“Why did we have to come here? There’s plenty of legitimate restaurants we could have gone to.”
“This is a legitimate restaurant. It’s got a website!”
“It’s a brothel attached to a restaurant.”
“A five-star restaurant with one of the best Scandinavian chefs in the world. And the girls here are all independent. No pimps threatening to blade their face. I’ll have you know that some of them have even gone home with me for free.”
“I’m glad you’re proud of it.”
“I am proud, and I’ll tell you why—because it speaks to my powers of persuasion. I told you three months ago, when you had your hands on that Actophage deal, to go to Zaparotnik and tell them all you were walking out unless they made you a partner. And what did you do? You took it like a woman and let them pay you in compliments. You were thinking corporate—keep everyone in the loop, share the bounty, get a little reciprocal action down the line, right? And where did that get you? That doesn’t even work in America. And with guys like Zaparotnik, forget it! These people haven’t believed in the collective spirit since Collectivization.”
“Thank you for the lecture.”
“Na zdorovye.”
“It’s not just Zaparotnik. It’s this whole place. I remember when it used to be exciting. And now it’s become so”—Lenny groped for the words—“pissily bourgeois. Maybe it’s time I went back to the States.”
“And do what—paste numbers from financial statements onto a spreadsheet for twelve hours a day? Make cold calls while you wait for a corner office?”
“My mom’s pushing grad school.”
“Of course she is. All immigrant parents want their children to be second-generation nobodies with framed degrees on the wall. It’s a stagnant pond over there, my friend. They just don’t want to face it.”
“I don’t know. I was walking home the other night, and suddenly I’m in this pack of dogs, all these scary stray bitches with their six tits, jumping up and barking at me, baring their teeth like I stole their last piece of ham. I swear to God, Noah, that’s never happened to me before. Either this city has become overrun with them or they can smell the weakness on me.”
Noah waited until Lenny was finished talking, then glanced up with one eye from his respectful position of nodding at the table. “Look, Misha Fridman’s got friends putting together some interesting deals. I’ll ask around, see who’s hiring. But before we venture so deep into Sartre Land, can we just agree tonight to relax? I am having a very good cut of meat, and there is a beautiful, vibrant woman on the other side of this room who is flashing me a ‘glaze-my-face-like-a-doughnut’ smile.” Noah now took a moment to glance over Lenny’s shoulder and wink.
“Great. Now she’s going to come here and sit with us, and we’ll have to buy her dinner.”
“Don’t worry, cheapskate, this one’s on me.”
“I’m sorry if I don’t feel like spending the evening chatting up a hooker.”
“These ladies are not ‘hookers.’ Hookers are what you find on the side of the Leningradskoye Shosse with a bunch of Dagestanians lining up for blow jobs. These are inviting, mysterious creatures making use of their bankable advantage in life. Or would you rather be sipping on a faggy daiquiri in a strip club where every chick has a copy of the club’s rules tattooed on her ass? Now, behave yourself, because she’s coming over.”
“Dobriy vecher,” the girl said, smiling, and then, more formally in English, “May I join you?” Noah gestured gallantly to the chair, then stood and pulled it out for her. She lowered herself onto it like a snake coiling back into a charmer’s clay pot. She wore snug black pants, a colorful butterfly pendant, and a backless, shoulderless top that looked like a pool of mercury held up by threads of silver.
“My friend wants to guess your name,” said Noah as Lenny made denying headshakes. “Come on.”
“Vika.”
“No.”
“Zhana.”
She shook her head.
“I give up.”
“You are warm.” She patted Lenny’s hand in an encouraging way. “Yana.”
It could not be denied that Yana was indeed stunning. She had light-brown eyes and a small aquiline nose, as well as a snaggletoothed smile that lent a sweet, slutty twist to her otherwise pneumatic beauty.
Noah gestured for the waitress to bring an extra menu for their guest. Barely looking at the offerings, Yana picked two starters and a glass of one of the better wines, dispatching her order with unsettling familiarity. “Yana, my friend Leonard and I were just discussing the stray dog population in this city. I always think better of a city when its stray animal population is cats rather than dogs.”
“Is that so?” said Lenny.
“Yes. It speaks to a more refined culture.”
What in the world was Noah doing? An hour ago he’d been leching up two teenagers, and now he was playing his worldly gentleman act? To impress whom? A paid escort?
“They’re a fucking nuisance either way,” Lenny heard himself say, just to cut the shit-thick air of pretension.
“Watch your mouth.”
“All of them ought to be shot so they don’t go around biting people.”
Yana’s face assumed a beautiful look of horror. “No, it is the other way! Dogs are good, it is people who are cruel. There was a dog, he lived in the metro, very friendly. The people fed him and gave him name Mal’chik—like, ‘little boy.’ And famous fashion model was walking with her dog, who started biting Mal’chik. This was many people watching,” Yana said with adorable insistence. “And this model, she took out knife and—phoof!—into Mal’chik’s back!”
“You mean she stuck a knife in the dog’s back?” Lenny exchanged frightened looks with Noah.
“Yes, yes, yes! Then she ran away from Russia! And many people, they were angry. Actors and important personages, they asked metro administrators to make a sculpture to Mal’chik.”
“A monument, for the dog?”
“Statue of the Fallen Mongrel,” Noah said.
“Yes, they shown it on the television.”
“Wow,” said Lenny. “If this city has enough money to put up sculptures to stray dogs, why don’t they neuter a few, do us all a favor?”
Once again Yana regarded him as if he were deranged. “Neuter, like,” she turned to Noah and made a snipping gesture to make sure she understood. “Uzhas! If they neutered a man, he would not anymore be a real man! If they neuter a dog, he is no more a real dog.”
Noah’s eyes were dancing. It was evident to Lenny that Yana’s line of reasoning was making him ever more enchanted with her. He proposed they take the conversation somewhere more comfortable, such as his chateau, and motioned for the check. Yana, smiling in agreement with this idea, told them to wait a minute while she went downstairs to get her things.
On the rain-slicked neon street, trying to flag a gypsy cab, Lenny saw that by her “things” Yana had meant not a dainty purse but a much larger object that, from the look of its hard case, appeared to be a violin.