Page 24

24

Paul met Rick Jacobson for an after-work drink at a bar off Times Square. It was crowded, and there was no room at the bar, so they were forced to sit next to a table of rowdy guys in their early twenties. Paul and Rick hadn’t seen each other in a few months. The longer Paul went out with Tatyana, the more time they spent together, the less he saw his old friends.

“Been a long time,” Rick said.

“I know. Sorry about that. Been crazy at work.”

“I thought you were pissed off at us because of Mary Louise.”

“What do you mean?”

“The way she was interrogating Tatyana at that dinner at Sansovino.”

“She might have come on a little strong.”

“Ya think? I was waiting for her to take out the rack or the thumb screws or the iron maiden.”

“No, I know she was sort of vetting Tatyana. It was a little . . . aggressive , maybe.”

“We like Tatyana,” Rick said. “We both do. A lot. Honestly, she’s terrific.”

“Good,” Paul said, “because I’m going to marry her.”

Rick’s face lit up. “If we were at a tonier place, I’d order champagne. If we’re lucky they might have André Cold Duck here.” He got up, gave Paul a bear hug. “Congratulations. I’m so happy for you.” When they sat back down, Rick said, “I kind of thought you were allergic to marriage. You’ve avoided it for a long time.”

“Not that long. But Tatyana’s much more interesting than other women I’ve been with.”

“How’s the sex?”

He smiled. He wasn’t going to elaborate. Even with a best friend.

“That’s great, because right now it’s as good as it’s gonna get.”

Paul was silent for a long time. The guys at the table next to them roared, laughing over some joke one of them had told. Then Paul said, “I’m going to tell you something about her that’s kind of . . . well, unusual.”

“She’s divorced.”

Paul shook his head. “Her last name,” he began. “She uses her mother’s last name. Her real name is ‘Galkin.’ ‘Tatyana Galkin.’”

“Okay . . .” Rick didn’t immediately get it, seemed to be waiting for the big reveal.

“You might have heard of Arkady Galkin.”

Rick shrugged.

“He’s a Russian oligarch. A mega-billionaire.” Paul had done his googling. The man had houses around the world. His yacht was immense.

Rick’s eyes widened. “Jesus.”

“So when Mary Louise thought Tatyana was dating me for my money . . .”

Rick shook his head, snorted a laugh. “My God, man!”

Paul was expecting Rick to say something crass about the money he was marrying into. But instead, he said, “Have you met him?”

“Just once.”

“What’s he like?”

“I like him,” Paul said. “He seems to be what Bernie Kovan would call a mensch. A good guy.”

“So how does he feel about you marrying his daughter?”

“We haven’t told him yet. Or her family. She’s invited me to go to a family dinner Sunday night. That’s where we’re going to let everyone know.”

“I wonder how he’ll take it. I mean, you’re well paid for your age, but you’re not rich. By his standards, you’re probably, like, a hobo. And you’re an American. You’re an outsider. He’s never going to trust you. You know?”

Paul looked at him for a moment. “I don’t know about that. We’ll see.”

“Listen, uh . . . be careful, man. These Russian oligarchs are bad guys.”

“Or he might end up being perfectly nice.”

“Yeah,” Rick said. “Right. Maybe. Just be careful.”