Beautiful Evil Winter Read online

  Now, our stressful, isolated situation in Russia presents the perfect opportunity to re-discover one another. To my pleasant surprise, our relationship begins to grow in some long forgotten ways.

  9. ETHAN

  Lying in bed, side-by-side cuddling, I reminisce about the first time I met Ethan. Snuggling into him, I feel the flutter of butterflies, and it all comes back to me.

  ***

  Barbara, a petite smart blonde, tilts her head and listens with empathy and concern as I tell her about my Senior Level Finance course jitters. We sit outside on a bench in front of the business school. Some students lounge underneath trees around us, reading books or observing the passer-bys. Others play Frisbee in a large grassy clearing in front of a splashing fountain and wading pool. It’s a perfect day to be a young college student. Life leaps at you from every direction and the warm sunlight spotlights every moment. It doesn’t matter to me. This one class just worries me a lot, it’s rumored to be as tough and dry as a leather bull whip.

  “I know someone who just finished that class. He may have some old tests,” Barbara offers. “I’ll ask him and let you know.”

  One week later, Barbara and I cross paths in the library-the quiet, busy beehive for serious students. Turning to me, she says, “Sophia, I’d like for you to meet Ethan. Ethan just finished that course we talked about.”

  I automatically lower my eyes and wince at the thought of having to deal with another “great guy;” then, starting with his shoes, I slowly gaze at this person who stands before me. Six foot tall with dark brown hair, forest green eyes and a hairy chest peeking at me through his shirt. He had a good body and a confident, relaxed demeanor.

  Hmmm…

  A familiar sensation of warm steamy towels strategically placed in thong bikini formation across my breasts and my midriff sets in, and lust beckons with a big smile. Then, an invisible restraint triggers, the think-with-your-brains-not-your-biology safety switch. The fortress gates close in a flash, and a battalion of hormones standing ready to engage, turn abruptly and walk away.

  Barbara elbows me back to reality as Ethan waits for me to introduce myself. I look directly into his eyes. He puts me at ease.

  Maybe, he is okay unlike cheating Eric, the last guy I felt drawn to. Men are a flaming hot topic for me now.

  “Hello, my name is Sophia,” I say with a firm handshake.

  “I’m just beginning the course you finished, and I think forming a Finance Major Alliance might benefit both of us. Will you give me your number so we can discuss classes?”

  With an impish smile and a nod, he scribbles his number on a piece of paper, adding in a serious tone, “Don’t give this number out to a bunch of girls. I don’t want a lot of girls calling me.”

  How’s that for conceit and arrogance? Ring the bell—another jerk.

  A few weeks pass, then, one day, he walks down the empty hallway as I stand outside my next class. The faded pastel blue walls and closed wooden doors seem to showcase his arrival—like a stage setting in a play.

  I cover my mouth and look at the floor to hide a smile.

  It never fails, now I’ll see him everywhere.

  “Hi! Hey, you need to give me your phone number so we can get together,” he says in a very happy, disarming way. A few seconds pass as I try to understand his surprising pleasantness. After all, I haven’t called him in weeks.

  Is he that easy-going?

  Maybe, he’s worth talking to after all; so, I give him my parent’s phone number to keep him at a distance.

  During the next three weeks, he calls me and calls me, but I’m never home, of course. I live apart from Mom and Dad. Mom and Dad live on the 25th floor in a luxury condo downtown. It’s beautifully decorated in warm earth tones and velvety soft furniture. A beautiful chandelier hangs over the walnut dining room table. One floor above is the penthouse suite, used to film a scene in The Urban Cowboy movie. A sense of wonder and giddiness envelopes me every time I step out on the balcony. One day a few years ago, when Mom, Dad and I sat on the cushy furniture visiting, a helicopter hovered close to the balcony railing like a spy trying to hear a snippet of the conversation.

  Well, anyway, Mom always gives me the message that Ethan called. And I always toss it. For some reason, I just don’t want to talk to him.

  Finally, one day, when visiting with my Mom, she says, “What’s going on with this guy, Ethan? He leaves a lot of messages here. Do you ever call him back?”

  “No, Mom,” I sigh.”I don’t know what to think of him. He seems okay, but men make me sprint in the opposite direction now.”

  I tell her about our first meeting. Mom knows I feel “fried “after Eric.

  “He’s a nice guy, Sophia. I talked to him several times. I’m tired of taking these messages. You call him now!” my mother barks, thrusting the latest message in my face. I grab the message with a tight grimace and skulk all the way to the next room like some child told to eat her entire portion of broccoli casserole. When I enter my room, a broad smile replaces the petulance. I push my door as far as possible against the backstop. Now, my bedroom door is wide open.

  When Ethan answers his phone, I speak extra loud so Mom can hear me all the way downstairs.

  “Well, Ethan, I’m calling you because my mother is tired of taking messages. Now, if she and my Dad leave the house, we can have wild animal sex on the rug in front the fireplace or maybe we can use their bed. By the way, how many kids do you want to have? How much money does your Dad earn? What does your mother do? When do you want to be engaged?” It’s important that Mom hear every word.

  “Well, why don’t you spend some time with me to find out the answers to your questions?” He answers with a chuckle.

  “This might be a fun date.” I think after he spells out a time and day. I lean into the phone. “Where would we be going?” I ask as my mind races, a nice restaurant or a movie and an ice cream parlor?

  “Let’s go to a pizza place,” Ethan says in a matter of fact way. “Amy is going with us.”

  “I don’t …understand. I thought we were going out on a date,” I stammer.

  “Noooo…We are just all getting together in a study group with old tests,” Ethan explains.

  “Well, that changes my goals. No sex in front of the fireplace and no engagement,” I comment, aglow in crimson red.

  “You know I really need to go. Good-bye, Ethan.”

  What a relief! I really don’t know what to think of this guy!

  “Wait, I do want to take you out on a date, just me and you. How about it?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Come on and say yes. We’ll have fun. I do want to spend some time with you,” he coaxes. Once again, I listen for and hear the honesty in his voice.

  “You seem like a nice guy,” I say at last. “but I’m feeling very wicked right now after my last relationship. “The answer is ‘no’ today and ‘no’ six months from today. Go away, Ethan.”

  ***

  I’m beaming. It’s so different now. With a giggle, I grab my pillow and begin to pummel him. Changing the temperature in the chilly hotel room is all fun and games, tropical, balmy and steamy. We’re doing our part to warm-up our space in Siberia.

  No harm, no foul. Right?

  10. LOVE

  Ethan slips out of bed—grabbing his clothes from the floor. Slithering across the rumpled mattress, I slap his bare bottom. Glancing over his shoulder, he gives me a dirty smirk. Gathering the covers around my head, I giggle and remember….

  ***

  It just so happens our first date falls on Valentine’s Day. We go to dinner and a movie. We talk, laugh and tease each other the whole time.

  “Well, I guess you’ll have to eat beans for the rest of the month to pay for this date,” I joke as he pays for the movie tickets.

  “No, I only have to go without electricity and water next month. I can always raid my parent’s home for food,” he banters back.

  After the movie, he ask
s me to stop by his house to meet his roommates. As I walk in the front door, he trails behind me. Then, he sweetly says, “Happy Valentine’s Day!” and as I turn to face him, he presents me with a rose. I smile and feel a little tingle run up and down my spine.

  Who is this guy? He’s so unlike any guy I ever dated or met. He’s kind and charming.

  More lengthy phone calls and dates fill the rest of the semester and the next semester. And before I know it, I have the answer to that question. When I’m with him, I feel the embrace of a warm bath. I relax and smile and drift through the day, a sense of timelessness carrying me along. I felt warm, clean, soft and naked in my clothes. The huge fortress guarding my heart begins to gradually open its gates, the sharpshooters standing at ease by their weapons. As time passes, the marksmen sleep by their weapons or leave their posts unattended, the gates always stay open. There is need to defend against Prince Charming.

  ***

  Yes, Ethan is special-attractive, funny, sweet, smart and caring.

  I fell in love.

  And it’s as magical now as it was then.

  Stretching my arms and covering my yawn, I smile sweetly and roll—over to grab my clothes. In our hotel room, entertainment becomes a daily question mark. The cold nights are especially fun, but the days drag along. Looking out from the balcony, the tall pine-like trees dressed in long snowy white coats stand everywhere watching us, swaying like dancers in a choreographed Broadway show. The cold white snow covering the ground is as seductive as vanilla ice cream. It beckons to us to play outside for snowball warfare or a two-person roll and kiss. A snow angel will be fun to make when the wind stops. A mouthful of snow would be delicious or the chance to surprise Ethan with a handful in his hair.

  Snow even laces the windows facing the outdoors. It has to be a bit warmer for snow games. I prefer indoor games when the weather is this cold. My body craves something physical, but Natasha insists no exercise because I risk permanently damaging my lungs.

  Lying next to Ethan at the footboard, my elbows sink into the mattress like anchors as my knitted fingers support my frowning face.

  Being bored and waiting – it stinks!

  Looking at Ethan look at me, I know that the wheels are turning in his brain.

  “I’ve got it!” I say, throwing caution to the wind. “Let’s play hustle games in the bar downstairs.”

  “I’ll pick you up first,” he adds darkly.

  ***

  “One more thing—lipstick.” I lean into the mirror and apply the pink pastel color—no smeared eyeliner, no sand-size fragments of black mascara peppering the skin under my lower lashes. Brown eyes clear, bright, and brown hair smooth, straight and shiny.

  Another quick check—jeans zipped, pink Angora turtleneck collar okay, gold chandelier faux diamond earrings and black cowboy boots. A quick check of the soles and heels indicate I wouldn’t be walking in with toilet paper stuck to my shoe.

  Ethan will leave the room about 15 minutes after me.

  The smoky, dimly lit bar—a scaled down version of a Texas Honky Tonk with Mafioso, Viktoria whispered to me, instead of cowboys. The cloud of cigarette smoke clings to the ceiling while the sounds of dance music and raucous laughter fill the room. A dirty white linoleum floor streaked by black scuffmarks reminds me more of a busy restaurant kitchen floor than that of a bar. A big gilded mirror covers most of the wall facing the wooden bar. Bottles of liquor sit on the counter underneath the mirror. The black leather bar stools line up in front of the bar, and a handful of small wooden tables dot the small space.

  I hope no one tries to talk to me. I don’t speak enough Russian to carry on a conversation or to respond to a drunk.

  My steps quicken at the thought.

  Let’s get this over with!

  With my chest out and shoulders back, I push through the barrier of quarter-length swinging doors and walk confidently into the bar.

  “Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”

  —William Shakespeare

  11. AN INNOCENT ERROR

  Not many women here just, a 60ish bleached blonde with a Louis Vuitton handbag and a 20ish strawberry blonde.

  I don’t meet anyone’s eyes—it’s engaging.

  Good, two spots at the bar at the far end.

  I walk quickly to sit on one chair and put my purse on the other.

  The bartender spots me and holds up a bottle of vodka in questioning way.

  Everyone drinks vodka. At least, I don’t have to use sign language to order.

  “Da, spasibo,” I say as he pours my shot.

  I grab money from my purse, knowing that it would be more than enough to pay for the shot, and put it on the bar. The bartender grabs the money, smiles and walks away. I hover over my drink hoping to be left alone.

  “Boo!” Ethan walks up behind me and puts his arms around my shoulders.

  “You, jerk!” I spin around and fist his shoulder.

  “Love you, honey,” he says as he cups my face and kisses me sweetly on the lips.

  Then, he sits down beside me

  “Do me a favor. Just nod yes to the vodka,” I whisper.

  “Here he comes.”

  The bartender approaches with raised eyebrows and a broad smile to offer the bottle of vodka to Ethan.

  “Nyet.”

  I turn and roll my eyes.

  “Vodka and …” he points to the tonic.

  “Ahhh…” the bartender answers with apparent understanding.

  Ethan takes the shot from me, pours it in his glass of tonic, and stirs. Then, he points at the straws.

  “Now, we can share a drink that we really like,” he announces, gloating.

  “Very cute, smarty pants,” I grin.

  “Now, what were we talking about?” He says as he leans into my space and thumps my chandelier earring.

  Something catches my eye—I glance around to see six men dressed in green military garb rush into the bar with machine guns held waist level.

  What the hell! My jaw drops in shock.

  Ethan spins around on the bar stool and mirrors my surprise.

  “Everyone—up against the wall!” the first man shouts in Russian. The man is short and muscular with long black hair which he’d pulled back in a pony tail.

  Not understanding what he said, we watch everyone else.

  Then, we rush to comply—backs to the wall.

  Glad I left my purse at the bar. I won’t draw attention to myself at least.

  The leader, a tall guy in his late 20’s with sandy blonde hair and dark brown vacant eyes, pulls the slide back on his weapon and smiles.

  Good God, look at his face! Half of his face is tattooed with another face—an older version of his face. How weird is that?

  The others fan out in the room—looking at the faces against the wall.

  What do they want? This same thing actually happened in Texas at a small town honky tonk with my parents in tow, only uniformed local cops were taking command. My purse was left on the table. They searched everyone. They were looking for a face and drugs, a stash of drugs. Guess that explained the lack of search warrants. They claimed a big drug deal was in process at the bar.

  These commandos aren’t searching for property. They study faces looking for someone in particular. They pat down the guys for guns. The leader and another man pat down only the women, moving from the center of the room to the end. These are guys with swagger and big egos, the kind of guys that usually notice me. I grimace at the thought.

  I grab Ethan’s hand, squeeze it lightly and let it drop.

  I hope he doesn’t talk to me or ask me a question. I can’t flare in anger about this crap. Women are forced into prostitution all the time here. They could easily whisk me out of here without leaving a trace. Unfortunately, Russia is like a big frat party with no consequences.

  I grit my teeth, and my jaw flexes in fury.

  I watch the cold dark eyes, the eyes of a snake, study the face of the strawberry blonde. Then, h
e scans the length of her body several times slowly. He moves his face closer to hers—his diamond earring glittering as he cocks his head sideways.

  The more he looks the more interested he becomes. Her green eyes open widely and her eyebrows knit together.

  The shift, the twinkle in his eyes, reveals a more than necessary interest.

  Gag!

  He leans into her space one arm supporting his body as he inches toward her face.

  Her lips purse. Her eyes become fierce, and she stands taller.

  He stands upright and thrusts his hand roughly under her armpit and leisurely moves it along the outside of her turtleneck sweater along her curvy waist.

  “Hmmmm…” he smiles.

  Yea, so much more than necessary. Go to a happy place and block this out! Don’t give him the satisfaction of making you squirm. He loves control. Don’t make him assert control! It’ll probably make him more excited. Don’t react and cause more problems for yourself!

  He grazes the back of his hand across her midriff along her pant line. He seems to be lost in his thoughts.

  He grabs her shoulders and spins her to face the wall. He once again runs his hands slowly from her armpits to her pant line. Then, he moves his hands down her legs and then puts them on her hips. He squeezes her buttocks hard—laughing darkly with satisfaction.

  My heart tries to hammer a hole out of my chest. I stand rigid with my hands balled up in fists at my sides, gritting my teeth.

  He presses his body against hers covering it with his. He dry humps her a couple of times and pulls her sweater up to feel her creamy skin, kneading his hands along the flat of her lower back and waist. Suddenly, he grabs her wrists and pulls her lower torso back toward his body—pushing her wrists and hands onto the wall as if he is going to frisk her.