by Bergen, KC
“Shit.” Tristan contemplated whether he should go look for Novak on foot, take the car, or go back to bed and then just make up a story. But a Russian KGB officer would never go back to bed. Peter reminded himself that he was in character, and that his career depended on the outcome of this undercover test.
Tristan got in his car. Novak had a five-minute head start, tops, and Tristan assumed the Slovenian wasn’t headed farther into the residential area. So he drove toward the city center. Sure enough, within a couple minutes he spotted Novak on the sidewalk, briskly walking toward town. Even though he pretended to be a KGB officer, Peter had never followed anyone before. Well, there was that time when he was a senior in high school, and he’d stalked a former girlfriend. But she’d seen him driving up slowly behind her and called the cops. A first-time stalking had ended in a restraining order. He’d have to do a better job this time.
Peter as Tristan parked the Jag on the side of the residential street, and cautiously followed Novak from what he believed to be a safe distance. Novak appeared to have heard his footsteps, though, as he glanced over his shoulder. Tristan dove in between two parked cars. He waited, heart pounding in his chest. Had Novak seen him? He waited a few more heartbeats, then peeked round the rear of an SUV.
Novak was still walking in the same direction. But it had been a close call. Relieved, Tristan watched Novak turn the corner at the nearest intersection. Afraid of losing track of the guy, Tristan jogged until he reached the corner. Then he carefully craned his neck to have a look around the bend.
Novak was heading toward a car wash. And not just any old car wash. A man wearing nothing but a yellow thong was cleaning a driver’s window. Well, cleaning was perhaps a stretch. The guy was grinding up against the window, moving his hips to the beat of a disco tune. And Novak went inside this unusual establishment.
A black limousine pulled up at the stop sign next to Tristan. The windows were down, and one of the passengers even popped his head and torso out of the sunroof. They were all wearing suits and sporting conservative haircuts. Businessmen or perhaps politicians, Tristan figured, but there was nothing businesslike or stately about their behavior. They were ogling him, and the gentleman jutting out of the sunroof even waved and whistled. A sweaty man in the backseat wearing a buttoned-down shirt said something that made them all squeal with laughter as they pulled away and then turned into the car wash. Novak soon came outside wearing a neon thong. Tristan could hardly believe it.
He called Brian and told him what Novak was doing, but Brian didn’t believe it. To obtain proof, Tristan crept up to a tree across the street from the car wash. Using the tree for cover, he snapped a couple photos and shot a brief video of Novak shaking his foamy butt to seventies disco music. He sent the evidence over to Brian, who called him back right away. Brian had a plan, and it was simple yet good. It also had to be implemented immediately.
Tristan ran to his car and then drove to Mary’s house. He parked next to her car, which was too clean to warrant a wash. So he grabbed two handfuls of dirt from the flowerbed and sprinkled some on the windshield, roof, and hood, and smeared the front tires. He patted and arranged the dirt to make it look natural, and finally rinsed his hands on the misty grass near the driveway. The car was filthy. Perfect!
He checked his watch: half past nine. Time to wake up Mary. He went to her bedroom and stopped outside the door to listen in. He didn’t hear anything, so he knocked.
Mary yawned. “Uh-huh?”
Tristan spoke through the closed door. “I’d like to take you out for a nice breakfast.”
“I’ve got the morning off,” she said.
She didn’t sound very enthusiastic. “I just don’t want you to sleep away your precious morning off. I’ll get you pancakes, eggs, bacon—whatever you want. My treat.”
“All right, just give me a few minutes to get ready.”
“Of course.” Elated, Tristan hurried to his room to freshen up. He sang to himself, paraphrasing an old Bangles song: “Today’s not Sunday, but it’s still my fun day.”
36
Tristan and Mary left the house, and she immediately spotted her filthy vehicle in the driveway. “Oh no, look at my car! Who did this?”
Tristan scoffed. “Any kids in the neighborhood?”
“Yes.”
“Well, there you go. Damn kids.”
“But they’ve never vandalized my property before.”
“As soon as those bastards hit puberty, they go nuts.” Tristan inspected the dirty vehicle. “Hmm. Why don’t we take your car down to the car wash? Get it cleaned first, and then we’ll go have breakfast.”
“It can wait,” Mary said.
“What if people in town see you driving a filthy vehicle? What might they say about your real estate business—that you’re a dirty agent? Your brand would suffer. It’ll only take a few minutes.” Tristan smiled. “My treat before the breakfast treat.”
“Okay.”
They got in the car, with Tristan behind the wheel. As they cruised down the street, he mentioned that he’d seen a car wash nearby. Mary said she’d heard about the place and that it was more like a strip joint than a car wash.
“It can’t be that bad,” Tristan said. “Let’s just pass by, and if it’s really awful we’ll go someplace else.”
Mary didn’t object, and Tristan did his best to conceal his excitement as they approached the car wash. He spotted Novak in his thong servicing another vehicle, a van from Sunset Lake retirement home. Several elderly ladies were glued to the windows, cheering and ogling Novak as he lay on top of the hood, grinding away at the soapy surface. Tristan didn’t say a word. Whistling, he pulled up at a perpendicular angle to the van, making sure that the car wash attendant was in clear view. Sisqó’s “Thong Song” was appropriately playing over the establishment’s loudspeakers.
“Oh my God,” Mary said, pointing at the van. “Is that …?”
“What?” Tristan asked innocuously. “They’re just old women. Let them have their fun.”
“Not them. Him!”
Tristan feigned surprise. “No way! That … That’s Novak!”
“Right!? What is he doing?”
“He’s making it rain,” Tristan said, watching Novak, on his back, sprinkle himself and the car with a water hose.
“Let’s get out of here,” Mary said.
“Well, from here it looks like he’s doing a thorough job.”
“It’s not funny.”
Tristan thought it was, although he agreed with Mary as he lowered the window. “Hey, Novak! How much do you charge for a car wash?”
Novak’s jaw dropped. As soon as he spotted Mary in the passenger seat, the water hose in his hand dropped too. He climbed down from the hood of the van.
“Where do you think you’re going?” a skinny, elderly woman shouted from the rear window.
“Yeah,” a large lady said. “We’re paying customers!” She stuck her cane out the window and hooked Novak’s leg with the handle. “Boy, you’re not going anywhere!”
“I can explain,” Novak said, glancing from Tristan to Mary while fighting the cane.
“You don’t have to,” Tristan said. “We can see that you’re busy.” He rolled up the window and turned to Mary. “We’ll go someplace else.”
“He said he was a shepherd,” Mary said in disbelief.
Tristan shook his head. “I’m telling tell you, these Slovenians are something else.”
37
Mary wasn’t feeling hungry, but Tristan still ordered eggs, bacon, French toast, a stack of pancakes, orange juice, and coffee. As soon as the waiter brought the food, he dug in. Mary quietly sipped her orange juice.
“Don’t feel bad,” Tristan said, chewing on a strip of bacon. “None of this is your fault. And after that terrible place we found a decent car wash. No strippers, just machines. Automation is sometimes superior to the human touch, don’t you think?”
Mary cracked a weary smile. “I guess. I’ve s
een my share of strippers and bimbos, but never something like that.”
“It’s the twenty-first century,” Tristan said. “Wait. What do you mean you’ve seen your share of strippers?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Time is on our side.”
“Well, my ex-husband …” Mary grabbed a pancake. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”
“I’m a KGB officer. I’m shock proof.”
“Where do I even start?” Mary asked herself, drizzling syrup on her pancake. “For years my ex-husband used to produce daytime soap operas. But then he made a switch to, well, basically porn. He didn’t tell me, of course, but I noticed that the starlets suddenly got skimpier outfits and bigger boobs.” She cut into the pancake. “They all looked like strippers and prostitutes. I should have seen it coming.”
“Did you, uh, watch any of these movies?”
“Hell no!” Mary glared at Tristan. “Why would I watch that filthy crap?”
“Filthy crap? Some of these movies can be quite glamorous and artsy. Even thought-provoking.”
“You watch porn?”
“Of course not! But I’ve heard about these adult films. From friends.”
Mary watched Tristan gulp down a mouthful of orange juice. She didn’t know what to believe anymore.
After breakfast, Mary took the wheel and drove home. As she pulled up in her driveway, Tristan’s cellphone rang. Mary left to give him some privacy, but she hadn’t even made it to the front door when Tristan popped out of the car.
“I have to go,” he said. “KGB business.”
38
When Tristan arrived at Brian’s office, the producer sent his son out of the office with Amber. She took him by the hand. “You two look great together,” Brian remarked. “And Amber, I’m not just talking about your jugs.”
Tristan closed the door on Amber and Michael. “The plan worked.”
“Really?” Brian shot Tristan a sinister grin. “Was it part of our plan to have you charge a grand to my credit card?”
“Champagne. The worldly Russian ordered it, not me.”
“Peter!”
“The name’s Tristan. I’m a method actor now. Stanislavski, remember? And do you want me to win over Mary or not?”
“Yes! But not like this.”
“Well, I could tell Mary about our little operation.”
“What? Are you blackmailing me now?!”
“No, I’m just confused about our common goal.”
“You know our goal, and do I have to remind you that we’re shooting a movie next month?”
Tristan thought of Mary’s mansion and luxurious lifestyle. “You didn’t mention that Mary lived like a queen. I could get used to it, you know.”
“Is that so?” Brian calmly rose from his chair and came around the office desk. He placed a hairy forearm around Tristan’s shoulder. “Who’s the boss around here?”
“Don’t touch me,” Tristan said. He pinched a tuft of hair on Brian’s forearm and yanked it. Wincing, Brian let go. Tristan took a step back. “I know what you’re up to,” he said. “But what court will grant you custody if I spill the beans?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You always bring your son around. You want him to take over your business one day, right? Well, it might happen. If you play your cards right.”
“Don’t mess with me, you little punk. You still haven’t signed a contract for The Wizard of Ass.”
“I don’t care anymore. I’m ready to retire, and Mary is one hot piece of ass.”
Brian punched Tristan’s mouth. Tristan parried the next blow, and socked Brian in the eye. Groaning, the big man supported himself against the desk.
Tristan touched his bleeding lip. “I can sue you for this, you know.”
“Oh yeah? Who’s going to believe you?”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“And you’re fired!”
“You think you’re Donald Trump? You never even hired me.”
“Get out of my office!” Brian tossed a napkin at Tristan. “And don’t get any of that disease-infested blood on my carpet!”
39
Mary was pacing around in her office, brooding. She glanced at the calendar on the wall. Circled the date of Novak’s arrival and then added a circle to his departure date. “Three more days until he leaves.”
She sat down at her desk and cradled her face in agony, wishing she’d stayed away from this online dating stuff. Now she had to deal with a shepherd-turned-stripper and possibly worse, if Tristan was right. She hoped not, because she’d enjoyed the Slovenian man’s company. And there was also something about the KGB officer that seemed slightly off, like popping a champagne bottle into a person’s face. She’d searched the web and not found any information on such a test or drinking game in Russia. She’d confronted Tristan with the lack of evidence, and he’d said it was a Siberian game, not a Russian one, and that Siberians were both Internet illiterates and notoriously secretive.
Another off-putting thing: How had her car suddenly become so filthy? And then Tristan had taken her to get the car cleaned at that particular location, just as Novak was working or twerking or whatever you’d call it. Purely a coincidence? Or was she being paranoid? Well, a certain degree of paranoia was probably healthy in this situation. After all, she also had Michael’s safety on her mind.
She looked at the picture on her desk: Michael sitting on her lap, proud and joyful after his first day in kindergarten. He was growing up fast but was still just a boy. Time was on his side. However, the best days of her life seemed to be behind her. Her eyes welled up. Time was running away. Soon her boy would be a grown man, and what kind of man would he grow into? God forbid he turn into a Brian.
She touched the picture, wishing she could hold his future in her hands. Instead she was swept away by sweet old memories. They had been a happy family once, and then time had carried them away. She bowed her head, not wanting to leave the moment in the picture frame.
The doorbell rang. Mary snatched a tissue from the box on her desk and dried her tears. She wasn’t expecting anyone. It was only a quarter past noon and Michael wouldn’t be home from school for another four hours. Was he early? She went to the door and checked the peephole.
Novak.
What was he doing here? Although he was wearing shorts instead of a neon thong, she didn’t want to let him in. “What do you want, Novak?”
“I am sorry you had to see … you know.”
“What were you thinking?”
“I needed a job. To make money.”
“There are better ways to do it.”
“I know. I just want to take care of you.”
“I can take care of myself, thank you very much.”
“I know.” Novak scratched his arm. “I embarrassed myself at that crazy place, so I quit. Can you open the door for me?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Please, Mary, I have nowhere else to go.”
“You have a home in Slovenia.” Mary cringed at her cold-heartedness, but she needed to protect her family.
“Yes, but my return flight is not …” Novak glanced over his shoulder. “I guess I can stay in my car. Will you please let me get my things?”
Mary stayed quiet, wondering whether she should call the police or let Novak in. She had another peep. Novak looked so sad and lonely, and she did believe that he had good intentions. But then again, having ended up with two guys and one big headache, she struggled to trust her judgment.
She took a deep breath. Novak had clearly made a poor career decision. Even so, she couldn’t punish him for that. Tristan had warned her of Slovenians in general, but Novak had not hurt anyone. Plus, she had invited him over and didn’t want to make him homeless either.
“Okay,” Mary said. “I’ll let you in, but please behave like a gentleman.”
“I am a gentle man.”
Mary opened the door, and Novak limped inside the ho
use.
“What’s wrong with your leg?” Mary asked.
“An old lady pulled on it with her cane.”
“Do you need to see a doctor?”
“No thanks, I’ll be okay.”
Mary offered Novak a seat on the couch. She couldn’t help feeling curious about how a simple Slovenian shepherd had in record time turned himself into a stripper. So she asked him about it. Novak told her about the failed attempt as a busboy, and that a nice gentleman from Mexico then had helped him get the job at the car wash. No papers needed, no questions asked. Although he disliked the actual work, it did pay fairly well.
“I know you’re taking care of Michael and everything,” Novak said, “but I just wanted to help. I like your son. And I, uh …” Rubbing his bruised leg, Novak blushed. “I like you too.”
Mary didn’t know how to respond. Novak was a really nice guy, and he’d also revealed a surprisingly fit and agile body at the car wash. Not that that was the most important thing to her, but taking good care of yourself obviously mattered. Preferring not to admit to too much, she focused her attention on Novak’s injured leg. “Are you okay?”
Novak’s eyes met Mary’s.
“Now that I’m here with you, Mary, I am more than okay.”
40
Michael was sitting next to Amber on the couch outside Brian’s office. She had her arm around the boy as she read him an adult fairytale called Little Red Riding Ho. In this version the main character was a horny female dwarf who’d run away from her grandma because she desperately wanted to lose her virginity. And Little Red Riding Ho was now literally about to ride a man she believed to be a hunter. He had big ears, eyes, and teeth, but she only realized the hunter was a wolf when he pulled out his furry ding-dong.
The story was ridiculous and inappropriate, but Michael relished the sensation of sitting next to Amber. Due to the way she hugged him, he was getting lots of ear-boob. It felt like a warm and comfortable pillow. Well, not that comfortable, as he was rubbing up against the silicone implant.
