October 8, 1993
Friday
18:20
We arrived, went up to the apartment. Regina kicked off her sandals, headed for the kitchen barefoot:
– Gonna treat a lady to champagne?
– What do you think? – I remembered the floor hadn’t been washed once: – Put your shoes back on. Floor’s dirty.
– No housekeeper, huh? Live alone? Your place? You renting? What do they charge?
I did not answer the volley of questions. I took «Spumante», «Martini» and «Bärensiegel» out of the refrigerator. Uncorked them and, with the promise of a cocktail called «Dawn Over the Vistula», poured the booze into the glasses in equal proportions. About the cocktail’s second name – «Womanstacker» – I kept quiet. The recipe came from Pashka, who killed off all his girlfriends with the hellish mixture. Instead of «Martini» he used «Cintini» from the warehouse to save money. It gave me a stomachache. My means now allowed me to replace the bootleg Polish vermouth with the real Italian thing.
We clinked glasses to the occasion and drank without any food. Ten minutes in I was listing sideways, and Regina demanded a refill.
About half an hour later it dawned on me I wasn’t doing the thing I was supposed to be doing. Went to the bathroom, stood in front of the mirror. Didn’t see myself. Splashed cold water on my face, sobered up a bit.
Climbed under a cold shower. Returned to reality. Remembered I hadn’t paid Regina four hundred dollars for her to drink like a stevedore. I put on a robe, went back to the living room:
– So, shall we get started?
– Where’s the bathroom?
I pointed the way.
Regina disappeared, water started running. I went over to the VCR: «What music shall I put on?». The newfangled «Position Number Two» suggested itself, but no such video existed in nature. I put on the tape with Titomir’s «Nonsense» and «Do As I Do».
Regina emerged wrapped in a towel, looking like a cheese pastry, and padded over to the table. Topped up the champagne with liqueur. Added vermouth. Hm.
Focusing on her back, I changed my opinion. Not a cheese pastry. The white strip across the plump, tanned body gave her a resemblance to a stripe of icing on a sweet bun. What I couldn’t figure out was something else. How could a person drink that much?
Regina came back with a glass in hand. Slurping the alcohol like soda, she came over, slid a hand under the flap of my robe, found my cock.
– Oh, hot.
She settled her face closer to the member and began performing a blowjob. I looked at the crown of her head, her plump shoulders, the glass in her hand, the little finger stuck out. Distantly I felt an erection arriving, the awkwardness of the robe, discomfort, instability. Uh-huh.
Tangling myself in the sleeves, I shed the robe, backed up to the couch, collapsed and relaxed. Well now. Verochka considered a blowjob to be sucking with some licking thrown in. But here a fountain of oral tricks was erupting. Even got curious – how does a person pull off wonders like that without hands?
Couldn’t tell.
My gaze snagged on the crown of her head, gray roots showing through the dyed blonde hair…
About two minutes later I came in a fountain. Regina got up and vanished into the bathroom. I got up, threw on the robe, disappointed: «An unprecedented debauch and revel turned out to be routine for the prostitute.»
– Growing up, student, – Zhorik’s voice startled me.
What? How? Zhorik stood in the doorway, grinning:
– How’d the limp one get gnawed on?
– Huh? What?
– How’d you load up the fang? – Zhorik was baring his teeth without ceremony.
– Get lost, – I waved him off and headed for the now-vacant bathroom.
While I showered, Zhorik saw Regina off on her way. Then, over a cup of coffee, he issued an order:
– Don’t bring prostitutes home. Especially strangers.
– Why not?
– Well, it’s a rule. Take her to a hotel. If you’re cheap about the money, screw her in the car, in the elevator, in the bushes, but not at home.
– Doesn’t make sense. Explain.
– Well, how do I explain it to you? It’s a folk omen. You see, you mustn’t light three times from one match, you mustn’t drink beer through a straw, and you mustn’t bring whores home. A whore you know, who puts out for a little present, you may bring. An outsider, no. Got it?
– No.
– Fine, moving on. Second rule. When you’re negotiating price with whores, spell out the time and the scope of services.
– Uh-huh.
– No, student. Not «uh-huh,» but «yes sir, understood!» And third: Titan Baikonur is for the village. City folk listen to imports. Well now. Gotta teach you some debauchery. Once we sort out Metallsnab, we’ll go study with the hard-currency ladies. For now, sleep it off. Lots of work tomorrow. We’re setting up the books at Proma. Papers are a mess. Marina’s on the verge of hysterics.
