Moonlight in Odessa

by Janet Skeslien Charles

  ‘You’re here now. Thank you for coming all this way.’

  We walked up four flights of stairs.

  ‘No elevator,’ I apologized.

  ‘I needed to stretch my legs. It’s a long drive.’ She started to giggle like a schoolgirl. ‘No one knows I’m here. Not even Toby.’

  ‘He’ll find out,’ I warned her. ‘He’ll look at your mileage.’

  She laughed. ‘It wouldn’t occur to him to look at my gas gauge, oil level, or mileage. He’s no mechanic – I’m on my own.’

  She looked at my face. My expression must have said something my silence did not, because she stilled.

  ‘My God. He did that to you, didn’t he?’

  Tears filled my eyes. I don’t know why. Perhaps in gratitude that someone understood a small part of what I had lived. I put the key in the door and opened all three locks. Boba was not on the other side.

  Molly looked at the books on my shelves while I turned on the electric kettle.

  We sat at the kitchen table in front of the small window.

  ‘You look fabulous,’ I told her.

  ‘I realized I’d become worn down and even depressed. Toby and I are in marriage counseling. He’s chipping in more around the house, and I realized that I need to start doing things for myself. I’m going to come visit you, gal.’

  ‘Brava, brava!’

  ‘This is where you belong.’ She gestured out to the city. ‘You were right to leave. You’re very brave. I’m proud of you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I put two spoonfuls of raspberry jam in my tea and stirred viciously, trying to work up the courage to ask what would happen next. ‘Do you think he’ll try to find me?’

  ‘No. I think he’s got his mind on other things . . .’ After a long pause, she said, ‘I should have told you this, but he made us promise not to. You’re not the first girl he brought over.’

  Kino.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I almost told you once, but he stopped me . . . I should have tried harder. Her name was Lena. She didn’t last as long as you.’

  I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

  ‘Please don’t be mad.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asked.

  I nodded. ‘Where was she from?’

  ‘St Petersburg.’

  ‘How long did she stay?’

  ‘Three months.’

  ‘Did he go there?’

  ‘Yes, he went to several “socials,” as he called them.’

  ‘He told me he’d considered it, but “chickened out” at the last moment. Everything was a lie. He told me he was a teacher. He told me he’d never gone to Russia. I was such a fool!’

  ‘Don’t blame yourself, hon.’

  ‘Who else can I blame? I should have seen it. The worst is that my life is in his hands . . .’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

  ‘Women like me have to stay married to guys like him for two years before we’re granted permanent status. If I don’t fulfill the bargain, all he has to do is notify Immigration. They’ll think I married him for a green card, and I’ll be deported.’

  ‘That’s horrible! No one should have to stay married . . .’

  Pity crept into her voice.

  ‘That’s just the way it is,’ I said briskly. I didn’t want her feeling sorry for me. Odessans know that even if the deck is stacked against us, we must continue to play. ‘Do you think he’ll turn me in?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She bit her lip.

  ‘Oh, God.’ I pressed my hand to my chest. The ring was gone, but in its place was something more, something of infinite value. My hand traveled down my body to my belly.

  ‘Don’t feel bad. Anyone could see that . . . I don’t want to say you’re too good for him. But we could all see that you didn’t belong there. He was the only one that didn’t see it.’

  ‘Oh, Molly. Part of me feels guilty for leaving him. Is that crazy?’

  ‘No, hon. But you don’t have to worry about him. When you left he was drunk for about a week, just like when Lena took off. But he’s moved on. You won’t believe it, but he’s already looking for another bride. He said he was going to try the Philippines this time. He said he heard the women there are more docile.’

  I laughed. And laughed. Odessans laugh at the most perverse things. Molly joined me.

  ‘It is pretty funny,’ she admitted. Then she started to cry. ‘I hope you don’t hate me.’

  I started to cry, too. ‘Truly, I’m not angry. You were such a good friend to me. I’ll never forget all you did. The lovely bachelorette party you organized. The bouquet for my wedding. The kindness you, Serenity, and Anna showed me made me want to stay. Made me fall in love with America. Your friendship has been the best part of this journey. I hope we can still be friends and that you’ll visit me again.’

  She nodded. ‘Didn’t I just say I would? Are you sure you’re not mad at me?’

  ‘I’m not mad. I’m relieved.’

  And it was true. That chapter of my life was over. I wanted to concentrate on the future. I was free. I could talk to Boba and Jane for hours, eat potatoes three times a day, and cover myself in black if I so desired. I wrote to Anna and Serenity. I made blini for my neighbors; in return, they invited me to brunch. I joined a book club. I asked a co-worker who brought in cinnamon rolls every Monday to teach me how to bake. On Sundays, we worked in her kitchen. Each week was a new recipe. These acts filled me with pleasure. I built my nest, twig by twig.

  David suggested I consult with the company lawyers. I explained my situation to them; they felt confident that they could help me get a work visa and later a green card. They also told me about a wonderful concept in California called ‘alimony.’ The way the lawyers spoke of this phenomenon made me wonder what else I didn’t know as a foreigner in America. Rights, rights, Oksana had said. What are our rights? I would find out.

  I didn’t want Tristan’s money but it was a pleasure to tell Oksana that if she divorced Jerry, she would not be penniless or powerless.

  Of course I called Valentina. She’d sold Soviet Unions™ to an American entrepreneur for a million dollars in an off-shore account. She said that when she’d started the business, it had been a buyer’s market – the men had the advantage. Now, in just a few years, the tables had turned and Odessan women were on top. ‘It’s become a seller’s market. They get the Americans to take them and their friends shopping and to fancy restaurants. The new owner installed a row of computers and he pays girls to respond to the letters. The clients pay per e-mail sent and received. The women dupe them into sending money for everything from English lessons to plane tickets. He posts indecent photos of models to lure in the men. Ingenious! Why didn’t I think of that?’ she lamented, with a drop of venom in her voice.

  She hadn’t changed a bit.

  ‘How are things in Odessa?’

  ‘Changing right and left! Foreign businesses have invaded. Some oligarch is renovating the Mikhailovksi Convent on Uspenskaya Street. Muslims are moving in faster than you can say “Allah.” More and more construction going on. More gaudy than anything. I’m ready for a change if you want to know the truth. Maybe I could visit you in America. This old communist has decided capitalism isn’t so bad.’

  She booked her plane ticket and even helped Boba apply for a passport so she could come help me with the baby. When I spoke with Boba on the phone, she sounded happy, like a teenager in love. I don’t think I ever sounded that way about Tristan.

  Of course David still called once a week. As we spoke, I realized that in part, my new life was thanks to him. He had hurt me, but he’d also worked hard to make amends. He’d become a true friend. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘For what? I didn’t do anything.’

  ‘Whatever you say . . .’

  He said he was leaving Odessa.

  ‘Please don’t be offended. There’s something I want to ask,’ I admitted. ‘It’s about something Vita and Vera
said . . . Is it true that you got sent to Odessa as a punishment?’

  ‘In a way.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘You know my grandfather started the shipping company? Well, when he died a little over two years ago, my father decided that he would cut me off if I didn’t prove myself. He blocked my trust fund and set me up as the director of the Odessa office. He thought the challenge would straighten me out. He said if I didn’t keep the branch afloat, he and his lawyers would make sure the family money would skip a generation and go straight to Melinda. He said a lot of other things, too. They’re too nasty to repeat. I arrived here pissed off at the world and ready to drink myself into oblivion.’

  ‘Odessa is certainly the right place for that.’

  He laughed. ‘I know. During my first week, I gambled away $100,000.’

  ‘No! How could you?’

  ‘Are you going to yell at me again?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t believe it! You have everything and you throw it away!’

  ‘You’re going to yell at me.’

  ‘If I’d had the opportunities you had, if I had one-tenth of what you have –’

  ‘You have more. You have Boba,’ he countered.

  I smiled. He was right. I was infinitely richer. Not that I would admit it to him. ‘And speaking of Boba, don’t get me started. How dare you bribe her with mangoes?’

  ‘Any interest at all in hearing the end of the story?’

  I remained silent.

  ‘All right then. Luckily, I lost the money to a gangster, who agreed to hold my stock in the shipping company as collateral.’

  ‘That was sporting.’

  ‘There was a price. If I couldn’t pay him back, he got to keep the stock which was worth much more than $100,000.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Vladimir Stanislavski figured it would be easy money.’

  Vlad? Of course. ‘So that’s why he came to our office so often,’ I said, feeling disappointed.

  ‘Maybe at first. But I paid my debt and he kept coming.’

  ‘What are you going to do now that your “sentence” is up?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ he said.

  I realized I missed sitting in the boardroom, talking about literature and Odessa. A strange thing to miss.

  My assistant did not announce him. David just walked through my door. I glanced up from my desk, expecting anyone – Grandfather Frost, even Tinkerbell – but him. He looked good, so good to me. He’d shaved his mustache. He was wearing a navy blazer like all the other men who worked in the financial district. The green of his silk tie brought out the flecks of amber in his eyes. Of course he was tan, he’d just come from Odessa. His dark hair had been cut too short for my taste. No matter. It would grow.

  I stood.

  He came to me. What would be appropriate? A handshake? Too formal. A hug? Perhaps not. I stroked his arm, touching him to make my eyes believe he was actually there.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I asked, chin thrust out.

  He looked me up and down dispassionately. ‘Something’s different about you.’

  He got himself a position on the board of directors and an office right next to mine. The first thing he did was to ask the company lawyers why I was still married. They explained that the paperwork took time. Through the office wall, I heard him yell, ‘I don’t want to hear any excuses! She needs a divorce and a work visa. And she better have both within a month.’ He made sure things happened quickly. Though he denied it, I believe that some goodwill was involved.

  Rumors circulated. Would he be the new director of the San Francisco branch? How long would he stay? The women in the company bombarded his elderly secretary for information. Was he single? Was he interested in seeing someone? What were his plans? He told his family and colleagues that he wanted to be involved in ARGONAUT, but needed a break from the ulcers that had come from running a branch. He told me that he wanted to be at my side, even if it meant only at work.

  Underneath the snow globe on the corner of my desk sat a copy of my divorce papers. I knew Vlad was waiting for a sign, yet I hesitated to send it. For the first time, I was happy and free. I wanted to enjoy this independence, for the moment, at least. I was free to go out with friends – Jane, Jono, Tans and I went to concerts, galleries, and cafés. Tans and David got on very well. All of us went to dinner often.

  Of course, Jane bragged that she would be the godmother.

  ‘If you make me godfather, I’ll teach him how to play basketball,’ Jono lobbied.

  ‘Make me godfather and I’ll pay for his college,’ Tans replied.

  I looked to David, who was looking at me, and wondered what he would offer. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure you’re having a girl,’ he said. ‘And that she’ll be beautiful just like her mother.’

  My eyes misted up. In Odessa, we say God loves three, but looking around the table, I thought he must appreciate five even more.

  Things weren’t perfect. My studio was the size of a room in a communalka. Prices in San Francisco were even higher than those in Moscow. Though my job was more straightforward than it had been in Odessa, it was more complicated, too. I had to learn new laws and regulations and worked long hours. Most days, I did not leave the office before 7.30. I missed Odessa. Ask Jane. Anyone who has lived there is unable to forget the opera house (the third most beautiful in the world), the hospitality of the people, the monuments, architecture, the sea. How I longed for my native city. But as David reminded me – once Anna Akhmatova left Odessa, she left for good. There’s no use looking back, Boba said. You’ll only end up with a crick in your neck.

  I was finally living the life I’d dreamed of when I was back in Odessa and looking towards America. When I’d wanted something – though what exactly I didn’t know – so badly. A feeling of contentment filled me. I lived in a city on the sea. I had good friends and a challenging job. I spoke English every day. I was bringing a new life into this world. Births happen every day, but it still felt like a miracle to me. I cradled my belly and thought of my little wonder. How much Boba and I would love her.

  David walked through my door with a tray of coffee and cookies. I looked at my watch. ‘It took you three minutes and 19 seconds. Better than yesterday. Worse than the day before.’

  He poured us each a cup of decaf. I took a sip and looked out the window.

  ‘Not bad,’ I said. ‘Not bad at all.’

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  My love and gratitude to Barbara & Ed Skeslien and Eddy Charles for making all things possible.

  My friends Clydette & Charles de Groot have accompanied me on this journey and have helped me in so many ways. Anca Metiu and I meet once a week to write in a café, and her company and friendship have meant a lot to me. Sylvia Whitman of Shakespeare & Company has been a great source of encouragement and inspiration. This book could not have been written without the support that I received from the Soros Foundation and Dr. Robert Hausmann.

  I am blessed to have the support and friendship of these writers, my first readers: Emma Jane Kirby, Jack Kessler, Kathryn Clutz, Amanda Bouchet, Anna di Mattia, Carolyn Skelton, Laura Mason, Edward Carey, and Elena Devos. Thanks to Sapna Gupta, Susan Moreau, Katya Jezzard, Jim Branin, Lauren Sinclair, and Josh Melvin. My thanks to Penelope Le Masson of the Red Wheelbarrow, who has been so kind to me over the years. She has the best stories. Thanks to Bridget Larson and Cindy Rogers of the Prairie Peddler in Shelby for their hospitality as I worked on my novel. Thank you to my teachers, especially Mr. Goodan and Miss Hanson. Love and gratitude to Kathy Skeslien, Madame Nathan, Sarah Andrews, and Kris James, who have always supported my work.

  Now the road to publication. Many thanks to Laurel Zuckerman for encouraging me to attend the Geneva Writers’ Conference, which is organized by the amazing Susan Tiberghien. My agent Laura Longrigg has been a generous and gracious source of editorial acumen and wisdom. She and Stella Kane have exceeded my expectations i
n every way, and I thank everyone at MBA Literary Agents for their support and enthusiasm. I feel very lucky to have Bloomsbury as my publisher. On both sides of the Atlantic, they have been very supportive. Helen Garnons-Williams is an editor nonpareil, and I thank her for her insight and ideas. It has been a pleasure to work with Justine Taylor and Erica Jarnes, and I thank them for their close attention to Daria and her words. Of course, it is a dream to work with Alexandra Pringle. I thank Colin Dickerman for his initial enthusiasm and Kathy Belden for taking my book and me under her wing. Amy King, Natalie Slocum, and Sarah Morris created gorgeous cover art. In Germany, I would like to thank Joachim Jessen for bringing my novel to the attention of Christian Rohr of C Bertelsmann. He and Astrid Arz have been lovely to work with. I thank you all for your faith in this novel.

  Finally, I would like to express my thanks to the subagents and publishers who have shown faith in the novel: Tassy Barham, Trine Licht, Milena Lukic, Vicki Satlow, Caroline van Gelderen, Martijn David of Uitgeverij Mouria in the Netherlands, Luciana Villas-Boas of Record in Brazil, Ornella Robbianti and Patricia Chendi of Sperling & Kupfer in Italy, Vesna Virant of Mladinska Bucuresti SRL in Romania, Jelka Jovanovic of Mladinska Knijiga Beograd in Serbia, Sif Jóhannsdóttir of Forlagid in Iceland, and Marika Hemmel of Damm Förlag in Sweden.

  Reading Group Guide

  These discussion questions are designed to enhance your group’s conversation about Moonlight in Odessa, a wry, tender, and darkly funny look at marriage, the desires we don’t acknowledge, and the aftermath of communism.

  For discussion

  1. Moonlight in Odessa takes place in Odessa, Ukraine, in the mid-1990s. What is the significance of this time and place: the unstable period after perestroika when mobsters like Vlad and communists-turned-capitalists like Valentina took advantage; when government employees went to work but didn’t get paid; and when the Internet was not yet the sophisticated tool it is today? How might the story be different if it happened today? Would the story be the same if it were set in Moscow?