Chapter 15
Svetlana headed for the parlor in the Hotel de la luxure, the most exclusive brothel in Montenegro. She walked through the entrance of the hotel and then through a large foyer with a circular staircase that meandered to the second floor.
The three heavily armed guards standing by the front door watched her pass by. Svetlana walked past the Madame who stood observantly behind a desk near the lower steps of the staircase.
The Madame glanced at Svetlana and then clocked her into the logbook laying on top the counter. Then she scanned the room for more traffic.
Svetlana wanted to go to her personal room on the third floor, but she knew the Madame would deduct that time from her shift.
Svetlana entered the parlor – a spacious room with a full bar along one wall on the right side, a large stone fireplace, and several French provincial couches forming a semicircle in the middle of the room. Several women sat on the couches or at the bar drinking water. They could only drink Champagne or wine when a customer bought them drinks.
Svetlana shook her head. The parlor effused opulence, wealth, and class. Burning wood in the fireplace would cackle and hiss, heating the room during a winter Montenegrin night. Women sat and waited in this room listening to classical music. Some dressed in French-maid uniforms, while others wore slim, provocative dresses. When they weren’t working, they had to stay in the living quarters on the third floor – closet-sized rooms with mattresses laying on the floor.
Johns arriving to this place must have money. Sasha's finest brothel in Budva was not cheap entertainment. Sasha stocked his business with Mercedes and Lamborghinis. If a john wanted a Ford Escort, then he would hop in a taxi and ride over to Silicon Valley.
Svetlana went to the bar to wait for her next customer. The johns would arrive at the hotel and mingle with the available women in the parlor. Here, conversation was free, but, after the john had selected his woman or women, they headed to the Madame who tabulated his bill. Then the Madame would hand a key to a suite on the second floor.
Svetlana liked the johns who would drop a little money. They would book a luxurious suite with a king size bed, a Jacuzzi, and a fully-stocked bar. Of course, Svetlana knew many customers were cheapskates. They just wanted sex with a beautiful woman. They rented the basic room with a bed, a tiny bathroom, and two complimentary bottles of water.
As Svetlana sat down, the bartender placed a glass of Russian Champaign in front of her. He stated, “From that gentleman right over there.”
Svetlana raise the glass for a toast, looked at the man across the room, smiled at him, and took a sip. She studied his face, and he looked vaguely familiar, but she was not sure. Besides, she has been with so many men; she couldn’t remember their faces anymore. All men pretty much look the same and pretty much do the same thing in bed. Once in a while, she would get a surprise from an eager gentleman but that was a rare occasion.
The man gave a half salute and then continued talking to one of the woman sitting on the couch. He held out his hand and helped her stand up. Then they walked out of the room.
Svetlana muttered, “I guess not tonight.” She continued drinking her wine.
Boy, she had a busy night. By 11 o'clock, she entertained one Montenegrin government official and two old businessmen. She tilted the Champaign glass back and greedily swallowed the remaining, sweet bubbly contents.
Svetlana walked to the foyer and headed to the ladies' room. The Madame looked at her and snapped, “Where are you going?”
“The toilet.”
“Don’t spend too much time in there.” Then the Madame donned a fake smile as a john with another woman approached the counter.
Svetlana walked into the bathroom and walked around the bathroom looking for occupants. She opened the two stall doors and saw they were empty, making sure she was alone in the bathroom. Next, she locked the bathroom door, went to the last stall, and sat on the toilet. She grabbed the prepaid, untraceable cell phone from her pocket, the one she bought at a newsstand kiosk. She turned on the cell phone and activated it.
Then Svetlana dialed Keith's cell phone number. It rang once, twice, a third time, and subsequently a groggy, “Hello!”
Svetlana hesitated for a few seconds.
Keith repeated “Hello” several more times while each hello became stronger and more frantic.
Then Svetlana asked, “May I speak to Keith, please.”
“This is he. May I ask who is calling?” Keith asked in a groggy, confused voice.
“We have a mutual friend, Keith. She’s worried about you, and you’re worried about her.”
“YELENA! WHERE IS YELENA?” Keith screamed into the phone.
In case, someone stood outside the bathroom door, eavesdropping on her conversation, Svetlana soothed and whispered, “Keith, please calm down. I have no time for a long conversation.”
“Where is Yelena? Is she okay? Is she alive?” Keith demanded with his voice rising.
She whispered slowly, “At this moment, Yelena is fine. She’s doing well.”
“When can I see her?” Keith demanded.
“I need to have a private conversation with you in person, and not over the phone. When can you get to Montenegro?”
“I’m already in Budva, Montenegro.”
“Really, when did you get here?”
“Yesterday, I came to search for Yelena.”
“Keith, I can’t talk long. First, you’re not to contact the police. Besides, my employer has several policemen on his payroll anyway. This will put Yelena's life into danger. Second, I want you to meet me at the coffee shop in Old Budva at 11 o'clock. Come alone. Go to the first coffee shop to the left after you walk through the main castle gates. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Keith replied in a cheerful voice.
“Make sure you get a table in the back and away from the street.”
Then Svetlana hit the button to disconnect the call. She didn’t believe what she did. Her heart raced a little while her palms became sweaty.
Then Svetlana turned the cell phone off, slipped it into her purse, and flushed the toilet. Afterwards, she went to the mirror and dabbed a little makeup on.
Then Svetlana returned to the parlor. She still had another two hours of work. If she were lucky, she could sit quietly at the bar and drink a little more.
Searching for Stolen Love Page 30
