‘Whatever,’ I said. ‘It’s fine. These things happen.’
I had promised Sergey I would talk to Ira. Done. Now we could move on.
‘Really, it’s not about Sergey,’ Ira insisted.
I looked at the other table. The dyevs were emptying a jug of beer and seemed to be having a good time. If only Colin were here. Even Diego would do.
Ira was looking at me with an angry expression, as if reading my thoughts.
‘But it does have to do with Sergey,’ I said, trying to pick up the conversation where she’d left off. ‘He was your boyfriend and you started to fuck someone else.’
‘I can’t believe my ears, Martin. Are you giving me lessons on fidelity?’
‘I just mean. I don’t know.’
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I know you’re trying to help.’
She placed her spoon on the empty plate. ‘You know, Martin, I think sometimes you forget I’m a woman. I’m not only your friend but also a woman, even if, for whatever reason, that’s not how you see me. I need attention and courtship. Someone to give me compliments. Rob likes me, he makes me feel appreciated, as a woman.’
As a woman. Kak zhenschina.
‘So it’s a serious thing, the American guy and you?’
‘Of course not,’ Ira said. ‘He’s an expat, he just wants to have fun, like all of you. He probably has other women on the side. But that’s not the point. I know he’s not crazy about me, but at least he cares enough to make an effort. Women need that. We need to feel that men try hard to get us.’
‘And buy flowers.’
‘It has nothing to do with flowers,’ Ira said. ‘It’s about feeling wanted.’
‘But Sergey worships you. He’s mad about you. And you understand each other so well. Ira, you don’t need other people to know how much you are worth.’
‘But I do,’ she said. ‘I do need other people to tell me. I know I’m good enough to be Sergey’s girlfriend or to be your “just friend”. But maybe that’s not enough for me.’
I finished my soup, pushed my plate aside. I took a sip of beer, trying not to look at the girls on the other table. ‘What I’m saying is that sometimes it’s better to be with someone who really appreciates you for who you are than with someone who just wants to sleep with you and have a good time.’
‘Sergey is a great guy,’ she said, ‘but I don’t want someone I need to take care of. I want someone who takes care of me. Sergey spends all his time complaining about his problems but doing nothing about them. Getting drunk is all he does. In the end, no woman wants that kind of man, Martin. At least before he was more fun to be around, but now he’s so gloomy.’
‘He has his moods. That’s true.’
‘I would like to have children one day. And I want a man who brings money home, a man who’s hard-working and resourceful.’
‘Sergey is going through a rough patch,’ I said, ‘but he’ll find a job. It’s not all about money.’
‘Of course it’s not all about money.’ Ira buttoned her cardigan all the way up. ‘The problem is not that Sergey doesn’t bring in money. The problem is that he doesn’t care about it. He’s happy living at his mother’s old flat, off my salary. He says we don’t need anything more. He has no ambition. I love Sergey very much but I can’t stand this situation any longer. I have to think about my own life.’
‘And where does the American guy fit in all this?’
‘Rob makes me feel good about myself.’
The girl with the red lipstick stood up, smiled at me again, and walked towards the toilet.
‘Excuse me,’ I said, getting to my feet, ‘I’m going to wash my hands.’
Ira glanced behind her, at the table where now there was only one girl. She looked back at me, shaking her head.
‘Martin, I really like you. But you are such an asshole.’
34
POLINA LIVED WITH HER parents in the south of Moscow, half an hour away from the last metro stop on the red line. When she came to my place, she would tell her mother she was staying with a girlfriend of hers. In the morning she would leave early to go to school.
She didn’t talk much, Polina, but she seemed to enjoy the time we spent together. She smiled a lot, which was unusual in Moscow, and listened carefully to everything I said, always in awe, as if I were a professor giving a lecture. Unlike Lena, Polina never corrected my Russian, and even looked embarrassed when I asked her for a clarification or to repeat something she’d said — as if it were unforgivable for her to have used a word or expression that I didn’t know. I attributed this to our difference in age.
One day when I had nothing to do, I asked her to come over.
Klassno, she texted back. I’ve missed you. Will be there in two hours.
I hadn’t seen her for a week or so. I had spent the morning in Coffee Beans and, on the way back home, I had bought a pirate DVD at the perekhod, an American romantic comedy, the kind of film Polina liked.
I took a shower, changed the bedsheets on the couch and started to prepare a salad for dinner. I was chopping vegetables when I heard my phone beep. Surely Polina, I thought, perhaps she was running late. Picking up the phone, I was shocked to see Lena’s name on the screen. It was the first time I’d heard from Lena since she’d left my flat on the first night of snow.
Privet, can I come to your place tonight?
My first thought was that it was an old message that, for some technical reason, got stuck somewhere. But I couldn’t help feeling anxious about the possibility of seeing Lena again. The image of Lena’s sensual body — so different from Polina’s — flashed into my head. My heart was beating fast.
I replied: Sure, come over.
Less than a minute later I received a text back. I’ll be at your place around eight.
I immediately called Polina to cancel our date. But now Polina’s phone was out of reach, she was probably on the metro. Anxious, I kept calling every few minutes, hoping to catch her before she got to the centre. Her phone seemed to be switched off.
At seven thirty, Polina showed up at my flat, with the pink backpack she always carried full of schoolbooks and clothes for the next day. In one hand she held a bottle of wine.
She kissed me, smiled. ‘I’m so happy to see you. I bought Georgian wine at the corner shop. I’m starving, what are we having for dinner?’
I didn’t know how to tell Polina that I needed her to go back home, that she couldn’t stay at my place.
I decided to be honest. She deserved that.
‘Polina, a friend is coming to see me tonight,’ I said, regretting, not for the first time, the gender specificity that the Russian language required. Podruga meant female friend.
Polina stared at me in silence.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I went on, ‘but I shouldn’t have asked you to come tonight.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ve been trying to reach you. Your phone wasn’t working.’
Polina looked confused, her smile was gone. She didn’t seem to understand what I was saying.
‘This friend,’ she finally said, ‘is she like a girlfriend?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Well, an old girlfriend. I haven’t seen her in a long time.’
Polina’s lips started to tremble.
‘Polina, I’m really sorry.’
I grabbed her little shoulders. Her cheeks were red. She stepped away from me, picked up her pink bag from the chair.
‘I really like you,’ I said, ‘but, you know, I have a thing for this other girl.’
Polina was now covering her face and sobbing, like a child.