“Wow,” Galena said, blinking her eyes in surprise. “I need that kind of reality check every now and again to stop my pitiful whining about life in Brighton Beach. I’m really sorry all of that happened to you, but how did you end up with Pavel?”
“I… I met his brother in Batumi,” she said, stumbling over a plausible story that wouldn’t make her sound like a pathetic victim. “I wasn’t given… I wasn’t given a lot of options for joining him in St. Petersburg, and he sent me to Pavel a few months later.”
“Not a lot of options,” Galena repeated dryly. “I understand what that means. If half of what I hear is true, Damir Petruskenkov is a real son-of-a-bitch. Pavel, too. He may be a world ahead of a lot of them, but he can be a hard-ass if you back him into a corner. You need to be careful with both of them. Did they… I assume they raped you, too?”
The overwhelming need to separate the two brothers had never been stronger. “Damir, yes. I didn’t want anything to do with him, but Pavel, no. I was willing. I don’t regret it, but he makes it clear that he isn’t planning on keeping me.”
“Where would he send you? Can he even do that?”
“They can do anything they want,” she said sadly. “I’m neither naïve nor stupid. I have no idea where I could hide and still feed myself, at least right now, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to roll over and let this happen to me without a fight. And I’m pretty sure that Damir makes all of the decisions, not Pavel.”
“Be careful who you trust. You need to assume that anything you tell the people in this office will be repeated back to Pavel, and most likely his brother as well. Most doctors in America are sworn to keep your secrets, but you can’t guarantee any privacy with a Russian doctor in Brighton Beach. I go to a free clinic in Manhattan where I have more anonymity for my birth control and clinical checkups.”
Zoya nodded a second time, but raised her chin and met Galena’s eye. “I’m made of pretty strong stuff, but I’ve never had an adult exam, and I’m… I’m scared. The idea of a strange man touching me is unsettling at best, but I didn’t know how to explain that to Pavel. I can’t imagine what he would do if he found out everything I’ve been keeping from him.”
“We can ask for a female doctor, if there’s one available, but a medical exam isn’t like sex, and it sure as hell won’t feel like rape. It’s poking and prodding, and you don’t have a lot of privacy, but it’s clinical. They talk you through the whole thing, and if you tell them that you’re afraid, they’ll take even more time to do it right. You also have the authority to end it anytime you want.”
Zoya gave her a questioning glance, and Galena held her own chin high. “The percentage of women in this country who are victims of a sexual assault is dismally astronomical. When I was in high school I went on a date that my father didn’t approve of, and it went south pretty quick. I wasn’t a virgin, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t my choice. I never told my family because I’m pretty sure my father would have gotten some of his buddies together and literally murdered the kid. I’m not ashamed to admit that knocking him around a little wasn’t the worst idea I’d ever considered, but I didn’t want to see anybody end up in jail… or dead.”
“But it was different with me,” Zoya whispered miserably. “I… I added to the… whole thing. The men back in Russia told me that I was a whore because I… I reacted, and my body accepted them.”
“That’s insane,” she snapped. “Your body reacted to protect you physically. I don’t mean to compare this to something trivial, but think about being tickled like mad. You might be laughing, but there is nothing enjoyable about it. Rape isn’t your fault, Zoya. You’re a victim of a crime. They’re the guilty ones, and if Pavel holds that against you, then he’s fucked up. The sooner you recognize that, the sooner you can move forward.”
“It was different with Pavel,” she admitted shyly, as a small part of her burden was lessened by the difficult conversation. “He took his time, and it was about my enjoyment as much as his. And I’m really glad that you’re here today, Galena. I don’t know how I would have adjusted to America if it weren’t for you. Thank you for being my friend.”
“And that’s a great American song,” Galena said with a giggle, singing a few bars in English with a clear soprano voice. “So, we’ll take care of all the simple stuff today, and I can arrange for a doctor far away from Brighton Beach who specializes in helping trauma victims. She made all the difference for me, but when we’re done here, we’re going to go to fucking City Hall and start being heard. It’s time to fight for what we deserve.”
“I can’t do that!” She raised her voice loud enough to draw the attention of several patients in the waiting room. Looking around in a panic, she whispered, “You were born in New York, but I’m not even an American. If I didn’t get arrested or deported, Pavel would kill me, and I don’t think he’d be very happy with you either.”
“We wouldn’t put our name on a report or anything, but it’s not illegal to protest in the US. There’s a rally today in front of city hall in Manhattan. We’re going to start there.”
“You’re crazy!” she said, emphasizing the key word. “You’ve seen that look in Pavel’s eye when he gets angry. He’s made it clear that I’m not supposed to wander without his permission.”
“My father is the same annoying way. Since he owns the title to my car, I tend to listen to him, but we can tell both of them that we want to do some sightseeing and that will get us downtown. It’ll be easy, I promise. We need to start acting like red, white, and blue Americans, and eventually, the men in our lives will learn that we’re big girls and can take care of ourselves.”
Zoya stared at her unhappily as the receptionist called her name from the doorway. Her trust in Galena would never be misplaced, but she was pretty sure that her friend’s version of American rights would directly contradict her new husband’s.
Chapter 10
With Galena by her side, the exam was not as bad as she’d expected, but the doctor’s constant references to Pavel’s expectations added to the unexplained vials of blood they took from her arm, sharp needles delivering vaccinations she’d never heard of, and a prescription for birth control pills that she wasn’t sure she wanted. “You were right, Galena,” she said in the parking lot. “That man didn’t even listen to what I wanted. Honestly, I think I’d rather have a diaphragm instead of taking a pill every day.”
“Come on,” nagged Galena, waving her powder blue cell phone. “Give your jailer a call and let him know that we’re going downtown. I already called my father when you were getting your blood drawn. It’s a beautiful day, not too hot, and it isn’t supposed to rain until later tonight. Keep your story simple, and it’ll be a lot harder to prove anything shady if we get backed into a corner.”
Despite her annoyance with the doctor, Zoya was still reluctant when she dialed the number, and Pavel answered his cell almost immediately. After offering a quick pleasantry, she told him of her plans. “That’s fine,” he said distractedly. “Galena isn’t driving her car, is she? She has a horrible driving record. Maybe you should wait until tomorrow when I can arrange for somebody to take you and bring you back.”
“No, really,” she said quickly. “We’re taking the subway, and I still have the money you gave me so I could get some lunch today. We’ll be fine, and I’ll be back to your house long before dinner.”
Despite her initial reservations, the ease at which she’d gained his grudging approval left her feeling as free and giddy as a schoolgirl skipping a math test. “Let’s go,” she said with a grin, handing Galena her cell phone. “We’ve got all afternoon.”
The fascinating subway ride gave her a better understanding about the massive size and population of the city. “You’re going to love Manhattan,” said Galena happily, sitting across from a pair of sullen teenagers with pink hair. “The Lower East Side is where all the Jewish immigrants settled after they were driven from the Russian Pale at the turn of the last century. My moth
er’s grandparents lived around there when they first arrived, but my father was an immigrant from a small village near Moscow.”
Forty-five minutes later, they stood on the sidewalk in front of the underground station in Manhattan facing an over-crowded park with mobs of shouting, angry people. About a hundred feet separated a sea of blue-uniformed police officers with riot gear from the angry protesters carrying signs in both English and Russian. She reluctantly followed when Galena grabbed her hand to cross the street and join the fray.
“What are they actually protesting?” asked Zoya, a little embarrassed that she hadn’t thought to ask the question earlier.
“Russian involvement in Chechnya,” said Galena matter-of-factly, still holding tightly to her hand while moving through the crowds. “Apparently, it’s getting ugly over there.”
“Let’s go around them,” said Zoya, nervously eyeing another battery of uniformed police wandering the perimeter. “We should have gotten off at the next stop and just looked at all of this from down the street.”
“It’s fine. We’ll head over to the Tenement Museum as soon as I check this out and still have time to go get something to eat in Chinatown before the rush hour commute starts heading out of here.”
The further they traveled through the endless crowds, the harder it became to negotiate a clear path. Pulling back from Galena’s grasp, she stopped to identify an alternate escape route, and an overweight man with long gray hair bumped her shoulder hard enough to set her off balance. She quickly righted herself and glared at him, but he proceeded to shout at her with a range of English cursing.
“Fuck off, old man,” snapped Galena, stepping between them. Raising their voices, the two of them drew even closer until she feared Galena was going to strike him. She prepared to intervene when she was pushed hard from behind and turned to face a bitter woman who apparently belonged with Galena’s opponent, but other than a few more curses, she had no idea what the woman was saying.
“Come on,” Zoya insisted, grabbing Galena’s arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
Undeterred, Galena pulled away to continue her verbal attack, but an undefeatable grasp took Zoya’s elbow from behind. She clenched her fists to prepare for battle with the middle-aged bitch, but turned in another half-circle, she came face to face with Pavel’s cousin, Liam Jackson. Dressed in a blue police uniform complete with crisply pleated pants and a silver badge, he was a totally different person than the one she’d met in rumpled khaki shorts on Brighton Avenue.
Despite his official police presence, Galena tried to pull her from his grasp, shouting at him with more English obscenities. Using his spare hand, Liam stuck his finger in Galena’s face and his scolding reduced her to a furious concession. Turning to Zoya, Galena spoke in Russian. “He says that he knows you and Pavel. Is that true?”
“Yes,” she hissed. “He’s the guy you saw on the street the other day with Pavel. And don’t make him any angrier than he already is. He’s our only chance to convince Pavel that we made a mistake and got off at the wrong stop.”
Liam rolled his eyes and spoke in a heavily accented Russian. “Did you forget that I speak a little Russian, Zoya?”
“We didn’t mean anything,” she said quickly, cursing her bad luck. He was probably the only American in all of New York who could understand Russian. “And this was all very innocent. We were just out for a walk, and we were going to an art museum, and maybe grab a little lunch. And the zoo,” she added desperately, the panic feeding her rambling response. “I hear that there’s a really nice zoo in New York, so just let us go, and we will be out of this mess and nobody needs to get hurt.”
Liam sighed, taking her arm more firmly. “But not that much Russian. Come on, there’s no way I’m leaving you here.”
“The Tenement Museum!” whispered Galena incredulously. “Not art museum. And the zoo is miles away from here. We’ve got to get our story straight.” Speaking louder, she added, “And I’m not going anyplace with a New York cop, so he can just harass somebody else. We’ll find our own way home.”
That prompted his second unintelligible scolding, but whatever he said made Galena even angrier. She returned his tirade with more attitude, making Zoya wish for the millionth time that she’d learned the language a little faster. “What’s he saying? What’s going on?” she asked desperately.
“He’s being a fucking bully!” shouted Galena. “And I’m not going anyplace with him, so he can go fuck himself.” She ended her newest tirade by kicking him in the ankle with her sharp boot.
Her stupid friend may have been speaking more Russian than he could understand, but the kick to his ankle proved to be the game changer. He let go of Zoya to twirl Galena in a circle, pulling her arms behind her back and snapping heavy steel handcuffs on her wrists. Grumbling, he pointed toward a row of black and white police cruisers parked on the street and turned to Zoya. “Follow me. Or do I need more handcuffs?”
For a brief second, she considered running away from the entire train wreck of a scene, but the mob had only grown bigger and angrier with the sight of a pretty young Russian girl in police custody. Complete with growling German Shepherds and ugly batons drawn behind heavy shields, a few of Liam’s fellow cops came closer to provide some sort of human wall of protection, making him the better source of comfort in a shallow pool of choices.
Dragging Galena behind him, Liam pushed his way through the crowd. Zoya tried to stay close, but she was shoved hard enough to knock her to the ground, scraping her knees on the sidewalk and leaving a nasty red abrasion near the hem of her dress. Liam turned and offered his hand to help her up, but she was already on her feet, eager to follow him to the safety of the police car.
Galena, however, remained less compliant. Fighting her restraints and kicking his calves, she continued to shout obscenities, stirring the already agitated crowd to a frenzy, but Liam pushed her into the back seat before standing aside so Zoya could join her. By the time he pulled away from the curb, the protestors had surrounded them, pounding on the hood and the windows, their faces contorted with a frightening fury. When a few rocks hit the windshield, the police intervened, pushing the mob back with more shouting and barking, growling dogs.
With Galena still shouting at him, he kept his gaze straight ahead as the crowd slowly fell behind. He crossed the big bridge back to Brooklyn then turned onto a pretty tree-lined street where he pulled over to the side of the road and delivered to Galena a long lecture that silenced her wide-eyed friend. When he was satisfied, he dialed a number on his cell phone and started another conversation that she couldn’t understand.
“What the hell has he been saying?” snapped Zoya, pulling at the door handle that remained locked. “Is he taking us to jail?”
“Not that he said,” she whispered. “But when I told him it smelled like pee in here, he said that he wouldn’t touch anything. Then he threatened to spank me if I didn’t shut up. I… I think he meant it too. He’s calling Pavel to see what he wants to do with us.”
Zoya frantically wiped her hands on her dress. “Ick! What the hell have you gotten me into? I told you that this was a terrible idea.”
“Yeah, well, you aren’t the only one who’s going to be in trouble. My father is going to take my car away for a month.”
“Your car?” she exploded. “Either Pavel is going to kill me or I’m getting sent back to Russia, and you’re worried about your fucking car?”
“All Pavel has on you is that you were too close to a protest. I… my father will be furious that I didn’t call him before I went down there.” She frowned and spoke with a lot less confidence. “And nobody is going to deport you over this. This is nothing.”
“You didn’t call him? You lied to me? What happened to red, white, and blue American girls? Besides, do you really think that Pavel is going to believe that we accidently walked into the middle of an angry mob of protestors, like we tripped or something?”
“I know. I know,” she conceded, with her
brow furrowed in concentration. “Just… just give me a minute, and I’ll think of something.”
When Liam ended the call, he continued to drive down the street, and Galena attempted a calmer discussion in English. Zoya interrupted a few times to ask for a translation, but Galena shushed her until they were finished. “Okay,” Galena said, taking a deep breath. “Here’s the deal. He’s not taking either one of us to jail. I’m going home, but you’re going to some club that Pavel belongs to. Apparently he’s buying you lunch or something. And you never told me that Pavel had an American cop for a cousin. I hope nobody sees me in this car. No self-respecting Russian would speak to the police.”
“I didn’t know he was a cop until I saw him in the park,” she insisted, breathing a little easier. “I only met Liam once, but Pavel’s mother was an American. And did you forget that you’re still wearing handcuffs? It’s not like you’re out on a date with him.”
“If you could get past the idea that he’s a cop,” said Galena with a smirk. “He’d be kinda cute and worth a night out, or two.”
Liam spoke in Russian without turning around. “I know I’m cute. And being a cop doesn’t make you ugly. Some of my best friends are cops.”
Galena blushed, but another long conversation took place between them, only this time, Galena caught her breath and stared at the back of his head with her cheeks continuing to burn. “What did he say?” begged Zoya. “You’ve got to keep translating. I feel like I’m not even here.”
“He, uh… told me that his aunt Caroline went to Russia after Stalin died because she thought that the world would be a better under communism, but Pavel’s father apparently saved her life when none of it was what she was expecting. I tried to tell him that communism wasn’t all bad. Oppression kept the Soviets from exploring their ideas to the fullest, but at least people ate and had access to health care plus good education and decent careers.”
Sold To The Russian Page 9
