Rhapsody (21 page)

"Do you want some, too?" she asked,
smiling.

"Sure," Misha said.

Katya got up from behind the desk and headed
for the kitchen.

Misha watched her go, taking pleasure in her
movements. She moves like a cat, he thought. A jungle cat, at that.
Lithe, sensuous, and a little ...predatory.

He picked up her notepad and began flipping
through it, looking at the list of this morning's calls. The
telephone had been ringing off the hook for days, and Sonia had
finally hired Katya Petrovna, a recent Russian emigre she'd heard
about through friends, to field calls. Agents, producers, recording
company executives, entertainment lawyers, and promoters of every
stripe had been relentless in their pursuit of Misha since the
concert at Carnegie Recital Hall.

He tossed the notepad back on the desk again
and walked to the kitchen, where Katya was making coffee. She
looked up at him and smiled, holding up a hand and crooking a
finger, summoning him to her. He walked over to her, and she put
her arms around his waist, pulling him up against her.

"Ummm," she cooed, "you feel so nice,
Misha."

He leaned down, kissing her neck, already
aroused by her seductive wiles. He placed his hands on the kitchen
counter, one to either side of her, virtually pinning her to the
counter, pushing hard against her.

"Why don't we go upstairs?" he whispered,
nibbling at her neck.

"We can't now," Katya said with a pout,
pulling back from him. "Your mother will be home soon."

"Come on," Misha persisted, "we can hurry,
like last time."

Suddenly Katya was all business. "No," she
said, no longer teasing him. "I have to get back to work. You
forget I need this job, and I don't want Sonia to be angry with
me."

"Ah, shit," Misha swore, feeling the aching
need in his groin.

"The coffee's ready," Katya said. "Let me
go."

He pulled back, miffed with her for exciting
him, and with himself for responding so quickly. He was even miffed
with his mother for being due back home from her teaching duties at
Julliard.

The buzzer sounded shrilly in the kitchen,
startling them both, and Misha went to answer it while Katya poured
their coffees.

"What is it, Sam?" he asked in an irritated
voice while depressing the answer button.

"Visitor, Misha," the doorman answered. "It's
Manny Cygelman."

"Send him on up," Misha said.

"You got it," Sam said.

Manny, along with Sasha, had become a fixture
around the Levin household, but Sam never let even the most
familiar face upstairs without first obtaining permission.

Misha turned and looked at Katya, but she
seemed to be making a point of ignoring him. He sighed and went to
the entry hall, where he unlocked the door and waited for Manny. He
heard the elevator, and soon Manny stepped out of the car, dressed
to the nines as usual.

"Well, old boy," he said in his most affected
Etonian accent, "didn't catch you at a bad time, did I?"

"No, Manny," Misha said. "Come on in."

"I think you'll be glad I stopped by," Manny
said.

"Where's Sasha?" Misha asked.

"He's at home, doing some paperwork for me,"
Manny said.

In the living room they sat on a couch, and
Manny opened his briefcase and began riffling through papers. "I
have some figures here that I want you to take a look at," he
said.

Katya came in from the kitchen, two mugs of
coffee in hand. "Hi, Manny," she said, greeting him like an old
friend. He had been to the apartment nearly every day since she had
begun working there. "Would you like some coffee?" she asked,
handing Misha his.

"Please, Katya," he said, looking up. "That
would be splendid."

"Lots of cream, two sugars?" she said.

"Lovely," Manny said, taking some papers out
of the briefcase. He turned to Misha. "Look," he said. "Remember
that recording deal I discussed with you? About BBR? Brighton Beach
Recordings?"

"Yes," Misha said. "What about it?"

"Take a look at these figures," Manny said.
He handed Misha a sheet of paper with figures and notations
carefully jotted down in black ink. "This," he said, putting his
index finger on a heavily circled figure, "is the advance they're
offering." He looked at Misha, a Cheshire cat's grin spreading
across his lips.

Misha looked up at him, a surprised
expression on his face. "You've got to be kidding," he said
quietly.

Manny shook his head. "No," he said, "I'm not
kidding."

"But this is fantastic!" Misha said
excitedly, realization beginning to dawn. "More than I ever dreamed
of!"

Katya came back in with Manny's coffee and
handed it to him.

"Thanks, Katya," he said.

"You're welcome," she replied, and went back
over to the desk, where she started playing messages back and
taking notes.

"I think you'll like the royalty rate, too,"
Manny said smugly. He pointed at another circled figure.

"Manny!" Misha threw his arms around his
friend's neck and hugged him, slapping him on the back. "You're
hired!" he cried. "You're hired!"

"Ah, ah, God!" Manny gasped. "Let go, Misha!
You're squeezing the life out of me! You'll make me spill my
coffee!"

Misha slapped him on the back once more, then
let him go. "This is fantastic! How did you do it?"

Manny set down his coffee, then straightened
his tie and patted down the fringe of hair that circled his nearly
bald pate. "Well, old boy," he said, recovering his dignity. "It
wasn't easy, let me tell you. It wasn't easy. And I had a little
help from old Sasha, you know."

They heard the front door open, and Sonia
walked in, carrying a briefcase and a shopping bag. "Manny!" she
said. "What a surprise! Or have you moved in?" She winked at him
playfully.

"Hi, Sonia," he said, getting to his feet.
They exchanged kisses on both cheeks, in the Continental fashion.
"Just stopped by with some figures for Misha to look at."

"Oh," she said, "so he's finally hired you to
represent him?"

"Well," Manny said with a shrug, "not
exactly. I mean, he hasn't signed on the dotted line or
anything."

Sonia set down her briefcase and shopping
bag, and sat down in an armchair, kicking off her shoes.

"Look, Mama," Misha said, getting up and
going to her with Manny's figures in hand.

"What?" she said. "No kiss?"

Misha dutifully bent and gave her a peck on
the cheek.

"That's better," she said, smiling. She took
the proffered sheet of paper from him, then sat studying it for
some time. Finally, she looked up at Manny, not her son, her face
blank, impossible to read.

"How did you get these figures out of BBR if
you don't even represent Misha?" she asked pointedly.

Manny's eyes fluttered and were downcast for
a moment. "Well ... I ... I told them that ...that he'd signed with
me," he stuttered.

Sonia nodded. "I thought as much," she said.
Then she turned her gaze on Misha. "You've had telephone calls from
the most important agents in the world," she said, speaking as if
Manny wasn't in the room. "They all want to represent you."

Misha nodded. "Yes," he said. "That's
right."

"Have you made up your mind what you want to
do?" she asked.

"I think so," he said, nodding again.

"And are you going to do what you discussed
with your father and myself last night?" she asked.

"Yes," Misha said, smiling now.

"Good," Sonia said, returning his smile. "I
think you've made a very wise decision, Misha."

"I do, too, Mama," he said.

"Do you think perhaps it's time to make it
public?" she asked.

"Yes," he said.

Misha turned to Manny, who had sat watching
the two of them, a puzzled expression on his face.

"Manny," Misha said solemnly, "I want to sign
on the dotted line. I want you to be my agent."

Manny made an effort to conceal his undiluted
glee, wanting to appear to be accustomed to such victories, but he
couldn't pull it off. His face lit up with a grin from ear to ear.
He rose to his feet, walking over to Misha. Throwing his arms
around him, he hugged him tightly. "You don't have to sign
anything," he said. "Why don't we just shake on it?" He drew back
and put out his plump hand.

Misha clasped it in his and shook it
vigorously.

Sonia watched the two of them, tears of joy
threatening to spill from her eyes. It gave her such joy to see the
two of them together, so young, so earnest, so ambitious, and
working toward a mutual goal. She rose to her feet, and they turned
to her.

"Another kiss," she said. "Both of you." She
held her arms out, and they went into them, kissing her and
laughing.

"Ah!" she said, laughing with them. "You're
good boys." Then she looked at Manny. "You were very clever to tell
those record company people you already represented Misha, but I
just want to know one more thing, Emmanuel Cygelman."

"What's that, Sonia?" he asked.

"What were you doing in that gym that day you
met Misha?" She lightly patted Manny's ample belly with a hand.

Manny suddenly turned sheepish, and he
swallowed. "I ... I was ... I was trying to meet Misha," he
said.

"I knew it," she said. "I just knew it.
You're every bit as smart as I thought you were."

Misha paced his bedroom, his face a
constantly shifting mask of emotions as his thoughts shifted from
argument to argument, weighing pros and cons, alternatives and
approaches. He didn't yet know what he was going to do, but one
thing he knew for certain: I have to get out of this apartment, he
thought.

He tore off his sweatshirt and flung it to
the floor, where it joined a pile of soiled athletic clothing. He
pulled off his high-top Nikes and sweat socks, tossing them across
the room, then got out of his sweatpants and jockstrap. Ditto.

His normally clean and ordered bedroom was
clearly an indication of his frazzled frame of mind at the present.
Rollerblades, sneakers, boots, shoes, socks, underwear, gym
clothes, CDs, cassettes, books, magazines, music scores, helmets,
knee pads, shin guards, wrist guards, gloves—all the necessities
and amenities of daily fife were strewn about the room in a chaotic
mess, un- sorted, dirty, and almost too overwhelming to deal with
right now.

Sonia and Dmitri, God love them, he thought,
were driving him to distraction. He knew that they loved him. He
knew that they wanted what was best for him. But, he thought
grimly, but right now, all of that love, all those good intentions,
mean nothing in light of the fact that their hovering presence is
making me crazy!

It was all too much. He felt that he had no
privacy whatsoever, that he was intruded upon by their constant
attention to his needs. Sometimes he felt as if he couldn't
breathe, that he was being smothered by their unflagging devotion
to him and his career.

In all fairness, he knew that their hovering
over him had not always been so objectionable, that he had needed
it, had appreciated it—still did, for that matter— but now he was a
different person. A grown-up. An eighteen-year-old man embarking on
a career of his own. An eighteen-year-old man embarking on a whole
new life of his own. A life that included ...sex.

And that was the crux of the problem as he
saw it. Certainly, it posed the largest part of the problem he had
with his parents.

I'm horny! he realized. I'm horny and
...loving it!

And horny, he decided, most definitely did
not fit well with Sonia and Dmitri and the large, comfortable two-
bedroom apartment the three of them shared. No, indeed. In fact,
Misha thought, there wasn't an apartment anywhere in the world that
was big enough to contain the three of them.

What was the use of having the seductive and
available Katya around if they constantly had to be on their guard
because Dmitri or Sonia might return from work at any moment? Like
the other day, when they'd both been naked, going at it like
proverbial rabbits, lost in their lusty pursuit of pleasure, and
what should happen?

Dmitri had waltzed in. Unannounced and
unexpected. Miraculously, they'd somehow managed to throw on their
clothes before he'd come knocking on Misha's door, but the look on
Dmitri's face when the door had been opened and he faced the two of
them standing there in embarrassed dishevelment had said
everything. Shock, disappointment, disapproval, and—the most
painful to see—hurt, all mixed into a single expression that Misha
would not soon forget. Although there had been no further
discussion of the matter, Misha knew that Dmitri was no fool. He
had to be aware of what was going on but had apparently decided,
for the time being at least, not to mention the subject.

Now, of course, Katya was being difficult,
making herself less available, because she was afraid that Sonia
and Dmitri would dismiss her if they thought the sexcapades between
her and Misha continued. Her new, cool demeanor toward Misha,
whether his parents were there or not, was driving him to
distraction. Having once tasted of that particular bit of forbidden
fruit, Misha was hard put not to try to partake of its succulent
flesh again and again, especially considering that Katya was an
almost continuous presence in the apartment.

If his problems with Katya and his parents at
home were driving him crazy, his difficulties with Vera were even
worse. He was drawn to her as a moth to the flame, desiring her in
ways he had never desired anyone else, enjoying her company as he
had never enjoyed another's.

Vera, however, was herself a very complicated
young lady, with an insightful intelligence that was a constant
challenge to his own. Getting to know her, blunt as she could be,
was like peeling the skin from an onion, layer by layer, constantly
searching for the real Vera, trying to make sense of the bundle of
contradictions, the multiplicity of thoughts and feelings, that she
seemed to be.