Her Russian Millionaire

Chapter 7

No one would call the street view from The Semya ‘beautiful’ or ‘picturesque,’ but the girls found the little four panel window fascinating. It gave a wealth of knowledge with just a glance. If the homeless man, Marco, was out dancing on the street, it meant that it was warm. If he was huddled in the corner, it was cold. If the liquor store was ignoring the posted closing time and serving drinks all night, then it was a holiday.

He took her to the movies or to a museum. They held hands and pressed sweet treats to each other’s lips. From the outside, they looked completely normal. Just another couple. No one would ever suspect that he was a high up in the mafia and she was worried about being forced into prostitution.

Jalisa’s favorite spot to go to was the rose garden where they had their first date. She would collect fallen petals in a jar and write prayers in them. They discussed normal couple things, like plans for the future. She wanted a kitchen painted with pastels. He wanted granite countertops. She wanted a natural pool in the backyard. He wanted a brick pizza oven. They built their dream house while sitting on a stone bench.

During those times, Jalisa would close her eyes and could almost taste the future. She wondered if they would have kids. Kids who ran around barefoot in the yard while the smell of freshly cut grass drifted throughout the air. Fresh linen on the line. Jalisa and Erik curled up on the couch watching a DVD until one of the kids needs something.

Nikita was not too thrilled, but she was supportive. Jalisa had proclaimed her love for Erik and revealed that they were dating one night before bed. Nikita told her that was great, but the younger girl’s frown told a different story. It took a few days to figure it out, but Jalisa finally realized that she was jealous.

When Jalisa confronted her little sister, it was tense. She pried a bit too hard, but she had to make sure that Nikita didn’t still have a crush on Stone. Nikita buried her face in a pillow and cried. After her sobs subsided, she admitted that she was lonely. Nikita had no one her age to play with. Everyone who came to the bar was twenty-one and up. Jalisa had picked up pamphlets about sports Nikita could play, but with their schedule, it was hard to work out. Jalisa kissed her on her forehead and promised to talk to the pastor about setting up a movie trip or a play date with Nikita and Andre, his son.

It was another slow night at the bar. Those were the worst. Jalisa had already taken a ‘meal’ break and taking another one would look suspicious, yet she hadn’t had enough contact with Erik. She pushed off of the counter she was leaning against and mixed up another Old Fashioned, this time with a splash of cherry. Ignoring Marie’s prying looks, she crossed over to the end of the bar where Erik sat.

“This time I added a bit of cherry.” She slid the new drink to him and took away the half-finished old one. His blue eyes darted around nervously before curling a hand around it. She leaned over the bar, putting her full bre*sts on display. He groaned.

“Marie is looking.” His lips moved against the rim of the glass. The liquid sloshed in his mouth and he made an appreciative little noise.

“I know. I don’t care.” Jalisa didn’t even bother to glance at Marie. “I want to hang out with you.”

“‘Hang out’?” He lifted one dark eyebrow. “Is that code for what we’ve been doing in the break room?”

“No!” She laughed, lightly swatting his suit-clad arm. “It just means ‘talk.’ I want to know more about you.”

“Like what?” he asked.

“Tell me about your mother. Or your father.” She was actually interested in hearing more about his life in Russia (and the possibility that he might have a Russian wife or girlfriend), but she didn’t really know how to ask.

“My father is the easy one. He’s very simple. His motto was ‘Drink and Laugh until the Lord calls you Back.’ He followed it, too. Abrim that was his name.” Erik tipped his head back and laughed. “My mother called him her ‘Goat Abby.’ ‘Goat’ is what women call their husbands in Russia.”

“Maybe one day I will call you ‘Goat Ricky.’” Jalisa cocked her head and flashed him her brilliant white teeth.

“God, no.” He cringed, then quickly added, “Not that I don’t want you to call me Goat; I just hate being called Ricky.”

 “I’ll keep that in mind.” Jalisa fluttered her eyelashes at him. If he expressed that he was never interested in marriage, then she would have had to think long and hard about their relationship. Jalisa didn’t take such big steps like giving a man her virginity without wanting to stay by his side till death do them part.

“Anyway, he was a joy to be around. He was a major alcoholic, yes, but not like the fathers you see on the American TV shows. He never raised a hand to my mother or any of his children. He tried once to spank me and my brother after we had been caught with a lit cigarette on school grounds when we were about…eh, ten or so. He couldn’t do it. He never spoke about it, but my mother told us in secret that his father, my grandfather, had beaten his wife and kids. My father couldn’t stand to do anything that hurt anyone after growing up in that.” Erik took another long swig of his drink.

“Did you ever meet your grandfather? You speak about him like you don’t know him,” she said.

Jalisa thought about her own grandfathers. On her mother’s side, she had no clue who he was or anything about him other than he was monoracial passing mixed man who was mostly black with a little bit of something else. He came from a time where interracial relationships were taboo, and his race was not something he openly told people upon meeting them. Jalisa never got close enough to find out about it, even though his blood ran through her veins and meant she was slightly mixed. On her father’s side, her grandfather had died before she was born in a car accident. All she had of him were stories and a few pictures.