July 2, 1993
Friday
7:25 PM
On Friday evening Zhorik burst into the apartment, darted to the nightstand, and recounted the bills:
— Not much to show for it. Could use another twenty-five grand. Fifty and we’d really be somewhere…
I was watching «Once Upon a Time in America» and didn’t let his sighing distract me. A grand more, a grand less. It was all the same — crime, senseless and merciless. Two roads led anywhere from here: prison or the cemetery.
Zhorik glanced at the screen and ruffled the top of my head:
— Fairy tales and nonsense. Russian life is simpler than the East Side. Why the sour face? Skipped lunch? You’ll fatten right up. Five minutes to shave and wash, and shine like a March tomcat’s balls.
I went to the bathroom, splashed my face. Put on the shirt, the tie still tied from last time, the jacket, brushed the dust off my shoes, and went out onto the street, expecting to see yet another stolen car.
No! A Volga taxi stood waiting. I took the back seat. Zhorik hauled himself into the front and ordered the driver: «To the «Arbat» restaurant, like we agreed.»
— What’s the occasion? — I asked Zhorik.
— Closing out the «Renting the Office to Suckers» project. Starting Monday they’ll be looking for us, so for the next six months we don’t show our faces in Cheryomushki. Not that there’s any reason to go there otherwise.
Then, right away, to the driver:
— Don’t warm your ears eavesdropping. Watch the road!
The driver fixed his eyes on the pavement.
Five minutes later we arrived.
We were seated in the middle of an enormous hall. The table smelled wonderful and pleased the eye with its setting.
— Who else is coming? — I asked, counting the forks. Twelve, a lot for two people.
— We’re drinking with an actual merchant and his lady. They wanted to rent the office, but it seemed a shame to swindle them out of two grand. They’ll buy up the whole of Yefimych’s establishment in one go. Where are they? Should be here by now, — Zhora checked his watch and took a sip of Narzan from a wine glass.
Half an hour later, having picked apart the contents of the salad bowls and worked through half the caviar in its little dishes, Zhorik declared:
— Stood us up. Fine. Everything’s paid for. Let’s chow down like there’s four of us!
— So who was this guy anyway? — I asked.
— What’s there to say, if there’s no subject anymore? Just wasting air. Chew on this and remember it: talk about what exists, what you can put your hands on, not about something that promised to show up and then didn’t.
We clinked glasses to real business, present and future, and set to devouring what we’d only picked at before. The hot dishes arrived.
Eating distracted us from grim thoughts. A sort of restless cheer took over: «They didn’t show, fine, more for us!» And it felt lighter, somehow: one less illegal act on the ledger.
Zhorik’s gaze turned oily:
— So where’s the local pride of society lionesses? Ah, I see the target, I see no obstacles.
Rising up crooked on one side, Zhorik headed off toward a girl at a diagonal table, smoking a thin brown cigarette through a holder.
Zhorik dropped into an empty chair across from her, lit up a Marlboro, blew a stream of smoke in the girl’s direction, and said something. She flung mineral water in Zhorik’s face and, eyes flashing sparks, waving her arms around like Durga, summoned the waiters.
Zhora stood, bowed with elaborate apology: mille pardons, mistook you for someone else, drunk as I am, excusez-moi please.
Wiping his face with a napkin, he caught a passing waiter by the edge of his vest. Registering the ten-dollar bill tucked into his breast pocket, the man nodded toward two girls at the far end of the hall.
Zhora, soaked in mineral water, drunk but still a spry blockhead, crossed the vast expanse of the restaurant, rolled up to the girls, and delivered some tirade. The girls smiled, got up, and, arm in arm, set off on the journey to our table.
There!
— This is Violetta, this is Regina, this is Roman.
— Pleasure to meet you.
— Likewise.
— What are we drinking? — Zhora asked the redhead, who’d pulled her chair right up next to his, practically onto his lap.
— Let’s start with champagne, imported, — Violetta announced.
— Excellent! Andryusha, got a job for you, — Zhora addressed the waiter standing nearby. — A bottle of your most expensive champagne, and make it quick.
The champagne, and then the cognac, did their job just right. I felt light and at ease. The girls’ airs and haughtiness fell away: they giggled along with Zhorik’s flowery nonsense and made eyes at us. In perfect sync they pulled out More cigarettes from thin green packs and lit up in time with the dance floor: «Menthol cigarette smoke sways the drunken haze…»
Zhorik suddenly perked up, shifted away from the redhead, and turned to a serious matter: he started studying his empty shot glass.
A minute later I realized he was eavesdropping on the conversation at the next table.
Sitting there was a potbellied fellow, dressed like a bum, an accidental guest. Was on his way to a beer joint, got lost, took a wrong turn, it happens. The bum’s dinner companions turned out to be two dandies. Well-groomed, slicked-down, flashing Rolexes and rings. Their clothes fit sharp and smooth, like American bankers in a movie about the sweet life.
Ah, when would I become a dandy like that?!
Another minute passed, and I understood what had drawn Zhorik’s attention to the next table. The bum was tearing into the dandies in strings of five-word combinations. The dandies stared blankly at nothing. Well, would you look at that!
— All right, Roma, — Zhorik tore himself away from the cursing. — Go with Reginka to the «Terem» and wait for me and Violka. I’ll call ahead so they meet you and seat you. I’ve got business! Go on now.
I headed to the coat check with the plump — genuinely fat, judging by the way she swayed as she walked — Regina. A fussy coat check attendant fished out a bright red raincoat and, draping it over my companion’s plump shoulders, glanced my way. A questioning, expectant glance, the little con man.
I hadn’t prepared for a trip to a restaurant, had left the two hundred thousand back in the nightstand. Fished a hundred-ruble note out of my wallet, blue from loneliness, and handed it to the coat check attendant as a tip. Regina watched my movements with a careful eye and asked:
— So how much money do you have?
— Two hundred bucks, at home.
— I’m not going anywhere.
— Why not?
— Grow up a little, you’ll find out, — and, swaying the round globes of her hips, she went back into the hall.
Color rushed to my face. I felt vile and disgusting.
What was I supposed to do, if I was still poor, poor, and a hundred thousand times over poor, stash in the nightstand or not? All I could do was grind my teeth: «Fine, I’ll show everyone! I’ll pull off something they won’t believe!»
I walked out of the glass establishment called the «Arbat» restaurant, made my way to the trolleybus stop, and rode the «B» line home. I didn’t even want to think about the «Terem.»
Back home, I switched on the VCR, but didn’t watch it, just seethed, boiled with rage, melted from it. Plans of brutal revenge ripened and burst in my head. Tears and shrieks seemed to hover in the corners of the room, and still Zhorik didn’t come back, and didn’t come back.
He showed up three hours later, dead drunk, unable to string two words together. Letting out whimpers, hiccups, and mutters, Zhorik bolted for the bathroom and, for a long time, in gulping heaves, emptied the contents of his stomach. Then he took a stool in the kitchen, stared out the window, and made a run for the toilet every five minutes.
No point talking to him.
Disappointed, angry, seething and boiling, I went to bed. On the way, I swore an oath — «I’ll be back!»
