fluttered shut again. He nestled closer and as the heat of his little body seeped into mine, I felt the events of the day recede. My heart stopped twitching and started to beat steadily again. My breathing calmed. Such is the magic of children.
Olga slowly opened the beautiful gold foil and put a square in her mouth and sighed. ‘I haven’t had chocolate in ages.’
I felt guilty for not giving her more of these little pleasures. Olga radiated a sensual bliss, her eyes closed, her neck arched. She chewed slowly to make it last. Watching her savor my offering, I realized how much had changed for Boba and me. I wondered how to broach the subject of Harmon.
‘You’re awfully quiet,’ she said.
I didn’t know what to say. I turned the question over in my mind ten times in thirty seconds. My virtue or my friend? Maybe she needs the help. Maybe you’re a terrible person. Maybe you should let her decide what she wants. Maybe you should find someone else.
‘What already?’ she asked.
‘Olga, was what you said true?’ I blurted out. ‘You know, about being thrilled to have a foreign man woo you and spoil you? Even if he was a bit older?’
She snorted. ‘As long as he puts food on the table, I’ll gladly welcome him in my bed. I’ve had it with Odessan men! Do the math – three kids, three dead-beat dads, and zero help. I’m not smart like you – I’ll never make a living sitting on my ass all day. I’m willing to make it on my back – God knows it’s faster.’
‘You’re a talented artist,’ I protested.
‘That no one needs.’ This was a common refrain after perestroika. Singers, artists, and scientists had talent and training but no jobs. And they weren’t the only ones. Odessa was full of the Red Army’s cast-offs, big men who’d been so important now felt useless. Many committed suicide – some with a gun, others slowly drowning in vodka. Factories closed, leaving men and women – thousands of whom had worked thirty years at the same machine – broke and bewildered. There was no safety net, or safety, for any of us.
I patted her shoulder, wishing that things were different.
She shook off my hand. ‘Leave me be.’
Poor Olga. It was so hard for her, for everyone, right now.
‘Are you ever going to start dating?’ she asked. ‘When are you going to do something with your life?’
I shrugged.
‘I mean, what do you have to show?’ She looked pointedly at my non-existent chest and flat belly. ‘You know, a woman who doesn’t have children might as well be a man.’
Tears pricked my eyes as if she had slapped my face.
Worthless . She didn’t say it, but that’s what she meant. Who but your best friend will tell you the truth?
I stroked Ivan’s cheek. Just looking at him made me feel better.
‘Keep going the way you are and no one will ever want you.’ She took another square of chocolate. ‘I just hope your uterus doesn’t start to shrivel up. That’s what happened to my friend Inna. She’s practically thirty. You know her, she lives on Kirova Street.’
Don’t listen to that Olga. You’re stronger than you think you are.
‘What about your boss?’ she continued. ‘He must be loaded. If I worked there?. . .’
People often said I didn’t see things the way others did. Perhaps it was thanks to Boba, who encouraged me in my studies and shielded me from much of the ugliness of Soviet life. She had made me feel secure, despite the blackouts and shortages, and she constantly reminded me how lucky we were. Perhaps it had to do with Jane, an alien from another world (America!) who showed me that it was all right to be different. But maybe I wasn’t so different after all. Here I was asking if my friend wanted to be my boss’s mistress. I took a deep breath and asked, ‘Do you want to meet Mr. Harmon for lunch tomorrow?’
There. I’d said it. Now it was up to her.
When her expression stilled, it was clear she knew what I was really asking.
‘If he wanted you,
Learning to Kill: Stories