Chapter 24
Dear Tristan,
I
How fitting that my relationship with Tristan would end the way it began – with a letter. It was cowardly, but I decided to leave Emerson the same way I’d left Odessa – by a strategic exit. This time I didn’t even tell Boba.
My suitcase was in the entryway. He was at work, and I had no intention of waiting for him to come back to say goodbye. I was blowing my chance for a green card by marriage, but I couldn’t take another day. There had to be another way and I would find it. I stood at the kitchen counter, mulling over what to write: Dear Tristan, I tried. God knows I tried. You tried, too. I know that. We’re just too different. We want different things. I could have continued with a post-mortem of our relationship, but didn’t want him to think there was a chance to patch things up. Dear Tristan, I’m sorry. No. I was sick of apologizing and ripped up the paper. Dear Tristan, You suck. Too direct. Dear Tristan, I come from Odessa, you come from the country. Too self-help. Tristan, Things didn’t work out. I’m outta here. Too American. Yet perfect. I let it stand. I thought about all the money he’d spent, took out enough to cover my plane ticket and phone bill, and laid it on the counter next to my note and wedding ring. I didn’t like to owe anyone.
In the bus to San Francisco, I felt. After feeling numb for so long, I felt. Relieved. Relieved that I was escaping. Relieved that I wouldn’t see him anymore. Relieved that I would be where I belonged – back in the world. Relieved that I had finally made a decision. Excited. Excited about my new life. Excited about all the possibilities before me – a new job, a new apartment, a new life, a new freedom. Excited to be in a city again, with the theaters, galleries, book shops, museums, libraries, and thousands of people. Happy. Happy. And yet. . . I felt apprehensive. I was scared that he would find a way to ruin it all. That he would come after me. It was as if I’d received a fifty-year sentence, but had escaped after only one. He could hunt me down. He could turn me in.
When I got off the bus, I looked around furtively, almost expecting him to be there to snatch me back. Instead Jonothan was waiting and drove me to his apartment on Russian Hill. (There was nothing Russian about it.) He cooked dinner for us. As I set the table, he came up behind me and ran his fingers through my hair. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he said and took my earlobe in his mouth.
‘I’m pregnant.’
He spit my earlobe out and jumped back three feet. I laughed until he grinned ruefully. Men had been coming on to me for ages. If I’d known what an effective deterrent pregnancy was, I would have used it much, much earlier.
At first, I was afraid to leave the apartment, afraid he would find me and drag me back. I was as much his prisoner in San Francisco as in Emerson. I peeked out the window, wondering if it was safe, wondering if he was out there.
‘Don’t be a chicken,’ Jono said. ‘Let’s go get a bite to eat.’
But I wouldn’t budge.
He held up a gruesome Halloween mask. ‘Come on. You can wear this.’
‘He’s not just going to let me go. And he has guns.’
Jono dropped the mask and ordered Chinese.
I continued to pore over the Chronicle for a job and apartment, wondering if there was any way I could get a job at ARGONAUT. I called Boba just like I always did from Tristan’s – Saturday morning for me, Saturday evening for her. Ten time zones, two continents, and an ocean separated us. The truth felt like another chasm that separated us – bigger and darker than the ocean. I didn’t want to tell her about my precarious situation. Pregnant. Soon to be divorced. Unemployed. No green card.
‘Dasha?’ she answered.
In her voice, in this one word, I heard these notes of hope, worry, and love that made up the symphony of her voice.
‘Da, Boba. It’s me.’
‘What’s wrong, little rabbit paw?’
Could she hear the tension and reticence I felt? I forced myself to smile, hoping that this would lighten the tone of my voice. ‘Nothing, Boba.’
‘Has he hurt you? Maybe you should come home like that Katya did. She said America was terrible.’
I remembered her anguished, hysterical call to Soviet Unions and was relieved to hear she was safe. ‘It wasn’t America, it was the man. I promise, things are fine.’
I wrote to Jane and Valentina to explain my distance from them. Jane phoned immediately. ‘I knew you’d gone. Last Thursday Tristan showed up on Tans’s doorstep – drunk out of his mind – at three in the morning.’
I was mortified. She laughed it off and told me I wasn’t responsible for his asinine behavior.
‘What if he finds me?’
‘He doesn’t even know for sure you’re in San Francisco. And even if he did, where would he begin to look in a city of a million? Tans’s was his only lead, and he saw it was a dead end. You’re safe.’
‘I’m just worried . . . and scared. And nervous.’ You have a fragile soul, Dasha. That’s why you’re more sensitive than other people. Maybe I should have raised you differently . . . Oh, Boba. I miss you.
‘You were smart to leave,’ Jane said. ‘He wasn’t the right person for you.’
‘I know I did the right thing . . .’
‘Did you tell him?’
‘About what?’
‘You know.’
My hand went to my belly. I glared at Jono. He shrugged. Why do women have a reputation for gossiping when it’s a scientific fact that men have bigger mouths? ‘No. It’s not his concern.’
‘Oh.’ She understood immediately. ‘Whose concern is it?’
I didn’t have the courage to tell her. Jane was like my grandmother: overprotective. And overreactionary. And Vladimir Stanislavski was a legend. ‘You don’t know him.’
‘Will he be in the picture?’
‘I’m not sure,’ I whispered.
Jane was right. Tristan wouldn’t find me. I roamed the city streets, my fingers caressing the buildings. My ears rejoiced at finding the staccato of the city – horns bleating, people yelling, sirens blaring, jackhammers jumping. I haunted the bookstores, reading their novels and drinking my skinny decaf latte. In the parks, I watched families picnic and play and thought, I’m one of you now, with my own little world. I sat on the beach for hours, watching the ocean. You know you’re home when you see the waves come forth to welcome you. At the Legion of Honor museum, I marveled at the hallowed halls of beauty. I stood in front of Rodin’s bust of Camille Claudel and wept.
I applied for several jobs, including a position at ARGONAUT. Although I hated to do it, I e-mailed David and Mr. Kessler and asked for help. I don’t like to owe anyone.
Mr. Kessler wrote: ‘Lovely to hear from you. If there is a position available in the San Francisco office, we will be happy to consider you.’
David wrote: ‘Go to ARGONAUT immediately. I’ll take care of everything.’
I called the next day. When I said my name, the woman from human resources told me to hold. And then I found myself speaking to the director of the San Francisco office who suggested I meet with him the following Monday.
New city. New hopes. New life. Things seemed to move so quickly. Perhaps because I’d remained still for so long. I found an apartment. It was the size of a shoe box, but it was my shoe box.
When I moved out, I tried to give Jonothan some rent money, but he refused it. ‘You’ve already repaid me. We had a betting pool going at Tans’s – which week you were going to leave that hick. When you called to tell me you were coming, I placed a bet and won the pot – five hundred bucks.’
‘Shouldn’t I be embarrassed that everyone saw the divorce coming before I did?’
‘Don’t feel bad. Think of us as wagering on when you’d come to your senses.’
I spent the weekend cleaning my studio, scrubbing surfaces, pretending I was Boba waging war on in-coming dust and bacteria. I even washed the windows, keeping my back carefully turned to the telephone, as if I could ignore the fact that I had to come clean with Boba.
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She didn’t even know where I was.
To my shame, I’d already put off the conversation for three weeks, hoping the right words would come to me. They never did.
I dialed the number slowly, still not sure of what to say. The family curse had worked its dark magic. Maybe I had worked the dark magic. I needed to confess that everything I’d told her had been a lie.
The words came pouring out before she could even say hello.
‘Boba, Boba, I’m so sorry, I’ve told you so many lies.’
‘What are you talking about, my little rabbit paw?’
‘I never should have left Odessa, never should have left you.’
‘What’s this?’
‘I never had a job as an engineer.’
‘Never an engineer? How can that be? You wrote so many letters about how you loved your job?. . .’
‘I was a waitress.’
‘A waitress . . .?’
I closed my eyes and forced myself to continue. ‘I never lived in San Francisco, I lived in a village.’
She gasped. It is true that Odessans consider life in the country hell.
‘And that’s not all. After we married, he changed. He chased away my new friends. He said it was his house and his rules. He . . .’
‘Shh. Shh. Everything will be fine. Everything will be fine,’ she said. ‘Don’t say anything more. You’ll just upset yourself. You just have to find a way to leave him.’
‘I already did.’ I started to cry, perhaps from relief.
‘What’s all this emotion, then? You surely did the right thing. You’ve always been a smart girl. You know your own mind.’
‘I thought you’d be disappointed. In me.’
‘Never! Bad doesn’t get better. Bad gets worse. You were right to leave.’ She paused. ‘That’s why your mother left your father.’
‘Mama left him?’ I didn’t understand anything. He left us. ‘But . . . I thought that the curse was being left.’
‘Maybe I should tell you . . .’
‘Tell me what?’ I couldn’t breathe. Strike-struck-struck. It felt as if ninety-nine clocks were striking the hour in the cavity of my ribcage. I scratched at the skin at my sternum, trying to get to the source. ‘Tell me what?’
‘When you assumed that Dmitri left us, we didn’t correct you. We thought the less we talked about him, the sooner you’d forget. Like a nightmare. You wake up in the morning and your night fears are swept away by daylight. It didn’t help that your Mama – so proud – refused to discuss it. And then . . .’ There was a catch in her voice. ‘And then she was gone. And for so long I felt guilty.’
‘About what?’ I leaned against the counter and waited for the worst. Odessan secrets are never good. ‘Tell me, Boba. Please.’
‘Guilty that I’d been so blind. Your father was a handsome, charismatic sailor. No one could tell a joke like Dmitri.’ High praise in Odessa. ‘He was also a brutal drunk. Your mama didn’t realize at first. And I found out far too late. They’d moved to the Crimea, away from her friends, away from me. When I think of what that man did.’ She sighed, one of those hoarse, soul-wrenching sighs. The kind that makes you think it could be a person’s final breath. ‘My girl. My baby girl. How he bloodied her nose and cracked her ribs. What else he did, I don’t know. But when she bundled you up and stole away from Yalta in the dead of the night, she came to me, and I saw the bruises, the burns.’
She started to sob. So did I. Poor Mama. Poor Boba. Why hadn’t we had this conversation years ago in our kitchen so she could clasp me to her breast, so I could throw my arms around her waist?
It felt as if the foundation of my whole life had crumbled underneath my legs. I thought men left. My father left. Will left. Vlad left. I expected any guy I ever dated to leave. I never even gave them a chance. Never gave myself a chance, except with Vlad, for a moment, to let my guard down. But the shields went right back up.
‘Perhaps the real curse is not finding love,’ Boba said. ‘Perhaps I was wrong to steer you away from our men. Whenever you brought one home I remembered what happened to your mother, and I got so scared. Then when that Vladimir Stanislavski came nosing around . . . I knew I had to push you out of harm’s way.’
I closed my eyes. Vlad. How could I tell her?
How could I not?
‘I haven’t told you everything, Boba.’
‘What is it, my little rabbit paw?’
‘I’m pregnant.’
‘A baby!’ I heard the tears in her voice. ‘Does he know?’
‘No.’ I took a deep breath. ‘And that’s not the worst.’
‘Dasha?’
‘The worst is that the baby might not be his.’
‘Gospodee.’ Oh my God. I pictured her making the sign of the cross and spitting three times. ‘Dasha?’
‘It might be Vlad’s.’
‘Not Vladimir Stanislavski’s! How can that be?’
‘He came, we talked . . .’
‘Talked! What are you going to do now? Alone. In a foreign country.’
‘You were right to insist I take his ring, Boba. I sold it. Everything will be fine.’ I repeated her mantra, only this time I believed it.
Surprisingly it was the director who came to the lobby to greet me. We made small talk in the elevator.
‘David said he was very impressed with you. I’ve never heard him speak so highly of anyone.’
‘Such kind words,’ I said. ‘How long have you and he been colleagues?’
‘We went to college together,’ he said. ‘When we graduated, he got me a job here.’
The director and I walked down a long hall with bland art – thankfully, no stiletto heels or splatters of paint. I crossed my fingers – please let me get the job. And if I get the job, please let there be a door and walls. And no bars. He showed me to a small desk in a large entryway. Perhaps human resources was on the other side.
‘Is this where you’re going to interview me?’ I handed him my résumé and steeled myself for the interview.
‘No need. You’ve been transferred.’
‘Wonderful . . .’ I said, stunned. It was a relief to have a job. And only a little disappointed that I didn’t have a door or walls. Boba would tell me to look on the bright side. No bars. There are no bars. I sat down at the desk and thanked him for the escort. He looked at me strangely, then opened the door to a corner office with a fantastic view of the fog. ‘This is your office.’
Apparently, thanks to strong recommendations, I was made a senior account manager – the youngest in the whole company! It seemed daunting at first, but after a week, I realized it was essentially the same work I’d done in Odessa, only there were fewer bribes and less paperwork – just one set of books to fill out. I even had my own personal assistant, Cyndi. Of course, some things don’t change – offices are offices and there will always be gossip, whether you are in Odessa or Vladivostok. But the talk about me was quite nice. Somehow, sections of a letter of recommendation that David had written circulated around the workplace.
I cannot emphasize enough how challenging business in the Ukraine is. Sane businessmen would take one look at the government demands and mafia threats and run. Even armed with my business degree, I would not have lasted forty-eight hours in Odessa without Daria. She cut through red tape with a machete. She knew every single customs agent, tax man, and mobster. Each had a price and Daria was the only one with an index. She not only has a head for business, she has a nose for trouble and eyes that see things most people don’t. She has impeccable work and personal standards. She is not only an astute business partner, she is a wise, intuitive young woman. She speaks English, Russian, and Hebrew . . .
I was stunned. I could not have been more moved if his recommendation had been a love letter. Perhaps, after all, it was of sorts, a declaration of love.
My hand went to my belly the same way it had once moved to Vlad’s ring. Instinctively. Tenderly. This new life filled me with such love, such hope. I though
t of the little soul growing inside me. I needed to nurture and protect my baby. My baby. I was so happy. And yet there were moments I was petrified. Would Tristan’s sister-in-law denounce me? Would he? Would the government throw me away because I’d left my husband? I didn’t want to be tense all the time – it wasn’t good for me and it certainly wasn’t good for the baby. Before, I would have paced the apartment, I would have stewed and hesitated. But I had to take action, I needed concrete answers. It wasn’t just me any longer.
I called Molly.
‘My God, where are you?’ she asked. ‘Are you okay? I’ve been worried sick!’
‘I’m sorry, I should have told you . . . I was just afraid.’
‘Afraid?’
‘Afraid of him, afraid to tell people – friends – that I was leaving. Afraid to trust . . .’ I babbled.
‘I’ll keep your secrets,’ she said.
‘I’m in San Francisco.’
She said she wanted to see me. I hesitated to tell her my address.
‘We could meet at a café,’ she offered. I decided to trust her.
Two days later, on Saturday morning, I stood on the sidewalk in front of my building, waiting. She came right on time. She was wearing a mint green blouse and a pair of slacks instead of an extra large T-shirt and baggy jeans. I noticed she’d done her make-up and pulled her auburn hair into a smart ponytail at the base of her neck. She looked relaxed and happy. I wondered at the change.
When she saw me, she hugged me. ‘Thank God you’re okay. When you disappeared, I didn’t know what to think.’
‘I just couldn’t take it anymore.’
She put her arm around my shoulders. ‘I should have helped you.’
I covered her hand with my own. ‘You did.’
She looked around at the buildings and the busy street. ‘It feels good to be in the city. Toby and I used to come once a month, but then . . . well, I guess life happens.’
Moonlight in Odessa Page 36
