by Pia Padukone
He couldn’t have orchestrated it better himself. Just as he sat back down at his desk, Francis Foley opened the door to his office and strode out toward the printer. He collected the pages, his eyes scanning the words.
“Martin,” he called, “this isn’t what we talked about.”
Martin took the pages from Foley. “That’s because this isn’t it. Where’d you get this?”
Nico stepped forward. “That’s my take. Here’s your original. I thought there were some facets of civil liberties that could have been brought to the forefront. Also, it kind of glossed over the whole police truancy situation, which is top of mind right now, don’t you think? And the first draft danced around minimum wage, so I addressed it head-on.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Foley asked the question almost tenderly.
“The new intern,” Martin said. “I did not give him access to this. Sorry, Uncle Frank.”
“Are you shittin’ me? An intern?” Foley perched on the edge of Nico’s desk. “Where are you from?”
“Here. New York,” Nico said. “I’m in my senior year of college.”
“Thank God for that,” Foley said. “You’re coming to work for me after you graduate.”
Martin looked at the papers. “It’s good?”
“It’s fucking brilliant. What else you got?”
“What do you mean?” Nico asked.
“I have a press con tomorrow afternoon on the transportation hike. Are you up on the issue?”
“I can be.”
“You sure you want to go back to school? If you can write like this, I’ll hire you full-time right now.”
“I have to finish college, sir,” Nico said. “But I can work remotely if you want.”
Within the first month of his time with the Francis Foley campaign, Nico graduated to deputy campaign manager, much to Martin’s chagrin. Between term papers and putting the paper to bed on Sunday nights, Nico wrote speeches and press releases, helping Foley transition from potty-mouthed politico to silver-tongued Staten Island council member. And when Nico graduated, Foley stayed true to his word, hiring Nico as his chief of staff and head speechwriter.
Nico Grand was the youngest chief of staff ever appointed in the history of New York City politics, though one would never have known it. His voice—both literal, behind the scenes, and literary, as it was translated through countless communications—was mature in its intonation and intent. Nico brought a lyricism, an empathetic consideration to his words that hadn’t been heard in the political arena before. Constituents were astounded when he stepped onto the stage from the wings after Foley delivered one of Nico’s speeches in order to clear away any detritus or notes that Foley had left behind. And Foley gave Nico a lot of leeway when it came to Nico’s own agenda, insofar as it aligned with Foley’s own policies. Nico headlined at the weekly city council meetings, opining on issues that held a personal stake for him: the cleanup of the piers at Arlington, an investigation into the clean water habits of a renowned pizza parlor in Battery Weed, whether a halfway house in Sunnyside was operating up to code.
After two years in the Foley administration, Nico’s fame had spread, not only across borough borders, but also specifically into the heart of the city. Just as legislation was passed for reclamation of the borough’s landfill—a major coup and one of Nico’s initiatives—the city comptroller’s office called in a favor. His chief of staff had absconded over a petty disagreement and was now working in the public sector. The office needed someone almost immediately to smooth over the backlash, and was Nico interested?
From: EESTIRIDDLER723
To: HEADLOCK12
September 17, 2007
Nora has been keeping me updated with all your news (since I don’t receive it from you!). I am so proud. You’re making great things happen. And now she tells me that you are going to City Hall? What will you do for the comptroller?
I’m writing to you from Prague, where I am setting up CallMe’s first remote office. Tallinn headquarters hit capacity at the same time that I hit a programming wall. I’ve been feeling pretty bored, so Jaak and Riki found funding for me to learn new code from a bunch of guys they know while I’m setting things up. And (ssh!) I’ve heard rumors that we’re about to receive some major funding from the Danish government, which could really help us expand across Europe at some point, and then eventually the world. I contacted Sabine, and we are meeting for a drink this afternoon. She’s taking me to try Prague’s famous black beer. I hear it packs a punch. Send a search party if you don’t hear from me.
From: HEADLOCK12
To: EESTIRIDDLER723
December 15, 2007
P-Train, sorry it’s taken me so long to write back. I feel like the last two months have been two years. I moved to Tribeca. I have my own apartment now, which feels like a huge sigh of relief after living with three other guys in that cramped place in Murray Hill. I finally feel like a grown-up. It’s easier to get to work, and the apartment has a great view of the river. Are you going to come visit sometime soon, or has CallMe completely consumed you? How was Prague, or are you still there? How’s Sabine?
Speaking of Hallström people, I saw Evan on the train the other day. The poor guy has gone completely bald. He’s working in finance and he said to say hi. I asked him about Pyotr and he looked at me like I was crazy. Guess they haven’t been in touch!
Work is exhausting, but awesome. I don’t ever really sign off. I work when I get home and I work as soon as I get up. But it’s a good time for me. There’s a chance I might transition over to the mayor’s office, so I am trying to keep my energy up and my eye on the prize. I’m dating around, no one particularly exciting, but it’s not like I have time for that either. I’ll try to write again soon, but I don’t really have any news other than work, work, work. Tell me some news from your end. Nora’s good, but I know you guys are in touch. She’s nearly done with her PhD. And, as you know, she’s totally in love.
How’s Mari?
From: EESTIRIDDLER723
To: HEADLOCK12
January 15, 2008
I’m scheduled to return to Tallinn in two weeks, but I don’t think I ever want to move back home again. Prague is spectacular. It’s such an ancient city, unlike Tallinn, which feels like it was built a few decades ago. Prague has so much history. Tallinn does too, I guess, but it’s so disjointed that it’s hard to follow it. We were Danish and then Swedish and then Russian. At the end of the day, we’re all mutts.
I’ve been taking on a great deal more coding work, and I’m feeling really good that CallMe will be going global—beyond Europe—in a few short months, so you and I can talk for free over the internet, and you will also be able to share files, photos, work on documents simultaneously with a colleague. I know you will be discreet, but please don’t share this information with anyone, as it’s top secret. We heard that one of our biggest competitors was trying to launch some similar items, so we need to be sure that we are ahead of the game.
I’ve been spending a lot of time with Sabine. She has been a good friend to me, and has made me feel at home in her city. While she’s in medical school and barely has any free time, she has introduced me to her friends so that I always have something to do on Friday nights and she always takes the time to send me a message and ask how I am doing. I bring dinner to her flat a few nights a week and we catch up over one of her study breaks. I know what you’ll say, but it’s not like that. At least, I don’t think it is.
Nora said Shahid got a tenure track position at Columbia and that they’re going to move back to New York together. She’s going to set up her own private practice? He sounds like he’s really good for her. Have you met him? What do you think?
Mari is doing well. I receive intermittent information about her from Papa and Ema from time to time and occasionally she remembers to respond
to me. I’m going to visit her in Moscow on my way back to Tallinn after this trip. She’s had some interest from Victoria’s Secret, all very under the radar for now, but her agent is trying to sell them on the idea of a Dark Angel or something like that. I’ve never understood that world. What the hell is a Dark Angel?
From: HEADLOCK12
To: EESTIRIDDLER723
June 12, 2008
P-Train, I am the worst. I owe you a thousand emails. I’m so sorry. Things have been absolutely insane over here. I wish I could be like one of those Hindu gods with a hundred arms so I could get things done. I’m not complaining, of course. It’s all been really good. This might be the first non-work email I’ve written in almost a year.
Okay, I have to come clean. I haven’t only been working. I started seeing this girl. You know me—I dated around during college, after college. I didn’t really have time to commit to anyone or a relationship in general. But that’s what’s so great about Ivy. She’s in politics too, and she’s tenacious. She started as a page in the mayor’s office when she was in middle school, and now she’s working her way up in the attorney general’s office. The great thing is that she’s really committed to her career too, so she’s not interested in moving fast or settling down or anything. She gets the whole political thing, and how there’s a right time for everything. So that’s good.
My other big news is that I’m going on the campaign trail this season. This is sort of the last box I want to check on my career goals. Shelley Dale has been congresswoman for a few terms, but she’s upping the ante to Senate this year. This is really high profile for me. She hired me as her campaign advisor so we’re hitting the road starting this weekend. I spent the last few weeks writing a bunch for her, so I’m ready to hit the ground running. Ivy is staying behind in the city, but she’ll come out a few weekends as things pick up.
Are you going to visit Mari in Moscow, or did that already happen? Say hi for me.
PAAVO
Moscow
May 2009
As far back as Paavo could remember into their childhood growing up together, Mari had never shown any maternal sensitivities. She’d never pretended to feed a doll, or tucked them into bed, had never thrown a pillowcase over the circumference of her head and marched solemnly down the hallway toward an invisible husband at a make-believe wedding. Vera had once told a story about how Mari had taken her first look at her little brother, proclaimed that he smelled funny, and then turned back to a set of LEGO blocks that she snapped together with the newfound aggression of a jealous older sibling.
But what Paavo didn’t know was that Mari approached Claudia’s entry into her life as she might step into a pair of high heels: poised, confident, assured. She accepted the little wrapped bundle into her arms, her face slack from the exertion of birth, but beatific with the presentation of her efforts. She had mentally prepared for this day—not just the physicality of her delivery, but shifting everything in her life to accommodate this small, pink, suckling little thing.
For those nine months of Mari’s pregnancy, Vera and Leo visited Mari as much as she would allow. She had tried to keep them at arm’s length, feeling fiercely independent and assuring her parents that while she was incredibly busy, she had the full support of her friends in the model mothers group. Vera insisted on visiting her daughter and granddaughter along with Leo twice a year, for Midsummer’s and on St. Catherine’s Day in November to celebrate the women in her life. For years, army training and then intensive weeks with CallMe had occupied Paavo’s time while his parents journeyed to Moscow. Mari’s schedule hadn’t brought her back to Tallinn, so he’d had to make do with quick stopovers en route to Riga and Prague while Claudia was very small. So when Jaak and Riki asked Paavo to set up the Moscow office, Paavo welcomed the few weeks to finally get to know his niece.
Paavo’s modest hotel was around the corner from Red Square, but he decided to walk the five kilometers to Mari and Claudia’s loft apartment opposite Gorky Park. The wind rustled the trees as he neared the blinking lights of the carousel, and Paavo found himself bracing for the visit. He wasn’t sure how he should interact with this little girl. Would he introduce himself as Onu? He should have brought her something—a doll, some chocolates, some clothes. What did little girls like these days? He pressed the buzzer for their apartment feeling sheepishly empty-handed.
Mari opened their door, smiling broadly. “Little brother!” she exclaimed before she enveloped him in her arms. It felt strange to admit it, but his sister had always been attractive, and the years had been good to her. Her cheeks were pink and flushed, her hair swept back from her face, and her body held no trace that she’d carried a child within it. “Took you long enough to come see us.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “But it’s not as though you’ve come home to visit, either.”
“I know,” she said, closing the door behind him. “Ever since Victoria’s Secret, things have just exploded. I’ve barely had a weekend off in weeks. And Tallinn isn’t really where the action is anymore.”
Paavo stepped into the entryway. Large black-and-white prints were mounted on the walls. But everything else was white: the chairs, table, the walls, the floor. The place had the look of a corporate apartment or a real estate staging space. There was no clutter or toys or indication that a young girl lived here.
“It’s...nice,” Paavo ventured. “When did you move in?”
“Oh—” Mari dismissed the comment with a wave of her hand “—we’re barely here. Last week was Prague and Venice and next we’re hitting São Paolo. Claudia will have seen more of the world by her tenth birthday than I’d seen before I left home.”
“Where is she?” Paavo asked.
Mari pointed toward the sofa. Paavo pushed his shoes off but walked into the living room wearing his coat. A slim girl sat on the very end of a beige sofa, leafing through a book. Paavo sat on the sofa opposite her and crossed his feet at the ankles. The girl looked up.
“Onu Paavo,” she said in Estonian.
Paavo smiled and nodded. “You remember me.”
“Rad vas videt,” she said with perfect intonation. Nice to see you.
“You speak Russian, too,” Paavo said.
“Et français aussi.” And French, too. Claudia looked back down at the open book on her lap.
“Wow,” Paavo said, looking up at Mari. “She’s quite an accomplished young lady.”
“Yes, so will you please tell Ema that she wants for nothing?” Mari sighed, sinking down on the sofa next to her daughter. “Claudia has a better education than she would have ever received in Tallinn.”
“Do you live in Tallinn?” Claudia asked.
“I do,” Paavo said. “But I travel quite a bit. Just like you.”
“Do you have a tutor, as well?” Claudia asked.
Paavo smiled. “I work. Just like your mother.”
“Oh,” Claudia said. Paavo found himself studying his niece intensely, wanting to drink in all her details, as though memorizing her face might make up for lost time. He took in her perfectly arched eyebrows, her snub nose and the mole at the base of her neck as she collected her hair in a bunch and braided it deftly to hang over one shoulder. He took in her squat fingers that didn’t seem to quite fit with the rest of her lithe body as she turned the pages of the book. This child was half his sister, and therefore nearly half of him. It was fascinating to see the result. He could feel the question building up inside him, but he had promised his mother that during this trip he wouldn’t pry; he wouldn’t do anything to drive Mari further away than she had already gone. But he knew Mari better than that; it couldn’t have been a male model. She had scoffed at their idiocy, their constant peacock-like preening. Throughout her auditions in her teenage years, she hadn’t found a single male model that could carry on an intelligent conversation.
Later, af
ter Mari had boiled pierogis, sliced up a loaf of crusty bread and tossed a vibrant green salad, after they’d eaten in the pristine kitchen, which looked as though it had never been used before, after Claudia and Paavo cleared the table and stacked the dishes in the dishwasher and after Claudia had said good-night without being asked and scurried off down a long hallway and disappeared behind a door with a click, the siblings nestled into opposite ends of the white couch with large globes of brandy in their hands, their feet poking one another familiarly.
“I don’t know how you did it,” Paavo ventured. “You raised that little girl. You did it all by yourself.”
“Never underestimate the power of single mothers who model,” Mari said, raising her snifter. “Seriously, it took a village. I couldn’t have done it without them.”
“I’m really glad you had them, Mari. I’m relieved that you did.” The loud, insistent second hand of an unseen clock ticked away in the silence. Paavo looked around, searching for the source of the sound and found nothing. “I’m sorry. Ema made me promise not to ask, but I have to. Why did you do it, Mari? Why did you run away?”
Mari sighed and looked up at the ceiling as though for strength. “Not bad, little brother. You lasted a whole two hours.”
“Ema and Papa would have helped you. Ema got pregnant with you when she was twenty. They know what it was like to be young parents. They would have understood.”
“Who says they didn’t?” Mari asked, pulling her legs toward her.
“They were so down when you left the way you did. You should have seen them moping around the house. It was like I was living with ghosts.”
Mari snorted, smiling down at the ground. “Wow. He’s a better actor than I would have given him credit for.”
“Who? Who’s a better actor?”
“Papa. You really didn’t know?”