“Oh, man. Great, man. So happy to hear it, man.” He kept shaking hands and didn’t seem to notice the secret message Alin was trying to deliver to him; he didn’t give a damn I was Alin’s new muse. “Man, keep going. You rock. Literally.”
I was suddenly annoyed, watching the student leave. “Such a moron. I suppose he’s a student. By the way, go and wash your hands.”
Alin looked at me, confused; it seemed he didn’t get me. “He was a fan. I like to be nice with people,” Alin said simply.
“I’m nice as well. I know how to behave, but I have little tolerance for dirty and lazy people. He was so dirty, Alin, I could smell him from a distance. I may need to throw up, and he didn’t notice I was your muse,” I said, frustrated.
Alin laughed. “Oh, you know, not everyone can afford to stay at the hotel. Those guys sleep in a tent, all together, a lot of them. All they eat is one breakfast a day. They get to use the beach showers, but…”
I cut him off. “Or they are too lazy to take a shower. As you said, they can wash themselves at the beach. Not a big deal.”
Alin didn’t like my attitude. “Mona, don’t be judgmental. We all have a fight and a cross to carry.”
I changed my tone: “Do you know what the paradox of tolerance is?”
“No. One of your crazy theories?” He asked using air quotations.
“I wished. There is great philosopher Karl Popper who argue that all views should be tolerated. The theory states that unlimited tolerance will lead to the disappearance of tolerance. If we exercise unlimited tolerance, even to those who are intolerant, how can we defend a tolerant society against the onslaught of the intolerant? Practicing tolerance with all price, the tolerant will be destroyed, and tolerance with them.”
He raised his eyebrows: “Challenging theory, but you can’t use it a pretext to extend your judgmental opinions.”
“Of course not. I am not saying we should always suppress the ideas of intolerant ethics. It has to be a balance. This is the secret of happiness, and success. I can’t be tolerant all time. Blame my demons, blame my vanity, or my flaws. That’s me. And going back to your student: he was drinking beer. He has money for drinks -” I couldn’t stop mentioning.
“Oh, they are inventive. You know the deposit the tourists have to pay for the beer glasses? They’ll watch out, and when you go into the water, they will steal the empty beer glasses, bring them back to the kiosk, and get money back from the deposit. They do this a couple of times, and they can buy their beer.”
“Damn, why I didn’t have this idea?” I laughed. Then I added: “Now, they are also thieves.”
“But inventive ones.” He laughed as well. “Don’t be judgmental, Mona,” It sounded like a very nicely worded request.
We said good-bye to Dana and promised her we would go and see the statues. We left the beach and tried to find a space close to the radio station. The Obelisk statue was the best spot to be while at the beach; its stark-white, curvaceous features had an almost mystical quality about them. Standing more than eighteen meters, it was a well-known tourist attraction and more.
The original structure had fallen victim to storms and flooding and now lay buried in the sand. It was rebuilt about ten years ago. Over time, it had become a place where many students congregated. The beach was narrow and short, not more than a mile long and around eighty feet wide. The Obelisk was the place where most spontaneous concerts and events took place during the day. In the evenings, when the heat started to settle, students would gather around the fire, singing and having fun. The radio station would air foreign songs, folk music, poetry, interactive contests, and a lot of exciting shows.
The radio station villa was small, but you could spot it easily—colorful billboards were hung around the building. The radio station didn’t transmit through the air—it was only an amplification station—but it had more listeners than standard FM stations because of the nature of the place itself, averaging between ten to twenty thousand listeners a day.
The place was crowded. Colorful. Young. An improvised stage, made of wood placed on the sand, was the only empty spot. I wondered why nobody had put some chairs and umbrellas onto it. The sand was hot, and there was no place left to put a towel.
“There’s no way we will find an empty spot, Alin,” I said, discouraged.
“We don’t need it. The afternoon show starts soon.” He saw my look, and he continued, “Oh, I forgot. You’ve never been here. Today, we have a live interview. It will be outside. It’s fun. George T. is great. An asshole, but he is good at his job.”
George T. was the most famous radio personality in the country. He had his own show, heard across the country. His voice was made for radio. For the summer, he got residency in Costinesti and ran the radio station.
I avoided telling Alin about my radio internship job with George T. ; first, I had to be sure I’d get it.
We walked toward the villa, trying to bypass the crowd gathered outside the radio station.
We went inside, and Alin’s band was already there. Only two small rooms, separated by a glass wall. I looked around and saw George T. with big headphones on. I knew the moment of truth had come: the famous George T. talking into the microphone with his recognizable gravelly, distinct, low voice. It had to be him. There was no one like him. But that can’t be him!Not at all. The balding, dark-skinned, old guy with a horse mouth and fake big teeth couldn’t be the famous George T. It could not be him! Whoever had given that body to that smoky, mysterious voice must have been drunk.
Geta approached me. Her hair was not blond anymore but was a dark, shiny red. “Do you like my hair?” she asked in an unusually proud way.
“You dyed it.”
“Yep, I am a hairdresser. Just finished the school, and I need to practice. Let me know if you are interested.”
My hair was long, shiny, and healthy, and I was proud of it. I didn’t know if I should trust her or not. She must have noticed my doubts, because she reassured me. “Don’t worry, I am good. I do everyone’s hair. Alin’s, Vladi’s, all the girls who work in here. My clientele’s growing day by day.”
I was wondering why a man needed a personal hairdresser, but I guessed that was one of the perks of being a rock star.
We left the radio station. Outside, the stage was filled with chairs and umbrellas, and the overflow of people had already created a thick circle around the stage. Some were standing, some were sitting on flexible camping chairs. Alin brought me a seat. George T. came out from the villa, and the crowed started to cheer. George T. approached the stage, enjoying the clapping and yelling. He sat at his designated spot, took the microphone, and yelled, “Hello, Costinesti! Are you ready to have some fun?”
He had good chemistry with the crowd. “We have great guests today. Silent Delusion is here,” George T. added proudly.
The group of fans cheered. I envied Alin and his group for a second, and I wanted badly to be part of their life.
It took a while to silence the crowd. Then, George T. said to the band, “I know you’ve heard this question a lot of times, but why Silent Delusion? It sounds like a romance novel title, the kind that bored housewives hide under their pillows and read when they’re alone.”
A loud “ouch” crossed the entertained crowd’s lips. Yep, I remembered; irony and sarcasm were like a second language to him.
Alin laughed innocently. “George, you have to understand, we started our group when we finished high school. We simply thought it was a cool name for a band. Now we’re stuck with it, I guess.”
Jony interrupted Alin. “Anyway, George, how come you are an expert in bored housewives?”
The crowd laughed. George T. waited till the crowd had calmed down and answered, “Fair enough. You are not the only band who’s had name difficulties. The Beatles’ first band name was the Quarrymen. They also briefly changed their name to Johnny and the Moondogs.”
Jony took the microphone again and asked in a passive-aggressive tone. “G
eorge, it seems you are very interested and you know a lot about music. But are you musically inclined? Can you play least one instrument?”
George T. didn’t hurry to answer. He took a long sip from his water. He set the bottle down slowly. “Actually, I am not musically inclined, but that’s fine with me, because around ten thousand people are injured by musical instruments each year across the world,” he finally answered.
The crowd cheered. I noticed Alin giving Jony a short, disappointed look.
The talk lasted about an hour. Alin got to talk about future plans and about his new song he was working on.
It was almost four o’clock. Alexandru was going to come in one hour. The crowd began to thin slowly. Some hot girls in bathing suits were trying to talk with Alin and the group, which made my temperature rise a little, though I tried not to show it. George T. disappeared into the radio station.
Then, Alin took Jony aside and screamed at him, “What’s wrong with you?”
“Who the fuck does he think he is, Alin? Why do we have to suck his dick?” Jony answered back angrily.
“You were provoking him. We need him, and you know it.”
“Since when did we become pussies?” Jony said in disgust and left.
I told Alin I needed to go meet my friend.
“When can I see you? How long is he staying with you?” he asked neutrally.
“A couple of days. Not more than four. He needs to introduce me to some friends. Heavy people. And I won’t be staying at the hotel anymore. We will be staying at Crystal Villa. He said it’s by the beach, on the south side.”
“Crystal Villa?” He sounded surprised and a little annoyed. “Is it one of their villas? Is he a big shot?”
I tried to be funny. “Yes. But he likes to be called one of the most hardworking communist members of our society. Or simply, the system.”
Suddenly, he grabbed my hands and walked me to the car. “I need to talk with you alone.” His tone was serious. “Look, you are right. It all happened so fast. We rushed in,” he said.
My heart started beating fast. I thought he would break up with me. I couldn’t say anything. I realized I cared about him.
“I will give you these two days. Figure it out. Get rid of him,” he said.
I tried to say that I don’t take orders from him, but I couldn’t. Because I liked taking orders from him. I burst into tears. He touched my hair and said, “Silly girl. Look, I didn’t get to show you our place. We live in Villa 110. Easy to find. We are at the Summer Theatre every night. Or come and see Dana; she’s there during the afternoon hours.”
I was listening to him and nodding to each word he was saying. He fixed my hair and kissed me on my cheek. “Baby. You are my girl from the train. Ok?”
CHAPTER 8
CEAUSESCU’S VILLA
More than twenty thousand thoughts arise and develop in your conscious mind, every day. We mostly think of frustrations, worries, fears. I felt them all as I walked by the beach. I should have been happy and relieved; after all, Alin wanted to be with me. That seemed pretty simple. Love should be simple. Then, why do I worry? The answer to that was simple. I’d never been in love before I met Alin.
The hotel room felt empty and cold without Alin filling the space. I opened the balcony door, lay down on the lounge chair, and enjoyed the sun. The sound of the waves, steady and constant, soothed my troubled thoughts. I drifted, my mind at rest. Almost asleep, I was startled and disoriented when I heard a knock at the outer door. It took me a couple of seconds to remember where I was.
Alexandru was at the door with flowers. “Did I wake you up?” He gave me the flowers, smiling.
“Alexandru, you shouldn’t have. I don’t know if I have a vase in here. What shall I do with them?” I was trying to find a vase, avoiding his kiss.
“I didn’t buy them; an old friend gave them to me. I did her a favor, for her son. She’s selling flowers in the resort. I always stop and chat with her, and she always gives me flowers.”
Alexandru was a good guy; he would help people without asking anything in return. Some favors were easy, like skipping the seven-year waiting line for buying a car. Some were very serious, like getting someone out of jail or reducing his sentence. Ceausescu would forgive prisoners and set them free from time to time. People were very grateful for Alexandru’s help. They would show their gratitude with gifts like imported cigarettes and alcohol, home-made food, money—anything people could afford to give away. He would always give me presents for my family, like expensive brandy and cigarettes. Merchandise from abroad was very valuable.
I remembered why I liked him. I felt guilty, a feeling I’d never experienced with him. He was married, we were not exclusive. He knew I had my life.
He threw his bag on the floor and then hugged and kissed me. “Get your stuff; we’ll move to the Crystal Villa. Did you get to see the resort?” He was inspecting the room and went out on the balcony.
“I met some guys, and we hung out at the beach. I went with them to the concert. The guys from Silent Delusion.” I was gathering my stuff.
“Oh cool, I know them. My daughter loves them,” Alexandru said. “You made new friends. You will have a great time, babe. There are a lot of hot students around here. You will have lots of fun,” he said without any envy in his voice.
I knew he liked the other resort, Neptune, more than this one. There were a lot of resorts along the Black Sea Coast. Most of all had planets names. Neptune was the most expensive one and the most luxurious one.
We went to meet Sorin, one of Alexandru’s friends. Sorin, the Director of the Resort was an old, overweighed, sweaty guy. After he kissed my hand, a usual custom, he told me his door is always welcome in case I need anything.
Then, we drove to the radio station. George T. didn’t seem friendly, and I wasn’t so excited anymore. He needed me daily from eleven to two. Two days off. He showed me around and asked me what I studied. I told him I didn’t get into university. He didn’t comment on that.
I was to start next Monday. George T. asked me if I knew Dana’s place and asked me to bring his sandwich from there, on my way to the station, from Dana’s place, and I didn’t have to pay for it.
Then Alexandru and I drove along the shore until the road narrowed as it led into a small, hidden forest of huge, old trees. The forest was dark; the temperature dropped as we entered. The trees arched overhead, making the road feel like a tunnel; there was barely room for the car. I’d heard once they had to destroy many wild forest acres to build the resorts across the Black Sea coast, so this forest was a hidden paradise. The forest encroached further onto the road; I was wondering if we were on the right path when we finally encountered a big, closed gate.
On the other side of the gate, some ostriches were strutting around like they owned the place. Alexandru honked three times, stopped the car, and got out. Then he unlocked the gate. A couple moments later, a car approached, leaving the usual trail of dust behind it. An old guy with a straw hat jumped out the car and opened the gate after pulling his car out of the way beside it. He took off his hat and gave us a military salute.
“My respects. Long life, Comrade Alexandru," he quickly said, showing his decayed and missing teeth. A common way to say hello, in old-fashioned communist style. “Everything is ready for you. Welcome to Crystal Villa, Miss. I hope you will enjoy it. I will be at your service. If you need anything, let me know.”
“Glad to see you, Relu.” Alexandru said in a polite tone.
We drove the car through the gate, and waited for Relu to close and lock it. Then we followed his vehicle to the entrance of the villa and parked the car. Relu took care of our luggage. The villa looked huge and modern from outside. An old, heavy lady approached us - Maria, Relu’s wife. She embraced Alexandru and kissed him familiarly on the cheek. Alexandru kissed her hand. She hugged me also, welcoming me warmly.
To call the villa a house was a vast understatement. The entrance was enormous, with impressive double
stairs on both sides, separated by a big gold-metal looking chandelier. The interior was heavily furnished in a luxurious way. The furniture was a mix of all styles together, which hurt my eyes. A piano was placed majestically in the left corner with fresh flowers in pretty vases lining its edges. More, larger vases with fake flowers were on the floor next to the piano. Smaller vases sat on the various on tables around the room. Pillows splashed cheerful color onto on chairs and the spacious couch. A frivolous and spacious space. The smooth wood flooring was generously piled with multiple priceless Persian carpets.
The impressive living room branched into a labyrinth of bedroom suites. The walls were overburdened under multiple paintings and stuffed animal heads. Huge sculptures guarded the hallways. Each room had its own fireplace. Our upstairs bedroom had a huge balcony; as the villa was on a hill and we were on an upper story, we had a great sea view despite being in the middle of the old growth forest. Alexandru proudly asked me if I liked the place.
I didn’t hide my distaste as I looked around and spoke.“Alexandru, I’ve seen a lot… but nothing like this… it’s too much. I feel I can’t breathe. It’s ostentatious. So much waste. Too much of everything. Too many statues, furniture… and it’s kitsch.”
“Most of the things are gifts from presidents of various African countries. The Party didn’t know what to do with them, so they stuck them out here. That’s why it feels like it’s too much.” he explained happily, shrugging away my discomfort. “Wait till you see the bathroom.” He laughed.
The marble bathroom’s walls were antique style, decorated with gold filigree. The faucets were gold plated. Along with spacious mosaic bathtubs, there was a sofa bed, two chairs, and a white desk.
Let me write a letter after I take a dump. I laughed at my own thought, shaking my head at the excess.
“It’s yours for one week. Welcome to Ceausescu’s villa.” Alexandru said proudly,
Just a Monumental Summer: Girl on the train Page 6