Her Designer Baby

by Shawna Washington

  “And you gave me your trust. You gave me what I wanted,” I remind him. “And I am thankful for it. Without you, without the others, I’d probably be dead by now.”

  “Probably,” Vasily agrees. He shrugs. “But what have I really given you? Maybe what you wanted wasn’t what you needed. This.” He looks around the office. He looks back into my eyes. “I’m afraid this is no life for you.”

  “My life is the same as yours,” I remind him. I don’t understand his meaning. Maybe I’m trying hard not to understand it. Maybe everything that is going on with Radiah is making this too difficult to hear.

  He smiles. It is a knowing smile. As though he has a secret I cannot fathom. “I am an old man, Alexei. Hindsight, when you are as old as I am, becomes very clear. Very telling. You are still young. Maybe I want something more for you. Maybe I want you to have the life I wish I might have lived.”

  I don’t feel very young, not right now. I feel old. I feel tired. And full of too many regrets. “Something more.” I repeat his words. I can’t believe he is saying these things. The organization is Vasily’s life. Does he regret his life? I hope he doesn’t. Vasily is a great man. Not because of the power he wields, but because of the way he wields that power. He has wealth. Does he have a family? I think so, back in St. Petersburg. I know he doesn’t see them often. Maybe he regrets not being there. Maybe, now that his children are grown, and have children of their own, all of the birthdays and all of the Christmases he wasn’t there with them weigh heavy on his soul.

  “A real life, Alexei.” He smiles. “A woman. Children. A family. The older I get, the more I find myself wishing I had appreciated those things. I have not seen my grandchildren in years. It’s too dangerous. I lost my wife because I was never there for her. And…” He draws a deep breath. “Alexei. I don’t want to see you end up like Boris.” He never minces words, and I don’t expect him to now, even though what he has just said makes my next breath come too sharp, too hard. His blue eyes narrow into slits. “I don’t want you to have too many regrets. It is not too late for you to do something different. I want you to know. I will be here for you. To help you. Always.”

  Nodding, I lower my eyes. He is giving me an honorable way out. I know, of course, it wouldn’t be as easy as that. Once a man is out of the organization, in some ways, he is out. In other ways, he can never leave, not without going into hiding. Not without changing his name, not without leaving everyone and everything behind. But I’m grateful, almost overcome by his words. So much so that I don’t even know what to say to him. I don’t want to tell him that I’m afraid he’s wrong. I don’t want to tell him that I’m afraid it’s already too late for me. And even if it isn’t, I don’t want to tell him I might have lost the only reason I have for truly wanting anything different.

  “Thank you, Vasily.”

  “You have a beautiful girlfriend, Alexei.”

  I nod. He has met Radiah, once. Once, he came to the apartment and she opened the front door.

  “I don’t know if she is mine anymore, Vasily.”

  I look at the old man. The old man looks at me.

  “Make her yours once more, Alexei. Trust me. I saw the way you looked at her. That is not a woman you want to lose.”

  He is right. He is more right than he even knows. “She wants…” I hesitate. I look away. Not even Vasily knows the truth of my past. Not even Vasily knows the house I grew up in. Can I admit to this man that I respect so deeply that I don’t think I have what it takes to raise children, to be a good father?

  “Yes?” Gently, he coaxes me to continue.

  I want to. I want to tell him. I want to talk about it. The want weighs in me. Vasily has always seen something of value in me. I respect his opinion. Maybe he can tell me that I don’t have to be like my father. Maybe he can tell me that I am strong enough to be my own man.

  “A family.”

  I force myself to look at him. He is smiling. “A family is worth more than all of the money in the world. Then what is the problem, Alexei?” His eyes pierce mine. “You don’t want that? A wife, and children?”

  I can only look at him.

  “You’re afraid?”

  I look away from him.

  “Alexei.”

  I look back at him. It’s right there. Right there, and I can’t make the words come out of my mouth.

  “Tell me. Talk to me.”

  “Yes,” I say. My heart is hammering in my chest.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  “If you can?”

  I nod. I know I am making him drag this out of me, but it is something I cannot seem to drag out of myself.

  “You don’t think you’ll be any good at it. Because of your own father.” He says it, and his voice is sad saying it. “Yes. I know more than you think I do. I knew well what you were running from.”

  He knew. He knows. The hammering of my heart starts to pound. I half-rise from the chair, I half look away, and he says, “Stay, Alexei.”

  I stay, frozen.

  “You are not him. I knew of him. And believe me, son, you are not him.”

  “How do you know.” I turn my eyes aside. They are burning. He cannot know that. I cannot know that. And taking that risk, risking Radiah, risking babies, it feels like risking too much.

  “I know that because I know you, remember? I have known you since you were young. Alexei. Even now, you refuse to use more…force than you need to. You always look for a way to let every man go back home to his family. Because you are strong. I know you are not like him because you are strong.”

  I want to tell him that I don’t feel strong. I want to tell him that Boris liked breakfast for dinner. I want to tell him that Radiah has told me she wants nothing to do with me. I want to tell him I have nightmares about that house, about his fists, about…

  “You are strong, Alexei. I know you trust me. Trust me in this. Sometimes, we don’t see ourselves clearly. Sometimes, we need to rely on others to tell what is real. This is real. Your fears are only that. They are only fears.”

  Finally, I make my eyes meet his. I manage a small, sad smile. “I’d like to believe you, Vasily.”

  “Good.” He leans back in the chair a little further. “You should. Old age should mean something, after all. I might not be as strong as you anymore, but I’d like to think experience has taught me a little something about life, about people.”

  Somehow, even with everything that is going on, he has made me feel a little better. I want to thank him for it. But I stay silent.

  He stays silent too.

  Then, he looks like he might say something more, but the door opens and Abram walks in and we get back down to business. It is like the things that have passed between Vasily and myself are a part of another world.

  And for now, they are.

  For now, Boris is my concern. There is no one to mourn him. There is no one but me to remember him. No one but me to take vengeance for him. In some way, I feel I have let him down. There is nothing I could have done. And still. In some way, I feel I should have been able to protect him.

  All I know is this. I will find out who was responsible for killing Boris. And they will pay dearly for what they have done.

  Radiah

  As I’m getting ready to leave, Carla gives me the look. Eyeing my dress up and down, she clicks her tongue against her teeth. I’m wearing my little plum-colored dress with the lace at the edges. It’s my ‘I want to feel beautiful dress,’ and she knows it. The last time I wore this dress, Alexei took me to an opera. I hadn’t expected to like it, but I’d been excited because he’d been sharing something of himself with me.

  I’d been so wrong. I’d spent the evening enraptured, and every time I’d turned to smile at Alexei he’d been looking at me and not the stage and as soon as we’d gotten back to the penthouse, my little plum dress had ended up on the floor. ‘You were right about opera,’ I’d told him. And he’d said, ‘oh, the opera. Yes, the opera
was entertaining. You were fascinating.’

  “What?” I guess I am pretending not to know what she was thinking. Really, a part of me doesn’t want to know. Because yes, I’d dressed up. Yes, I was going on a date with Emilio. And yes, I do want to feel pretty. I want to feel pretty for myself. And, I have no problem admitting it: I want to look pretty for Emilio too. I have no doubt the Italian is going to look good for me...and I have no doubt I’m going to enjoy that—something else I have no problem admitting to.

  “That’s your favorite dress.” Carla doesn’t hesitate to give me an answer about those looks she’s sending in my direction. She never does. She’s always a straight shooter and usually, it’s one of the things I love most about her. When we’d first met, at a self-defense class for women being taught down in the village, she’d kept cracking everyone up with the way she’d always volunteer to be the one to do the demonstration with the teacher. I really think she took a lot of pleasure in throwing him to the ground. And in kneeing him in the groin. Maybe especially because our teacher had been the big sort of man that no one had thought a small, petite woman could overthrow. She’s got an aggressive streak, my girl does. But right now though, I’m not sure I’m in the mood for all of her no-holds-barred honesty.

  “And what about Alexei?” she asks. She folds her arms over her chest. I swear she is almost jutting her lip out at me.

  Now I know for sure that I am not in the mood. The last thing I want to think about now is Alexei. In fact, I’ve been trying my hardest not to think about my ex-boyfriend. Surprisingly, I’ve been doing a pretty good job of it.

  Carla has always supported us. She’s always thought we've been so perfect together. And the truth is, I’d needed her to say those things, and to feel that way. It has been so hard to lie to my family, to lie to all of my other friends. It has been so hard to make plans with them, only to have Alexei cancel at the last minute when his cell phone rings. It has been so hard to make up stories to excuse him, so hard to tell them he is something that he isn’t, that he has the life that, somehow, demands his attention day and night. Carla is my only friend who knows everything. She’s the only one who knows all of it. So her support has meant the world to me.

  Now, I need that support to do a 360 though. I need her to support me in letting him go.

  Because, as much as I miss him, I’m trying hard to let him go. Not only for myself, but for him too. In my heart, I know it is killing Alexei to let me down. In my heart, I know how torn he is, how hard this must be. But he’s made his choice and I’ve made mine. Now, I need Carla’s support in that too.

  “It’s just…” In the hallway, I pause. I look back at her. I want her to understand. I might have left Alexei in a huff, and I know it might have seemed quick. But the truth is, this has been brewing for a long time. “We want different things. You know that. And… Alexei, I’m sure, is moving on too, Carla.” Was he? I feel a small pang of jealousy at the thought of Alexei with another woman. There’s no doubt he’s handsome, no doubt that any number of women would feel themselves go weak in the knees if he even deigned to look at them. But he’s my man and should only look at me. Except he isn’t. Not anymore.

  From the couch, Carla sighs. She shrugs. “I know, Radiah. You know that I know.” Like me, Carla longs for a family. “But I also know it’s not that easy for either of you to walk away from each other. I see the way he looks at you. I see the way you look at him.” She tucks her legs up. Curling a lock of her brown hair around her forefinger, she bites at her lower lip. I know what that means. Carla is about to tell me something she thinks I don’t want to hear. “Think about it. You’re asking him to walk away from his family. You’re asking him to give up everything he has for you.”

  I feel a flash of anguish at the thought. If it’s true then Alexei has been doing the same. Hasn’t he?

  “But he’s asking me to give up everything I want to be with him,” I say like I am defending myself.

  “Not everything.”

  “Enough of everything.” Reaching for my purse, I sling the strap over my shoulder.

  “I’m just saying, Radiah. Maybe it’s not going to be easy to let go.”

  “You’re wrong.” I unlock the door and give her a last look over my shoulder. “It’s so much easier to walk away from him than I’d ever thought it could be.”

  “Because of Emilio.” She states it like it’s a bad thing.

  “Because of Emilio,” I reply, and I pull the door closed as I step out into the hall. Emilio is a distraction; I freely admit that to myself just as much as I freely admit it to Carla. If he ends up being more than that, only time will tell.

  In fact, the handsome Italian is such a wonderful distraction I find myself thinking of Alexei less and less. And still I can’t deny it. At night, when my mind is most quiet, Alexei is all I can think about at all. It hurts so much not to feel his strong arms around me, not to know how he is, not to see his smile, not to look into his eyes. The idea that Carla is right, that I’m asking him to give up too much, is devastating. I’ve wanted a family of my own ever since I was small. Ever since I’d lost my own mother. I’d been young, and my daddy and, eventually, his new wife, had given me a wonderful childhood but still, my heart has always ached to have that relationship. I want babies. I want to get up in the morning and make breakfast for them, I want to kiss my husband and go to work without being terrified that today will be the day someone is going to walk up to him and take him away from me.

  I know Alexei can handle himself and still, it’s always there, in the back of mind. People want him dead. It’s a kind of stress I don’t know that I can deal with anymore.

  I shouldn’t be thinking of these things now, when I’m on my way to meet Emilio at the restaurant. I shouldn’t, so I don’t. I’m not going to think about Alexei, not now.

  Tonight is mine and no one else's.

  The cab pulls up to the corner and I pay the driver and step out onto the sidewalk. It’s another gorgeous spring evening. In front of me, the restaurant is sparkling and bright with lamps and the low murmur of laughter and conversation.

  Of course, Emilio has chosen an Italian restaurant. ‘Do you mind?’ he’d asked.

  ‘No,’ I’d told him. ‘I expect you’re choosing Italian food because you have a certain fondness for it.’

  ‘Yes. But also, no. I am choosing Italian so I can share a little bit more of myself with you,’ he’d said on the phone.

  ‘I want you to share more of yourself with me,’ I’d said back to him.

  The idea of it had thrilled me, does thrill me even now. It is so opposite of Alexei, who keeps so much to himself. I can’t count the number of times I’ve asked him to tell me stories. I’ve asked him to tell me about his childhood, I’ve asked him about what it was like to grow up in Russia. Always, it had seemed as though Alexei answered those questions with as few words as possible. I suppose, as deeply as I’d felt for him, as deeply as I’d thought he’d felt for me, he hadn’t really wanted me to know him.

  And there he was again, sneaking into my thoughts. No more, I resolved. Tonight was about me. It’s about Emilio.

  The restaurant, a little bistro on East 82nd Street, is busy for a Tuesday night. But, as soon as I walk in, the host smiles at me and says, “You must be Radiah Carlton. Your table is ready, miss. Please. Right this way.”

  Arching an eyebrow in surprise, I follow him through the aisle. It’s a beautiful little restaurant. All of the tables are tables for two, and over each one, a lotus shaped lamp hangs low. It looks like the flower petals themselves are letting off the soft amber light. Everything is cloth, including the tablecloths and the napkins, and the walls are a dark honey color. And the scent in the air...really, not much can compare with good Italian food. I admit it, I’m starting to feel positively giddy. “How did you know my name?”

  The host turns to smile at me. He’s young and dark haired. His thick Italian accent reminds me of Emilio. “The gentleman described you
to me. He was right. You’re very beautiful.”

  He says this as we near Emilio and, as Emilio stands up and looks at me, he says, “Isn’t she though? I did not lie, did I?” My face feels warm. He’s wearing a navy blue pinstriped suit, and his dark hair is slicked back and his dark eyes are intent on mine. Nodding to the host, Emilio rounds the table to pull out my chair himself.

  For a moment, we stand there, looking at each other. I can smell his aftershave, and he’s so near the impression of his warmth is vibrant. For a moment, his eyes sparkle and, for a moment, looking up at him, I think about how his lips will feel against mine. He looks so good, like he’s walked out of a magazine into reality. Into my reality. I can’t believe how lucky I am.