttering something, losing myself, losing my mind in the fever of anticipated sex. Vera, pulling her dress off, was whispering something too…
I didn’t hear it. Hearing, sight, and smell came back five minutes later. Verochka squeaked, I finished. Pulled her close, caught my breath, uh-hhhhh… fell back onto the mattress… hh-hhh-hhhgood. Projected a question onto the ceiling: how long a drive was it to VychMekh?
I had every right to be late on a day off.
Went for a shower, came back to the armchair, finished off what was left in the glass.
Phew, that let go of some tension. Had to remember my thoughts. Had to leave in an hour. Obviously, no more drinking. Had to explain to Vera that some important business was coming up, so, no hard feelings, but we were wrapping up the get-together and going our separate ways.
Vera came back from the bathroom and sat down across from me, wrapped in a towel. I headed for the stove:
— I’ll make coffee. How do you take it?
— With milk, no sugar.
— Want some Cinzano?
— No. I’ve got to meet up with the girls in an hour.
Oh!
Very good!
Made the coffee, bragged that I brewed it Zhorik’s way, on a slow flame, practically off a lighter, and not just any old beans either, real Illy… Verochka had no interest in listening to advice on proper coffee-brewing technique. Knocked the coffee back in two gulps, pounced on me.
Sex followed, with a change of positions and a tour of the room. Turned out wonderfully, and, like the week before, educationally. Finishing together, we lay there flopped like seals. Five minutes later Verochka jumped up, got dressed, borrowed twenty thousand for gas, and was gone. I only had time to ask how well she actually drove.
«Fine!» came the squeak from the stairwell, her only answer.
