NOVAK

by Bergen, KC

  Mary averted her eyes. “You’re not hitting on me, are you?”

  “I am a gentleman.” Novak stuck his finger into his ice cream. “By the way, you have something on your nose.”

  Squinting, cross-eyed, Mary looked down her nose. “Where?”

  “There!” Novak smeared a dollop of ice cream onto the tip of her nose.

  “Batman was right—you are a Joker!” Giggling, Mary swung her cone at Novak’s head.

  Novak ducked, but he was a little too late. “Ouch! Now you’re hitting on me!”

  Mary had planted the ice cream cone against Novak’s forehead. To her surprise and dismay it jutted straight up from his hairline. “I’m sorry,” she said, letting go of the cone. “I think I went too far.”

  “It’s okay,” Novak said. “I look like a unicorn! Hee-haw!”

  Mary laughed so hard her stomach hurt. “You sound more like a donkey!”

  As the ice cream began sliding down his forehead, Novak grabbed it by the cone and lifted it off. "You want my donkey horn?”

  “Keep it,” Mary said.

  “Hee-haw,” Novak replied, enjoying the sound of Mary’s laughter and the sensation of being all jittery and silly. He was in America, the land of big opportunities and even bigger dreams, and things were going better than he could have ever imagined.

  28

  Dressed in a suit and appearing just like the dreamy KGB officer in the picture on Brian’s desk, Peter descended onto one knee in front of glamour model Candy. Peter as Tristan angled his chin and right eyebrow, and then finished reading off an index card: “… one heartbeat at a time.”

  “All right!” Brian snapped his fingers. “Now the story rocks. Or what do you think, playa?”

  A part of Michael wanted to tear Tristan’s performance to shreds and call it quits on the entire plan. But if he disregarded how his mom might be affected by the performance, then he had to admit it was pretty impressive. “It’s good.”

  “Yeah buddy!” Grinning, Brian rubbed his hands together. “This will sweep Mary off her feet. Don’t you think so, sugar tits?”

  “Totally yeah,” Candy said. “I love it. Can he wear that outfit in The Wizard of Ass?”

  “We’ll see.” Brian gave Peter a cryptic look, as if to say, You haven’t been cast yet.

  Michael didn’t like the sound of his mom being swept off her feet. “Do we really have to go through with this, Dad?”

  “Of course! I—we—have put too much work into this already. If you want to grow up to be a real man like me you have to play hard and always follow through. You can’t make an omelet without destroying a few eggs.”

  “Without breaking a few eggs,” Michael said. “You don’t have to destroy anything.”

  “Break, destroy … What are you? An English teacher?” Brian chuckled.

  Peter busted up laughing. “Tomato to-may-to, right?”

  “What?” Brian planted his hairy fists on the desk and leaned forward. “Never laugh at my son!”

  “Sorry, boss.”

  Brian clamped down on Michael’s right shoulder. “You have to see the big picture, son. Behold all that can be yours.” Brian motioned to the sleazy movie posters on the wall. “I’m talking about eternal things, like art, contribution, value. And more ethereal things, like this beauty right here.” He slapped Candy’s butt. “Now slap me some skin, playa!”

  Michael reluctantly slapped his dad’s hand. Candy raised her butt cheek and winked invitingly.

  “Go ahead, son. Slap her some skin too.”

  Michael blushed. “Nah, I’m good.”

  Brian cracked up. “He says he’s good!” Brian grabbed his son’s hand and slapped Candy’s ass with it. “That’s my boy! I’m proud of you, son. You’re growing up to be a real ladies’ man.” He ruffled Michael’s hair then glanced at Peter. “You ready for Operation Tristan Horse?”

  “Da.”

  “Good. But don’t read off the index cards to Mary. Memorize the story.”

  “How about expenses and transportation?” Peter asked. “Wining and dining quickly adds up.”

  “I got you covered. I will lend you my credit card. Don’t show it to her, though. It has my name on it.”

  “Da.”

  “And don’t overspend. Now, I’m also borrowing my buddy’s Jag for the occasion, so you’ll be arriving in style.”

  “Sweet.”

  Brian took out his cell phone. “All right, let’s make the call. Let me first just set it to unknown caller ID.” He adjusted his phone’s settings. “Call ex-wife two on speaker,” he said and slid the phone toward Peter as Tristan.

  As the phone rang, Michael chanted in his mind: Don’t pick up, don’t pick up, don’t—

  Mary picked up and introduced herself.

  “Hi,” Tristan said. “I’d like to see a house.”

  “Any house in particular?”

  “I like big houses.”

  “Well, I have several.”

  “Idiot,” Brian muttered. He scribbled on a note and showed it to Tristan.

  Tristan read the note. “I’m interested in the listing on Ladan Drive.”

  “All right. When would you like to see it?”

  “How about tomorrow?”

  “Sure. Do you prefer the morning or afternoon?”

  “I am an early riser,” Tristan said, grinning.

  “Then how about eight?”

  “Maybe not that early. Eleven?”

  “I can do eleven-thirty.”

  “That works.”

  “Great. Do you know where the house is or do you need transportation?”

  “I know where it is.”

  “Do you have a name that I may add to our appointment?”

  “Sure. TD.”

  “TD? Or is it Ted?”

  “That’s what my friends call me.”

  “Okay, Ted. See you tomorrow at eleven-thirty.”

  “Looking forward to it.”

  Mary hung up and Brian applauded Tristan. “Good job!”

  “Spasiba,” Tristan said.

  Michael, however, was lost in thought. Staring emptily at the picture of Tristan Drimov on the desk, Michael rubbed his forehead. He thought of his mom. And then there was Novak. And now also impostor Tristan. How was he going to make it through the week?

  Michael felt too young for this shit.

  29

  Novak slept like a baby and woke up at 5:30 a.m., which was late for a shepherd. A former shepherd, he corrected himself. He’d begun a new career as a car wash artist—a cartist—and had a full day of training ahead of him. He was a bit nervous about it, but also happy for the first time in a long time. Yesterday’s outing to LA had been a dream come true, and he had to believe that today would not turn into a nightmare.

  Grateful for being in California, in Mary’s comfortable guest bedroom, he decided to get up, take a shower, and then make breakfast. He wanted a meal fit for a cowboy and found what he needed in the fridge and pantry: eggs, beans, toast, coffee, and orange juice. As he was heating up the beans and frying the eggs, Mary walked into the kitchen.

  “Morning,” she said. “You’re making breakfast?”

  “Yes, a breakfast fit for a cowboy! Or a cowgirl.”

  Mary’s yawn turned into a smile. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble at all. I am happy to do it.”

  Mary took care of making the coffee, and then, as she was setting the table, her son walked in.

  Novak asked, “Are you hungry, Michael?”

  “Don’t worry ’bout it.”

  “Do you like the eggs with the sunny side up or down?”

  “I said don’t worry about it.”

  “Don’t be rude,” Mary said. “He likes them fried over hard.”

  “Okay. Two eggs for Mister Sunshine, coming up.”

  They ate, and even Michael had to admit that the Western-style breakfast was pretty good. Seeing that the clock was ticking p
ast seven, Novak wolfed down his meal and then started cleaning up.

  “What’s the rush?” Mary asked.

  He didn’t want to tell them what he was up to, as he was merely training for the position. “You guys have work and school, and I also have things to do.”

  “Just leave the dishes,” Mary said. “You cooked. I’ll clean.”

  “You sure? It’s no trouble.”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Thanks for breakfast, by the way.” Mary nudged Michael.

  “Thanks,” he muttered.

  “You’re very welcome.” Novak grabbed his bag and left for work.

  ***

  Mary figured that Novak didn’t want to impose. She didn’t think he did, even though she had a busy day ahead. Yesterday had been fun, and she completely understood that he wanted to see more of California.

  Michael finished up his breakfast, then went upstairs to brush his teeth and get his things ready for school.

  Mary spotted her son as he headed out the front door. “Bye, honey! Have fun at summer school!”

  “Bye,” Michael mumbled as he left.

  Sipping on a cup of French roast coffee, Mary didn’t know whether it tasted funny or whether she had a bad taste in her mouth. Probably the latter, and she knew why. She’d had a great time with Novak last night, but before going to bed she’d responded to Tristan’s message. She’d thought it was rude not to write back at all. Mary hadn’t told Tristan about Novak or vice versa, and she didn’t want to hurt their feelings.

  Tristan was a handsome man, no question about that, but Novak was tall, lean, and not bad looking either. He was sweet and funny and helpful around the house, an all-round great guy. Michael seemed to warm up to him as well, which was a small miracle in itself.

  Mary drained her cup of coffee and then cleaned the table. As she put away the dishes, she wondered if she should ask Carol for advice. No. She’d already asked her, and now she had to handle the situation on her own.

  “I’m a big girl,” she said, chuckling. Besides, she had work to do.

  Mary arrived at the mansion on Ladan Drive fifteen minutes early to make sure that everything looked nice and tidy. As she was fluffing and rearranging the pillows on the living room couch, the doorbell rang.

  “He’s early,” she mumbled as she took one final look at the living room. “The house looks good, though.”

  She checked herself out in the hallway mirror, adjusted her hair and dress, before she opened the door. A tall, dark, and handsome man dressed in a tailored suit was standing outside, a shiny Jaguar parked in the driveway. The man was wearing sunglasses and a radiant smile that looked oddly familiar. Yes, he looked like …

  “Tristan? Tristan Drimov? Is that you?”

  He slowly removed his sunglasses. “Yes, it is I.” He bowed, gently took Mary’s hand in his, and kissed it. “Tristan. At your service.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Mary pulled back her hand. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

  “I told you I was here, in the beautiful U.S. of A. The safe house mission, remember?”

  “Yeah, but I thought you’d gone back.”

  “Njet. Not yet.”

  “Hold on. So you tricked me into thinking you were some random house hunter?”

  “I told you I was TD. Tristan Drimov.”

  “How was I supposed to know?”

  “I just had to meet you. I thought maybe you wouldn’t agree to meet if I flat-out asked you to.”

  “So you lied to me.”

  “I didn’t lie.” Peter as Tristan looked down, immersing himself fully in the role he was playing. “You are right, Mary. I should have told you the whole truth upfront. I was scared to be rejected but that doesn’t make it okay. I’m sorry.”

  Tristan appeared truly remorseful. “I understand. Well, we are here and you are looking for a house, right?”

  “That is correct. I’m looking for a home away from home, a place to unwind and enjoy the finer things in life. And who better to show me that place than a realtor I feel I know and can trust. May I?”

  “Sure.” Mary stepped aside to allow him entrance.

  Tristan strutted into the hallway and swiveled on his designer shoes to survey the house. “This house is beautiful, but nothing compared to your beauty.”

  “Thank you.” Slightly uncomfortable, Mary adjusted her wristwatch. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “No, thank you. As a KGB officer I cannot indulge in anything that disturbs my finely tuned senses.”

  “Tell me about that. It must be exciting, huh?”

  “Excitement … Looking into the depths of your soul is excitement. Killing a man is routine.”

  Mary glanced at her purse on the nearby piano table. She always carried a can of pepper spray in case of an emergency. This was not yet an emergency, but she nevertheless stepped toward the table. “You kill people?”

  “Don’t get me wrong. I only eliminate threats to national security. If a man kills a family—women, children, cats, dogs, hamsters—does he not deserve to pay?”

  While watching the striking KGB officer, Mary placed a hand on the piano table next to her open purse. “I guess so.”

  Tristan had rehearsed Brian and Michael’s introduction repeatedly, and he’d now created the opening he needed to really delve into the story. “Sometimes it saddens me to take a life, but then I think of a child’s innocence. I think of the mother’s embrace of that child, and it brings a smile to my face.” Smiling, Tristan gazed up and into space, toward the chandelier.

  Tristan seemed lost in reverie. Mary grabbed the opportunity to fish out her pepper spray. She palmed the tiny can and concealed it behind her back as Tristan suddenly approached her with outstretched arms. He was smiling sweetly, but she was ready to seriously spice up that smile, if necessary.

  30

  Tristan held out his right hand as if he wanted to dance. Mary cautiously played along and took his hand in hers. He pulled her close, embracing her. She froze for a moment, holding the can of pepper spray an inch from his back. She’d risk spraying herself too from this angle. Maybe she was being paranoid, though. The guy was just happy to finally see her, and maybe this was his Eastern European way of showing it.

  Without Mary noticing, Tristan carefully pulled out the small index cards from his pocket and skimmed over them behind her back. He ceremoniously cleared his throat. “Mary, I have dreamt of our meeting. I have dreamt of your ocean of love. A merman I am, but I need your strokes to breathe. Together we shall swim along sandy shores, let our fins gently intertwine amongst the coral reeves. I have yearned for you since the first words we shared.”

  Mary felt overwhelmed. “I don’t know if—”

  “Shh, I know.” Tristan skillfully flipped the top index card. “I am sorry if I come on too strong, but all my life I have longed for my soul mate. You are here, and I am here. That’s all that matters.”

  Speechless, Mary pulled back and looked deep into Tristan’s eyes. “You look like … you.”

  “Yes, I am me. I am … Tristan.”

  Mary’s eyes welled up. “I have also dreamt of this moment. I mean, I think so, when I was a little girl.”

  “Da. In Russia, where I grew up, there once came a circus. A circus”—Tristan placed his cheek against Mary’s and returned to the scripted story that Brian and Michael had written on the index cards—“with elephants and Siberian tigers.”

  “Siberian tigers?”

  “Yes, the world’s biggest cat. But one man, armed with a chair and a whip, managed to control these wild creatures. He brandished the chair in front of their ravenous eyes. I thought they were going to kill him, but no, he was in his own world, one man versus beast. And the beasts stared at the man, growled, and then a sweet purr emerged. A purr from the biggest of the tigers, as if he loved the man who could tame him. I knew that this man was special. He had found his place in the universe, a place where man’s soul connects with all that’s living. They melted
together, man and beast, and made sweet love on the sawdust.”

  “What? They humped in front of the audience?” Mary tried to free herself but Tristan held her tight.

  “No, their spirits made love. A figure of speech. I remember the man’s hand touching the fluffiness of that tiger’s fur, and I thought to myself: I want to be that hand. The hand of love.”

  Mary had her hand of pepper spray ready to attack. “That’s nice. And strange.”

  Tristan switched to the next index card but dropped the first. “Shit. Uh, that’s Russian for true.” He attempted to step on the fallen index card but couldn’t reach it. So he swayed Mary in an awkward dance-like motion to get to it while reading off the final card.

  “But when I have to put a man to sleep, I think of that hand. I bless an evil spirit with eternal love. Rising from the ashes may be a puppy-eyed boy who emerges blind to the vile nature of man, open to a world of sweet opportunity. Oh yes …” Tristan stomped on the fallen index card. “Mary, I am here to claim your love. I cannot leave you. No sacrifice is too great for me if I can only be close to you. Just for one second, one heartbeat at a time.”

  Tristan tried to kiss Mary, but she wriggled out of his embrace and turned away, clutching the can of pepper spray. Tristan quickly picked up the index card under his shoe, and slipped both cards into his pocket.

  “Tristan. You sound like an angel but this is too much. We need to take it slow. One step at a time. One heartbeat, if you will.”

  “You are right.” Tristan averted his eyes and bowed his head in shame. “What was I thinking? The passion in my heart sometimes clouds my judgment. Please forgive me. Should I leave?”

  Mary walked over to the piano table and discreetly slipped the canister into her purse. “I didn’t say that. I just want to get to know you.”

  “I am an open book, Mary. Like an audiobook, or a … Kindle.”

  Mary moved to the salon. Beckoned for Tristan to have a seat opposite the table. “Well, maybe you can read me a page from your book.”

  “I haven’t written a book.”

  “I meant, you know, figuratively speaking.”

  “Oh. Da! Yes, of course!” Tristan laughed it off. “I was just joking. Page one: Russian humor.”