by Blake Haugen
He’d checked out the next morning, but he didn’t go back to the city right away. Vanya took care of a long unfulfilled promise he made to Mikhail earlier that year. Everyone, including his Uncle Nicolai, had been surprised by Vanya’s impromptu visit to Russia. Laying low, he stayed in his family’s apartment for a couple of days without contacting anyone. He’d finally called Max to join him after strolling into his uncle’s Moscow offices and sitting at his father’s desk as if it were his own.
His Uncle Nicolai hadn’t been pleased to see him, nor had be been excited about the new reporting protocol for his business dealings. Hiring a hit was now was now forbidden; Nicolai could request the elimination of a threat. Authorization for such things would come from Vanya or Kirill and never directly.
Vanya had spent the next month pushing through a construction contract for a liquefied natural gas plant to be built on the Gulf of Finland. A few kickbacks and favors from some government acquaintances made his actions acceptable to the local authorities. Max handled any unpleasant obstacles.
By the time he’d left Moscow, Vanya had everyone in his uncle’s employ eating out of his hands. All business associates were looking to him by the second week he’d been there. By the fourth week he’d successfully installed Mikhail in his stead. Mikhail was more than willing to rule over his father after the recent stress the old man had put him through. Vanya and Mikhail gladly and cheaply sold Mikhail’s warehouse to some Russian émigrés with the understanding that it could be used at their disposal if the occasion arose.
When all was said and done near the end of August, Vanya returned to the States. His dealings in natural gas and the warehouse sale had gained the Pravdins around $287 million – and that was just this year alone. The future would prove to be very profitable. He’d more than proven his worth to his father; the question now was how much power Vanya wielded. He’d stopped taking directives from his father and set his own agenda – wiping Ryan Trask and his cohorts off the face of the Earth. The man was in the wind. According to Kirill, Trask had been unreachable since Persephone had fled.
Now Vanya swiveled around in his office chair, pondering over his resources with Mikhail via webcam. The two had been updating one another on the status quo of their respective projects. Vanya absentmindedly tapped his fingers together as he spun around.
“How do you draw out someone that can’t be found?” he murmured.
“Smoke ‘em out,” Mikhail replied simply.
Vanya scrunched his eyebrows and paused before answering. “No. He’d see the danger miles off, run away, and then I’d never find him. That fucker is smart. If people like Persephone’s parents and Peter Benson are his adversaries, then he probably works for someone with a lot of money and into some deep criminal shit.”
“Really now?” Mikhail arched a mocking eyebrow at his cousin.
“Terrorist shit,” Vanya clarified, turning toward the screen. “He looked and sounded American, but he could be European. He’s got to be some kind of ex-military, whatever he is. Danish maybe?”
“Who else saw him at the wedding?”
“Papa and his people. Max, too. And Max won’t say anything. Papa has him completely on lockdown. I can’t get anything out of him. I don’t think he has much to say anyway. He would have pointed me in the right direction by now.”
“Not if uncle threatened to send him back where he came from,” Mikhail mused. “Wherever the hell that is.”
“Well, one thing is for certain: he sure as hell doesn’t want to go back.”
Mikhail gave a quiet grunt of agreement. Like Vanya, he was undoubtedly remembering the time when Max had just arrived in the States. It was after Vanya’s mother passed away. The large eighteen year old’s unexpected presence at the Pravdin estate made things even more awkward at the mourning home. The young man was a large, pale, superfluous specter to Vanya and the other Pravdin teenagers. He didn’t go to school, but he didn’t seem to have a day job either.
To make matters even stranger, Kirill was especially hard on the recent immigrant. That first year Kirill always threatened to send Max back to the “hole I took you out of.” These were the only times Max spoke more than one sentence. He spoke two; the first to promise he’d fulfill his task of protecting his charges, and the second to relate that he understood the consequences of failure. It was the only occasion on which Vanya could recall that Max showed fear.
Vanya, Lina, and the twins were only allowed small glimpses into Kirill and Nicolai’s business at the time. Even though Mariya had died of cancer, Kirill grew increasingly paranoid and controlled everyone with fear. He succeeded with everyone except Lina, who was bent on raising hell. Fortunately, Kirill let up on everyone after Lina was sent to Russia. Somehow, he’d gained full confidence in Max. Unfortunately for Vanya, Max’s loyalty to Kirill was nearly impenetrable.
“You know,” Mikhail said, interrupting Vanya’s memories, “why are we doing all this strategizing and tiptoeing with Max anyway? Fuck it, let’s just make your father tell us what he knows.”
“What?” Vanya asked skeptically.
“Think about it. We could just try to reason with him. He’s already lost whatever deal he was after with Trask, so no loss there. At least if Persephone came back, he could hold out hope that he could get what he wants from her someday.”
“That’ll be a cold day in hell.”
“Yes, but he doesn’t have to know that.”
“Damn, Mishka, you’re fucking devious. I send you back to the Old Country for a couple of months and you’ve turned dirty already!”
“Eh, you helped me with my crazy father; I’m just trying to return the favor.”
“Well, no offense to you and yours, but Papa is more troublesome than Uncle.”
“What are you even worried about? You already pissed him off trying to marry that girl –”
“That girl,” Vanya interrupted, “has a name. Use it.”
“Persephone. Jesus. Anyway – you already pissed him off with that. And word on the street says you’re doing the unspeakable and actually flying out to San Francisco on Friday.”
Vanya reared his head. “What word on the street? What the hell? Are people hacking my personal calendar?”
“More like you let one of the secretaries book your flight for you. You must not have cared too much about hiding your plans. Should’ve been more careful if that wasn’t the case,” Mikhail admonished.
“I’m not hiding those plans; not anymore at least. It’s perfectly alright for me to visit San Francisco whenever I want.”
“I beg to differ,” a deep voice challenged Vanya from the office doorway.
Kirill stepped into the office and closed the door behind him. He glared at Vanya with unmasked anger. Vanya held the glare for several seconds before giving Mikhail a short goodbye and cutting off the monitor.
“And why would that be, Papa?” he asked dispassionately.
“You know damn well why,” Kirill sneered.
“If you’re talking about selling Mikhail’s warehouse, I only did what was best for business. I thought you would have been happy.”
“I want this fixed by Friday; try doing that and going to San Francisco.”
“Papa, there’s nothing to fix. This contract could push us into our fourth billion dollars. Mikhail will be in Russia to protect our interests. Not even you can argue with that logic. And as for San Fran, I’m not asking you to go. You don’t have to go, and frankly I don’t want you to. You’d only intimidate him – or worse, fascinate him.”
“Don’t you dare –”
“Don’t what? Speak about my nephew as if he exists? What will you do, Papa? Hmm? There is nothing you can take from me without hurting yourself. Now, things may not have happened exactly the way your planned,” Vanya continued, rising and taking slow steps toward Kirill, “but even you have to admit the things I’ve done in the last two months have brought this family wealth and power for years to come. Things I’ve done.”
The two stood toe to toe, and Vanya made sure to hold his ground. He knew this was a test of his mettle. If he could do this, he could do anything.
Kirill smirked after a few long, anxious seconds. “Alright, Vanya, if you think you’re ready to join the adults, then by all means, go ahead. Just don’t let me hear about these things second hand again –”
“Then be sure to come to me.”
“And don’t get too above yourself. Don’t expect me to clean things up. You’ll take responsibility for all of this, and you’ll hang for all of it if it comes to that. Don’t call out to me, because I will turn from you.”
“From your only son? Tsk, Papa; I expected more from a family man like you,” Vanya taunted. He buttoned the top button of his jacket and stepped past Kirill to leave his office. “I’m done for the day. Ask the clerk if you want any of the details of the warehouse sales sent to you.”
Kirill stared at Vanya as if trying to recognize him. Vanya barely noticed his father’s pointed gaze and plucked up the suitcase Persephone had gifted him the previous summer. As he made his way to the elevators, he could feel his father’s eyes on his back, but he didn’t turn to meet them until he stepped into the car.
“I’m back, Papa,” he shouted down the hall through the closing elevator doors. “You wanted me back. I’m back.”
The doors’ bumpers touched. Vanya exhaled. Confident that he was alone, he let a satisfied grin spread across his face.
☐
August 28, 2015
The sun warmed Vanya’s skin. The sporty boxster convertible he’d rented was an indulgence he’d never take in the city. It was much too flashy and far too cold for such things there. But California was different.
California was a dream. He felt light as he whizzed down US 101. Although the forecasts had predicted typical overcast skies, the sun glistened on the water of San Francisco Bay.
Vanya was energized even though he’d stepped off his red-eye not thirty minutes ago at the airport. For the first time in months, he was happy. There was shopping to do – and not for himself. This trip would prove to be a challenge. What on earth did teenage boys do for fun these days?
Vanya thought it over as he made it to his third street hotel. He’d never slept over at the Naryshkins’ home when he came to visit. They always offered out of a sense of obligation and etiquette. After all, Vanya had made their dreams come true. Though the couple was all smiles, Vanya knew they feared him, and for this reason he’d always remained at arm’s-length.
Even so, there was one Naryshkin Vanya couldn’t close himself off to. Little Zhenya was too warm, too loving, and too good for anyone to turn away from. However, Vanya supposed the boy wasn’t so little anymore. A simple look at the latest toy list wasn’t going to win him points in the uncle department anymore.
Vanya stared out the window of his contemporary, minimally decorated room for a good half hour. The modern art museum across the street provided an interesting view, but little inspiration. Coming up short, he called the concierge for assistance.
Four minutes later, a young brunette in a sharp, fitting, gray gabardine jacket and pencil skirt entered his suite. The woman carried a tablet and made herself comfortable in the living area, taking a seat on the mohair and silk sectional. She beamed up at him and patted the cushion next to her.
“I’m Julia, Mr. Pravdin. Your floor’s butler is detained and I’m happy to help you find a present for your teenager.”
“My nephew,” Vanya provided. He took a seat in the leather side chair next to the sectional. He hoped Julia would have the answers he needed; he was eager to begin his visit. She didn’t look too much older than eighteen – perhaps this would be quick.
“Okay, Mr. Pravdin. Just how old is your nephew?”
“Hmm,” Vanya mumbled and paused to think. “Fifteen. Zhenya will make sixteen after the New Year.”
“Zhenya? That’s unique.”
“No, it’s just shortened. Yevgeny… Eugene.”
“Oh! Of course! Well, what’s he into?”
Somehow, Vanya didn’t buy Julia’s comprehension. What did Zhenya like? It had been too long since his last trip out here, just shortly before he began law school. The thought saddened him.
“Nothing that upsetting, I hope?” Julia stared at Vanya in question.
“What?”
“You looked concerned about something just now. Are you two on the outs?”
“Um, no, it’s just that I haven’t seen him in a few years. He’s really into soccer, but that could have changed by now.”
“Well, I’m sure a clinic for his appropriate skill level would be much appreciated. If his interest has waned, then a jaunt to L.A. to see a professional game with you and two of his friends would be a memorable experience.”
“Wow, that’s nearly perfect.” Vanya thought that Zhenya would even want to do either of the things Julia suggested if soccer was his game.
“Our concierge service strives to meet needs efficiently and effectively,” she stuck her pointy, freckled nosed in the air and flipped her hair with pride. “That, plus I have teenage brothers.”
“That’s a good start, but I wanted something I could walk through the door with in about an hour and a half. Something his parents wouldn’t be pissed about or resent me for.”
“Hmm, strict parents? Are you related to his mother or his father?”
“Um, neither. It’s… complicated.”
“A watch is always a great gift for a young man,” Julia went on without missing a beat. “It’s for special occasions; it represents responsibility and growth.”
“Not terribly familial though.”
“On the contrary; an inscription would solve that.”
“I’ve only got an hour and a half, remember?”
“We can have it inscribed and gift wrapped within the hour. Here are some selections,” Julia quipped, handing over her tablet.
“Damn.”
“Efficient and effective.”
“To say the least.” Vanya flipped through the watches Julia had queued up until he came upon a watch that was dedicated to the navy’s experimental diving teams. Built to withstand pressure up to 600 meters below water, it had earned the endorsements of several climbers, explorers, and scientists. The titanium case and stainless steel bracelet gave it a sharp and formal look. Vanya chose the model with the blue dial and kept the inscription simple: “To Zhenya, From Uncle”
Julia procured his signature and promised the watch would be sent up in forty-five minutes. She assisted him in purchasing a bottle of wine and a wine country weekend getaway in Napa for the Naryshkins. With the stamp of his thumbprint on the tablet, his credit card was charged and his shopping was done.
“Well, that was fun, wasn’t it?” Julia gave Vanya a satisfied smile and crossed her legs. “Now that you have that done, I want you to know that I’m more than happy to provide you with anything you need for the rest of your stay in San Francisco.”
Suddenly, Julia’s sexuality hit Vanya. The sashay into his living room, her hair flipping, the constant crossing of legs directly in front of him. He almost laughed aloud – how could he have missed such a display? The girl was hot, young, and perky – sweet, too. Even so, Vanya was unmoved. Perhaps it was his impatience to see his nephew. Perhaps it was something else he didn’t want to dwell on. Either way, he wasn’t interested and politely ushered Julia out the door.
The drive to the Naryshkins’ home was about twenty minutes long. When Vanya pulled up to the pigeon blue, peaked-roof Victorian home, Leonid Naryshkin was already at the bottom of the Spanish tiled stoop. His hands stayed firmly on his hips as he watched Vanya park his car across the street.
The man was getting close to sixty. His salt and pepper hair was much more salty than the last time Vanya had come out West. The lines in his tanned face were deeper – his strained smile accentuated them. He extended his hand when Vanya made his way over.
“Ivan Kirillovich, i
t’s good to see you again,” he said, gripping Vanya’s hand firmly. He released it almost as soon as he’d taken it.
“Igorovich,” Vanya replied, using the man’s patronymic name, “likewise, likewise. Are Zhenya and Tamara inside?”
“No, they’re at his game. They’re undefeated and Zhenya and the other boys are going for the perfect season this year. He’s talked about nothing but your visit all week. If you’re not too tired, he’d be happy to see you there. You can park in the back garage when we get back.”
“Lead the way.”
Igorovich led Vanya to the fields of Zhenya’s posh private school not fifteen minutes away in Pacific Heights. There, Tamara greeted Vanya quickly and directed her attention back to the game. She was decked out in team gear: her bottle blonde ponytail fell neatly out the back of a red baseball cap with the school’s insignia and she wore a smart, red windbreaker to match. Her bejeweled red ballerina flats and red lipstick affirmed her soccer mom status. Vanya was surprised she wore normal denim skinny jeans as opposed to white pants, which would have represented the school’s other color.
Tamara was as excited as Vanya had ever seen her. Usually a quiet woman, she cheered enthusiastically for all the boys on the team by name. She explained to Vanya that playing with the school league was a piece of cake and that Zhenya got his real competition on his club team. Even there he was a star. Tamara only paused in her focus on the game to refresh her already heavily made up face.
Vanya searched the field for his nephew, but couldn’t spot him. The young men ran back and forth on the field, shouting to one another as they dribbled the ball with deft feet. From what Vanya could follow, their team was winning. He recognized the team’s uniforms from the school’s web site, which he’d visited a few weeks ago to make $37,000 yearly tuition payment. Igorovich had written him last year saying the school was a great compromise between Zhenya and his parents. It was academically rigorous enough for Igorovich with a competitive soccer program for Zhenya.
