Closing Costs

by Wesley Southard

  “I have to ask,” Hershel said. “If you’ve got all these homes around the country…why buy one here? I realize that may not be the best question to ask someone while trying to sell them a home, but I’ve been curious since first hearing from you. Why not someplace like Nashville or Chicago, or even Atlanta?”

  Evgeni quickly checked out one of the two half baths on the main floor before closing the door and walking away. Hershel noticed how aloof he seemed in his discoveries. “I like those places, but they very loud and noisy, much like other two homes. Musicians easily distracted. When they have mind on something else, they no make good music. We look into house here so that I may build big studio in basement, and we can be away from discos and parties. Artists need focus. This place seems like it far enough away from big lights and…how do you say…culture? Da, culture. It boring here. No culture, no nightlife. Nothing to do. Artist will only want to work, not play.”

  Though it made perfect sense to Hershel, he felt like he should have been offended. But the more he thought about it, unfortunately, he might have been right. Nowhere to go in a two-hour radius.

  “Well, Geno, I’m happy you chose to come here to the Tri-State and check in on our house and everything we have to offer here. It sounds as though you have it all figured out. Though I have to say, we have lots of things to do here locally. We have professional baseball and ice hockey teams, as well as college basketball if you’re into sports. Plenty of great restaurants in Evansville and Newburgh, and several venues to see concerts and shows. They’ve been revitalizing downtown for the last few years, so it’s steadily growing and improving. It’s small, but there’s plenty to offer.”

  “And corn,” Evgeni said. “Corn fields everywhere. I get off plane and I see corn. Why so much corn?”

  “It has to come from somewhere, right?”

  “Very strange. It go in whole, it come out whole. I don’t like it.”

  Laughing, Hershel led them back to the main entryway. They passed a service elevator, which Evgeni pointed to and gave a thumbs-up. “I like this. Very nice.”

  “So,” Hershel inquired. “What are your thoughts so far, Geno? Is it everything you and your lovely wife hoped for?”

  Evgeni nodded solemnly. He appeared disinterested in continuing their introductory tour. “Da. Is very good. Very big. Not as big as other house, but very big.”

  Something warmed in Hershel’s chest. “Well, I’m sure you’ve already seen the website, but I can go over the basics as listed here on the MLS sheet so you can know what kind of home this is—and that’s what I want you to think of it as: a home. The more you think of it as a home, you start to see it as your home. That’s what I’m trying to sell you: a new home. A new adventure. A new experience in your lives.” Much like Monique, he’d been practicing his speech for a while, but unlike hers his was coming out a bit corny. He decided to scrap it. “Built in two thousand four, this home only had one previous owner before becoming available to you. We’re nestled on two point six four acres of land, and we’re currently standing in eleven thousand, six hundred and…” he checked his papers, “forty square feet of interior property. This home contains no less than five bedrooms and five full- and three half-bathrooms. Below our feet we have a half-finished basement with enough square footage to build your perfect recording studio. Outside, beyond the beautiful stone and stucco exterior, there’s a fully enclosed backyard—with a privacy fence—that includes an in-ground heated pool and a hot tub. There’s also a four car attached garage and a driveway big enough to park eight more. Back inside we have a twelve seated theater room with a ten foot projection screen. That elevator we passed travels from the basement to the second floor above us, for ease of access to every level. We’ve seen the kitchen, which features granite countertops, custom cabinetry, and a walk-in pantry. Upstairs we have a master suite with over a thousand square feet of space, gorgeous bamboo flooring, and its own private bath with a whirlpool and double vanities. Have I mentioned an abundance of closet space?”

  He noticed Evgeni was not paying the slightest bit of attention to what he was saying. Back and forth, he and his wife made gestures as if urging the other one to say something. Neither one would budge.

  “Is there something the matter?” Hershel asked.

  Evgeni sighed. “No, there is no problem at all. Everything peachy.”

  “Well then, how about we go have a look at the upstairs, and I can show that incredible master suite. It’s truly amazing to see. Practically a ballroom.”

  “In time,” said the Russian. “How about I send Yana upstairs to look around, and we can have a little privacy to…discuss matters.”

  “Absolutely. No problem.”

  “Good.” Evgeni turned to his wife. “Yana, idi naverkh, pozhaluysta, mi poka obsudim nash vopros.”

  Yana said, “Tolko ne isporti vse. Ya ego khochu.”

  “Naverkh poshla, zhivo!” he growled.

  Nodding, Yana turned to give a quick look at Hershel before gracefully ascending the staircase. He watched her perfectly round rear end as it reached the top of the landing. Something stirred in Hershel’s loins, but he quickly pushed it away. Quit staring, he thought nervously.

  “Women,” Evgeni said. “What is that saying? Can’t live with them, can’t leave them in cornfield for dogs.”

  Hershel grinned. “Something like that.”

  “Anyway, let us get back to business now that woman is not around.”

  “Absolutely. While she’s perusing the upstairs, would you like to take a look at the basement, maybe get a feel for your potential studio space?”

  Evgeni shook his head and wagged his finger. “No no. There is no need. I want house.”

  A tingling started in his toes and quickly spread throughout his body. His heart fluttered. Hershel nearly screamed with excitement. He did it. He finally did it.

  “Wow!” he said. “Mr. Sokolov—I mean Geno! You haven’t even seen the rest of the house yet.”

  “You mean home, da?”

  Hershel laughed, maybe a bit too erratically. “Yes! Home—your home. I mean, don’t you want to see the rest of the place? Honestly, we barely even covered the main floor. There’s still much more to look over. I haven’t even given you the asking price yet.”

  “Not necessary. I already see enough. I like home. Yana like home. We see pictures on website. We are satisfied. Money is no problem. We take it.”

  After years of futility by dozens of his peers, he finally succeeded where they had failed. He’d never been much of an athlete growing up, nor was he much into sports in general, but he imagined this was what it felt like to win a championship. He had never hugged a client, but he wanted to lift Evgeni Sokolov off the Italian marble floor and spin the tiny man like a prom date.

  “Geno…” he stuttered. “I can’t tell you how happy I am for you and your lovely wife. I think making this amazing place your home is just the right decision for you both.”

  “Da. I agree. But I have one thing I must ask of you before we call this deal, no?”

  “Absolutely anything, Geno. You name it.”

  Evgeni put his hand on Hershel’s shoulder and squeezed. “You must fuck my wife.”

  EIGHT

  Yana looked down with a wry grin on her husband and the tall drink of water standing next to him. Evgeni spoke to him in hushed tones, or maybe she was out of hearing range, but she couldn’t hear their words. Either way she knew exactly what they were discussing.

  He better not screw this up for me, she thought.

  She could still feel his eyes roaming her ass as she sashayed up the staircase, and even before when they first pulled up to the house. Though his suit was cheap, much like this shitty little hick town, he was everything she hoped for. That clean, baldhead, and his deep, sexy voice she could feel in her chest. Tall and lean, she w
anted to climb him like a tree. Skin so smooth and brown his name should have been Hershey.

  From down below, the realtor turned his head toward her, and she quickly hid out of sight.

  Pressing herself against the wall, she hiked her dress up to her waist and pressed her first two fingers against her already damp panties. She moaned, though quietly, as she rubbed herself. She imagined what his big strong hands would feel like going up and down her body, and around her throat. She wanted him to be rough with her, wanted him to throw her around, slap her, bite her, and call her all those filthy things only American men knew how to say. More than anything she wanted Evgeni to watch.

  She’d been that way for as long as she could remember. Even before becoming Mrs. Sokolov, Yana Petrov enjoyed being watched. Back in her home county, when she was in her teens, boyfriends would look on as many men would take her at once. It was the only thing that brought her to climax. One or a dozen, she didn’t care how many had their way with her body, so long as others reveled. It wasn’t about humiliation. She loved her boyfriends and past fiancés dearly, even now her husband, but she loved their eyes more than their touch. She wanted their desire, craved it. She wanted their undivided attention. If they chose to touch themselves, that was fine by her too.

  By the time she reached America, her tastes had grown. She wanted more than the pretty men she modeled with. Most were gay, and those that were not had little interest in being part of her voyeurism. They were children, anyway. Little boys in fancy suits. She wanted real men. Everyday men. Men who lusted for her the way Evgeni did. She’d been with men of all colors and races, but when they found Hershel Merkley’s picture on the realtor website, she suddenly got a taste for chocolate.

  Yana didn’t know how long she was standing there before she heard the soft ding of the elevator. Quickly, she dropped her dress and composed herself, expecting Hershel and her husband to walk around the corner wearing big, bright grins. She smoothed her hair and waited for them, her body a tingling hive of eagerness. When they never came, she rounded the corner just as the elevator door was closing. Beyond the door, the cab was empty.

  That’s weird, she thought. Maybe they went to another room…maybe they were waiting in the master bedroom. The thought made her sizzle with glee. Even if that were the case, she would make them wait for just a bit longer. Anticipation makes the heart grow fonder…and the panties grow wetter. She smiled.

  In the next hallway she found four more doors, all closed except for one. The first door revealed a fairly large bedroom with a single queen sized bed sitting dead center in the room. She noted the size and wondered what she could use the room for. Exercise room, perhaps. Maybe a spa or massage room. She closed the door and opened the one directly across the hall. Another bathroom, full-sized this time, complete with wall length mirror and a shell-shaped washbasin. A little tacky for her tastes, but it would do, she supposed. The tub was impressive, but she was itching to see how big the one in the master suite was. She approached the final door at the end of the hall, and being already ajar, she pushed it the rest of the way open.

  It is like a ballroom, she thought happily. Though she would have rather seen Hershel waiting for her on the king sized bed, the room itself was enough to keep her interest. Amber curtains hung over the numerous windows that faced out over the pool and backyard, with a wraparound balcony to look down on their guests. She didn’t even bother with turning on the overhead chandelier, as the natural sunlight gorgeously illuminated the light bamboo flooring. Her clicking heels echoed off the walls. The noise that could be made in this room…

  She stepped into the bathroom, and this time she clicked on the lights. Just as the website had described it. The whirlpool was delectable, as was the sizable shower just across from it. Both could fit numerous people at once. Though she preferred their master bath back in Los Angeles, this was nothing to sniff at.

  Near the back of the room was the walk-in closet. This she wanted to see. She doubted it would have the optimal space to hold all of her designer clothes, but maybe it could hold her shoes. At this point she wasn’t even sure how much time would be spent in this house, beyond her occasional visit while Evgeni worked.

  She pulled open the door. The interior was pitch black. She went to flip the light switch, but she clammed up.

  Near the back of the closet, something slowly stood. She gasped.

  The darkness reached for her.

  NINE

  Maybe he misheard him. Words were very obviously lost in translation. Evgeni conversed in English well enough, but there was no way in hell he had meant to say that. Certainly he hadn’t spoken correctly.

  “Excuse me?” Hershel asked, flabbergasted.

  “Fuck my wife,” the Russian repeated. “I want you to fuck my wife.”

  Again, Hershel was very certain he was hearing him all wrong. He cocked his head, letting the man’s brash words fill the air like a cancerous smog. He kept calm, and he spoke clear and concise. “Geno, I don’t think you know what you’re saying. Maybe we need to just move on and continue with what we were discussing before, yes?”

  Evgeni raised his eyebrows, now looking like the one confused. “What is not to understand? I want house, you fuck my wife. Is simple.”

  Hershel sighed, his frustration building. “Listen, Geno, I think maybe we’re having a little bit of a misunderstanding. I’m not sure we’re on the same page here. I don’t think you mean what you’re saying.”

  “What?” he asked. “Must I speak slower, Mr. American? Hmmm? I want you to stick your cock in my wife Yana while I watch. Is very simple. Why so confused? I not speaking Russian, vot pridurok.”

  Shaking Evgeni’s hand off his shoulder, he turned to look back up at the second level banister. He could tell she was watching them. When she saw him, Yana quickly disappeared behind the nearest wall. Son of a bitch, he thought. This is all a big joke. He started to laugh, maybe a bit too hard. The stress was finally bursting out.

  Then Evgeni started to laugh. “Why laughing? What is funny?”

  “Wow, Geno. Christ, you had me going there for a moment, the both of you.” He pointed up toward the second floor. “I’ve had some strange things said to me while on the job, some very strange things, but that really took me for a loop. Nice job.”

  “Loop? What is loop?” Evgeni asked. “I don’t know what we are haha-ing about. Very serious. I want you to fuck Yana, and I watch.”

  “Ok, Geno, enough of this. Please stop saying that. It’s not funny anymore.”

  Evgeni took a step closer to Hershel, and his face hardened like dry dirt. “I not funny. In fact, I rarely joke. I not comedian. I not make jokes for living. I make music. I own companies. I have more money than I know what to do with. When you laugh, it insult me. I no like that, not one bit.”

  Hershel’s face dropped, as did his stomach. This wasn’t a game. Evgeni Sokolov wasn’t joking. He stared at the smaller man for a long time, completely unsure what to say. Regardless of what was folding out between them, he had to be careful with his words. “Geno, look…let’s keep this relationship professional. No need to be crass.”

  “Crass? What crass? Look, let me make simple for you.” Evgeni pulled his smart phone out from his shirt pocket and scrolled through it. “I want house, da? I like house very much, but it just house. I can buy house anywhere I want. I can buy another condo in New York City if I want. There are many house like this in much nicer places. Here, give me credit card.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Credit card, please. I don’t steal money. I have much more money than you. No reason to take yours. Give.”

  Hershel hesitated, but eventually pulled his wallet from his back pocket. He had no reason up to this point to not trust the man, though he could do without the constant reminder of how much less he was worth.

  Evgeni took his Visa card and pun
ched in the numbers on his phone, then handed it back to Hershel. He tapped a few more commands into the screen, then nodded. “There. You are now ten thousand dollars richer.”

  “Excuse me?” Hershel’s heart hammered. His brain waved, and his heart told him the man was now lying to him. His phone dinged. Quickly, he checked his cell and noticed the bank notification informing him of the recent deposit. He stared at the screen with a desert dry mouth. “How…”

  “And that is only little bit of what I can give you, Hershel. Obviously that amount is to keep what we discuss between three of us. To keep hush-hush. Yana and I very famous. No need to let our business become public, da?”

  Knees weak, Hershel felt like throwing up. He couldn’t take this money. Even as a charitable gift, he couldn’t begin to explain to Monique how a cool 10K suddenly materialized into their joint checking account. Even if—and it wasn’t even an if at this point, but when—he declined Evgeni’s disgusting offer, the money would have to be given back. He didn’t need the headache. He just prayed his wife hadn’t gotten the same notification yet.

  “Geno, I can’t accept this money.”

  Evgeni waved him off. “Yes, you will. This is to keep mouth shut. And if you accept offer, and I believe you will, my friend, there is much more where that come from.”

  Much more where that come from… Hershel didn’t grow up with money. The Merkley’s weren’t exactly poor, but they didn’t have the type of income other kids wore on their shoulders and backs. He didn’t envy them, only pitied them for the things they would never have to work for and appreciate. He busted his ass for everything he had. In high school, it was material things like clothes and shoes, to match his friends. As an adult he wanted to live a comfortable life and provide his wife with as much happiness as he could. They may not have been wealthy, but they weren’t hurting either. He stared at the bank notification, at the shiney new deposit, and, though it pained him to even consider it, he wondered just how much more there was to be given…