NOVAK

by Bergen, KC

  “Yeah, me neither.” Michael sat up straight and pulled down the brim of his cap to cover up his terrified, bulging eyes. “Mom had another window on her laptop open too. I think she was about to write to some other guy.”

  “Did you get his name?”

  “I don’t remember. I didn’t see any messages.”

  “She’s probably out playing the field. Women … You can’t trust ’em.”

  Michael didn’t like it when his dad said bad things about his ex-wife. Although he kept saying that he wanted his son to come live with him, Michael was still staying with his mom.

  Brian told Michael to send him the photos. “I can feel something starting to form—a beautiful plan unveiling itself like a glamour model taking off her dress.” Grinning, he glanced at his son. “Can you see it, playa?”

  13

  In the early morning, Novak logged on to SwipeRight.com. He’d received a message! From a woman named Mary. She wrote that she lived in Solvang, California, just outside Los Angeles. She was of Danish descent, divorced, and had a twelve-year-old son named Michael. Novak didn’t mind kids. They were kind of like sheep. Less wooly and only two-legged but still in need of guidance and protection. Mary mentioned having an affinity for reading books, watching movies, and doing yoga. Novak shared her interests, and he thought she was attractive too. She had kind eyes and a pretty smile, and in her message she seemed genuine.

  Novak wrote back, telling her that he was separated and soon-to-get divorced, which was true, and that he liked children but didn’t have any of his own, which was also true. Not wanting to give her the impression of being a lunatic, he left out that he’d lost his business due to Bigfoot. Instead he wrote that he was a nature-loving shepherd, asked her what she did for a living, and then clicked the “send” button.

  In the evening, after a long day punctuated by an inappropriate yoga class, he logged back onto SwipeRight.com. He had received another message from Mary! She wrote that she was a realtor and that she’d had a crazy day at work. A demanding client had forced her to redo a listing, and things were pretty hectic. She said she hoped that Novak’s day had been better than hers.

  He replied to her message, agreeing that people’s behavior could be pretty wild. He described a yoga class gone awry and people acting like birds and bunnies. Out of respect, he excluded his grandfather’s name from the story, and said that he was considering exercising strictly on his own from now on. Then he asked her why she’d moved to Los Angeles.

  Mary responded right away. She was logged on! She wrote that she knew quite a bit about acting, although she hadn’t seen any actors portraying bunnies or birds. She and her ex-husband Brian had initially moved to LA because he aimed to take his film production company to the next level. He’d produced British daytime soaps for years and had his eye on the big leagues: American prime time television. But flailing prime time drama had turned into nighttime smut, so she’d relocated to a quaint town called Solvang, which was founded in 1911 by Danish immigrants and felt more like home than LA did.

  Novak asked about her son, Michael. He went to school in Solvang, she wrote, and she shared custody with her ex-husband, who now lived about an hour away in Ventura. Life and business were good in Solvang, but of course she wished she had someone special to keep her company.

  Aren’t there any good men where you live? Novak wrote.

  Mary simply replied: No.

  Laughing, Novak sent her a smiley face and added: There aren’t any good girls around here either.

  Mary asked him about his situation, and he left out Bigfoot again but wrote that he’d given up everything for his business and marriage. So when his business and marriage unraveled, he was left with no one and nothing to hold onto.

  I’m alone now, he wrote, feeling a bit pathetic. But I’m handling the situation, he added. He was, like Mary, not willing to live in a world of smut.

  Yes, Mary replied, you have to respect yourself. You can’t take care of anything or anyone unless you take care of yourself first.

  Novak agreed, complimenting Mary on sounding like a seasoned shepherd. Mary sent him a smiley face and told him that she had to go. The demanding client was calling her again.

  Novak logged out but didn’t go downstairs. Judging from the birdcalls, howling, and roaring in the backyard, the students and their teacher were still bringing out their inner animals. What was Mary’s inner animal? He hardly even knew her. But thinking of her was a pleasant change from brooding over his misfortunes or suffering through his grandfather’s classes. Still, for all he knew Mary could be a dirty old man sitting on a computer somewhere, chugging liquor, making up stories, and laughing it up with his drinking buddies.

  No. There was something about Mary. He could sense that this woman was real, their connection genuine. You couldn’t truly fake that. Not with him. Years of shepherding had taught him to trust his instincts. If he was completely honest with himself, deep down he’d suspected that his ex-wife had been hiding things from him. Not wanting to confront her and also staying busy most days, he’d merely turned a blind eye. No, he’d done more than that; he had disrespected himself.

  Novak felt like taking a bath, so he filled the tub and got in. The water was perfect. Like Mary. He closed his eyes and pictured himself holding Mary’s hand as they pranced along the foot of a mountain in a field of sunflowers. It was like the happy ending of a fairytale. Until his reverie was invaded by a midget hopping across their path. Wearing micro briefs, Oleg chased after the hopping bunny, flapping his arms like a geriatric eagle. He tackled her and they tumbled around in the grass. Then Oleg started kissing and fondling the bunny.

  “My inner eagle is coming out strong, like the flavor of pork vindaloo,” he said in his Indian accent, taking her hand and guiding it toward the front of his briefs.

  In his derailed vision, Novak’s hand was squeezed hard, but to his dismay it wasn’t Mary he was holding onto anymore. It was his sneering wife—ex—Alenka. “Why would a successful business woman want you?” she shouted, squashing his hand. “You’re a deadbeat shepherd, a total loser!”

  His cloak and hair fluttering in the wind, Franc bopped toward Novak and his snarling ex-wife. He stopped in front of them. Grinning mischievously at Novak, Franc hopped and thrusted his hips toward Alenka.

  No—Mary had taken her place.

  “Come on, girl. Let go of this punk’s hand,” Franc told Mary, still hopping and thrusting his hips. “I’ve got something bigger and better for you to hold onto.”

  Novak let go of Mary’s hand and punched Franc in the balls. He buckled and fell on his side, clutching his groin.

  “Hold onto yourself!” Novak told Franc.

  Novak reached out and gently took Mary’s hand in his. As they continued prancing, several furry white animals appeared on a grassy knoll in front of them. Novak counted six sheep and one lamb. His beautiful, beloved herd. Seven four-legged little angels. Novak called for them, but they didn’t seem to hear him. They didn’t make a sound, and they didn’t move. They just stood there, as still as statues. However, the background was far from still. The flowery field at the foot of the mountain soon turned into a great valley of shimmering greens and blues. It looked like a majestic fjord. Oddly, it swelled and seemed to grow. It wasn’t a fjord—the water was coming at them. Fast.

  Tsunami!

  They ran for the hills but there was no escape. So Novak took Mary in his arms and as the wall of water swallowed his herd, threatening to bury them all forever, he did the only thing that came to mind: He kissed Mary. A passionate, deep kiss that would unite them in this world and the next.

  Novak felt an urge to breathe but sensed that a deep inhalation would be the death of him. He grabbed the edges of the tub and pulled himself up, breaking the water’s surface. Eyes wide open, gasping for air, he realized that he’d fallen asleep and nearly drowned in the bathtub.

  14

  Mary checked her SwipeRight page again. There were no new m
essages from Novak, but she had received one from Tristan Drimov! She had completely forgotten about the message she’d written to him several days ago.

  Tristan wrote that he enjoyed traveling too, as the finer things in life were all around us: the natural beauty of the Andes Mountains, an evening at the Metropolitan Opera or Museum, ancient Roman architecture. And, as he worked out five times a week, his body was also a fine work of art. Mary thought it was a pretty self-aggrandizing thing to say, but the smiley face at the end of the sentence made her giggle. The KGB agent had a sense of humor.

  She replied that she also enjoyed traveling, and yoga kept her in good shape, although she wouldn’t go so far as to compare her body to Roman sculptures. She wrote that as a real estate agent she also nurtured a professional interest in architecture. Finally, she asked about Tristan’s work, which she figured was pretty exciting, and how was life in Russia?

  ***

  Brian was still logged on when his ex-wife’s message arrived in his inbox. Guffawing, he pounded the office desk with his hand. The dumb broad had fallen for his fake profile! TristanDrimov1—she hadn’t noticed that he’d just added the numeral “1” to the name. But who could blame her for buying into Brian’s craftsmanship? The name was almost identical, the pictures were the same, and so was the bio. Brian thought the original Tristan profile was fake as well, probably some old perv pretending to be the man of every woman’s dreams.

  Brian skimmed through the messages from Mary. Oh yeah, she was falling for it! He crafted a response detailing some of the excitement of his life without giving away too much. Tristan Drimov was a hero, sure, but he couldn’t be too cocky about it either. He’d recently saved a woman and her child in Rome, but he’d also had time to enjoy lunch at the Trevi Fountain. A lunch as lonely as the Siberian forests in winter, Brian wrote. He’d tossed a coin into the fountain hoping to meet a woman he didn’t have to save—a strong woman with a mind of her own. Maybe even a woman with a child, as he was unable to father children.

  Too much information? Brian pondered the question. He knew that Mary didn’t want any more children, but she was obviously searching for a man who didn’t mind that she already had a kid. In that regard Tristan would fit the bill. Not being able to father children was an intimate detail, though. Brian didn’t want her to think that Tristan’s dick had been blown off in the line of fire. But he couldn’t write that Tristan’s dick was intact either. She’d probably understand that anyway, as he’d written that the KGB officer’s body was a work of art.

  Brian felt that he’d ticked all the right boxes: He was presenting an exciting, worldly man with a softer side. Add the stunning photos, and what woman in her right mind could possibly resist Tristan Drimov? Even Brian felt like he wanted the guy to be real. So he could cast him in The Wizard of Ass.

  Cackling with delight, Brian hit “send.”

  15

  Novak yanked out the plug in the bathtub and sat there, shaken, while the water drained. He had almost died, and yet with his last breath he’d desired a kiss. From Mary. It was crazy. A crazy dream. But he felt alive, full of gratitude and purpose. He toweled off and put on a bathrobe. He felt so alive, as if he were born again! And he wanted to share this moment with someone.

  With Mary.

  He signed in to discover that Mary was logged on! He wrote her a quick message just to say hi, in case she was about to log off. She replied that she was actually writing him a message. It was true, although she’d also just written back to Tristan.

  What were you writing about? Novak wrote. He frowned. “She’s writing about what she’s writing about,” Novak said under his breath. “Be patient.”

  Mary tittered. “He’s so eager and curious.” She added, This is what I’m writing about… as an opener to her message, which went on to thank him for their previous chat. She’d had a good time.

  Novak agreed, adding that he’d logged on to write her a message, so it was great luck that she was there.

  Or maybe it’s more than just luck, she wrote, adding a smiley face at the end. She hovered the cursor over the “send” button. “Don’t hesitate,” she said. “Write what you feel like writing.” She clicked the “send” button.

  “Maybe it’s more than just luck,” Novak read off the screen. “Maybe it is destiny,” he heard himself whisper. He didn’t even think twice, but flat-out asked if he could see her.

  Sure, she replied. She could connect with him via FaceTime or Skype. So he called her on Skype.

  “Hello,” Novak said. “You look beautiful.”

  “Thanks. You too.”

  Having just gotten out of the tub, Novak was wearing only a bathrobe, and his hair was disheveled. “I look hideous,” he said, jokingly covering his face with the sleeve of his robe. “You’re just saying that to be nice.”

  Mary chuckled. “No, I mean it.”

  “Thanks.” Novak hadn’t planned anything to say, and he was no expert at small talk. “So, you’re working?”

  “Yes. There’s always something to do when you own a small business. The hardest thing is to find a good balance.”

  Novak brushed a wet bang away from his eye. “I had a dream about you.”

  “Really?”

  Novak had just blurted it out. He was giving away too much information, but he couldn’t back out now. And he definitely couldn’t tell her about the kissing part. She’d think he was a psycho. “I dreamt that you and I were in a field of flowers.” He cleared his throat. “Nothing weird. We just went for a walk.”

  “I enjoy walks! And flowers are also nice,” Mary said, laughing.

  Should I ask her if she enjoys tsunamis? Definitely not! “Then you would love the Slovenian countryside. It’s great for long walks.”

  Mary asked Novak about his country, and he told her about the scenic views and about his former career as a shepherd. He didn’t want to mention that Bigfoot had killed his herd, though. It still felt unreal, and it would also ruin what he’d said about the countryside being great for long walks. He asked her about Solvang, her job, and life in general. As she spoke he got the feeling that she was lonely, just like him.

  “Do you get lonely?” he asked. Pausing for a moment, she appeared distant, as if looking inward and not liking what she saw. “Sorry,” Novak added. “I sometimes ask too many questions.”

  “That’s okay,” she said. “Why? Is it so obvious?”

  “Maybe it takes a lonely person to recognize another.”

  “Maybe,” she said.

  “There’s nothing wrong with being lonely, of course.”

  “Of course not,” she said. “It’s not like we’re two losers confessing to virtual strangers.”

  “No, you’re not a virtual stranger.”

  She laughed. “Did you just call me a loser?”

  Smiling, Novak shook his head. “In a way, I think loneliness is valuable. I mean, I can feel lonely even when there’s a lot of people around, and so it’s helpful in figuring out what truly connects you.”

  She agreed to that. Then they both fell silent, just observing one another. It wasn’t an awkward moment, Novak thought, and Mary also allowed the silence to linger without injecting it with words. In that moment he knew that if a tsunami had been threatening to swallow them, he’d want nothing more than to hold her tight and protect her from the onslaught of water.

  “I don’t feel lonely here with you,” he heard himself say. “Would you like to meet in person?”

  16

  Mary held her breath. At first she didn’t fully grasp the question: Would you like to meet in person? Seeing Novak and talking to him on Skype felt like a meeting. She thought, Am I ready for this? Was it the right question, though? She was lonely, like the blushing shepherd on her screen.

  What’s best for me? What’s best for Michael?

  “I can stay in a hotel, just for a few days,” Novak added, shifting in his chair. “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. We barely know each other.”

  �
��Yes, I know.” Mary felt a surge of energy. Was it a spirit of adventure? She thought so. It was a good feeling. And Novak seemed sincere, open, and kind. He was everything her ex-husband was not. Besides, Mary was a good judge of character. Working as a realtor and salesperson, you had to be.

  What’s the worst that could happen?

  If they weren’t compatible, he’d just leave. And if she didn’t find love, she felt certain that she’d find friendship. And what if he was a great man for her and Michael? Considering her disastrous past dates, even half-decent men were hard to come by. And Novak was a shepherd to boot, which she found intriguing.

  Why not give it a try, just for a few days?

  “Let me think about it,” she heard herself say.

  “All right,” Novak said, averting his eyes.

  Mary folded her hands. On one hand, she felt crazy for wanting to say yes. She barely knew the guy. But on the other, she was tired of carefully thinking through everything and then everything usually didn’t work out the way she wanted anyway. “Okay, I’ve thought about it. Sure, I can show you around town.”

  “Yeah?” Novak’s eyes opened wide as he grinned.

  “Yeah,” Mary said. “Why not? You seem like a nice guy.”

  “I am a nice guy.”

  “Just make sure to book a hotel room.”

  “No problem.”

  Mary received an urgent phone call from a client and had to end the conversation.

  ***

  Novak realized there was a tiny detail he hadn’t taken into account: a plane ticket to California was not free, nor was a hotel room, and he only had pennies to his name. He looked out the window, feeling like his whole life had changed. No—like it might change. For the better. If he had some money.

  He heard applause. The class outside was over, and his grandfather embraced one of his students. He hugged her tight, stroking her lower back.