Nina was ready. She had spent the past hour developing the important quality of ease. That was one of the lessons she had received from her mentor. “The problem with new things is that they are new,” explained Aliska. “It shows, see? That should be avoided at all cost. The things on you and you in them must look natural —as if you just slipped on something at random from among your everyday rags. If it’s not natural, then it’s not chic, but a housemaid’s attempt to pass for a lady.”
Aliska’s remark struck home. Nina felt mortally awkward in all those stylish clothes.
“Can it be helped somehow?” asked Nina.
“Well, it helps if you wear the new things a couple of days before going out. When are you going to need all that?”
“Tonight,” sighed Nina.
“Tough luck. Still, put it on for an hour at least. Sit in it, walk about in it. Try to occupy yourself with something that can distract you. Not washing floors, of course, but something casual, you know…”
Having put on dutifully all her posh new clothes, Nina walked, and sat, and then walked again before the mirror. Everything fitted her ideally, but there was not a grain of ease; the mirror reflected a housemaid all figged up in her lady’s garments. “He’s going to notice that – he’ll know that I’ve dressed for him. He might even think that the clothes aren’t mine – that they’re off somebody else’s back. Terrible,” Nina fretted. “Ease, ease… How am I supposed to acquire it? Think, girl.”
Her eye fell on her music center. Nina had not turned it on for a long time – she had been too busy to listen to records. She loved music, although she was not a naturally musical person. It was her mother who had had an ear for music, as well as her father. When Nina was about ten, her mother signed her up for music classes, but Nina quit a month later, to the relief of her teachers.
Nina had always admired people who could sing. If she had had such a gift herself, she would have been singing old Russian romance songs which she believed she felt deeply. Her music center had a karaoke function, and at one time, Nina had made some attempts to imitate the current pop hits. But as for many other things, she had had no time for that, so karaoke had been put aside, although the methodical Nina had promised herself to pick it up some time in the future.
Now she turned on the center, plugged in the microphone, adjusted the karaoke, and, standing before the mirror with the microphone in her hand, announced: “My Grey-winged Dove, sung by Nina Shuvalova.” Music poured from the loudspeaker, and Nina began to sing. What sounded so natural and easy when performed by the famous pop diva turned out to be anything but easy. Nina started out of time, and either ran ahead of or lagged behind the music; she missed beats, found herself unable to utter the simplest words, and was totally off the tune. Nina was angry with herself; she was not used to being so bad at what she was doing. Once she finished mutilating the Grey-winged Dove, she did the same kind of carnage to the Pink Flamingo and the Artist Who Painted Rain. Little by little though, she was getting the knack of it. When she had done for the second time Call Me Your Little Girl, she had a breakthrough. Her shyness was gone, and she was no longer afraid of the microphone; she grasped the feel of the rhythm and gained control of her voice. In the mirror, an elegant young woman sang in a manner that was neither powerful nor artful, but with something very right and soulful to her singing.
Then Kolya called.
Nina went down. Music was ringing in her head; she was feeling relaxed and spirited at the same time. The clothes from the best fashion houses no longer hindered her.
The huge Samsonov’s car was standing by the entrance. Kolya was out, wiping the windshield. Both the car and the driver were being scrutinized rapturously by three local pensioner women who were sitting on a bench close by. When they realized that the car had come for Nina, their curiosity rose to dangerous levels, fraught with clinical consequences. Undoubtedly – if the blood pressure did not kill them – that event was going to be the main subject of their gossip for a week ahead.
“Good evening,” Nina said politely to her neighbors and waved to the driver: “Hello, Kolya.”
She was aware that she looked dazzling, and for the first time in her life she was not afraid to be so. She deserved it.
At the sight of Nina, Kolya’s hand on the windshield froze. The simple-minded guy let out: “Wow!”
“What?”
“You’re high class,” Kolya said with conviction. “Totally super.”
Nina gave him a worldly smile and took the front seat. She was followed by three pairs of pensioner eyes whose owners had stopped breathing with excitement.
Kolya started the car and set out for the restaurant. “At this time of day, all the avenues are jam-full, so we’ll have to do some dodging about,” he warned.
And they did. Before that, Nina had had no idea how many side streets and back alleys this city had which could be used to make a route from point A to point B. Kolya knew them all. The director’s car was diving under arcs, sallying deep into dark yards, and at times seemed to circle around, but the bottom line was that it moved rather rapidly towards its goal. Kolya seemed to have no part in it – the heavy automobile found its way on its own, miraculously making turns and squeezing through where, it seemed, a compact Zhiguli would not have made it.
“Kolya, Pavel Mikhailovich told me that you were going to become a father. Is that true?” inquired Nina.
“Yeah,” Kolya smiled broadly. “It’s going to be a guy. Nastena is six months into it already.”
“Are you going to leave Pavel Mikhailovich?”
“Yeah…” The guy stopped smiling. “Nastena wants me to. She says she fears for me. I say, what is there to fear? This is armor, see?” Kolya knocked on the door. “What can happen to me here?”
In fact, the automobile was very heavy; Nina felt that it did not move in the same way as ordinary cars did.
“Do you mean to say that in the event of a car accident – God forbid, of course! – you are not going to be hurt?”
Kolya gave her a strange look.
“Eh? … Yeah, car accidents are no problem to us here.”
“What are you going to do?” inquired Nina.
Kolya’s face lit up.
“You see, I have this idea. Some guys that I know and I want to set up a motor club. I used to be a racing driver before the army, you know… So, we plan to build a motordrome for amateurs.”
“Motordrome?”
“Yeah. It’s where you can take some lessons for a driving test, or do some real racing if you’re up to it. True, we don’t have anything yet, but Pavel Mikhailovich promised to help.”
“It’s a great idea. Sign me up,” said Nina. “I’ve long been meaning to get a driving license.”
“Deal!” Kolya exclaimed. “Why don’t you try racing, too? I’ll teach you.”
“Deal!” responded Nina.
She felt that she was up to anything.
Chapter 5
Despite all of Kolya’s skill, they were a little late for the party. On entering the restaurant, Nina stood still, baffled. She had never before been to a corporate function of such scale. The huge room was crammed with round tables. The stage, decorated with lots of balloons and tinsel, was ablaze with lights while the rest of the restaurant was immersed in semi-darkness. On the stage, someone was making a speech about the bright way that Gradbank was following led by its wise director, Pavel Mikhailovich Samsonov. Clearly, it was neither the first nor the last time that night that somebody spoke of Gradbank’s bright way and the director’s wise leadership. The audience was barely listening – the guests at the tables were busy pouring out champagne, laughing, and going over to other tables to clink glasses with people they knew.
Nina hardly recognized anyone – mostly, those gathered were not the bank’s employees, but shareholders, partners, and other important persons. Mostly, they were mature men with bellies. They were wearing expensive suits, but some already had the top buttons of their shirts undone and their ties gone awry. Among the men, occasional dressed-up women of various calibers could be observed. “Thank God, I’m not the only dressy one here,” thought Nina.
She looked around, not knowing where to squeeze in. She would like to join Klara Fedorovna, but the woman was nowhere to be seen. Then Nina spotted in the back of the restaurant some familiar faces – those of Ariadna Petrovna and a few of her staff. The analysts occupied a separate table.
Stepping awkwardly on her high heels, Nina hurried to them.
“May I? …”
Her colleagues stared at her in blissful amazement. Their former co-worker who had miraculously ascended to heaven, showed herself to them at last in her true form – that of a goddess.
“Hi, Shuvalova,” said Ariadna Petrovna. “Let me see…“ She took from Nina’s hand the invitation card that Kolya had provided her with.
“You belong at the director’s table, not here,” said Ariadna Petrovna.
Nina stared at the card.
“Here, look,” said the woman. “Do you see this stamp here – the image of a lion? That’s Director’s emblem. Didn’t you know that? How come you never know nothing, Shuvalova?”
Nina was about to step away, but her chief stopped her: “Hold on. Come here. Closer. Turn around.”
The woman picked a knife from the table, made a quick movement, and slipped into Nina’s hand a small cardboard rectangle. A price tag.
Fortunately, the room was poorly lit, and nobody could see Nina blush. “Damn price tag! Where did it spring from?” Nina was sure that she had cut them all off.
“Thank you, Ariadna Petrovna…”
“Come on, move it, don’t keep your betters waiting.”
“Where’s the director’s table?” Nina asked the woman who clearly knew everything.
“Look around,” said Ariadna Petrovna.
Nina did. Samsonov was striding across the room towards her. There were about two hundred people in the restaurant, and that meant that about two hundred pairs of eyes watched Gradbank’s general director Pavel Mikhailovich Samsonov traverse the hall paying no attention to those sitting and barely clearing the tables, to take the arm of a splendidly dressed young woman who almost no one recognized to be the analytic department worker Nina Shuvalova.
Pavel Mikhailovich examined Nina openly from head to foot.
“Damn!” he uttered.
“What?” Nina asked innocently.
“You’re high class!”
Nina barely suppressed a giggle on hearing the general director express himself in the same words as his driver.
“I know, Pavel Mikhailovich. I am super,” she replied saucily, looking him straight in the eye.
He grabbed her arm and dragged her to the director’s table which was placed beside the scene. Nina minced along awkwardly on her high Italian heels, but then she accommodated more or less to his stride, making two quick steps for each one of his.
What Nina could not know was the impression that the two of them made on the crowd. Despite the poor lighting, all the guests devoured Samsonov and Nina with their eyes, and to many of them the same thought occurred, “Here’s one great couple.” All those present knew Marina, and of course, Nina could not rival her in sheer beauty, but whenever Marina was by Samsonov’s side, she was still on her own – a perfection that did not need any supplements – while Samsonov and Nina looked ideally together.
Neither did Nina know what a wave of hot whisper rolled over the room. She was assumed to be the monarch’s new plaything and caused due gossip. “Who is she?” asked each other financiers, lawyers, and big bureaucrats. Those who knew something enlightened those who knew nothing, but because little was known about Nina in the first place, fantastic versions began cropping up at once. “She seems to be a former model.” “Model? You are kidding!” “Look at the way she is dressed.”… “They say she used to be Aronovich’s mistress.” “Which makes her who – Darya Zhukova?” “Don’t be absurd, Zhukova is the wife.”… “This is all crap, she’s actually a stewardess. Mikhalych picked her up on a flight to London. Incidentally, one cabinet minister was chasing after her, too…”
It was Ariadna Petrovna who knew more than anyone about the subject, but the woman was drinking her coffee in silence, not interfering with the people’s talk.
The director’s table was occupied by Sinitsin and Marina. On a separate chair was a large plush lion which Samsonov’s subordinates had presented him with.
“Good evening,” Nina said in a worldly tone.
Sinitsin rose and kissed her hand gallantly. Marina turned away. Samsonov awkwardly, with a clatter, moved back a chair helping Nina to sit down.
“Gentlemen, allow me to congratulate you on the victory,” said the worldly lady Nina.
“Yes, Pavel Mikhailovich smote all his adversaries at one stroke,” responded Sinitsin. He gave Nina a pleasant smile while viewing her intently.
Samsonov poured out champagne. “Let’s drink to success! To the success that’s in store for us.”
Pavel Mikhailovich, Nina and Sinitsin joined their glasses. Marina did not touch hers.
By then, the official part of the party was over, and the popular presenter Maksim Khabalkin rolled out onto the stage. He captured everyone’s attention at once by showering his audience with jokes, sketches and parodies. Nina detested stage performers of the kind – she viewed their genre as low taste – and now she cast a concerned look at Samsonov. She feared that she might see her love roar with happy laughter at the trite jokes. To her relief, Samsonov did not laugh. He winced: “I hate those clowns. But you can’t do without them – people expect to be given this kind of trash.”
Samsonov had his eyes glued on Nina. He moved up closer to her, took her hand in his and said, leaning over so she could hear him over the noise, “Once again, Nina: thank you for everything you’ve done for us.”
“Not for ‘us’. For you, Pavel Mikhailovich,” Nina corrected him in her mind.
The presenter retreated, and dance music played.
“Will you dance with me, Gennadiy Viktorovich?” Marina asked Sinitsin.
The man rose at once, offered Marina his hand and led her out onto the dance floor. Marina looked totally ravishing.
They danced. Sinitsin led his partner masterfully, in every pose and movement displaying her beauty to best advantage and making it shine even brighter.
The guests admired the sight. Some other couples went out onto the floor, but around Marina a kind of no-dance zone set in – nobody dared to challenge such a beauty.
Nina plucked up her courage. “What about you, Pavel Mikhailovich? Will you dance with me?”
Samsonov was clearly embarrassed; it was the first time Nina saw him like that.
“I’d love to, Nina, but I don’t dance. I used to, but you see, I was always treading on my partner’s feet, so I made a vow not to dance any more.”
Seeing that the director was in no hurry to invite to dance his companion, another man approached her.
“May I have the pleasure?”
Nina accepted the invitation. She knew how to dance thanks to her mother, who, trying to foster all the proper female skills in her daughter, had signed her up once for a dance class. Nina had a good sense of rhythm, and she moved well, so dancing came easily to her, but as soon as she had mastered the skill, she left the class. The main reason was that in the group, there was one young man per three and a half girls. The guys abused their advantageous position and behaved like swines. Nina despised them, and she would not let anyone treat her like that.
Now those dance lessons did her good service. As it turned out, her legs and body had not forgotten anything, and she glided in a slow waltz with her partner.
“Let me introduce myself: Khalilov, of the lawyer firm Khalilov and Shwartz,” said the man. He was bald and sputtered as he spoke; otherwise, he was quite a dignified cavalier.
“Nice to meet you,” Nina replied, following the music easily.
“And you…?”
“Nina.”
“Nina who?”
“Just Nina.”
She was not going to appease the curiosity of mister Khalilov, even if he was the senior partner in Khalilov and Shwartz.
After Khalilov, Nina had another cavalier. “Vaganov, brokerage house. By the way, we have the second highest rating…” Then she was invited to dance again and again. All the men tried to worm out of Nina who she was, but she evaded their questions with an enigmatic smile. At this ball, she was a mystery princess, and she wanted it to last. Cinderella could wait.
Another man approached Nina, but he was not given a chance. Samsonov’s massive figure materialized behind his back.
“All right, that’s enough,” he said. “Nina, you are officially my lady here, and I lay claim to you.”
Nina was about to cry out that she would willingly give him that dance and her whole life, but she just laughed instead: “So, Pavel Mikhailovich, you’ve made up your mind to crush my feet after all? Does it qualify as an employment injury, I wonder?”
The man said, in an embarrassed but resolute tone: “I’ll do my best not to crush ‘em. But you, too, please try to…”
He did not finish his sentence because the music started to play. Pavel Mikhailovich drew Nina closer to himself. The room was full of observant people with tenacious memory. If they had doubted that Nina was worth paying attention to, their doubts would have been dispelled now. The fact was that Pavel Mikhailovich had never been seen dancing. Not once, not with anyone.
Determined to sacrifice her feet– suffer any pain from her man – Nina lifted her smiling face up to him. She did not have to suffer, though. The massive and clumsy Samsonov was really a bad dancer, but from the very first beats of the music, she felt connected to him. His right hand was on her waist; his left hand held – in a surprisingly delicate way – her fingers; and his eyes seemed to look directly into her soul. Nina could not say how it happened, but she knew in advance where he was going to step, and which way he was going to lead her. It was as if, on some deep level, the two of them had merged into a whole. Seeing that the dance was working out well, Samsonov grew more confident and led Nina more firmly, with large amplitude and unexpected variations. As it turned out, he loved dancing and knew how to dance, in his own way, – he simply had never before had a suitable partner.
All the guests watched them with bated breath, as if under a spell. Marina and Sinitsin had disappeared, and the other couples had retreated, too, so Samsonov and Nina had the dancing floor to themselves. The lighting technician even focused obligingly the floodlight on them.
When the music died away, and they stopped, there was loud applause.
Samsonov was clearly elated and confused.
“I don’t know what to say, Nina. I had never had such a… Stop it, will you?” He waved his hand, smiling, trying to quash the applause.
When they returned to the table, Sinitsin and Marina were gone. Nina’s heart was pounding like mad; she was in need of a break to quiet down.
“Excuse me, Pavel Mikhailovich, I need to go powder my nose. I’ll only be a minute.” She slid up from the table. “Only you promise not to dance with anyone!” She shook her finger at the man in the manner of a regular coquette.
Pavel Mikhailovich was smiling a happy, silly smile.
The ladies’ room – a shiny one, trimmed up with genuine marble – was empty, or at least, Nina thought so. When she came up to the mirror, she did not recognize herself. The hairstyle was unthinkable by her standards, the make-up alien; the lips, eyebrows, cheeks – everything was totally not her. Nina did not recognize herself… and she liked that. The woman in the mirror was a real woman. Nothing was left of the retiring grey being that had been hiding from life in her shell, capable of nothing but work, work, work… The new Nina was not afraid of being a woman and struggling for her happiness. She was ready to open her feelings to her man. The man had already seen and appreciated her. Everything was just beginning for them…
“Worm.”
Carried away by the vortex of her thoughts, Nina did not catch it.
“Who’s there?”
She turned around. Just a few steps away from her was Marina. The reception queen was beautiful as always, but now her face was dark with hatred.
“Worm. Scum. Where did you dig yourself up from, anyway?”
“Marina, don’t…”
“Don’t ‘Marina’ me!” the other one flared up. “I’m no friend of yours. Who are you? Pathetic ugly piece of nothing! And all figged up, too…”
Nina kept silent, not knowing what to say.
“Who do you think you are?” Marina went on. “Do you imagine he needs your kind?”
That was too much. Nina took up the challenge.
“And who do you think he needs? A brainless doll like you?”
Marina screamed and flung at Nina. She reached out her hands with impeccable cherry-colored nails trying to scratch Nina’s face. But that was where she failed. Nina had a good reaction and hands that were strong from tennis, but most importantly, she had come out of her shell and was ready to fight for her love against any adversary. Nina intercepted Marina’s wrists easily. The beautiful girl’s face was distorted with fury and hatred, but even now it was exquisite. “How unfair,” Nina thought irrelevantly.
The two women were struggling. Marina was not able to either free her hands or scratch Nina.
Suddenly, Nina felt a stabbing pain – Marina kicked her hard in the shin with the sharp toe of her shoe. The pain was terrible. For a second, Nina nearly let go of Marina’s hands, but the next moment she gripped them even tighter and pushed her rival away.
Nina had not meant it to be that way, but in the scuffle, one cherry nail scratched the cheek of its owner. Marina cried out and recoiled. The scratch was not a deep one, but a tiny drop of blood showed.
“Bitch, scum! …” Marina murmured as she mopped her cheek with a handkerchief in front of the mirror. The handkerchief became spotted with red.
Nina was trembling all over. Trying to quiet down, she took out her compact and started powdering her nose; after all, that was what she had come here for.
“I’ll kill you!” Marina hissed. She had tears in her eyes.
“Don’t you work yourself up so. You didn’t have it your way this time, so what? It happens, you know.” Nina was dealing her rival final blows. “You’d better leave the bank and try your luck somewhere else… And take care of your pretty little face! It’s all you have.”
Nina put away her compact and walked away with the proud gait of a winner.
Samsonov spotted her from afar and waved at her, smiling. He had been waiting for her.
Nina homed in on his smile, not heeding anything around. Her heart was still beating at a quickened pace, but otherwise she was calm and focused. That was her big day; a lot was going to be decided until it was over.
Samsonov got up at her approach.
“I didn’t dance with anyone,” he reported like a little boy.
Nina thanked him with a worldly smile. They sat down.
Samsonov said, “Nina, I want to tell you – you are different today…”
“How so?”
“Well… I’ve never seen you like that.”
“Maybe, you’ve just never taken notice of me, Pavel Mikhailovich?” Nina asked, resuming her female offensive.
Samsonov started and protested, “No, I… As soon as I met you, I …”
He fell silent and dropped his eyes.
“Come on, speak! My darling, my sweetheart, don’t clam up,” Nina was begging him in her mind. “As soon as you met me, you – what?”
“Shall we dance?” Pavel Mikhailovich suggested awkwardly.
“You and your dances!” Nina thought. Aloud, she said, “I’d love to, Pavel Mikhailovich,” and held out her hand to him with a smile.
But at that moment the music stopped. The presenter appeared on the stage. He showered more jokes and then announced a stupid contest – something about impersonating famous people. Nina, who was totally on the alert and ready to strike back like a tennis player on the court, did not miss the ball.
She rose. Samsonov jumped up, worried. “Where are you going?”
Nina got him seated again. “Bear with me, Pavel Mikhailovich. I’m going to be naughty. You don’t mind?”
She went up onto the stage, approached the bandmaster and said something to him. The musician nodded. Nina took the microphone and stepped out into the brightly lit center.
“Ladies and gentlemen! I don’t know if it’s at all appropriate, but I’m going to sing. I hope you’ll be indulgent.”
The presenter tried to intervene, but Nina ignored him.
The music began to play, and Nina began to sing. She was singing about time being so fleeting, the clock ticking away, while every woman’s heart was craving for love – even if it was not going to last and promised no happy ending. She was singing on behalf of all women, no matter what they happened to be in their life – shop assistants, secretaries, tram drivers or top managers of large corporations. Call me your little girl, then hold me in your arms, and then deceive me if you must… Have no regrets – simply love me, just like that…
Nina Shuvalova was no singer, neither she tried to sing – it was the woman who had woken up in her that did the singing. The woman sang that she was ready for love, expecting love, demanding love.
At first, the guests were puzzled by what was going on, then whispered and then fell silent. When Nina finished, there was a storm of applause.
Beside herself with excitement, on wooden legs, she stepped down from the stage. Pavel Mikhailovich was waiting for her on his feet. He was neither applauding nor smiling, but looking at her more intently than ever before. When she glanced up into his eyes, Nina knew that she had achieved her goal – for him, she was no longer an employee from the analytic department, but a woman, and that was how it was going to be from then on.
The applause would not die down. Pavel Mikhailovich winced with vexation.
“It’s too noisy here. Why don’t we go someplace quiet? I need to speak with you, Nina. I know a decent café not far off. Agreed?”
They moved towards the exit. Somebody came up running and shoved the plush lion into Samsonov’s hands. “Here, Pavel Mikhailovich, please, don’t leave your present behind.”
They came out into the street, to the garage exit. Samsonov was hugging the lion with one arm; at the same time, he was holding Nina’s hand firmly – as if he had found her after a long search and was afraid of losing her again.
The car already appeared below – Kolya was steering it onto the ramp.
It was a warm August evening after a hot day.
“Pavel Mikhailovich, let’s have a walk instead,” suggested Nina.
The man responded eagerly, “Great idea! I haven’t had a walk for ages.”
Samsonov took out his mobile. “Kolya, stop. Don’t drive out. Wait for us in the garage. I’ll call you later… Ah, come here a second – take this damn lion away from me.”
The director’s car stopped, and Kolya jumped out of it.
At that moment, Sinitsin appeared from behind Samsonov’s back. “Leaving us, Pavel Mikhailovich?”
Kolya was approaching, hopping up the ramp.
When Nina recalled that moment afterwards, she was unable to pinpoint in her memory the explosion itself, although it must have been deafening. She remembered seeing the director’s car jump up, tongues of flame bursting from under it. Kolya, who had been already just a couple of steps away, flew towards her and knocked her over. They both tumbled down.
Nina, in her luxurious evening dress, was lying on the pavement. Her head reeled, and all her senses were numbed. She did not feel like moving. “Thank God, the weather’s dry,” she thought, rather absurdly.
Slowly, she sat up. Next to her, Kolya, Pavel Mikhailovich and Sinitsin were rising from the ground. The car was a fright to look at. Crumpled beyond recognition, it was all on fire. From the garage came the wailing of the alarm sirens of dozens of cars which had been hit by the shock wave.
The pavement all around was littered with debris. Pavel Mikhailovich was still clutching the toy lion. A jagged piece of iron about a foot long was sticking out of the plush back of the beast.