Jack tapped his fingers on the table. He didn’t know how to respond. It may have been the effect of the vodka, but he couldn’t see things clearly. It was too unexpected. There were too many factors. Too much money.
“I don’t know, Mr. Hewitt. I’d need some time to think about it.” He got up and held out his hand.
“Of course, kid! No problem. You take your time. If you want, we can meet again tomorrow.”
“Yes, all right, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Excellent.” He squeezed Jack’s hand and returned his good-bye. “Hey! Now I think of it, where are you staying?”
“A guesthouse. Well, in reality it’s a tenement house, it’s—”
“Would you like to stay here?”
“Pardon me, sir?”
“I’m asking if you’d like to stay here, at the Metropol. McMillan’s room was paid for in advance, and it’s still available. You could have it, free of charge.”
“But . . . I . . .”
“Oh, come on, kid! Don’t be daft! Sleeping on a soft mattress won’t commit you to anything. See it as a gift for having heard me out, and tomorrow morning we’ll talk over breakfast.”
On the way to his room on the fourth floor, Jack wondered at the size of the function rooms and corridors, their gold fabric-lined walls contrasting with the blue diamond-patterned carpets. The mock Corinthian columns and ebony figures of lions were such a display of opulence that he felt like a thief who’d been given permission to steal whatever he wished.
He checked his room number. It was 428. He was searching for the key in his pockets, when at the end of the corridor, he saw Elizabeth appear. The young woman was alone, looking down at the floor, seemingly deep in thought. Jack watched her closely. She was walking carelessly, with her low-heel shoes hanging from one hand and her crocodile-skin purse swinging gently in the other. Jack thought to himself that he had never seen such a beautiful twenty-two-year-old.
“Hello,” he said to her, a yard before she bumped into him. She gave a start.
“Oh! Hello, Jack. Sorry. I hadn’t recognized you.”
“Yeah. As soon as I take my jacket off, I look like a waiter.” He smiled.
She returned the smile, but it was forced. “What’re you doing here? This part of the hotel’s reserved for guests.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You’re not worried they’ll throw you out?”
“Nope.”
“No? How brave! Anyway, I’m exhausted. Wearing new shoes to a ball is the stupidest thing a woman can do.”
“Well, the way everyone was looking at you, I’d say it was worth it.”
Elizabeth’s smile this time, though tired, was sincere. She let herself slump into a chair and gently massaged her feet. Jack gazed at her.
“You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here,” she said.
“I was waiting for you,” he lied.
“For me? What for?”
“You still owe me a dance. You promised, remember?”
“I did? I don’t know. I’ve got no shoes on now, and I wouldn’t want you to step on me with those big feet. We’ll have to leave it for my next birthday.”
“I’m very careful,” he said in a persuasive tone.
She sat looking at him, then closed her eyes and smiled. “Maybe some other time. It’s been a really long day and—”
Jack didn’t let her finish. He threw his arms around her and found her mouth. For a moment he felt her abandon herself to him. But it was just an instant, before she pulled away abruptly and slapped him across the face.
“How dare you?” The sweetness in her face had now turned bitter with indignation.
“I . . . I don’t know what came over me . . .” Jack didn’t know how to apologize.
“Are you crazy? Do you think that smiling at you a couple of times means I’m attracted to you?”
“Elizabeth! Keep your voice down! I told you I’m sorry. Anyway, when I was kissing you, I didn’t get the impression you disliked it.”
“What? How pathetic! Do you really think someone like me would notice a down-and-out like you? Did you think that I’d like you, and we’d end up frolicking in some dump of a boardinghouse where you no doubt live?”
Jack fell silent, his head bowed, biting the lips that a moment before had savored Elizabeth’s.
“You’re right,” he finally said, withdrawing a few steps. “I’ve been a fool. And you were also right to think that I like you, and that I believed you might notice a down-and-out like me.” He paused for a few seconds. “But you were wrong about one thing, at least.” He slowly took the key from his pocket and opened the door to his room. “I wouldn’t have taken you to some dump of a boardinghouse. I can promise you that.”
13
He wandered around the extravagant room, marveling at every detail. The delicately decorated porcelain coffee set, the satin-lined walls, the beautiful pair of Empire-style armchairs, the comfortable temperature of the heating. He admired the vaulted ceiling, ornamented with floral motifs and a hunting scene. The sense of luxury overwhelmed him. It was a luxury as alien to him and as unattainable as Wilbur Hewitt’s niece. He leaned against the radiator and allowed the warmth to imbue his body. The room smelled of clean, starched cotton, as deep and as intoxicating an aroma as the one given off by the shirt section at the Hudson’s department store in Detroit. It had been so long since he’d been there, and he still remembered it! He let himself fall onto a bed that seemed to welcome him. What a bewildering life his was! Luck seemed to smile on him or abandon him at random, as if someone were pulling the strings of his destiny at whim.
The velvet bedspread made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He imagined it to be like Elizabeth’s skin: soft, warm, delicate . . .
He’d kissed her. Though it seemed improbable, it had happened, and the memory of her mouth was so powerful that he could feel nothing that wasn’t her lips. Perhaps it was because it hadn’t been like any kiss he’d experienced before. The heat from her lips still burned him; he could still taste the sweet flavor that he had savored for that one fleeting moment. But the more he tried, the more difficult it became to remember it clearly, and his thoughts turned again to her half-open mouth, its softness, its trembling warmth, surprised and yielding at the same time. That brief instant during which he’d kissed her had felt eternal until the moment when their lips had separated and stopped a hairbreadth apart, as if they longed to remain touching, and there, almost brushing together, stole each other’s breath for the last time, as if to keep it with them forever.
He’d never kissed like that before, and he doubted that she had, either, which was why he couldn’t understand the rage with which Elizabeth had slapped him.
He closed his eyes. At some point he dreamed of her. He dreamed that they were dancing together, going to parties and shows arm in arm, dining in posh restaurants, and that Wilbur Hewitt approved. Sometimes, in his delirium, Elizabeth appeared wrapped in linen sheets, writhing with mischief, aware of her beauty and nakedness, rationing every portion of exposed skin to feed his desire, a desire that grew with each insinuation, with each movement.
And then suddenly, Elizabeth’s face transformed into Sue’s, and Jack retreated, frightened. He saw Kowalski stalking him, threatening to evict him again, approaching with his goons, and Jack gripped the arm that brandished a pistol, and held it with all his might until the bangs echoed in his ears, again and again. Tock, tock, tock.
Tock, tock, tock.
Jack woke with a start, dressed in the same clothes he’d collapsed onto the bed in a few hours before. Someone was knocking on the door. He tidied his hair as well as he could and rushed to open it. Seeing who it was, he was almost as surprised as he was flushed.
“Sue! Er, what are you doing here?”
“I should ask you the same thing!” She strode into the room in a rage. “May I ask where you got to? You were supposed to come with us to the People’s Commissariat this mo
rning.”
“What? The Commissariat? Oh damn! I forgot. What time is it?” It all flooded back to him. The whole room was spinning.
“Ten.” She opened the curtains without ceremony to allow the sun to assail Jack’s reddened eyes. “Holy Mother of God! What a room!” she added, dancing around it. “It’s bigger than my house! What’ve you done? Swindled someone?”
“It’s a long story.” He went to the bathroom to wash his face. “Shit, I’m going to miss my meeting.”
“Meeting?” Sue said with surprise, but Jack didn’t answer.
He looked himself up and down. His pants were creased; his shirt was, too. He went to the wardrobe and flung it open to find that it was empty.
“What about that chest?” Sue pointed at it.
Jack looked at the trunk that lay at the foot of the bed, which until then he’d taken to be just another part of the furnishings. He confirmed the initials inscribed on it. G. McM. George McMillan. He assumed it must be his luggage, and that in the hospital where he was recovering from appendicitis, he wouldn’t miss it. Jack needed clean clothes, so he examined the lock.
“Do you have a hairpin?” he asked Sue.
She took one from her hair. “What’re you going to do? Pick it?” She gave a nervous laugh.
“Quiet!” he ordered.
Jack took the hairpin and poked it into the lock, moving it until he heard a click. He looked at Sue with an anxious expression, as if waiting for her approval to open it. She nodded.
Jack had hit the jackpot. The chest contained everything a traveler could need and much more than he could have imagined: a folder of assorted documents, a case of cigarettes, a silver lighter, a comb, a shaving set, three bottles of painkillers, two pairs of shoes and two pairs of pants, a suit, three shirts, a magnificent overcoat, and several changes of underwear that Sue handed one by one to Jack, who spread them out on the bed like trophies.
“Will they fit you?”
“I don’t know. I think so. Did you see this? The guy even packed cologne.” He showed Sue the bottle of Floïd that he’d just discovered. “I’m going to clean myself up.” He took the shaving set and a change of clothes and headed to the bathroom. Through the half-open door, Sue watched Jack take off his shirt, leaving his torso bare. “By the way, how did you find me?” he asked as he began to lather his face.
“Joe Brown told me that the bunch of flowers you bought was for a party at the Metropol, so I guessed you’d be here. Who were they for?”
“What?” He cursed Joe Brown for being such a blabbermouth.
“The flowers. Who were they for?” she said as she sat on the bed, stroking the sheets.
“Oh! For Hewitt.” He was unsure why he’d lied. “I heard he was recovering at the Metropol, so I brought them as a gesture.”
“Flowers for a man?” Sue pulled a face.
“Sure. Here in Russia it’s considered a courtesy between men. I explained it to Joe. And how did you find my room?” He tried to change the subject.
“Oh, well, in the garden I saw that guy you saved on the ship. What did you say his name was? Hewitt? Yeah, that’s it, Hewitt. He was the only person I knew, so I asked him. You should’ve seen my face when he told me you were staying here. I think I was as surprised as I was the first time I saw a boy take his pants down. So anyway, I thanked him and came up. Hey! You still haven’t told me how you ended up sleeping in another man’s room,” she said, looking at McMillan’s trunk.
Jack didn’t answer. Sue imagined it was because of the noise from the shower, which had been on for a while. She got up and went to the bathroom door that Jack had taken care to leave only narrowly open.
“Jack. Can you hear me?”
Sue opened the door a little. Jack, his eyes closed in the shower, didn’t notice her. But instead of closing the door, Sue stood for a few seconds looking at Jack’s naked body as he let the water wash over his skin. She continued to admire it until he began to turn around. Sue gave a start and retreated.
When Jack came out of the bathroom, dressed, combed, and perfectly shaved, Sue was sitting on the end of the bed again. Jack was surprised to see her lower her head, as if embarrassed. “What is it? Do I look bad?” He tightened the belt.
Sue told him to relax, assuring him that he looked straight out of a Charles Atlas advertisement. She stood and helped him put his jacket on. It was a bit too big, but close enough for Jack to wear without feeling uncomfortable. He thanked Sue for her help and completed his transformation with a few drops of aftershave.
“Come on! That’s quite enough dressing up. Walter’s waiting for you at the Commissariat with his friend Dmitri, the one who’s going to help us.”
“Huh? Oh, sure! Damn it, I completely forgot. This . . . I’m sorry, Sue, but I can’t go with you,” he said apologetically.
“Are you serious? I came all the way here to fetch you.”
“I know, but I can’t. Would you go and meet him, please? Tell him I’ll see him at the guesthouse later.”
“No!”
“What?”
“I’m not leaving this room without you! We have been waiting for you without knowing whether you were alive or dead, and I didn’t cross Moscow on a flea-ridden tram just for you to say sorry and not come to the Commissariat. We need you, Jack! Us, the Daniels family, and Joe. They’re waiting for you, too.”
Jack bit his lip. He didn’t like letting them down, but an offer like the one Hewitt was making him was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
“Really, I can’t. Anyway, you don’t need me. There was an English interpreter at the Commissariat, and you have the Amtorg contracts. Walter can sort out everything himself. For God’s sake, you can’t expect me to do everything for you.”
“I can’t believe you’re doing this to us, Jack!”
The young woman’s face was a mixture of astonishment and disappointment, like a little girl who had just learned Santa Claus wasn’t real. She retreated to the door. Jack was silent with shame, but remained where he was.
“Think what you want, Sue. I can’t tell you what it’s about, but trust me, you would do the same thing if you were me.”
Hewitt didn’t seem to care that Jack showed up wearing an outfit that belonged to his employee McMillan. In fact, when Jack confided to him that he’d found the sick engineer’s trunk open, Hewitt not only approved but encouraged him to use the clothes.
“After all, McMillan bought them with Ford Motor Company money, right? If you hadn’t taken them, I might’ve had to buy you something. Anyway, I’ll send someone to take care of your belongings later. Have you had breakfast?” He didn’t give him time to answer. He laid his copy of the New York Times on the table and called to the waiter. “What will you have?”
“I’ll have whatever you’re having.” Though he was Jewish, he didn’t follow the religion’s dietary laws.
“Good choice! We’ll have coffee for two, and bacon, fried eggs, sausages, and French fries. The American newspapers always reach Moscow a week late”—he pointed at the out-of-date broadsheet—“but I can’t live without them.”
Jack didn’t pay much attention to the newspaper. His head still hurt, but he hadn’t lost his appetite.
“So. Have you had a little think about our conversation yesterday?” He took off his monocle.
“A little think, sir? Truthfully, I didn’t sleep a wink.”
“Ha!” He interrupted to allow the waiter to serve them. “And is that good or bad?”
Jack took a deep breath. In reality he hadn’t decided yet. “Mr. Hewitt, I must admit that your offer’s tempting, but before I decide, there are a few things I’d like to discuss with you.”
“Of course! That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?” He wolfed down a sausage practically in one bite.
Jack asked Hewitt about the responsibilities he’d have as supervisor, what his everyday work would be, and how he would report his discoveries. The industrialist explained that he’d occupy the position ear
marked for McMillan, and consequently, he’d work directly under him. “Though in theory, under Sergei as well,” he added. “As I said, they’ve made him head of security at the Avtozavod.”
Jack choked on the mouthful he was eating. His brushes with the Soviet on board the SS Cliffwood did not suggest they would get on well. But Hewitt reassured him.
“Don’t worry. It’s just bureaucracy. We Americans have important roles, but the factory belongs to the Soviets.” He explained to Jack that, three years earlier, when Stalin decided to build a factory in Gorky in the image of the Dearborn plants, they extended every courtesy. “Joseph Stalin is a car fanatic, desperate to motorize the country whatever the cost. Imagine old Henry Ford’s joy when the Soviets made him the offer. Not only would Stalin pay him forty million dollars to start manufacturing an obsolete model, but he also agreed to buy the used machinery that Ford had already jettisoned from its factories in Germany.” He clumsily wiped his mustache. “Though, of course, the Soviets made sure that, in addition to building the factory and supplying enough parts, Ford would provide the American technicians needed to get the factory up and running. At first, everything was our responsibility, but as work progressed, the Soviets gradually took over.”
“Took over?”
“Well, that’s one way of looking at it. The fact was, any useless Soviet could be appointed as a boss simply for belonging to the Communist Party, and the next day that boss would hand another position of responsibility to his brother-in-law.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. Like you say, the factory belongs to them, doesn’t it?”
The Last Paradise Page 15
