The Master
Page 41
I called Ivanna at once. “I could kiss you!”
“So it’s true? Sevastyan won’t let you make calls?”
“He’s holding me prisoner.” With a permanent marker from the study, I’d drawn five slashes on the mirror above his sink, as though counting down days in prison. Sevastyan had been pissed: “Other women would kill to be in your position!”
Wearing a T-shirt, with nothing to do, and locked in chastity?
He’d put me in the belt again this morning. Then he’d assured me he would make it through all his meetings, and he would not return before sunset. He hadn’t realized that he fingered the key around his neck even as he spoke.
Ivanna asked, “What happened to cause your, er, imprisonment?”
“He’s totally paranoid! He thinks I tried to trap him by getting pregnant.” He still thought that.
“Why on earth?”
I cleared my throat. “Because we had unprotected sex when I was close to ovulating, and I’m not on birth control. Yet. I admit, it does sound bad, but I would never trap anyone. I’d never had that much champagne before—I was crazy drunk.” I r ubbed my temples. “I didn’t specifically tell him he could come in me, but I didn’t tell him he couldn’t either.”
“It’s okay, Cat. I have many escort friends who’ve ‘accidentally’ had a condom break—after they ran a pin through the client’s condom packs.”
“En serio? That’s sick.”
“It’s not common, but when you reach my age, and you realize you only have two or three good years left . . . It’s not as if I’ve been going to trade school, or saving up a pension. If I don’t wed a wealthy man, I’ll have to live off my savings—instead of bringing my family over.”
Still I gaped. “You would do it? Trap a guy?”
“If the circumstances were right.”
“No, you wouldn’t. Don’t say that!”
“Don’t judge me, Cat. I have a seventeen-year-old sister and a sickly mother living in poverty, who go to sleep each night to the sound of gunfire. For them, I’d do anything. Trap a man? In—a—heartbeat. What wouldn’t you do for those you love?”
I exhaled. “I’m sorry I was criticona. Judgmental.” I’d once read on a T-shirt: The judgiest people are the ones who’ve lived the least. “But for the record, I did not set out to get preñada.”
“It’s still an option, you know. There’s always next month.”
The idea nauseated me. “Ivanna, when I thought I could be pregnant, it was like someone punched me in the throat. I never cry in front of others, but I was about to. I kept telling myself Morning-after pill, morning-after pill like a prayer.”
“So that’s how you addressed it?”
“No, a doctor came to give me a shot and insert an IUD—to be really, really sure. Each method is ninety-something percent certain. Add those two together and it equals: one paranoid Russian. Still, I was relieved. Getting knocked up would be one of the stupidest things I could do. Sevastyan must think I’m stupid.”
I defensively pulled my knees to my chest. For some reason, it was imperative to me that he not believe that. “Why wouldn’t he? I guzzled bottles of alcohol and let down my guard with a strange man. I never let down my guard. I won’t ever again.”
“Apparently, he let his guard down as well. Have you ever considered why he’s so paranoid? He’s a mobster AND a politician—is there any man more incapable of trust? Surely he’s learned that faith in another can invite punishment.” Only always! “Perhaps you have an IUD right now because Sevastyan wanted to enjoy you regularly?”
I narrowed my eyes. It wasn’t as if I had asked for the thing. “Then maybe he’s less paranoico—and more manipulador—than I’d thought.”
“Speaking of manipulative, you should know, Sevastyan’s man of affairs called me, asking questions about you.”
Vasili! “What did you tell him?”
“As little as possible, because that’s obviously what you’ve been doing—and it’s working! Count on me not to deviate from this plan. Though I don’t know much anyway. I told him that you don’t have a car, and you sing a lot. I informed him that when you eat one of those cuppy containers of flan, you are in heaven and smile for the rest of the day. I also mentioned that you adore me and have promised always to take care of me.”
I exhaled with relief. “Thank you.”
“So, what’s it like between you and Sevastyan? Since you’re essentially living together?”
“We fight a lot.” After sex, as soon as we left the bed—or the couch or the shower or the floor—he would grow ice cold again.
Once we’d recovered from our frenzied fuck yesterday, he’d dragged me into the study, dumping me into a seat in front of a computer. No Internet access, of course. “Make yourself useful.” A fifteen-page document in Spanish had been pulled up on the screen. “Translate it, then print a copy. You’ve got three hours.”
The document had been about the Panama Canal. I began to suspect he was in Miami to take advantage of the upcoming canal expansion. Interesting.
Three hours later, I’d found him in the living room on the phone with his brother Dmitri.
Whenever he talked to his younger brother, his mood plummeted, and nothing ever seemed to get resolved. Yet he talked to the man a lot. Sometimes I could even hear Dmitri yelling, but Sevastyan never raised his voice or got angry in return. If I were Máxim’s girlfriend and I gave a damn about him, I’d try to limit those calls.
“So it’s true? Sevastyan won’t let you make calls?”
“He’s holding me prisoner.” With a permanent marker from the study, I’d drawn five slashes on the mirror above his sink, as though counting down days in prison. Sevastyan had been pissed: “Other women would kill to be in your position!”
Wearing a T-shirt, with nothing to do, and locked in chastity?
He’d put me in the belt again this morning. Then he’d assured me he would make it through all his meetings, and he would not return before sunset. He hadn’t realized that he fingered the key around his neck even as he spoke.
Ivanna asked, “What happened to cause your, er, imprisonment?”
“He’s totally paranoid! He thinks I tried to trap him by getting pregnant.” He still thought that.
“Why on earth?”
I cleared my throat. “Because we had unprotected sex when I was close to ovulating, and I’m not on birth control. Yet. I admit, it does sound bad, but I would never trap anyone. I’d never had that much champagne before—I was crazy drunk.” I r ubbed my temples. “I didn’t specifically tell him he could come in me, but I didn’t tell him he couldn’t either.”
“It’s okay, Cat. I have many escort friends who’ve ‘accidentally’ had a condom break—after they ran a pin through the client’s condom packs.”
“En serio? That’s sick.”
“It’s not common, but when you reach my age, and you realize you only have two or three good years left . . . It’s not as if I’ve been going to trade school, or saving up a pension. If I don’t wed a wealthy man, I’ll have to live off my savings—instead of bringing my family over.”
Still I gaped. “You would do it? Trap a guy?”
“If the circumstances were right.”
“No, you wouldn’t. Don’t say that!”
“Don’t judge me, Cat. I have a seventeen-year-old sister and a sickly mother living in poverty, who go to sleep each night to the sound of gunfire. For them, I’d do anything. Trap a man? In—a—heartbeat. What wouldn’t you do for those you love?”
I exhaled. “I’m sorry I was criticona. Judgmental.” I’d once read on a T-shirt: The judgiest people are the ones who’ve lived the least. “But for the record, I did not set out to get preñada.”
“It’s still an option, you know. There’s always next month.”
The idea nauseated me. “Ivanna, when I thought I could be pregnant, it was like someone punched me in the throat. I never cry in front of others, but I was about to. I kept telling myself Morning-after pill, morning-after pill like a prayer.”
“So that’s how you addressed it?”
“No, a doctor came to give me a shot and insert an IUD—to be really, really sure. Each method is ninety-something percent certain. Add those two together and it equals: one paranoid Russian. Still, I was relieved. Getting knocked up would be one of the stupidest things I could do. Sevastyan must think I’m stupid.”
I defensively pulled my knees to my chest. For some reason, it was imperative to me that he not believe that. “Why wouldn’t he? I guzzled bottles of alcohol and let down my guard with a strange man. I never let down my guard. I won’t ever again.”
“Apparently, he let his guard down as well. Have you ever considered why he’s so paranoid? He’s a mobster AND a politician—is there any man more incapable of trust? Surely he’s learned that faith in another can invite punishment.” Only always! “Perhaps you have an IUD right now because Sevastyan wanted to enjoy you regularly?”
I narrowed my eyes. It wasn’t as if I had asked for the thing. “Then maybe he’s less paranoico—and more manipulador—than I’d thought.”
“Speaking of manipulative, you should know, Sevastyan’s man of affairs called me, asking questions about you.”
Vasili! “What did you tell him?”
“As little as possible, because that’s obviously what you’ve been doing—and it’s working! Count on me not to deviate from this plan. Though I don’t know much anyway. I told him that you don’t have a car, and you sing a lot. I informed him that when you eat one of those cuppy containers of flan, you are in heaven and smile for the rest of the day. I also mentioned that you adore me and have promised always to take care of me.”
I exhaled with relief. “Thank you.”
“So, what’s it like between you and Sevastyan? Since you’re essentially living together?”
“We fight a lot.” After sex, as soon as we left the bed—or the couch or the shower or the floor—he would grow ice cold again.
Once we’d recovered from our frenzied fuck yesterday, he’d dragged me into the study, dumping me into a seat in front of a computer. No Internet access, of course. “Make yourself useful.” A fifteen-page document in Spanish had been pulled up on the screen. “Translate it, then print a copy. You’ve got three hours.”
The document had been about the Panama Canal. I began to suspect he was in Miami to take advantage of the upcoming canal expansion. Interesting.
Three hours later, I’d found him in the living room on the phone with his brother Dmitri.
Whenever he talked to his younger brother, his mood plummeted, and nothing ever seemed to get resolved. Yet he talked to the man a lot. Sometimes I could even hear Dmitri yelling, but Sevastyan never raised his voice or got angry in return. If I were Máxim’s girlfriend and I gave a damn about him, I’d try to limit those calls.
