The man was obviously no threat. He was dressed sort of like a monk in a cowled brown robe that hung to mid-calf, revealing that he was wearing a worn pair of running shoes but no socks despite the cold and damp. It was hard to get a good look at his face because he kept most of it inside the hood and looked up at her sideways. But she saw he had the sunken cheeks and protruding eyes of someone who didn't eat well or regularly. His legs and arms, what she could see of them, were filthy, and the fingernails on the hand he stretched out to her were long, yellow, and dirt-caked. He smiled, revealing that most of his teeth were also gone. "Can you spare a buck?" he asked.
Marlene reached for her fanny pack. She was worth millions-exactly how much she didn't know because she let others handle the details of her investments and disbursements, including generous donations to a variety of charities and nonprofit agencies-and could afford to be generous to the beggars who roamed New York's streets. Some people said giving them money just encouraged more begging and contributed to whatever addictions they had, but she didn't see the harm. If a buck toward a bottle of cheap gin could get some old guy through the day, then who was she to deny what little pleasure he had. She unzipped the pack she was wearing and pulled out a five.
The little man skipped forward and snatched the bill, apparently not worried that he had to pass so close to the Hound of the Baskervilles. Marlene had been ready to command Gilgamesh to sit tight, but still she was surprised that he appeared no more concerned than he would have been if one of the twins had run up to her.
"Thank you, thank you, have a Merry Christmas, Marlene Ciampi," the man yelled over his shoulder as he trotted off down the street.
"Wait! How'd you know my name?" Marlene shouted. She wasn't sure she liked strangers in monk's costumes knowing who she was.
The "monk" pulled up and looked back, most of his face still hidden in the cowl. "Why, everyone knows Marlene Ciampi," he said and cackled. "I seen you in a newspaper once."
"Then can I know your name?" Marlene said, relieved by the simple explanation though she couldn't remember the last time her photograph had been published.
"Roger," the man said. "Thank you for asking. It's been a long time since one of you up-world people cared what my name was… I was beginning to think it was 'Fuck Off, Bum.'" The man cackled again and resumed his retreat.
"Well then, have a Merry Christmas, Roger," she called after him. Too late, she wondered what he meant by up-world.
Marlene shook her head. Sometimes living in Manhattan was like living in the old Twilight Zone television show. She rang the buzzer across from the name tag that said Michalik.
"Da?" answered a female voice.
"Helena. It's Marlene."
There was a buzz at the door and a click. Marlene pushed the door open and climbed up to the second floor, where Helena was standing out in the hallway.
"Oh, my goodness," the woman said, laughing. "You're right…that is some puppy." She bent over and patted her thighs. "Come, puppy, say hello."
Gilgamesh wagged his tail and looked up at Marlene with a question on his broad face. "Sure," she answered, releasing his leash. "Go say hi."
The hound bounded down the hallway and nearly bowled Helena over. She grabbed him by the scruff on either side of his face as he licked hers.
"Umm, I should have asked," Marlene said, looking at the open door to the Michalik apartment. "But do you have cats?"
Helena stopped playing with the dog and looked at her. "No. I am not a cat person," she said. "Should I have a cat?"
"Not if you want Gilgamesh to visit. How are you?"
The smile dropped from Helena's face. She shrugged. "As well as can be expected, I guess. Please, I'm forgetting my manners, welcome," she said, stepping forward and giving Marlene a kiss on each cheek.
Helena led the way into the small but comfortable and well-appointed apartment. Several Russian icon paintings hung on the wall in the entryway; vases of fresh flowers seemed to occupy most flat surfaces. Marlene noticed that the crib in the living room was already occupied by a half-dozen stuffed animals.
"When are you due?" Marlene asked.
"In June," Helena said, brightening. She looked happily at the crib, but then her face fell again.
The bedroom door in the back of the apartment opened and Alexis Michalik stepped out. Wow, Marlene thought, no wonder college coeds wanted a piece of this guy. The dark, wavy hair had just enough gray in it to qualify as highlights, and he had the deep, soulful brown eyes that qualified him as a poet whether he could write or not. He smiled and held out his hand though with one eye on the dog.
"Alexis Michalik," he said. "Helena told me about how you have offered to help us. I cannot thank you enough." He looked at Gilgamesh and laughed. "I did not know that they allowed you to keep bears as pets in New York City."
Marlene liked Alexis immediately, just as she'd liked Helena. But she felt compelled to set the record straight. Butch had warned her that the Michalik case might not be winnable. In the time she'd spent protecting women from the men who abused them, she'd met plenty who seemed like Prince Charming on the outside, only to find they were monsters inside. "As I told Helena," she said. "I'm willing to look into your situation. If I don't take the case as your lawyer, I might be able to recommend someone who will. But we need to talk and I'm going to have to ask you to be absolutely honest with me…and Helena."
"What do you mean?" Helena said.
"We'll get to it," she said. "But first tell me how you two met." This part wasn't necessary for what she needed, but she'd found through long experience that when she had to ask difficult questions, it was good to throw a few softballs first to loosen up.
"I was a student at the university in Moscow," Helena said, drifting into the tiny kitchen and reemerging with a pot of tea and three cups.
"I was an architecture major-to draw buildings, you know-but my roommate was a poetry student and deeply infatuated with Alexis. To be honest, I was not much a fan of poetry-especially Russian poetry, which is always so dark and moody-"
"Unfair," Alexis complained. "This first poem I wrote to you compared you to spring on the steppes-'a rush of flowers on heaven's stairs.'"
"Yes," Helena said, but then rolled her eyes, "with the obligatory ending that if I would not be his, winter would come to the steppes and freeze his heart for all eternity."
Marlene laughed.
"Anyway, I would much rather go dancing…to the Rolling Stones, preferably," Helena said. "But he was so cute and earnest with his poems-"
"And she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen," he finished her sentence. "I knew as soon as I spoke to her after the reading that she and I were meant for each other."
"What about your roommate?" Marlene asked.
"When she learned that Alexis had asked me out, and I'd said yes, she threw all of my clothes out the window of our apartment."
"Which was good for me because she had nowhere else to go but my place," Alexis said.
They'd married soon afterward, but life was a struggle in Moscow for a poetry professor. Even though Alexis had won several prestigious international poetry awards, and several of his books had been published in Europe, his salary barely kept them above the poverty line. Helena had to quit school to work as a secretary, but even then they could not make ends meet.
The offer to teach as an endowed chair at New York University where he would be paid nearly four times the amount they made from both their salaries combined had seemed like a miracle. They had both fallen in love with America and hoped to be allowed to remain.
"I am a Russian in my soul," Alexis said. "I love my native land. But the end of the Soviet Union did not bring the economic boom everyone hoped for; it brought even more corruption and gangsters. If you wanted justice, you had to pay for it. There was no hope that things would get better. Here it is better. You can dream, and while Americans may not speak as highly of their artists, they pay them better. So, I am Russian in my soul, but becoming an American in my heart."