Bad Russian 04 Read online

  As I scurry to the table, even before I’ve sat down, I tell him, “I waited. I waited nearly three hours.” I slide onto the shiny seat facing him across the cream-colored table.

  “You waited two hours and eleven minutes.”

  “I thought it was longer than that.”

  “I want you to come back with me now.” He’s so stern. It’s hard to resist. And, the truth is, I don’t want to resist. I don’t want to admit it, but I like him being firm. Taking charge. But I’m not ready to give up the whole of my life for a man I hardly know.

  All of my feelings tell me I should. But my head says, run!

  I ask him, “How did your meeting with the gallery go?” From the look on his face, I’m guessing, not well.

  “Nikita, I don’t want to give up my work. Or my college.”

  He scowls. I feel buzzsaws in my stomach.

  It’s hard to stay relaxed and keep myself from shaking. When I put a hand on the table, I feel it vibrate. A waitress arrives at the table.

  I’ve been here often, I know Donna. “Hi, Donna, could I get just a coffee.”

  “No pastry?” She looks surprised.

  When Nikita raises his hand to point at his coffee cup for a refill, the table stops buzzing. When his arm lowers, I realize the vibration is him.

  I take out my phone. I hope I can please him with this.

  “I thought about what you said, about your work, about how nobody ‘gets’ it. Also partly how nobody sees it.”

  “I want to talk about you and me, Margot. It’s important.” Every beat of his Adam’s apple makes me ache.

  “Please. Let me show you this, okay? It only takes a minute, and I know you’re going to love it.”

  The knot in my stomach is tightening. With a deep breath, I find the video. “You talked about how I responded to your work, and I thought maybe I could make a video.”

  “That’s nice, Margot–”

  “Please, Nikita.”

  I look. Pleading. His scowl softens. Not exactly into a smile. Okay, he scowls a little less.

  I tell him, “I danced to the work, and held out my phone. So the video danced in the work. Through it and around it. With it, kind of. I thought it came out unbelievably well.”

  I set it to play and hand him the phone. I really thought the video was wonderful. Not as wonderful as the work, maybe, but a pretty good representation. He studies the video. His eyes narrow.

  While he watches, I tell him, “It was super-quick and I liked it so much, I made a dozen of them, all dancing around and through the work in different ways. When you hear them all together, the audio is fantastic.”

  His eyebrows lift. He’s coming to the end of the first video.

  Trying not to babble, I say, “So I made a collage page of them all together. That’s where you can hear them all. I called it CollideOScope.” I thought that was cute. I look up to his face. Damn, he’s still hot as hell. No smile at ‘CollideOScope.’ I wonder what they call a kaleidoscope in Russia. Should I try to explain it? I decide against it. I just ask, “Can I show it to you?”

  He hands me back the phone. “Please. I’d like to see that.”

  His eyebrows raise. Even on my phone and across the table, the audio is awesome, and the videos together are hypnotic. He’s almost relaxed into a smile as he looks up, handing me back the phone.

  “That’s beautiful. I love it.”

  I grin. “Not only you. I made a video page on VizN. So I linked it to channels and pages on Tiki and Chtrz. I created their own ‘space’ on ToobVidz, and I connected them all through social media profiles. Even some of the old school platforms.”

  His face darkens. “I don’t really know what you’re talking about. Does that mean it’s available to… the public?”

  I smile and nod.

  He’s not smiling.

  “You have to take them down. All of them.”

  “Oh, Nikita. Give it a chance.”

  “I’m serious, Margot.” Now I feel like I’m cracking in two. “This isn’t how it works. The artist produces the art, and the galleries decide how it will be displayed. If the art is already out there, all on its own, none of the galleries will have anything to do with me.”

  His eyes spear me. “Ever. Ev.Ver. ”

  “Oh.”

  “Do you understand?”

  “Um…” I’m looking down at my phone. I keep refreshing the screen. Looking at different pages. At first I don’t understand. Then I don’t believe it.

  “You have to take it down. Now, Margot. I’m serious.”

  “Yeah, uh… It may not be as easy as that.”

  “What the hell do you mean?”

  “You know when people talk about things going ‘viral’?”

  “No!”

  “It means—”

  “I know what it means. Take it down.”

  “Uh… yeah.”

  “Everywhere it’s up. Erase it.” He storms out, leaving the glass door of Dellolio’s swinging.

  I mean, I can’t.

  I literally can’t do it. CollideOScope has been linked and shared so many times, it has a life of its own. It hasn’t just gone viral, it’s an epidemic.

  The knot in my stomach twists until it’s searing hot.

  Chapter Twelve

  Him

  SO, THE STORIES, THE myths, all the old legends that my mother told me in the glow of the winter night fires, they were all true. There was—there is—one woman. A perfect woman for me. Only one, and I had to cross the world to find her.

  Then, almost as soon as I did, she ruined my life.

  I can’t process it. I can’t think about anything but her. Nothing else matters. I’ve even stopped working. I’ve never done that before in the whole of my life.

  Now, all the galleries I’ve been trying to break into, that I’ve called and called, texted and emailed, now all of them are calling me. All of the time. Every day, they’re clogging up my voicemail.

  I don’t answer any of the calls. I don’t care. I’m not going to jump through their hoops.

  I don’t even listen to the voicemails. I would rather let the voicemail box fill up. Allow the network to tell callers to fuck off. But I can’t. Nearly every day I have to empty it so that there is free space. If she calls, I want there to be space.

  I look at the work, and I can’t even find joy in it myself. How could anyone? There’s nothing inside it anymore.

  What I told her is true, even more than I realized at the time. I made the work for her. Knowing I would find her one day, all the art that I have created was only there for her pleasure. I assumed that others would enjoy it, because that’s how art always works. The artist always needs a muse, an ideal audience.

  I just hadn’t met my Margot, my muse, when I was creating the work for her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Her

  I GOT IT ALL so horribly wrong. The stats on the CollideOScope video collage are record-breaking. I keep getting texts and emails about it. I don’t care. I can’t even bring myself to read them. I wish I’d never made the stupid thing.

  I tried to do something great, and instead I ruined everything.

  I close myself off. At work, my tips are dwindling. At college, I’m doing the work, but if I ever actually need to know any of the stuff that I’m learning, I’ll have to re-read it all. Nothing sticks in my head.

  Any time a memory surfaces of my half a day with him, it hurts. I can’t stand to think of his art. If I remember making those stupid videos, I feel nails in my stomach. Memories of dancing in his penthouse make me cry. If I remember the look on his face the first time, when he watched me, I fold over and howl.

  I look around for another job. I’d hate to lose Claire as a friend. Seb and Sol, too, really. But I just don’t want to be there anymore. Methodically, I go around all of the bars and restaurants near the college. I guess miserable waitresses are not in high demand this time of year.

  I didn’t dare to tell Seb that I
was looking for work somewhere else. That little act of cowardice made me feel low. I knew, though, in this college town, as soon as you say you’re thinking of leaving a job, you’re as good as gone. Somebody will be there and ready to replace you before the week’s ended.

  I just stepped out of a not-particularly-nice bar-restaurant and into the glare of the afternoon sun. My cheeks ache from trying to smile. I spent what was probably ten minutes but felt like a slow hour pretending that the Freeze Lounge was my dream waitressing job, and that alternating swing and graveyard shifts would be a perfect fit with my college and study routine.

  In loose, cutoff denim shorts and a bright, scooped top, I feel like an idiot out on the street. My attempt at a ‘bouncy-happy-waitress-you-want-to-employ’ outfit, out in daylight, feels more like a lunatic going to a fancy costume party as a bag of beach balls.

  My phone rings. Flustered, I have to dig in my purse to retrieve it. Still blinking, I answer the call, even though I can’t read the name on the screen because of the sun. I’m surprised to hear Claire’s voice. She asks if I could come down to Deke’s.

  “I’m not due to work today, am I? It’s not a problem, but–”

  “No, Margot. It’s not about work.” I’m not loving the sound of that.

  “Oh. Okay. Sure.”

  “Can you come now? Right away?”

  I take the next bus. Of course, it hits traffic. Of course, I spend the whole, seemingly endless ride guessing how much worse my life is about to get. How deep a hole can it drop into now?

  I figure I’m being called in to be fired. Although it didn’t make sense for Claire to call. And Seb would be able to fire me on the phone if he wanted to.

  Am I headed in for some horrible disciplinary issue? I can’t think of anything that I’ve done to merit it. Was there an error on the take on my last shift? That hasn’t happened more than twice since I’ve worked there. Both times it was under ten dollars, and we figured out where the mistake was.

  So it must be firing. Maybe Seb found out that I’d been looking for work elsewhere. Perhaps all the local lounges got together and told him to stop the pale, fat, miserable woman going around and bringing all their customers down.

  When I eventually get to Deke’s, I goin by the front. Sol greets me nicely but with a look of concern. I try not to read anything into it. On the way down the stairs, I tell myself that he’s been looking at me like that a lot lately. Come to think of it, I guess everybody has. Which seems a shame. There must be people and things more worthy of their concern.

  When I open the door, I see Sol in the amber light behind the bar. He nods. There’s an expression on his face that I can’t read. He points with his chin. He’s looking down the room. To the far end.

  My eyes haven’t adapted yet, so I nod a thanks, and head down that way. Right at the back, standing by the corner booth, Claire turns to face me. It’s another two steps before I see. Before I realize. He’s at the table.

  Is this going to be, ‘Margot, we’ve got something to tell you. Guess what?‘ No. No, I can’t face that. I stop. Claire smiles. No. No, I have to go.

  I turn. I start to run.

  “Stop.” His voice. All of my insides collapse. “Margot. Please.”

  I can’t refuse him. However much I want to. However much I know it’s going to destroy me. I turn back. Mechanically, I walk to the booth. Claire invites me to sit. I don’t like how this looks at all.

  I look in her face. She wanted him from the start. She’s smart and lovely. She’s slender. Funny. Good company. And obviously not mad. I can’t blame him. I don’t want to blame him. I want them to be happy. Both of them. Why not together? Yes. It’s perfect. They should be together.

  Only please, please, don’t make me look at it. Inside, I want to scream.

  “Margot,” Claire smiles. “We’ve got something to tell you.”

  His eyes are on me. I’m a deer in the headlights. I feel like I’m in one of those dreams where you see the terrible thing as it slowly unfolds in front of your eyes and you know you could stop it and you only have to say the one special word and you know the word and so you shout it at the top of your voice but when you shout, no sound comes out of your throat.

  I’m melting. I wish I could drop through the hole that’s opened inside me.

  Claire looks at Nikita. He looks back at her and nods. I’m feeling rusty girders twist in my gut. She runs her finger along the table then touches my arm as she turns to leave.

  He looks at me and even the short silence is more than I can stand. Almost babbling and not caring, I erupt, “Nikita, your work. I’m sorry-”

  He raises a hand and shakes his head. Like it’s nothing, as if it’s unimportant, he says, “You were right. You have nothing to apologize for.”

  That’s not what I want. I want to apologize. I want to pour out all my wretched feelings and tell him why he’s right to reject me and gush and thank him for what must have been the most wonderful fuck that ever took place in the whole world ever and then run and run and get out of here and then not have to hear any of the something they have to tell me.

  He gives me a faint smile. I’m dying inside, but I won’t show it. I knew, didn’t I? I knew all along. I was lucky to have gotten one wild, passionate ride with this great lion, this prince of a man. There was no way I could ever hope to hold onto him.

  I had half a day of unbelievable magic. Be grateful, girl. Move on.

  He’s saying, “Your social media really worked. I went from being ‘the most important artist the world has never heard of,’ to ‘the most famous artist the art world does not have a clue about,’ in a few hours.”

  “I saw that.” I look at my thumbs. Then back up at him. “I don’t suppose it’s going to do you much good though.” I want this to be over. If I can’t have him, I don’t want to see him.

  “Margot,” that voice. Like honey and smoke. I’m helpless. “It showed me the most important thing of all.” Here it comes. “It showed me that I can’t do anything without you.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Her

  I CAN’T SPEAK. INSIDE me a storm of thought and emotion blows, and I can’t think straight. There’s nothing but confusion and fear. It’s like my emotions have been a silent, empty hall for two weeks, and now with nothing but echoes, and now suddenly, three orchestras are tuning up at the same time and all at deafening volume.

  I try to focus on what he’s saying. “I’ll tell you, you make me so different. So much changes when I’m with you. You’re mine. I have to make you see it. I need that. I need you. But before I knew you, even now, if I’m honest, my instinct would have been to simply take you.”

  There’s that buzz on the table again. I gasp.

  “I wouldn’t wait for your permission.” His voice hardens, “I’m the man you need. You’re the woman I need.” I’m nodding. I didn’t mean to do that. There’s fire in his voice. “I hold back, because I know that it’s ‘right.’” A lava quake rolls in my core. “Everything inside me tells me to simply take you.”