Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Come on.
I think of Tasha and her warm sweet smile. I want to live. I need to live. Fuck, I'm not going to make …
Come on, Noah.
In my mind the sky is blue, the sun is shining, the ocean under Tasha and me is turquoise. ‘Look, Noah. We’re flying,’ she cries.
Unable to stand upright any longer, I fold to the ground. I stare at the night sky. The stars above look so beautiful. Everything is still. Babushka’s face is looking down at me. She is calling me. Then I hear footsteps. Getting closer, louder.
A face floats above me. Blue eyes. The bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. It is one of the saints or angels Babushka prays to. He has come to take me to her.
Oh, Tasha. I don’t want to leave, not yet, I had so many dreams for us, but I can’t stay. They’ve come for me.
I love you …
Thirty-two
Tasha Evanoff
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xwtdhWltSIg
Losing My Religion
The next day I call Noah’s phone numerous times, but it is switched off all day and all night. I try not to worry. His battery died. He lost his phone. But my heart knows it is not that. He would never switch his phone off. Not at a time like this.
I call his club, The Matrix, put on an American accent, and pretend that I am Dahlia, Alexander Malenkov’s wife. I ask to speak to Noah, but the manager tells me nobody has heard from him since last night. He hasn’t called any of his other businesses which is very weird.
‘I’ll get him to call you as soon as he calls in,’ he says.
‘No. No need,’ I say quickly. ‘I’ll call him tomorrow.’
I sit on my bed and think. I think of all the possibilities that are open to me. Then I lay my plans meticulously. I play with a best case scenario and a worst case. I make a list of every move I plan to make, then I make a list of everything that can go wrong on every single move. Then I think up things that can go wrong outside of my actions.
At eight I go down to dinner and act normal. After dinner I go up to Baba’s room and I tell her what I want to do. Step by step. She doesn’t say a word. When I finish talking she puts her hand gently on my head. I know it is her way of giving me her blessing. I take her hand in my own and, bringing it to my lips, kiss it.
Later, when the household goes to sleep, Baba comes to my room and I slip out of the house and climb the wall. I tell the cab driver to take me to Noah’s house. As we drive up to the road I see it in complete darkness. I don’t react. It is something I have already planned for. My whole body feels cold. I don’t think about what has happened to him. If I do, I will just want to give up and die too.
The car comes to a stop. The driver turns to look at me.
My stomach is in knots. ‘I’ve changed my mind. Take me to Rusaki.’
Rusaki is Dimitri Semenov’s club. It is a Russian stripper club located in the underbelly of the city.
This is it now, Tasha. There's no going back.
I know I have to see it through to the very end. I turn my attention to the night traffic whizzing by until the cab driver pulls up outside its gaudy red and gold awning.
‘We’re here my love,’ the taxi driver says.
I feel my heartbeat rise a notch as I take a deep breath and step out of the car. I pass the driver his money and thank him. Gathering my coat tightly around myself in an unconsciously defensive gesture, I turn around to face the club’s neon lights. As I walk up to it, I realize what I am doing. I let go. Tilting my chin and letting my hands swing confidently, I go up to the entrance. There are three bouncers in black suits watching me approach with various expressions, leering, admiring, and expressionless.
I’m met by the large outstretched palm of the expressionless one. ‘Dancers to the side door,’ he says in a strong Russian accent, jerking his head towards a grey side door.
Beside me an obviously wealthy Russian man in a camel hair coat and an icy blonde on each arm is respectfully ushered in.
‘I’m not a dancer.’
The leering one comes forward. ‘What are you then?’ he asks. His accent is English.
‘I’m here to see Dimitri Semenov.’
The leering guy sniggers. ‘Sorry darlin’. Even if you suck my cock you can’t hope to see him.’
I stare at him as haughtily as I can, as my father would have done.
Keeping my expression blank I issue my instruction. ‘Tell him Tasha Evanoff is here to see him.’