Moonlight in Odessa (27 page)

‘Why is that so hard to believe?’ I asked, interested in his observations. Did he expect us to be dressed in rags? We had our pride. Looking good was our way of saying we may be poor, but we’re not downtrodden.

‘I guess . . . and this is going to sound bad, but us Americans always think we’re the best and that we know best, but I’m looking at these kids, and I’m thinking they know how to live.’

I still didn’t know what he meant. He ran his finger over my furled brow and tried to explain his thoughts and his culture. ‘In America, when kids go out . . .’ I must have looked confused because he started again. ‘When young adults go out, it’s to see how much they can drink and how fast they can get drunk.’

‘Strange,’ I said.

‘But here, I see kids dancing and having a good time in moderation. They aren’t binge drinking, they’re eating a meal and visiting and dancing. This is good. At their age, I was getting drunk under a bridge in my truck with my buddy.’

Why would anyone do that?

A slow song came on and he asked me to dance. I rested my hands lightly on his shoulders. He stroked my back, almost to my bottom. The guys on the dance floor looked at me. Their expression said, ‘Why are you with this geezer?’

To escape judgment, I closed my eyes and rested my chin on Tristan’s shoulder. He took this as a good sign and pulled me closer. I heard Vlad say, ‘In this, as in all things, you’ll come out on top.’ I imagined it was Vlad who kissed my temple, Vlad who held me tight, Vlad who wanted me.

When the song ended, I opened my eyes and was surprised to see Tristan. I moved away and glanced down at the floor, dismayed. When I looked up again, I saw his eyes glowed with the same passion I’d felt only a moment before.

A fast song came on and I moved my hips and stretched my arms up above my head. The tension left my body and I closed my eyes, this time staying in the moment with Tristan. When I opened them, he was staring at me. I smiled. He kissed me. It felt like the white down of a dandelion tickling my lips. Soft. Silky.

I kissed him back.

‘Say my name,’ he whispered.

‘Tristan.’

‘Tree-stahn,’ he repeated softly.

On Monday morning, I went to work and worried. What if Tristan left the flat and got lost? He couldn’t even read the street signs. There was no color in my cheeks and I was as damp as a bottle of vodka taken out of the icebox. I couldn’t help fidgeting. David endured me for two hours before he said, ‘What’s wrong with you? If you’re still sick, go home. I don’t want to catch whatever it is you have.’

It was hard to say what I had. As I walked home, I tried to sort it all out in my mind. I was nervous. And confused. Before meeting Tristan, I’d had this image in my head of a romantic teacher. I fell a little in love with an illusion I’d created. I pored over his letters, reading whatever I wanted into them. The photos he’d sent of himself were a decade old, so I’d imagined a young, virile man. Now that he was here, I had to admit that the reality was quite different to what I’d imagined.

In Odessa, men are either lovers or acquaintances. When a woman says, ‘He’s my friend,’ it’s assumed she means ‘he’s my boyfriend.’ When the romance ends, so does the relationship. Love or nothing. I’d spent time with Jane and her boyfriend Cole. Even after they broke up, he was cordial and looked after her. They talked and laughed like friends. This was what I wanted: lasting love and friendship.

When Boba opened the door, I said hello and she shushed me. ‘He’s resting.’

It seems I had worried for nothing. He was here, safe. Boba pulled me into the kitchen and sat me down.

‘Did you think about what I said?’ she asked.

‘Yes, Boba,’ I said meekly.

‘He talks to you and treats you like an equal,’ she said. ‘And he paid so much for a plane ticket. He’s better than any man you’ll find here.’

Maybe she was right.

Tristan was ready to settle down and start a family. So was I. Tristan was a serious person who longed for love and companionship. So was I. Tristan had a steady job. I couldn’t say that about Vlad or any of the other men I’d dated. Tristan had phoned and written faithfully, despite the great expense; Vlad promised to call, but hadn’t – and local telephone calls were free. Tristan had crossed an ocean to see me; Vlad couldn’t be bothered to cross town. Tristan was a gentleman and had not even hinted that he expected anything. I wanted someone who would love and honor me. Someone faithful and serious. Someone ready to have a family. Looking back on all my male classmates, co-workers, neighbors, dates, the only one who hadn’t disappointed me was Tristan. And he promised a golden future in California. It wasn’t hard to make the choice. America the beautiful, or Ukraine in the dark, long shadow of Russia. Tristan: steady, mature, kind. Vlad: fickle, immature, callous. It was true that I did not feel a current, an electricity with Tristan as I had with Vlad. But this was a good thing. Those sparks had singed me, and I was still sore. I didn’t want to be hurt again. Tristan was the intelligent choice.

He came out of the bedroom, rubbing his eyes. His legs were not quite steady and he stumbled. He placed his palm on the wall to steady himself. He looked at us, watching him, shyly, self-consciously. He looked vulnerable and somehow more attractive to me.

‘The poor thing needs something to eat,’ Boba clucked and stroked his arm, pulling him towards the kitchen.

After he ate, I suddenly wanted to be alone with him and asked if he wanted to go for a stroll. Of course, in Odessa, all roads lead to the sea. He nodded and smiled.

‘So you’re an only child,’ he said as we walked along the beach. ‘Did you ever want brothers and sisters?’

‘Yes.’ I thought of Olga’s baby Ivan. ‘A little brother would have been heavenly.’

‘I’d have liked to have a little sister. I grew up in a house of guys. My mother died when I was four, so it was only Dad, my big brother Hal, and me. Maybe that’s why I’ve never been comfortable with ladies . . . I’ve just never known what to say or how to say it. That’s why I liked dating online. I could think about what to say and take my time. I wasn’t all nervous and tongue-tied. I was in my living room, not at some fancy restaurant trying to make a good impression, but using the wrong fork and spilling food on my shirt.’

He was so sweet. I didn’t know men worried about such things.

‘Am I making a total idiot of myself here?’ he asked.

‘No, no. Of course not! I was listening. I appreciated what you said. I get nervous on dates, too.’

‘Why? I mean, you’re gorgeous.’

I thought of Vlad. ‘Some guys here pretend they’re serious . . .’ Boba was right. I had to stop moping about him. ‘I mean, some guys my age just want to have fun. They’re not thinking about marriage or starting a family. I am.’

He took my hand. ‘Me, too.’

I just hope your uterus hasn’t shriveled up
. Instinctively, my arm curled around my belly. ‘You don’t think I’m too old, do you?’

He looked at me like I was crazy.

‘This . . . girl I used to know said . . . that I was too old . . . and that no man would ever want me.’

‘She sounds seriously fucked up. My God, who wouldn’t want you? You’re hard working, intelligent, and beautiful. If anyone around here’s too old, it’s me.’

‘No!’ I stopped walking. We stood facing each other. ‘No. I want a man who is mature. Who knows what he wants.’

‘Are you sure?’ He looked away. ‘I feel like a cradle robber.’

‘This feels right.’ And as I said the words, I realized it did. I wasn’t nervous with him like I’d been with Vlad. He didn’t ask anything of me. He didn’t pressure me in any way like the other men I’d known. ‘I’m ready to . . .’

‘Start a family.’

His lips were cool on mine and seemed to ask for the love that I longed to give.

But I had to be sure and decided to test him one last time. I told him about the socials, the flowing
champagnskoye
, the fact that there were four gorgeous girls for each guy. Technically, he’d paid the money to be a member of Soviet Unions. Did he want to go to a social just to see?

No, he replied, he was with me now.

Chapter 13

The evening before he left, Tristan asked me to take him back to the beach.

‘I don’t want to go home,’ he said. ‘I just want to stay in Odessa with you.’

‘Farther from the eye, closer to the heart,’ I quipped, though I too felt sad when I thought about him leaving.

On the warm sand, he knelt in front of me and took my hands in his. ‘You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met – beautiful inside and out. I’m in love with you and want to marry you. Come to Emerson with me.’

All I could think was
California
. And that he had chosen me.

‘I’d love to.’

We kissed. A slow, sweet kiss. Pleasant, but not hot. I reminded myself that hot only gets you burned. Passion was dangerous. What I felt for Tristan was safer.

Back at the flat, he went to his room and returned with a box wrapped in silver paper, a gift from America. He sat beside me on the sofa and placed it on my lap.

‘What is it?’

‘Open it,’ he said gently.

I removed the paper slowly then opened the box, which held a portable computer. ‘This is too much,’ I whispered.

‘It’s not enough,’ he said. ‘Now you can e-mail me from home.’

Tristan followed the phone line to the wall, only to find that there was no way to connect because there was no jack – the line disappeared directly into the wall. We couldn’t plug the computer in because the electrical outlets were different in Europe. I wouldn’t be able to use his gift right away, but that didn’t matter. The computer had already served its purpose. It showed that Tristan was a generous man who wouldn’t be churlish with money. He must be rich.

‘Thank you,’ I said.

‘Say it with a kiss.’

I placed my hands on his shoulders and touched my lips to his. He moaned. I couldn’t believe that an American was interested in me. That he had come all this way and that I would have the chance to live in California. All my dreams were coming true. He pulled me on to his lap. I ran my hands through his hair.

‘God, you feel so good,’ he said, grinding his hips to mine.

‘You feel good, too.’ I heard the locks turn and tried to disentangle myself from him before my grandmother walked in. ‘Do you think that Boba could come live with us?’

‘Anything you want,’ he groaned and pulled me tighter. ‘Anything you want . . .’

Before he left, Tristan handed me a one-way plane ticket. I was leaving in a month’s time, right after my appointment at the American consulate. We were lucky to get an appointment so quickly. I knew that the wait was usually closer to two months. At least my work at Soviet Unions had prepared me for the daunting bureaucracy that was to come.

Boba and I danced around the kitchen, hugging each other and singing, ‘America, America, California, California.’ At night, I couldn’t sleep. I just stared at the ceiling and thought about how marvelous everything would be. I’d have a car. A house. A yard. We’d get married and have two children. A girl named Nadezhda, a boy named Ivan. No, a boy named Alan.

I didn’t dare tell anyone I was leaving. Neither did Boba. We didn’t want to jinx it. We kept the secret to ourselves. Even when it felt like we would burst with the news. I couldn’t concentrate on anything work-related. I sat at my desk and imagined my new apartment in San Francisco. It would be a Victorian for sure. I’d have a bay window. On sunny days I would walk on the beach. On rainy days I would curl up on the window seat and read. I’d have friends who were intelligent, funny, and well traveled. I’d have a car. And a huge paycheck. An American Express credit card. Free time to drink a coffee at a sidewalk café. I’d go to galleries and plays and restaurants. I’d shop in exclusive boutiques. I’d spend hours in bookshops filled with novels and magazines in English.

Then, just when I thought life couldn’t get any better, it did. Jane called to say that she and her friend were arriving by train in two weeks. She was keeping her promise, and I was thrilled. All I could think about was seeing my old friend and starting my new life. But I couldn’t tell her anything. Not a thing! She would talk me out of going and I would be stuck here.

‘You look gorgeous! Positively glowing!’ Jane gushed when she saw me on the platform.

I handed her a bouquet of roses, the typical gift Odessans give to visiting friends. She hugged me and spun me around. ‘You look so different. Blissed out. What’s new?’

‘I’m just so happy to see you.’ And it was the truth, but not the whole truth.

She’d cut her mane of red hair and in its place was a bob. Her hazel eyes sparkled behind tortoise-framed spectacles, and she was rosy and plump.

She introduced me to Tans, who was old enough to be her grandfather.

‘Tans?’ I asked.

‘Edward Tansley III,’ he said. ‘Everyone calls me Tans.’

He was shorter than she and had wavy silver hair and a black mustache. He was always touching her – caressing her arm, her shoulders, her nape. I longed to talk to Jane, just Jane, about Tristan, about California, about the future. At moments, I feared my news would burst from my lips like a trumpet blast. It was for the best that Tans was there to confirm my silence. I only asked peripheral questions like, ‘What are rednecks?’ since Tristan considered himself a reformed redneck. Jane gasped. When I asked about Emerson (which I had not been able to find on any map), Tans said he wasn’t sure, but thought it could be close to Sonoma, the wine country. Jane looked at me shrewdly and asked, ‘What are these questions really about?’