THE BEAUTIFUL ONE~Volume One

DAY THREE (cont.)

While I enjoyed watching the sun as it

rose in the sky, and heralded the start of a brand new day, I was secretly

thankful harvest/delivery day was a mere once-a-month occurrence-the strictness

of which seemed to cramp my gypsy lifestyle as far as being able to sleep late

was concerned. It just didn't seem right for employers to expect their

employees to get up at such ungodly hours, and always made me look forward to

sleeping later the remaining thirty or so days of the month. While I loved Yuri

and Helena Prost more as the adoptive parents I'd long thought of them as than

as my employers, and enjoyed having the opportunity to sell something other than

my body-and prove to certain members of the community of Moscow that I was no

longer the 'gypsy whore' I used to be-I also enjoyed the freedom of setting my

own hours on planting and cultivating days.

"Oh, is nice to be my own boss.' I would often hear myself thinking on the

mornings following harvest delivery day upon awakening to the realization that I

was not required to meet an early morning deadline, and could therefore set my

own hours while still maintaining the discipline necessary to be a successful

farmer-one of the most successful in Moscow.

Upon reaching the closest branch of the bank in which I kept my money in a

account for saving and earning interest, Michael and I found ourselves-upon

entering the building-greeted by the sight of long rather slow moving lines-a

sight not uncommon for a Monday when all business owners-and self-employed

individuals like myself-visited the bank to deposit money and perform other

financial transactions. Spotting the empty line in front of the automatic

teller machine in the corner of the room, and not feeling the need to stand in

line simply to deposit an envelope full of money, I pulled on the shoulder strap

of my handbag to enable myself to pull the bag around in front of me.

"The lines are long...Will take forever." I commented to Michael, who replied

with a nod of agreement as I reached into my handbag to retrieve my wallet from

which I retrieved a little plastic card with my name, and a row of numbers

printed on the bottom as well as the insignia of the bank printed on it. "Money

machine will be faster." I continued as Michael and I crossed over to the

automatic teller machine, and I inserted the plastic card and money envelope

into the appropriate slots, and performed the desired deposit and withdrawal

transactions while Michael stood to one side, at a close but respectful

distance.

"Need to withdraw money, Michael?" I asked as I pressed the appropriate buttons