Friday night, Alexander, in black slacks, a black collared shirt and black shiny shoes, shaven, showered, spiky-haired, strapping, sparkling, sober, left for the bachelor party at eight, saying he’d be home by one, which was later than he’d ever gotten home. He kissed her when he left. He smelled great and looked fantastic.
One o’clock came.
In her silk robe, bare underneath, Tatiana waited. When he came home late and not sober, he liked to breathe his beer-laden breath on her, liked to lay his intoxicated hands on her.
Two o’clock came—and went.
She waited with increasing anxiety until 2:30, thinking that was enough time to get home from practically anywhere in Phoenix, but when 2:45 came and went, suddenly the anxiety turned into frantic fear. Forget the naked dancers, she imagined only the mangled car accident victims she saw die nearly every day in ER. He would be drunk and driving home for many miles with other Friday-night revelers. She paced the trailer up and down, she changed into jeans and his old army shirt, she sat by the phone, and suddenly became afraid that it was possible, just possible, that these years were all they were going to have together. All of it, gone on this Friday night.
The minutes dripped one into another. She looked at the kitchen clock. 2:55. Only ten minutes had passed since the last time she’d looked, since her irregular heart slipped and hammered in her chest, whiling away the seconds, drip drip drip, beat beat beat, sixty nine drops of her blood draining into a minute of an open infected wound in his back, one hundred and fifty beats of her heart into a minute of his life. Gripping her stomach, her chest, she turned off the AC and paced the house, paced outside, listened in the night air for him. It was the beginning of June. Just last week Alexander had turned thirty-three. They had a pool party with many of the same friends he was out with tonight.
Was that her fate—and his? After all they had been through, beginning in one June, ending in another? In three weeks, they were supposed to be celebrating their tenth wedding anniversary. She shouted “Alexander!” into the night. An echo came back to her, a faint Alexander…They lived so far out, in such deathly silence near the mountains, that Tatiana could usually hear his truck when he was still three miles down on Pima. She could see his lights. She would sit outside other nights listening for the sound of his truck engine rolling down the highway and making the right onto Jomax. She looked at the clock.
2:58. Was it only three minutes since she last looked?
Oh my God.
3:00.
3:30.
3:53.
4:17.
Tatiana called Phoenix Memorial emergency room and spoke to Erin, who told her that no, Alexander had not been brought in bleeding and dead.
4:47.
She lay on the floor prone, motionless.
At eight minutes past five (5:08!!) she heard the truck in the drive. It was lurching forward.
She jumped up and ran outside, and was nearly run over by the Chevy. It crashed into a cinder block in the drive; the door was flung open. Tatiana saw instantly he was all right and very drunk. She had never seen him this drunk. It was useless to scream at him now, but what was she going to do with all her anger? He looked at her completely unfocused and mouthed, “Hey, babe.”
“My God, Alexander,” she whispered, shaking. “It’s five in the morning.”
He stumbled out of the truck, his keys falling on the pebbled ground, leaned into her, smelling aggressively of alcohol and smoke, but also of…
The sick pit inside Tatiana opened up. The sick pit she had before she started thinking he was dead. He smelled of cheap perfume.
Rocking from side to side, he staggered past her into the house, fell on the bed and was unconscious in all his clothes, in his shoes, everything. Tatiana undressed him and somehow got him under the covers. She searched through his clothes, she didn’t know for what, and then through his wallet. She went outside and searched his entire truck and his glove compartment—for condoms maybe? It was horrible. Nothing. But the smell of cheap perfume lingered, and now was in their bed.
She lay down next to him, keeping her hand on him. It was nearing seven when she managed to fall asleep herself.
Anthony woke her up at ten, whispering, Mom, Mom.
Alexander was still unconscious.
Tatiana got up, showered, made Anthony breakfast; she herself could not eat. The phone rang; it was Margaret, one of the last people Tatiana wanted to talk to. “How is he this morning?” Margaret asked cheerily. “Did you hear what they were up to?”
“No.” Tatiana sat down. “Margaret, I really have to go—”
“They rented out a two-bedroom suite at the Westward Ho downtown. I heard they had a blast,” she said with a giggle. “Had some kind of a wild girl show. You should ask Alexander about it, if and when he sobers up. Bill and Stevie are still pretty tanked.”
Tatiana hung up. It was all she could do to not retch.
She and Anthony went shopping. She didn’t even leave a note for Alexander.
When they got home around four, Alexander came outside to meet them in the driveway, looking hung over but almost sober. “Hey,” he said, and luckily before she could answer, Anthony started talking to him and he got distracted.
Tatiana silently unpacked the groceries while Alexander and Anthony carried them in. Alexander came up to her in the kitchen and again said, “Hey,” nudging her with his body.
She said, “Hey,” and turned to the refrigerator.
“Kiss me, Tania,” he said.
She lifted her face without looking at him. He kissed her and then said, “Look at me.”
She opened her eyes and glared at him.
“Ah,” he said. “You’re upset.”
“I’m beyond upset,” she said, slamming the refrigerator door.
Anthony was pulling on his dad to show him the fishing-boat-gunship-destroyer he had been making in the shed.
Tatiana went into the bedroom and got ready to go out. She put on the new Jonathan Logan violet silk dress she just bought, with gathered chiffon around the full swing skirt and velvet piping. Tonight she put on black mascara and black liner, rouge and even painted her lips red. The only time she put on that lipstick for Alexander was when she was a nurse attending to his ill humors. The memory of their Friday nights hurt her stomach. She put on earrings, a choker string of pearls and expensive perfume (to weaken the smell of the cheap one still lingering in their bedroom, on her beautiful quilt!), and threw on her new mauve high-heeled patent leather pumps. She was finishing brushing out her hair when Alexander walked into the bedroom. For a few moments he stood watching her at the dressing table. Glaring at him through the mirror, Tatiana said, “There is some beef stew from yesterday and plenty of bread and butter—”
“I know where the food is.” He kicked the door closed behind him. She heard that sound only when he was carrying her into the bedroom for love. That sound hurt her stomach, too. “Where are you going?”
“Tonight’s the hen party, remember?”
Quietly Alexander said, “You told me you weren’t going.”
“And you told me,” she said, “you’d be home at one.” She was doing all she could to keep her voice down.
“I got drunk. I forgot to call. The bars close at two.”
“What about the Westward Ho suite, what time does that close?”
There was silence behind her, and a sigh. She couldn’t look into the mirror to see his face. “It’s that damn Steve,” Alexander said. “He couldn’t walk and asked me to help him upstairs.”
“Well, isn’t that the blind leading the blind.”
“I left soon after, but it took me forever to get home.”
“It sure did. For a whole night you acted as if you didn’t have a home.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Alexander!” she said, spinning around to face him. “Enough from you.”
He stepped in front of her. “Did you see me last night?”
“No,” she snapped, “but you were quite a sight at five this morning. Can you get out of my way?”
“It took me three hours to get home from downtown. I had to stop every mile and close my eyes. I must have fallen asleep by the side of the road. I couldn’t drive. I was trying to be safe. I thought you’d want that.”
“Very good. Did you wear a French letter, too, just to be safe?”
“Oh, for God’s sake!”
“Don’t shout—Anthony,” she said through her teeth.
“He’s in the shed.”
“Five in the morning!” she yelled. “That’s not coming home late, that’s coming home early! Where is your decency? Can you even imagine what I was going through? I thought you had crashed the truck…” She wasn’t going to cry. No. “And when you finally disgraced this house with your presence, I smelled perfume all over you!”
“Perfume?” He sounded dumbfounded. “Well, you undressed me,” he said loudly. “You took off my clothes. Why didn’t you smell me to see if I’d had a condom on me?”
She inhaled sharply, stunned at his callousness. To think she could ever say to him, did you smell me to smell the rubber of a diaphragm I put in to have sex with another man? She started to shake. “Who says I didn’t?” she said, trying to move past him to the door.
Alexander stood in her way. “This is ridiculous.”
“I’m going to be late.”
“You told me you weren’t going.”
“You told me you weren’t going to see any women! You told me you were coming home at one!”
“We were drinking! I was drunk.”
“Love your excuses. So why didn’t you call me?”
“I. Was. Drunk,” he repeated slowly as if speaking to a child.
“I. Am. Leaving.” She tried to move past him again.
He took her by the arms. “Babe, I’m sorry. I promise—”
“You and your stupid promises!” she cried, pulling his hands off her. “You get drunk and forget all about me!”
“I don’t forget all about you,” he said. “Stop shouting. My skull is splitting in four pieces.”
“How thoughtless of me. Let’s not say another word. We’ll talk about this tomorrow when I’m less upset and perhaps less sober myself.” She made to go around him. He wouldn’t let her, locking the door behind him.
“Alexander, stop it,” she said, trying to push him away, but he stood in front of her like a block of cement.
“I went yesterday for my friend, not because I was angry,” he said quietly and slowly, but not kindly and slowly.
“I’m also going for my friend,” she said, shoving him, “and not because I’m angry. Did you get a naked dance for your friend, too?”
Alexander took her by the arms and sat her down on the bed. “You’re not going.”
Tatiana jumped up. He seized her by the arms and set her back down on the bed.
As soon as he let go of her, she jumped up again. He grabbed her by the arms and brought her to him very close. “Tania,” he said, in a low voice. “Stop it.”
This time she couldn’t lift her arms.
“Let go of me. What are you worried about? I’ll be very good. As good as you.”
“Oh, for f*ck’s sake!” His fingers tightened around her. “You are not going, so calm down and then we can talk about this like adults.”
“Let go of me,” she breathed out. “You can’t do this.”
“I can’t?” he said. “So stop me, Tania.”
Desperately trying not to squirm from the gripping discomfort of his hands, she struggled against him, losing her breath.
“You’re just doing this to upset me,” said Alexander. “And it’s working. Consider me upset.” The more she struggled, the harder he held her. She bit down on her lip, trying not to groan in pain—not wanting to give him the satisfaction. Switching his grasp on her, Alexander held her against him with just one arm, while his free hand went under her silk dress and up her stockings to the horizontal line of her naked flesh. “You’re going to a poontang palace dressed like this, wearing a lacy open girdle, and black seamed stockings, going with your thighs all bare, are you?” he said, breathing out hard, touching her underwear. “Why even bother with the panties, Tania?”
“Alexander! Let go of me.”
“Stop fighting me and I’ll let go.” He was so enormous and upset, he was forgetting himself too, forgetting his strength, he was going to bruise her.
“Let go, and I’ll stop fighting.”
“Tania.” His fingers clenched, on her arm, on her thigh. And she cried out.
There was no actual way she could leave the bedroom unless he let her leave. She could not get free of him unless he freed her. Perhaps at another time this might have made her calmer, but at the moment it made Tatiana only more upset. She started struggling against him again, her small frame heaving, wringing herself out of his vice-like arms. “You can’t win this,” he said, and he wasn’t even panting. “So stop right now.”
To add to her humiliation, she was going to lose her footing in her high heels and fall backwards on the bed. “You stop right now,” she mouthed. Even the strength to yell was leaving her, the words came out almost soundless. His hands were hurting her, his belt buckle was hurting her, his words were hurting her, and she was already hurting from yesterday. “Tell me,” she croaked, “did you do this to your naked whore, too? Did she like it?”
“Not as much as you,” Alexander retorted, and Tatiana burst into tears and then started to scream.
And Anthony was knocking on the door, shouting on the other side. “Mommy! Mom! MOM!”
Alexander pushed her onto the bed, and she scrambled up and ran into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door. He kicked the door open, she backed away, stumbling against the bathtub, crying loudly stop, please stop, putting up her hands as he came for her. He grabbed her face, squeezing her mouth shut and through his teeth said, “Stop yelling. Your son is outside. You want to go? Go ahead. Go. I don’t give a f*ck what you do.” Roughly releasing her, he left the bathroom, and she slammed the broken door that wouldn’t slam. The bedroom went quiet, only Tatiana was crying inside, and Anthony was crying outside, his plain whimper sounding through the walls. “Mama, please, please…”
After a few minutes she heard Alexander unlocking and opening the bedroom door. “Everything’s okay, Ant,” he said. “Go outside for a minute. It’s okay. Let Mom and Dad—just go outside.”
Anthony said no.
“What did you just say? Go outside!”
Cleaned up, red-eyed, moist in the face, Tatiana came out of the bathroom. “Leave him alone, he did nothing wrong.” Her hands were shaking as she walked past Alexander and touched Anthony’s face, kissing his head.
“Are you all right, Mama?” he asked, himself crying.
“I’m fine, honey,” she said, trying to make her voice not break. “Don’t worry about a thing. Your dad will take care of you this evening. Mommy is going out.”
She left the house, got into her car and drove away.
Alexander and Anthony didn’t speak during dinner, but as they were cleaning up, Alexander said, “Bud, sometimes grown-ups have arguments. It’s okay. Don’t you and Sergio have arguments?”
“Not like that.”
“Well, there’s more at stake between grown-ups.”
“I never heard Mom yell like that before.” He started to cry again.
“Shh. Sometimes even your mom gets upset.”
“Not like that.”
“Sometimes.”
“Never before.”
“Not often, that’s true. But sometimes.”
“Where did she go?”
“Out with her friends.”
“Is she coming back?”
“Of course!” Alexander took a deep breath, staring at his son. “Of course, Ant. Look, everything will be fine. Let’s just…hey, you want to go to a movie?”
A movie at night alone with his always working father was an unprecedented treat for the boy. Anthony cheered up. They drove to Scottsdale’s only picture house to see The Greatest Show on Earth. Alexander sat with unseeing eyes and smoked. He didn’t hear a word of the movie. He had no idea what happened in it. Something about trapeze artists. All he was thinking about was Tatiana at the Golden Corral. Images of her there were making him deaf and blind. Tatiana may not have known the ways of men, but Alexander knew the ways of men very well.
After the movie, he took Anthony to get some ice cream at the soda shop; they talked about baseball, football, basketball; they even talked a little about the woods in Poland. Anthony, having heard some of the story from Tatiana, wanted to hear more about it from his father. “Mommy told me you stormed Poland practically by yourself, without weapons, with just one tank, with prisoners as soldiers, and the men never fought before but you taught them all how, and you never stayed in the rear despite the protests from your lieutenant.”
“Did you ever ask your mother how she knows this?”
Anthony shrugged. “I find it’s better not to know how Mommy knows many of the things she knows.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Walking back to the truck from the soda shop, Anthony took Alexander’s hand.
Tatiana was still not home.
After putting Ant to bed, Alexander debated going to the Golden Corral but couldn’t leave his son alone in the house.
This was ridiculous!
His Tania was with a bunch of raving, joking girls, all of them drinking, dancing…army men coming up to his wife—
He wasn’t going to think about it.
—drunk men propositioning her, their hands on her, in a smoke-filled club—and what was she going to do to stop them, even if she wanted to?
He wasn’t going to think about it!
Alexander got into the truck and started the engine, and then turned it off, knowing he couldn’t leave. He went back inside, paced, smoked, drank, smoked, looked at the clock. It was eleven. He went to the work shed and made a new frame for the broken bathroom door.
When he turned off his circular saw, he heard her car in the drive. After cleaning the wood shavings off himself as best he could, he slowly returned to the house.
The door was open to the dimly lit bedroom. Tatiana was in front of her dresser mirror, taking off her earrings. Alexander stood in the doorway and then came in. He had been so tense he thought he would have to get control of himself before he could deal with her, but when he saw her, the fight went out of him. All he wanted was the peace of her, the comfort of her, the relief of her. He stepped in without closing the door and came up behind her. Silently he stood, looking at her blonde hair falling down her back, glancing through the mirror at her face, tilted down. Her hands went up to remove her pearls; she was having trouble with the clasp. He took a breath and moved her hair out of the way. “Here, let me.” Slowly he undid the clasp and lay the necklace on the dresser.
“How is Ant?” she asked.
“He’s fine.”
“Did you feed him?”
“Yes, I fed him. Took him to the movies, too.”
“He must have enjoyed that. Spending time with you.”
Tatiana did not smell remotely of alcohol or smoke, or other people. Not remotely. She smelled of the same musk oil perfume she had put on earlier. She was not crumpled, she was not touched, she didn’t have the breath of other people on her. Alexander was standing very close to her, right behind her; his stomach was pressing into her back, her strawberry-scented head was deep under his chin, and her hair was in his hands.
“Can you help me with the dress?” she asked quietly. “I can’t get the hooks undone.”
Alexander undid her dress, leaving his hands on her bare arms. Leaning down he kissed her shoulder. She moved away. “Don’t, all right.”
“Tania…”
“Just don’t, all right.”
He turned her to him. She wouldn’t look up. The dress was loose, falling down. She let it drop to the floor and was left in a new one-piece purple lace corselet and black stockings. He wanted to mention the purple lace bought for a night out without him but didn’t think now was the time. She still wouldn’t look at him. He cupped her face, lifting it to him, bent, and kissed her reluctant lips. Her hands came up to push him away, and didn’t.
“Where’ve you been?” he asked.
“I went to the hospital. I kept Erin company on nightwatch.”
He exhaled heavily out. Her face was still in his hands.
Turning away from his mouth, from his eyes, she stood pressed against him. They were so quiet now, as if the fight had left them, the way they should’ve been when Anthony was outside their door. They stared mutely at each other. Her eyes filled with tears.
“No, no, come on, shh,” Alexander said. He went to close and lock the door and took the phone off the hook. Fully undressing her and himself, he laid her down on the bed, and caressed her as slowly as his impatient roving hands would let him. “Shh…look how warm and soft you are…I’m sorry I hurt you earlier. I’ll make it better, I’ll make it up to you.” With a groan, he lightly fondled her breasts. “Don’t be upset with me, all right?”
“I’m so upset with you. How could I not be?”
“I don’t know.” He stared into her wet, unsmiling, disconcertingly made-up eyes. “Just don’t be. You know I can’t take it when you’re upset with me.” He kissed her pouty lips until they opened and kissed him back, he kissed her until she lay a little flatter and more relaxed on the bed, and all the while his palm caressed her small patch of downy hair.
“Shura…don’t…”
“Don’t what?” Alexander bent open-mouthed to her breasts.
“I don’t want you to…” she moaned, trying to lie still, not squirm.
“No?” Bending below her navel, Alexander rubbed his lips back and forth against her blonde silken mound, his hand nudging her thighs. “Come on…” he whispered. “Spread your thighs for me…like I love.” With his fingertips he stroked her lightly. “Tell me, whisper to me what else I can do to make you happy with me…” She said nothing. “Come on…something nice?…something gentle…?”
She held her breath, not speaking. But now she lay like he loved. He kissed her. “Tania…look, your softest lips, your lovely pink tender lips, so moist, so parted, look, they’re not upset with me…” Alexander whispered soothingly, his tongue slipping in and out of her mouth while his fingers slipped in and out of her. She grasped the sheets, bare and open under his hands.
From his years with her, from the thousand beats of their common time, there were few things Alexander knew better than her body’s response to him. He stopped touching her. A breathless “Ah,” escaped her mouth.
He waited a few moments, and then resumed his caresses, increasing the pressure ever so slightly, and when she moaned in a peaking tremor, he pulled away again. A barely stifled heave left her hips. When Tania was happy she pleaded with him in two languages at this juncture to do all sorts of things to her.
But not tonight. She wasn’t even touching him. Tonight she pleaded nothing, spoke in no tongues, her eyes closed, her lips parted, even as her curving body began to shudder.
“Tatia…” Alexander murmured, looking at her, “please tell me, anything at all you want me to do to make you happy?”
She turned her face away, in a deep moan, her head back, her throat elongated, her hips rising up to him. She was glistening, but she wasn’t pleading.
He shook his head, kneeling between her splayed legs. She was so stubborn—and so blonde and bloomy.
There were so many things he liked to do to her, but tonight there was barely time for her penchant weakness—his fingertips caressing her nipples while he softly sucked her—before she cried out, clutching his head, and became neither reluctant nor unforgiving, nor stubborn. Alexander didn’t pull away. He kept his heated mouth over her, his hand on her, his insistent fingers on her, and she didn’t—and couldn’t—stop crying out or quivering or grasping onto his head until he thoroughly released her and then and only then did she unclench slightly and lie panting with her feet still tapping out a rasping drumbeat on his back.
Oh Shura, she whispered. Oh Shura was certainly better than Shura, don’t.
Yes, babe? Climbing up and kneeling over her, Alexander put himself into her moaning mouth, but he was so aroused he didn’t need another thrust, another squeeze of her hands. He needed only one thing.
Getting off the bed, he pulled her forward to lie in front of him and leaned between her legs to kiss her. She reached for him, taking him, pulling him in; her eyes open, her lips open.
His hands gripping the backs of her thighs, Alexander thrust once, twice, then stopped. Straightening out, he moved shallow and slow, and then as deep deep deep as he thought she could take. Tatiana’s mouth was in an O, she couldn’t breathe. Tania…too much? he whispered. She couldn’t speak, not even a yes. He waited a moment, he would have liked a yes, waited, pulled fully out, thrust fully in, and then she was suffocating and crying out. Holding her as steady as he could, he pulsed shallowly to prolong her moaning spasms and then stopped for a few moments, to catch a breath, to let her catch a breath, to kiss her, to nuzzle her breasts, to whisper how sweet she was like this as he stood over her, his hands on her folded thighs, bearing down on her, seeing her, seeing himself; he resumed the asymmetry of his jagged motion while continuing to whisper about his desire and her sweetness until she cried out, her stretched arms trying to grasp onto anything, and melted out again, moaning helplessly…and now it really was too much for her. Alexander knew he should stop. He knew he needed to stop. But he didn’t stop. Too soon she began to sound close to agony instead of ecstasy, and then she was convulsing and crying out.
Okay, okay, shh, he said, stroking her, watching her as she lay gasping, her eyes closed, her thighs open, her body in a shiver. Tania, you’re beyond lovely, he whispered, caressing her, touching her lightly, with his hands, with his mouth, until she was soothed, until she was softened and her time was lengthened.
When he came back on the bed and climbed on her, holding her legs up against his rigid arms, she started to shake her head from side to side. It’s too much like this, please, she whispered. I can’t take it. He released her legs—but couldn’t help himself, the ratchet of her plea too much for him—released her legs but not before two deep full slow agonizing thrusts and her two deep full slow agonizing cries. Leaving her raised legs live and loose, he took her like she loved, on his upright arms in what she called his arc of conjugal perfection, fitted into her slender thighs, her lips, her milling hips reaching for him, her fingers desperately clasping into his chest and neck and head as if to navigate him, in spondaic sync, in iambic rhythm. Come on, Shura…come on, Shura…come on, come on, come on, come on. After she quivered out, he didn’t even wait before he came on, he took it the way he wanted it, placing her trembling legs straight up onto his shoulders. But she shook again and whispered, I can’t take it, you’re too much for me like this, please, please. This time he was implacable, undeterred and unreleasing, whispering back, yes, but you’re so good for me like this, and was steady and slow and unceasing through her rattling body and grasping arms, eventually lying flush on top of her, his arms encircling her, his body overwhelming her, confining and surrounding her, confined and surrounded by her, completely consuming her so that when she came again, it was like an earthquake inside him. And during her impassioned cries, having forgotten herself, she recklessly whispered a rash I love you.
Now that is what I call a whisper, said Alexander, rubbing his lips against her eyebrows.
Oh, Shura…She lay slack underneath him, softly weeping, her face in his neck. Her arms and legs wrapped around his back.
Are you still upset with me?
Less upset, honey, husband, she moaned. Less upset.
Lifting off her, he whispered, Get on your hands and knees, Tatia.
She turned over on her hands and knees. Lowering her head into the sheets, her arms stretching out, she raised her hips to him. Come on, Shura. Come on. Come on. Everything was prone but her hips.
His hands covering her buttocks and the small of her back, eventually he had to close his eyes and hold his breath because it was so f*cking good…until she, in her tumult, in her gasping abandon, tried to crawl away from him. A drenched Alexander leaned over her quivering weakening body, his chest on her back, his face in her satin hair, fondling her breasts, threading his taut hard fingers through her taut soft ones, slipping slowly out and slowly in. You’re so good, Tatia, he whispered. Just a little more. You’re so beautiful…you’re so lovely…
He finished married, stressed and stark, on top of her and in her arms, and after stroking her to calm her down while she begged him for mercy in two languages even as she was coming down, Alexander, propped up on his elbow, lay beside her soaked, racked body and kissed her face, gazing at her all freshly loved and parched and breathless. “Why do you get so frantic?” he asked. “I swear, there are times you act as if you’re married to someone else. What’s the matter with you?”
Her eyes were closed as she received his kisses, her hand stroking the back of his head. She moved to cradle into him. He pulled the quilts over them. “I’m sorry I was late coming home,” he said. “I won’t come home that late again, I won’t upset you. But what are you worried about?”
“You told me you weren’t going to see any girls…”
“Come on,” he whispered. “Shh.”
Her damp face became tight.
“I took Steve up to the suite,” Alexander said, wiping her forehead and speaking with reluctance, “and fell into a chair. There were, I don’t know, thirty of us, it was loud, there was music, and commotion, and I was still sitting there trying to sober up a little when two or three girls were brought in—complete with their bodyguards.”
She looked up at him.
“What? Tania, you have to get that drunk just once in your life, to understand what it’s like. There is nothing but stupor in the chair. You saw me at five, after sleeping in the car for hours. Can you imagine what I was like at two? I couldn’t walk. I was a disgrace.” Alexander laughed lightly.
Tatiana didn’t laugh. “What were they doing?”
“Who?”
“The girls, Alexander.”
“I don’t know.” He didn’t want to upset her.
“Were they dancing?”
“I don’t know.” He paused. “I think so.” They had been naked and dancing. “You are such a good girl,” Alexander whispered. “You’re such a good girl.” He kissed her lips. “It’s all right. They might have been dancing, but I don’t think you can call what I did watching, I was so out of it. But I shouldn’t have come up.”
“So where did the perfume on you come from?”
“As I was trying to get out of the chair, one of the girls came by and said something like, you need help getting up, cowboy? Wait! Where are you going? You’re in my arms, I just made love to you.” He held her in place. “Tania, I just made love to you,” he whispered, looking down into her face. “You’re in our bed, this is the final destination, last stop, all alight here, there’s nowhere else to go.”
Her lips were trembling.
“Let me finish telling you. I don’t want you to hear this third-hand from Amanda who might hear a more slimy version from Steve.”
“Oh, so now your best friend is slimy? I can’t listen to one more thing.”
“One more. And you are my best friend. Listen.”
“I can’t listen. I can’t.”
“She came by, said some stupid things, Steve was standing right by me the whole time. I got up, I’m almost sure without her help. I left. And that’s it.” He stroked her unhappy face. “I promise, I swear.”
“Did you…kiss her?” Tatiana started to cry.
“Tania!” He pressed her head to him. “Holy God. Of course not. She stood next to me, grabbing my sleeve. She must have reeked for her perfume to still be on my clothes. Steve thought I was too drunk to drive. I didn’t want to hear it. He may’ve been right. I left anyway.”
“That Steve.” Tatiana shook her head. “Was the girl…naked?”
The girl had been barely clad. “I don’t think so. I think they only get undressed for the dancing,” said Alexander, not letting Tatiana move away an inch. He saw such misery on her face. “Look, this is the thing—I went up to the suite, I sat in the chair, I didn’t leave right away.” His hand was gliding over her breasts, her stomach, her legs, like he knew she loved; she was like a cat, she adored to be caressed, slow and light, from her shins up to the face, to the hair, and back down, through everything. If his words couldn’t soothe her, perhaps his hands could. “I shouldn’t have gone, that was my mistake, but I did nothing wrong.” Alexander paused. “I’m going to tell you something—do you remember that night in Leningrad when I came drunk to see you at the hospital?”
“Oh, I don’t want to talk about that now.”
“I do. That night, I was in Sadko, and Marazov had women with him, and one of them, very flirtatious, sat on my lap. I was drunk, and young, and full of myself, as you remember—and I barely knew you then. We had behind us only the Sunday bus ride, the Kirov walks, and burning Luga. And we were at a complete dead end. It would’ve been so easy. I could have taken that girl in ten minutes in the back alley and still come to see you at the hospital and you would have never known. But I didn’t—even then. I came to you in the middle of the night, despite everything stacked against us, despite Dimitri, despite your sister, who thought she loved me.”
“She did love you. Dasha did love you.”
“Yes. She thought she did.”
“Oh…help me,” she whispered.
“I came to you because you were the only one I wanted. Do you remember how we kissed that night?” he whispered, cupping her breast. “You, sitting topless in front of me, you who had never been touched—oh God! I go insane now remembering the state of myself then. You know what it had meant to me, and you know what it means to me still. Don’t you remember anything?”
Tatiana was shuddering in her own memories. “I remember…But…”
“Look at me, feel my body, touch me, touch my heart, I’m right here. It’s me,” said Alexander. “I stayed away from whores even when I thought you were gone from my life and I was at war. I shouldn’t have gone to the Ho, but, honestly, what would I want with anyone when I have you? Who are you talking to? Who are you being angry with?”
“Oh, Shura…” she whispered, clinging to him.
“You know all this like you know my name,” said Alexander. “I come every night and kneel at your altar. Why do you worry about nonsense?”
And with his voice and his hands, with his lips and eyes, his kisses and caresses, and deathless ways about him to bring her and himself divine ecstasy, he soothed her and found peace and bliss in her, for his promises were strong but his love was stronger, and when they, wrapped around one another, finally fell asleep, made up, relieved, beloved, they believed the worst of the Balkman world was behind them.
A Day at a Wedding
Jeff and Cindy’s wedding was the following Saturday afternoon, at the First Presbyterian Church with reception at the Scottsdale Country Club, filled with white lilies and beautiful people dressed in spring colors.
Standing at the side of the altar in her strapless peach taffeta ball-gown with a circle ruffled petticoat, Tatiana stared at Alexander in his black tuxedo, trying not to remember their own altar, their small Russian church, their Lazarevo sun over their heads filtering through the stained-glass windows almost ten years ago.
She saw his face, his eyes staring at her. Outside the church he found her and very carefully—so as not to disturb her peach bows and silk pleats and petticoats—lifted her into the air for a moment without saying a word.
There was good food and good music, the girls had flowers in their hair, someone caught the bouquet—not Amanda—steak was good, shrimp even better, the speeches slurred and funny. Cindy was a good-looking bride, even with her too-short hair, and Jeff in a white tux looked like he belonged on a wedding cake. Ten of them sat together at the bridal table, and Steve kept alluding to the bachelor party, and Alexander kept humoring him, but the one who wasn’t laughing was Amanda. Rather she was laughing fakely and every time she laughed she cast furtive glances at Alexander and then at Tatiana. After the nineteenth or twentieth furtive glance, Tatiana couldn’t help but notice.
The Anniversary Waltz began to play—for Jeff and Cindy. Tatiana searched for Alexander; he was talking to people three tables away and didn’t look up. She resumed her own conversation, but in a moment, when she turned, he was standing at her chair. He stretched out his hand to her.
Alexander and Tatiana danced to their wedding song, unable this once to hide their intimacy from prying, idly curious eyes; their hands entwined, their bodies pressed together, they waltzed by the banks of the Kama in their Lazarevo clearing under the crimson moon, an officer in his Red Army uniform, a peasant girl in her wedding dress—her white dress with red roses—and when Tatiana lifted her glistening eyes to him, Alexander was looking down at her with his I’ll-get-on-the-bus-for-you-anytime face. She couldn’t believe it—he bent his head and kissed her, openly and deeply, as they continued to swirl away the minutes of someone else’s wedding.
As they walked back to the table, Tatiana saw Amanda’s cold, judging stare on Alexander and a pitying glance on herself. “Why is she looking at me like that?” Tatiana whispered to him. “What’s wrong with her today?”
“She must stop giving him milk. Tell her that.”
Her elbow went in his ribs.
Steve and Jeff were getting quite drunk, even though it was still the afternoon. Their comments about the upcoming wedding night started getting cruder. Jeff plonked down and said, “Alexander, you’ve been married a century. Do you have any advice for the newly married?”
Another glance from Amanda.
Alexander said, “It’s probably too late for advice, Jeffrey-boy. Wedding night’s in three hours.”
“Come on, give me the wealth of your experience. What did you do on your wedding night?”
“Drank a little less than you,” said Alexander, and Tatiana laughed.
“Come on, man, don’t hold out. Tania, tell me, is there anything I should know? From a woman’s point of view?”
Oh, how loudly Steve laughed.
“Jeff, all right, enough, man,” Alexander said, getting up and helping Jeff straighten out, pushing him away from the table.
“If I were Jeff,” whispered Tatiana to Alexander, “I’d spend some time doing the thing that Cindy says he almost never does—but that’s just from a woman’s point of view.” Oh how loudly Alexander now laughed, and Steve, who must have thought it was at his expense, glared at Tatiana.
She got up to go to the ladies’ room. Amanda got up to go with her. As they were walking around the dance floor, Tatiana said, “What’s the matter with you today? You don’t seem very happy.”
“No, I am, I am.”
“What is it? Cindy’s wedding making you blue?” Tatiana stayed dry through her own irony.
“No, no. I mean, a little, yes, but…” She took Tatiana by the arm. “Can I talk to you?”
“Seriously talk to me?”
“I need your advice.”
Last time the advice giving didn’t go so well. They went into one of the small quiet rooms off the main banquet hall and sat down on the couch. “What’s going on?” said Tatiana.
Amanda looked distressed. “Tania, I don’t know what a good friend is supposed to do. I want to ask you—if you knew something about Steve, something you thought I should know, would you tell me?”
Tatiana’s face flushed hot red. Oh, no. Amanda found out about the hospital! No wonder she’s upset. What to do now, I must own up. I should’ve told her straight away, but how could I have—and Tatiana said, “Oh, look, Mand, I’m sorry—”
“What I want to know is: would a good friend tell her friend something unpleasant, something hurtful, something that could ruin their friendship? Does a good friend keep her mouth shut or is she obligated to say something? Is the mark of a good friend to tell or not to tell?” Amanda lifted her conflicted eyes to Tatiana.
You weren’t my good friend! Tatiana cried to herself. It’s not fair, I didn’t know you, and he apologized and it was in the past. I should never have kept my mouth shut.
“I think a good friend should tell, Amanda,” said Tatiana. “I’m sorry—”
Amanda grabbed Tatiana’s hands. “I’m sorry, Tania. I don’t want to tell you this. I really don’t. I just think you should know, that’s all.”
Very slowly Tatiana pulled her hands away from Amanda and stared hard at her cringing. “You have something to tell me?”
“It’s about that cursed bachelor party. I wish they’d never had it.”
“I know about the bachelor party,” Tatiana said.
Amanda waved her off. “Oh, the girls, that’s meaningless.”
“Oh? Well, if it’s not about the meaningless naked girls, then what is it?”
She lowered her voice. “Alexander went into the bedroom with one of them.”
Tatiana shook her head.
Amanda shook her head. “The drunk was later, Tania,” she said. “That was for your benefit. As in, later the excuse was he got so drunk he couldn’t think straight. He was apparently fine when the girls were there. A number of people saw him go in, not just Stevie, please don’t be upset with me, you promise?”
“I think it’s too late for that promise,” said Tatiana, standing up.
Amanda covered her face.
Tatiana, because her legs wouldn’t hold her, sat back down. She took Amanda’s hands away. “Amanda,” she said, “did Steve tell you this?”
Amanda nodded.
Tatiana tried to keep it together. “Did it ever occur to you that Steve might be lying?”
“What?”
“Lying, Mand. Not telling the truth. Shuckstering. Deceiving. Lying.”
“Why would Steve lie about this?”
“There are a thousand reasons, none of them I can go into now. Why would you repeat something like this to me on Cindy’s wedding day? Why wouldn’t you wait at least until the day after?”
“You asked me to tell you!”
Tatiana patted her. “Well, I walked into a trap there. But now I have two options. Either I believe my husband, or I believe your fiancé. My Alexander or your Steve. You’ll forgive me if I choose to believe my husband. And you know what, let’s not talk about this—ever again. If that’s all right with you.”
“Tania, you’re being willfully blind, but that’s your choice.”
“You think I’m being blind? There is only one way to settle this. We can bring Steve and Alexander in here—is that what you want? How do you think that’s going to end?”
“One of them is going to lie,” Amanda said pointedly.
“Exactly, but unlike you,” Tatiana said, plenty pointed herself, “I am married to the man who sleeps next to me every night, who wakes up next to me every morning.” She paused to let that sink in. “How often do you think he can lie before I know the truth? Especially that kind of truth—that he goes into rooms for twenty minutes and has it off with unclean whores who have it off with hundreds of men? You think that truth is easy to hide?”
“Some men are very good at hiding their true selves.”
“Some women are very good at not seeing their men’s true selves.”
Amanda narrowed her eyes. “Are you making some kind of aspersions on Steve?”
“No. But if we bring Alexander and Stevie in here—how many more stitches can Steve get in his face, how many more broken arms? And Cindy’s wedding will be ruined. You’ve already ruined my day. But I’m not the bride, I don’t have to recall this as my wedding day, which was blissfully unmarred by idiocy.” She took a deep breath. “So we’re just going to pretend that you never said a word to me.”
“But it’s true, Tania! I know you don’t want to believe it about Alexander—”
“No! You don’t want to believe this about Steve.”
“Tell me what you know about Steve.”
“In this case, that he is a malicious liar. Is that enough? The rest is more than I have the decency to share with you on this beautiful day. And you, Amanda, should open your eyes to your life. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Tatiana walked out of the room in her peach high heels and her taffeta dress.