Bradley & Naomi, ...To Me & You (Vodka & Vice, the Series Book 2)

by Skrzypczak, Kathleen Hesser

  I want a man that fights for me.

  That’s not Bradley.

  That will never be Bradley.

  Chapter Seven

  Stuck in the middle…with you

  BRADLEY

  Tuesday, February 15th

  Just when I think this can’t get any more awkward, Viktor pushes Naomi toward me and insists we hug because “we are all family now.” Let’s see, it’s uncomfortable, I’m a little angry, there’s betrayal and lies. Sounds like a family to me. Okay, fine, I think, and go ahead and hug my ‘new’ acquaintance. Is it my imagination or is she hugging me a little harder than she should be in front of her new boyfriend? I catch Natalia shooting darts at us with her eyes, and back off. I don’t need two Slotzkys mad at me and I am still determined to tell Viktor the truth. It’s just going to be a little more complicated than I planned.

  Viktor hands me a bottle of Tskarsaya Gold, frosted from the freezer. I throw the cap over my shoulder. Not going to be needing that anymore if tonight goes the way I think it will.

  I raise my bottle and shout, “Za vstrechu!” To our meeting! Everyone raises their drink and we all tip back. I can’t believe Naomi just did a shot of this stuff. It’s the strongest I’ve ever had and I know she’s more of a sipping brandy girl. Already Viktor is refilling her glass. She is the only one using one. Natalia looks like a professional. Viktor’s bottle is already half-gone but he seems completely normal. He claps me on the shoulder.

  “Bradsky, I owe you bro. When I told you about how hot Naomi, my new roomie was, and you told me to nail her, you started my happiness. Right KuKu?”

  I look at Naomi. She looks miserable. “Oh yeah, so Bradley told you to screw me?” She says it to Viktor, but she’s staring at me. I start to explain that Viktor’s description of Naomi was misleading, but I realize that will tip him off that I know her and I’m not quite drunk enough for that conversation. Instead, I try to send Naomi a message. She used to be so good at reading me. I need her to know that of course I didn’t tell Viktor to screw her. I told him to screw KuKu.

  I gotta sit down, so I collapse onto one of the many beige chairs in the room, but it’s a big mistake. As soon as I do, Natalia stands up and weaves her way over to my lap. She starts coming onto me, running her hand up my thigh. If I was Viktor, I’d punch me in the face, but he seems to only notice Naomi. He’s telling her how hot she is, kissing her neck. I move Natalia’s hand off my thigh, only to realize it’s limp. She’s passed out on my chest. Hallelujah. I slip out and head to the kitchen. I’m starving and Viktor has lost interest in passing around snacks. I hear Naomi in the living room.

  “I’m hungry, baby,” she tells Viktor. A night of wild sex will do that to you honey, I think bitterly. She appears next to me. I hear Viktor yelling out to us about how Naomi changed her looks because some ‘asshat’ cheated on her. I turn to her.

  “Asshat?” What the hell? She can’t even look me in the eye. I can’t believe she would call me that. It hurts. Could it get worse? Oh much. Viktor is on a roll. He starts in on this story about how the ‘asshat’ cheated on Naomi with young girls and some S & M bullshit. I keep looking from the living room to Naomi, feeling a rage growing inside of me. She must be psychotic to make up a story like that.

  She mumbles something about somebody named Chase saying so, and I’m more confused than ever. I take another glug of white courage and turn to her, seething. “That’s why you changed your hair, your clothes, took up yoga?” I’m almost shouting. I guess Viktor wonders what’s going on and he wanders out to the kitchen. I see his bottle’s almost empty. He turns on me, a little flash of suspicion in his eyes.

  “How’d you know about her first time at yoga?” Viktor stops drinking long enough to ask.

  “You told me, remember?” I say, hoping he buys it. He lets it go, and I am treated to a speech about the ‘asshat’ and his stupid text messages admitting everything. Jesus. So that’s what this is about? She thought I was confirming all that bullshit? And who is this Chase, anyway? I have so many questions. But Viktor is really worked up now. The alcohol, his ‘love’ for Naomi and hatred of the ‘asshat’ which is me. Maybe it’s true. Maybe I am an ‘asshat’ for not realizing what was going on. Some stranger named Chase has obviously been filling Naomi’s head with lies about me, but why?

  Viktor tries to pull Naomi in close, but she wriggles away. He shrugs it off. Like I said, he’s on a roll.

  “What kind of a fool would risk losing a hot woman like KuKu? Not a mistake I make. Show him your ring baby.”

  I freeze. A RING? What the hell? He grabs her hand and shoves it in my face. I can’t help myself. How long have they even known each other? A couple of weeks? “Didn’t you two just meet?” I ask.

  “Don’t be that way bro, when you know what you have, you take it, you keep it. This one, she’s not getting away from me.” He gets up and heads for the bathroom. “Baby, I’ll be right back. Hey Bradsky, try to keep your hands off my hot lady while I’m gone, ha ha.” You’ve got to be kidding me, I think.

  As soon as the door shuts, Naomi starts spewing all this stuff about how she doesn’t know what to believe anymore. How about the truth? I start yelling at her about her new nickname for me and how disgusted I am that she’s screwing my best friend. She turns it all around to me again, accusing me of having sex with Natalia and Luba. I deny it, but I can tell she’s not convinced. I wonder if her being with Viktor is some kind of sick revenge sex. Then she says, “It’s your fault I turned into The Whore of the Wild.”

  I watch her popping pickles into her mouth like a pregnant lady. Maybe we are beyond words now, beyond explanations. Viktor comes back in, reeking of weed. I thought she hated that stuff.

  He’s all full of apologies now, for making a scene, I guess. He tries to hug her but she pushes him away. Tells him he stinks and she hates that stuff. HA. I try not to laugh. I mean, I love the guy, but tonight, it’s every man for himself. He goes back to the living room, resumes his intimate relationship with his vodka bottle, muttering to himself. I’ve seen him like this before. He’s all smooth sailing until he doesn’t get what he wants. Viktor is not used to that.

  As if this weren’t already a three ring circus, Natalia jumps up from the couch and runs to the bathroom. The sounds of her throwing up are mixed with sirens coming up from the street. I need to be out of there. Police patrols and blizzard or not. I’d rather spend the night in lock-up than one more minute here, watching The Naomi and Viktor Show. As soon as Naomi goes into the bathroom with some towels for Natalia, I bolt for the street.

  Chapter Eight

  Two sick Slotzkys

  NAOMI

  Tuesday, February 15th

  I can’t take it anymore. The heavy smell of pot smoke, Natalia gagging away over the toilet, an array of empty Tsarskaya Gold bottles and pieces of zakuski all over the floor, and Viktor snoring loudly in the next room like cannonballs rolling downhill. I feel like I’m trapped in a submarine with the Russian Navy.

  I bundle up in my funky vintage coat, wrap my long hair inside a scarf, and sneak out the door before Viktor comes alive again and yells, “Sexy time!”

  I need some air.

  Nothing’s the same without Bradley and now I feel guilty. What if Bradley didn’t have sex with anyone else, now I’m the bad guy, the cheater. How does this always happen to me? The one time in my life when I decide to swing and mate like the men, I swing; they stay on the vine. No, I saw that redhead, heard her remarks, Bradley’s no saint. We both suck at relationships. I’m surprised we lasted eighteen months. Both of us afraid to discuss anything truly important.

  There are big vacant holes in Bradley’s past that he’s never told me about. Maybe if the guy shared, I’d understand.

  I kick a clump of snow and I’m grateful Viktor bought me these over-the-knee boots now. I am so lost, in my head and out of it. Still feeling the pain of that terrible Tsarskaya Gold and those disgusting cold cuts, cured fishes, kholodets, pirogs, pic
kled beets, and deviled eggs. Where did Viktor come up with this shit? And why did every man I date love weird seafood. I was clearly not a match for any of them. I should go join an online dating service and find a steak and potato kind of man.

  I’ve made a wrong turn, missed an intersection, something’s wrong. Eleventh Ave and Forty-Fourth Street. The condo was in Hell’s Kitchen, on Ninth Ave, now I’m on? The street signs are covered with snow and I haven’t seen one taxi or Uber car go by since I stepped outside. The alcohol is wearing off and I realize I’m freezing. I search in my pockets for my gloves, but find nothing but a balled up Kleenex and lint.

  I try to enter a pharmacy but the door’s locked.

  I keep walking.

  I look up at the glass and concrete buildings surrounding me and sigh. Where the hell is a landmark?

  It’s darker than I thought. Maybe I should go back to the condo.

  I come to a main road, traffic lights flashing yellow, the wind howling, the signs waving in the strong gusts like a beauty contestant’s hand. I decide to turn around and go back, when someone roughly grabs my arm and says, “Where you going toots?”

  Chapter Nine

  I heart New York

  BRADLEY

  Tuesday, February 15th-16th

  This is the perfect ending to this weird night. I’m sitting in a red booth, eating the greatest burger and fries of my life, while Marilyn Monroe sings happy birthday to me. Is it my birthday? No. Fair enough, that’s not Ms. Monroe either. All I care about right now is thawing out my frozen body, eating this amazing food, and killing time until this damn blizzard curfew lifts.

  After I left the Circus Russe, I stumbled out into fifty mile-an-hour winds and a wind chill factor of around zero. I wrapped my wool scarf around my face and shoved my ungloved hands into the freezing silk pockets of my Burberry overcoat. The streets were deserted. No cabs, no nothing. I leaned forward and headed to Broadway, wading through huge snowdrifts. The vodka helped me forget about the cold, but I knew I had to get inside and soon. Manny’s apartment was too far away to walk. I got to Times Square and Ellen’s Stardust Diner wasn’t just open, it was a party.

  So here I am, snug in a booth, surrounded by confused tourists and theatre people whose shows were cancelled. Usually it’s just the waiters and waitresses who sing, but tonight, everyone seems to have a mic. I gotta clear my head, but all I can think about is this mystery guy, Chase. Why would he fill Naomi’s head with all those lies about me? What’s his connection to Molly? I pour more ketchup on my plate and dip the fries, chewing and thinking, so deep in thought that I don’t notice a table of ladies staring at me until one of them gets up and comes over.

  “Excuse me,” she says, “aren’t you the Marquis of Mt. Tremblant?”

  I look up at her; see a group of ladies behind her watching intently. I smile and she flushes red. “It’s one of my personalities,” I say, winking. She’s old enough to be my grandmother. She turns and nods to her friends and they all wave, big grins and flapping floral sweatshirts. From the depths of her enormous needlepoint bag, she produces one of the books with me on the cover.

  “I hate to impose, but could you sign this? I know you’re not really the Marquis but…” she trails off, apparently unable to explain exactly why she wants my autograph. I oblige and wave again to the ladies, but their faces are now turned to a Frank Sinatra impersonator. Before she leaves, my fan looks at me and wipes at a corner of her mouth with a crooked thumb. “You have a little ketchup,” she says and walks away. I swipe my mouth with the back of my hand and come away with a big smear of the red stuff. That knocks me down the few pegs her request built me up, and I’m back to my bad mood and all the questions I have about Naomi.

  I haven’t spoken to Molly since I fired her ass and dropped her off at her townhouse. I wonder if she has a connection to this Chase. I take out my phone and pull up her number. It’s too early to call, but I tap out a message.

  Hey Molly! Hope everything’s going okay for you now. Quick question: you know a guy named Chase who knows Naomi too? Lmk. Tx. It’s Bradley, btw.

  I finish my burger and am thinking about a butterscotch sundae when my phone pings. Doesn’t anyone in this city ever go to bed? It’s Molly.

  Screw you and your bitch girlfriend asshole. Delete me.

  Okay then. I guess I’m not going to get any info there. I don’t delete her. I might need to contact her again, no matter how hostile she is. I order my sundae. It’s five in the morning, and I’m eating ice cream while a bunch of actors perform the Time Warp on the bar. I love New York. I look out the window and it seems like the snow has stopped. The sun is starting to rise on the blinding white mountains heaped on top of Times Square when the first rumble of snowplows begins. I take a chance and consult my Uber app. Sure enough, there’s a car a few blocks north, willing to take me to the lower east side—for twice the usual rate. I take it, pay my check, and head outside. I want to get back to Manny’s, shower, and make some coffee. No point in sleeping right now. It’s time for some detective work.

  Chapter Ten

  Neighborhood blow

  NAOMI

  Wednesday, February 16th

  “Where you going toots?”

  I squeak, spin around, and blow out a gulp of frosty air in relief when I see it’s my loft neighbor, Lorraine, a former Broadway Baby, gripping my arm. She’s wearing another of her enormous hats without the peacock feathers this time, some wool, or flannel cap with a bill like a sailor. Her full-length fur cape is blowing out behind her and I laugh, thinking it wouldn’t take much to lift her slight frame and send her flying into the hazy, crazy, snow-filled sky. She’s puffing on one of those cigarettes of hers that look like skinny cigars.

  “Oh Lorraine, you scared me.”

  “You little minx. What are you doing out in this blizzard?” She smiles and I notice despite the cold, the wind, and the cigarette, her red lipstick is still perfectly smeared on her thin lips like a blazing banner of a star. Lorraine eyes me up and down. “You’ve changed Naomi? Why is that?”

  Really? We’re going to talk about my appearance now, on the street, in an early morning snowstorm. Why not?

  “I needed a new look,” I blurt out, “Bradley left me.”

  “Darling girl, you told him to go. He confides in me, ya know, your handsome Russian man. My Bernie, God rest his soul, he kept me in check and sometimes we’d fight, but you always get back together when you have true love.”

  I snort. True love, like ‘happily ever after’ and ‘a beautiful sunset’ and ‘raspberry jam’ …suddenly, just looking into her kind, old face touches me and I burst into tears.

  Her thin arms wrap around my waist and she leans into me, almost burning me with that damn cigarette. But she feels good. Better than my own mother ever did. I hug her back.

  “I’ve lost him Lorraine, I’ve been so stupid.” I gulp up frozen snot with a fish covered tongue, and sob into her fur shoulder.

  “No you haven’t. You’ll fix it. Bradley loves you; I never thought you saw it, not like I did. That big, dark-haired beauty loves you little minx.”

  I realize we’re both shaking and I sniff, “Which way is the lofts?”

  She laughs and shakes her head, “The young. We both need a strong coffee, let’s go over to Crammer’s place, he’s always open.”

  She pulls me, threading her arm through mine, and drags me down the dark, snowy street. Her little fingers are surprisingly strong as they dig into my arm. I struggle to stop crying and I blurt out my regrets.

  “Not anymore. Bradley ruined it. Then I ruined it.”

  Lorraine cackles, “Ah, the other big Russian man, huh? He’s nice looking too, your Viktor, you are a lucky girl.”

  I touch her shoulder. I worry about her falling. She’s almost ninety. I look down and notice her boots. They look like 1938 German Storm Trooper boots and I smile. No worries there.

  “The old.” I smirk at her and we laugh until I feel better and my tear
s have dropped or frozen on my red cheeks.

  Lorraine talks on about Viktor and Bradley’s attributes, their similar appearance, and style, licking her lips and grinning as if she were twenty-seven herself. Lorraine explains how she understands why I went that way. She admits that she always favored the dark, foreign-looking men herself.

  “Darling, men are like babies. Constant reassurance, you can handle this tangle. Your story reminds me of a musical I did back in fifty-one or was it fifty-two? Anyway, it I was at the Winter Garden Theatre with none other than Rose Marie…Top Banana…” Lorraine continues her story until we turn a few corners and we storm into Crammer’s Coffee Bar, stomping our boots and rubbing our hands together like soldiers after guard duty on the Russian front.

  Willy Crammer rushes over, an old Broadway hound himself, and hugs us both, “Sit, you two crazy fools, in weather like this, you must be mad.”

  “Oh Willy,” Lorraine smiles, winking at me, “You know me, I hate being inside for too long and I love the snow. Bring us coffee, large cups, and keep them coming, oh and Willy add the sauce.”

  Willy leans down and whispers, “Lorraine, you know I don’t have no liquor license.”

  She cackles high and loud, then slaps him on the hand, “Like that’s ever stopped you.”

  I look into her beautiful blue eyes, past her almost blue hair, to her silly red satin scarf, and wonder if I will be that happy at ninety.

  “It’s your mother’s fault, the way she held on to that poor man, she made you both miserable.”

  I’d forgotten that Loraine and my parents had lived side by side in the lofts since the eighties.

  “Yes, she did. You understand then, why I couldn’t ask Bradley to stay?”