by Alexa Land
I turned to stare at him, and said simply, “Oh.”
“I’m not proud of it. Not by a long shot. But that’s how I pay my dues.”
“I’m sorry, Dmitri. I didn’t mean to get all weird and jealous.”
He smiled at me and reached up to caress my cheek. “I adore you, Jamie. You don’t have a reason in the world to be jealous.”
I nodded, suddenly feeling a lump in my throat, and turned my head to kiss his hand.
He said, “If you want to, you can wait for me at my house. I’m not sure how late I’ll be, but God would it be nice to come home to you.”
“I’d like that.”
“Just so you know,” he said with a sad little smile, “after one of these Meet the Mafia nights, I’m absolutely no fun. I’ll be full of self-loathing, and will probably take a two hour shower to get the stink of corruption off of me. After that, I plan to sulk and get totally shit-faced. It won’t be pretty.”
“I’ve been forewarned.”
“Ok then.” He reached into my pocket and pulled out the key ring he’d deposited there earlier, and detached two keys, which he slid back into my pocket. “Those are the keys to my house. I have a spare set I can use, so you should keep those.”
“Keep them? Like keep keep? But just for tonight, right?”
“No, not just for tonight. You should have your own set of keys, and you should leave stuff that you need when you stay over. I now have a toothbrush here, after all. It only makes sense that you have stuff at my place, too.” He leaned in and kissed me, and said, “Now I really have to go. See you tonight, ok?”
“Ok.”
He started to turn away from me, and then said, “Oh! Don’t forget to deactivate the alarm system. It would be a bad thing to forget.”
“Yeah, I could just see the whole SFPD showing up to arrest me,” I grinned.
“Worse. When my alarm goes off, the mafia that shows up.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Ok,” I said, “so tell me the code.”
He turned and started to walk out of the kitchen, and said cheerfully, “I don’t need to tell you. You already know it.”
“No I don’t. You never told me your security code.”
“Right, I didn’t. But you know it anyway. Oh hey, I have some really good pasta puttanesca in the fridge. Come over early and have it for dinner if you want to. And make yourself comfortable. Watch a movie, maybe. Or whatever you want.”
I trailed him into the living room and caught his hand, then came to a stop, acting like an anchor. He turned to me with a grin and a raised eyebrow. “Tell me your code,” I said, “if you’re serious about me coming over tonight.”
“It’s your date of birth, lover,” he told me with a smile, then kissed my lips and started to walk away again.
“What? You’re kidding! You are kidding, right?”
“Nope,” Dmitri said as he left my apartment with me right behind him.
“When did you make it my birthday?”
“I changed it to something you’d remember the morning after I met you.”
“I’d be able to remember a random code as well,” I pointed out.
“I know. But that’s just what people do, right? They use their loved ones’ birthdays for things like that. Then there’s no forgetting, either the code or your birthday.”
Loved ones – that was nice. And wanting to remember my birthday was nice, too. I followed him downstairs and asked, “How did you know when my birthday is? Oh wait, I forgot: the illegally obtained scan of my driver’s license.”
“You gave it to my bouncer willingly and let him scan it. As far as my criminal activity goes, that one’s gotta be way at the bottom of the food chain,” Dmitri said with a grin.
Somehow, he’d scored the parking space right in front of the building after he’d dropped Jess off last night. Dmitri turned and kissed me, oblivious as ever to the fact that we were in public. I loved that about him. Then he said, “Do you actually want to use the car today? I said that earlier to make your ex jealous, but it’s yours if you want it.”
“Nah. I’m good, thanks.”
“That you are. Bye, baby,” he called as he got in the car. “I miss you already.” The powerful engine roared to life, and he glided out into traffic with a wave out the window.
Chapter Eleven
After he left, I dropped off Dmitri’s nearly destroyed shirt and pants at the dry cleaner’s (after removing the smooshed donut from the pocket), and then had lunch with my friend Liam. This was a little awkward. Liam had known both Charlie and me since high school. And apparently most people we knew felt they had to pick one or the other of us to remain friends with after our break-up.
Not that everyone knew it was a break-up. Only a handful of friends had known we were a couple. Most people just thought we’d had a falling out. But even so, they felt obligated to align themselves with one or the other of us, since apparently it was too awkward to try to be friends with us both…as Liam was now illustrating.
Anyway, after lunch I drove to my mechanic’s and bid farewell to the pea green shit machine. I’d become inexplicably attached to that hideous car, and was actually a little sorry to see it go. But I was thrilled to have Lucy back in my life.
Lucy was my 1968 VW van. She was yellow with a white roof…mostly. The damp San Francisco climate really didn’t agree with Lucy, and she was losing the rust battle in a big way. Some day I’d come outside and find nothing but a pile of brownish orange flakes where my beloved van once stood. But for now, she was held together with some bright paint, crossed fingers, and a few strategically placed strips of duct tape.
I loaded her up with my surfboard (which was Lucy’s main purpose in life), wetsuit, and an overnight bag, then went and visited Jess at the boutique she managed. She was the only one in the shop when I got there, and was unpacking a selection of women’s hats and lining them up on the jewelry counter.
“Hey, Jeff Spicoli. Are you coming or going to the beach?” Jess asked, dissing my outfit as usual. I was wearing an unbuttoned white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and electric blue board shorts, so she was pretty dead-on with today’s jab (I needed to do laundry in a big way, and was saving my new stuff for a special occasion – i.e. time spent with Dmitri).
“Going. And you’re way too young to be making Fast Times at Ridgemont High references,” I told her.
“What can I say? I love the classics.” She came around the counter and gave me a hug before saying, “So explain to me the logic of wearing this shirt completely unbuttoned.”
“It looked too dressy buttoned up.”
“I knew there was a solid explanation.” Then she said, “So, you look happy. You’ve adapted well to a life of leisure.”
“Not a life of leisure. Just a week of leisure. Next week I’m either going to have to return to the SFPD or, I dunno, get a job at Seven-Eleven or something.”
“Yeah, you might want to iron out that whole career plan at some point there, Jamie.”
“I know. I’m going with the super awesome ignore-it-and-maybe-it’ll-go-away plan for now.” I leaned against the jewelry counter and said, “So hey, guess who came to see me bright and early this morning?”
“Your Dad?”
“Worse. Way worse. Charlie decided to pay me a visit before I’d even had a chance to shower.”
“He did? Why?”
“Because he ran into one of my stupid brothers-in-law at Flannigan’s, and they told him I was dating a criminal,” I said. “Which, of course, Charlie made all about him. He asked me if I was trying to make him jealous, and accused me of trying to get his attention by the aforementioned criminal dating.”
“Oh my God. Charlie can be such a total idiot. And I’ll be sure to tell him that next time I see him.”
“Be my guest. Though he was actually already put in his place pretty thoroughly this morning.”
“What do you mean?”
&nbs
p; “When Dmitri heard Charlie accusing me of lying about my hot new boyfriend, he came strolling out of my bedroom dressed in nothing but that black jock strap thing you made me buy, and totally rubbed Charlie’s nose in the fact that I was with him now.” I smiled happily.
Jess smiled, too. “I knew I liked that gangster.”
“And, good news: he’s not really a gangster.”
“No?”
“He’s basically being used for his family name by some shitty uncle. Dmitri’s never hurt anyone, never gotten anywhere near the drug trade, nothing like that.”
“But he’s still wrapped up in the Russian mafia, right?”
“Yeah, but just as a figurehead. He’s not really doing anything illegal.”
“Would, let’s say, a court of law agree with your assessment that he’s not doing anything illegal?” she asked.
I hesitated, then admitted, “I’m not sure. He takes meetings. He introduces people. And then he steps back. Does that make him an accessory to some of the crimes these people go on to commit? I really don’t know. But what he’s doing doesn’t sound all that bad in my book.”
“Ok. Your Dad’s never going to buy it, just so you know. But I’m on board with the not-all-that-bad position.”
“Good.” I held her gaze and asked, “So, what did you and Dmitri talk about on the ride home last night?”
She grinned at me. “I knew you’d have to ask.”
“Of course. So tell me.”
“He asked me if I thought you’d like a little getaway to Australia, because the surfing’s really good there and he was thinking about surprising you.”
“You’re shitting me.”
Jess shook her head. “Nope. He actually asked me that. And I had to tell him that idea would never work, because my stupid best friend doesn’t own a damn passport.”
“Oh man. I am stupid. Though in my defense, I’ve never actually needed a passport before, because I could never afford to go anywhere.”
“So how can Dmitri afford Australian vacations, not to mention that flashy car, the expensive clothes, the big house? Is it his mafia connection that makes all of that possible?”
“I actually have no idea. I know the nightclub’s his, and maybe that generates a good income. But I never asked.” And then I said, “Oh, hey, that reminds me: Dmitri gave me a set of keys to his house this morning.”
Jess’s eyebrows shot toward her hairline. “Holy shit. Really? You two are moving so fast.”
“I know.”
Jess paused for a moment, fidgeting with one of the hats on the counter. And then she said, “Not to be a buzz kill or anything, but have you asked Dmitri about the fiancé? Or about the marriage in general? And I bring it up because you two are obviously getting really serious, but then there’s this huge stumbling block to consider.”
I shook my head and said, “I haven’t asked him. It just hurts way too much to think about it, let alone try to talk about it.”
“You really do need to talk to him,” Jess said gently.
“I will. Soon. I’ve been putting it off, but I know I can’t do that forever.”
Jess squeezed my arm. “I know it’s going to be painful. But I’ll help you get through it, Jamie.”
I hugged her and said, “Thanks, Jess. I love you. You know that, right?”
“I do know that. And I love you, too. Why else would I put up with someone with the fashion sense of a stoned fifteen year old?” she said lightly, trying to cheer me up.
“You secretly admire my freewheeling style. Admit it,” I teased.
“Oh, of course. I mean, who else would pair a dress shirt with neon board shorts, leave it completely unbuttoned for the whole abs-for-grabs look, and then actually go out in public dressed like that? That’s definitely style, babe.”
“See? I knew it.” I kissed her forehead and said, “Ok, I’m going to leave you to your hats and go check out the waves at Kelly’s Cove. Gotta share all this style with the rest of the world, after all. Want to have brunch tomorrow?”
“Yup. See you then.”
I started to leave, but then remembered the present I had for Jess, and pulled something out of my pocket. “Hey. Think fast,” I said, tossing the object to her.
Jess caught it effortlessly, then grinned when she took a look at what was in her hand. It was a yellow rubber duck, dressed like Audrey Hepburn in a little black dress, pearls, and big sunglasses. “It’s you in duck form,” I told her, then winked and headed for the door.
“That’s actually cute,” she conceded. “But they’re still not ducks.”
On the drive out to Kelly’s Cove, I mulled over the question of Dmitri’s money. Probably, it was mafia money. I assumed his uncle compensated Dmitri for the meetings, for his role in the whole operation. Which basically meant that even if Dmitri didn’t actually sell heroin, for example, he still profited from its sale indirectly.
There really was no way to be ok with it, no way to see it as a grey area.
Someone like my father certainly wouldn’t see that as a grey area. It was drug money, it was wrong. End of discussion. And ok, now that I thought about it, I saw it that way, too. That big house, the giant flat screen TV, the car – I enjoyed the hell out of all of that. But if it really was all paid for with money made through criminal activity, then it was all a problem.
When I got to Kelly’s Cove I sat in my van for a long time, staring out at the ocean from my vantage point near the Cliff House, trying to think through my moral dilemma. Was I going to refuse to spend any time at Dmitri’s house because it was paid for through illegal means? Ok, no, I wasn’t going to boycott his home. Was I never going to let him buy me so much as a beer when we went out, because his money was ‘dirty’? Where did I draw the line?
The real question in the end was whether this was enough of an issue to make me stay away from Dmitri. And the answer to that was: absolutely not. I had precious little time with him anyway, and I wasn’t going to let this or any other issue get in the way of spending every moment I possibly could with the man I loved before he married someone else.
The back of my eyes prickled as tears cued up, but I held them back. Shit. I didn’t want him to get married – not to anyone that wasn’t me. He said he loved me. So why the fuck was he marrying someone else? Charlie had said he loved me, too, and then he basically did the same thing. Why the hell did this keep happening to me?
I’d been trying to pretend I was dealing with the fact that Dmitri was engaged. I was trying to pretend that I could just enjoy these ten months, trying to pretend that it was even remotely conceivable that I could walk away from him at the end of it.
Who the hell was I kidding?
It broke my heart. More than that. It shattered me. But I wasn’t going to sit here in public and cry about it. That wasn’t going to get me anywhere.
My phone buzzed then, and I fished it out of my pocket. Dmitri had texted: Hi baby. Miss you. What are you doing? I love you and can’t wait to see you tonight. xxxx
My phone was signaling a low battery, so I typed quickly: I love you too. Phone’s almost dead. Am at the beach. See u tonight, and hit send.
And then I very nearly texted please don’t get married. I got as far as typing the words on my screen. But texting was hardly the way to say this. I needed to talk to him. And, what? Beg him not to marry this woman, whoever she was? Would I do that? And when he told me he was marrying her anyway, then what?
After deleting the message without sending it, I tossed the phone on the passenger seat. I clambered into the back of the van and changed into my wetsuit and grabbed my board, then wrenched open the rusty panel door, which gave way as always with a blood-curdling shriek of rusty metal on metal. I wasn’t going to sulk, not now. I jumped out of the van and yanked the door shut behind me.
Several locals greeted me as I jogged across the sand, and I gave them a little salute. I’d been surfing these waters since I was nine years old, and knew pretty much everyone. A
friend of mine called out, “Hey, Jamie. You going out there? The waves are shit, dude.” The wind was blowing his long brown hair into his eyes, and he pushed it back with one hand to look at me.
“Hi River. Yeah, I’m gonna give it a shot.”
He shrugged and picked up his board. “Suit yourself, bro.” And he headed in the opposite direction.