December 31, 1997
Wednesday
11:00 a.m.

By morning, the house looked like a zoo with no keeper: filthy, trashed, the animals scattered. Vladimir Alexandrovich, though, had armed the prostitutes with rags and was driving them floor to floor.

Another rule, Zhora’s invention. Once they’d finished working, the prostitutes got a choice: walk a kilometer to the bus stop and take public transit back to civilization, or clean up the place for a fifty-dollar bonus. Then they’d ride back to Moscow like princesses, in the minivan, straight to Krasnogvardeyskaya metro station. Delivery free of charge. Fifty dollars cash in hand, each. Their madam wouldn’t find out, as long as they kept quiet themselves.

The prostitutes scurried around the house naked, tidying up wherever they were told. Derzkaya was still working her specialty, this time in the bathhouse, where I headed.

Vladimir Alexandrovich hurried up and explained that this shalashovka had turned out to be a lunatic, threatening them with enforcers and lawyers. So the bathhouse was a little occupied right now. The venal creature was being brought back to her senses, skewered as required. Her hole is tight, in a week they’ll break it in and clean out her brains through the widened passage while they’re at it. The decent tarts would be let go once order had been restored. Cleanup budget – three hundred fifty on top of general expenses, six hundred fifty saved on cleaning. Sign here. The staff would disperse after the cleanup. Nobody would remain but the crazy one, the guards and Akhmed, who lives in the utility room, is not distracted by Orthodox holidays and will do any job.

The guests left.

«Delka» drove off with the prostitutes. 

I remembered why I’d been heading to the bathhouse in the first place. How could I have forgotten?!

I’d wanted to check whether the pool was ready, so I could romp around with Veronika and Lilya, satisfied from the night before and up for more. I cherished the memory of the best nights of my life, on the yacht, and was planning to repeat them.

A prostitute was dozing on a lounger, a seventy-pound kettlebell handcuffed to her leg. Hm.

I got on the intercom with a guard and asked him to remove the body. The girl came to, flinched, and looked at me with red, swollen eyes: «Who are you? A good person? Bad?»

I turned and walked away, an answer turning over in my head: «I stopped being a good person two or three years ago. I’m someone else now. Not good, not bad. Someone else, because the times are different now.»

There was a surprise in the house. On the sparkling second floor Veronika, Lilya and three female students who had not gone to the city were waiting for me. They had decided to celebrate the New Year here! Veronika naturally turned out to be the foreman of the little flock of girls. She commanded: «New Year dinner in an hour! And now let’s liven up!», put on music with a night train and a wind blowing off the sea, poured champagne... while we clinked glasses and drained them to the bottom. Veronika laid out a dozen lines, produced a bill with Franklin on it and sent everyone into orbit... my body charged up with an erection and set off in pursuit of damp openings...

For the last year and a half, I’d lived on memories of that yacht trip. The best time of my life, as I realized only later. Back then, I’d wanted just one night’s sleep free of female attention. Now the mosaic of a dream was falling into place: a quartet of girls up for anything, and me, a hero with an inexhaustible erection.

Too bad the realization of happiness came late. Good thing I got the chance to repeat those happy days and nights! Didn’t even need to buy a yacht...