Immigrant girl

Chapter 5. Anya.

Two days before my first shift went by without any adventures. On Wednesday, I slept until noon, indulged in unhealthy food like there's no tomorrow, even went to the movies, which I hadn't done in probably seven months. As Caleb had requested, I filled out the questionnaire and sent it to him the same evening. The questionnaire included the usual sections such as name, address, phone number, and so on. Unusually, there were sections about clothing and shoe sizes (I assumed I would be provided with a work uniform, hoping it wouldn't be a latex bra and panties), as well as dietary preferences, blood type, Rh factor, and allergies. Everyone has their quirks, I thought, but the blood type section, I admit, made me a little uneasy. Do they want to know this information in case there's a scuffle in the VIP zone, and a stray bullet hits me? No, I don't want to think about that.

On Thursday, I woke up early, which was unfortunate because I would be working until 4 in the morning. I lay in bed, watching the sun's rays penetrate through the partially closed blinds. Today, I will start everything from scratch, for the thousandth time. I wish for everything to work out well because I'm tired of just surviving, tired of fighting every day. It was like rowing against the current, where you had no chance, but you kept rowing with all your might. The only things that gave me hope were that I would have enough money for everything I needed, and most importantly, if Dovlatov really managed to sort out my documents, I could finally get a proper job and change my life for the better. I didn't want to get my hopes up too much, but a tiny sprout of hope for a brighter future had taken root inside me. Okay, enough lying around; I need to get up and prepare for my shift.

First, I took a shower. Standing under the hot streams, I remembered my dream from two days ago and how it had ended in this very shower. My face turned red. I can't say I was attracted to Dovlatov, damn it, I was terrified of him, I don't know what my erotic dream with him in the lead roles was all about. I hadn't been intimate with a man for almost eleven months. Sure, I went on dates, but it never led to anything in the end. Beyond the second date, things never progressed, and I had no desire for no-strings-attached sex. I think, on a subconscious level, I pushed guys away, probably fearing serious relationships due to a previous fairly traumatic experience. It was foolish to deny that Dovlatov was a handsome man, to be honest; I'd never met anyone so dazzlingly attractive. Of course, there could be no talk of anything between us, not because I considered myself unworthy or unattractive – I was worthy and beautiful – but primarily because he was my boss, and on top of that, a boss in the Russian mafia, a criminal authority. That complicated everything. After thinking a little more, I chalked it up to my susceptibility, the long absence of sex, and Dovlatov's striking appearance. All together, these factors stirred my consciousness. End of story.

After the shower, I headed to the kitchen to make myself Eastern-style coffee (in a cezve), because without morning coffee, I'm more of a dead person than a living one. After having the coffee, I started preparing a simple breakfast. I put bread in the toaster, grabbed raspberry jam and peanut butter from the top shelf, and waited for the bread to brown. My phone, in the pocket of my robe, vibrated. I glanced at the screen, it was a message from Caleb.

"I'm sure you're still asleep, but good morning anyway, little sister. Just a reminder that your shift starts at eight. At seven fifteen, our driver, named Ilya, will pick you up and drop you off. Don't worry; everything will be in order. See you in the evening."

In his next message, he sent the driver's number. I wondered if this privilege of having a driver was unique to me or if Russian mobsters chauffeured everyone without a car. I came to the depressing conclusion that I was probably the only one without a car, and this was simply an act of goodwill on their part.

I responded briefly to Caleb's text: "Nope, smarty, I'm not sleeping. Thanks."

Almost immediately, I received a reply: "I'm still a Princeton grad, after all ;)"