Page 43

43

Paul arrived home in a sour mood. He’d wasted an entire day because of his future father-in-law. An entire fucking day. He paused with his key in the lock, wanting to respect the boundaries between home life and work life on the one hand but, on the other, wishing very much he could just vent to his girlfriend about his asshole boss.

Tatyana lit up as he came through the door. She ran over and hugged him. “I have some news,” she said with a big smile. Then, sensing his mood, her smile fell away. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, scowling. “You don’t want to know.”

“I do, Pasha. Tell me.”

He took a breath. “Okay—truthfully? My day sucked.”

“Oh, no. Why? What happened?”

“Well . . . what happened is that your father flew me all the way out to Chicago and back just so he could talk to me in private for five minutes. I feel like he was making a point. Humiliating me, putting me in my place.”

“What happened, specifically?”

“He wanted me to buy a stock, but before executing it, I did some research and—”

“He told you to make a buy, and you disregarded his instruction?”

“‘Disregarded’? I was doing my job , Tatyana. He could have saved me the entire day by just calling me. He could have taken me aside at dinner on Sunday night . . .”

“Well, if you’re doing your job and your boss tells you to get on a flight out of Teterboro, then you do it, right?”

Paul paused for a few seconds, looked at her. “He told you about this already, didn’t he?”

Tatyana flushed. “He might have mentioned . . .”

“He shouldn’t be telling you about what goes on at work.”

“I mean . . . why not? We’re family—why does that bother you?”

“Because he’s . . . lobbying you. He’s using you to get to me.”

“No, he’s not. He told me because he was . . . upset.”

Paul could see an ugly quarrel lurking nearby. They’d never really had a bad fight, and he didn’t want to start one. So he just shook his head, putting up mental guardrails to ward off an argument.

“Pasha,” she said more quietly now, “Papa says you make fun of him. Dunlop’s disease, something like that?”

So much for the guardrails. “It was a stupid joke, and I said it in the break room. And do you know how he knows? He must have the place bugged.”

“Or maybe someone told him or Zhenya.”

“Zhenya?”

“Eugene Frost. You can’t make fun of my father. I mean, I can, and I do, but you can’t. You really can’t. You’re not just his employee, you’re his future son-in-law.”

“True,” Paul conceded. “But I can be honest with you, can’t I? Flying me out to Chicago and back for a five-minute conversation is the act of a . . . a tyrant. A despot. A Mussolini.”

“My father is a warrior when he needs to be. He’s a self-made man. He’s had to be tough. But he’d do anything for those he loves.”

“Self-made . . . I guess so.”

Tatyana pulled up short. “What does that mean?”

Paul saw her pupils dilate, anger color her cheeks. He immediately regretted saying it. “Never mind,” he said. “Sorry I said anything.”

“When he was your age, he was already a billionaire.” She stopped. “I feel like you’re trying to estrange me from my own father because your father is such a disappointment to you. I don’t mean to lay you out on the couch, Pasha, but that’s how I feel. That’s what it seems like. Don’t make me choose between defending you and defending Papa. Don’t pit me against my father.”

Paul had seen his parents fight so many times, recognized the rhythm, the jousts, the moves and countermoves, the way an argument could quickly spiral out of control. He didn’t want to be that way with Tatyana—they weren’t even married yet.

So he shrugged. “Okay, dushen’kaya . Maybe so. I’ll try to be more careful. And just to be clear, I’m grateful for your father—today notwithstanding!” He forced a smile. “Oh, and did I mention? He wants me to go to Moscow with him. On Monday.”

“So soon!” She smiled. “He really must think you’re hot shit.”

“Who knows what he thinks.”

“Will you give me a kiss?” Tatyana said.

Paul hesitated a few seconds. “Of course,” he said, and he leaned over and kissed her.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” she said.

“Neither do I.”

“Would you like a glass of wine? I told you I have some good news.”

“Sure,” he said.

By the time she returned with two glasses—something red for him, a rosé for herself—and handed his to him, he was already beginning to calm down. “An appointment at City Hall suddenly opened up, and I grabbed it.”

He was caught off guard. “When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“ Tomorrow? Wow, that’s . . .” Soon! he almost said. Sudden!

“Fate,” she said. “Right?”

They agreed not to tell anyone what they were doing, particularly not Arkady or Polina. They didn’t want objections or interference. They’d tell them later, after it was done. They needed a witness, so of course he called Rick.

*

Paul wasn’t sure exactly what had happened on Galkin’s private plane, how things were left. Had he succeeded in convincing Galkin that they shouldn’t buy shares of StratforTech? Did Galkin now get the point that he was flirting with insider trading, which was illegal, and that he’d probably get caught? Had he done this before? If so, how was the firm still in business?

So when he got into work the next day and looked at the morning report, which told the senior people what had happened to the fund overnight, he was shocked to see that the firm was now the owner of five hundred thousand shares of StratforTech. Because he sure as hell hadn’t bought them.

The first thing he did was to call his broker at Goldman Sachs, Carla Wachtell.

“So, five hundred thousand shares of StratforTech? What the hell?”

A long pause. Carla said, “What’s the problem, Paul?”

“Who authorized that purchase?”

Carla didn’t hesitate. “Gene Frost. Something wrong?”

“Did he buy call options on StratforTech, too?”

“Uh, ten million bucks’ worth, yeah.”

Don’t fight it , Paul told himself. It’s not worth it . There would be legal consequences, but as long as his name wasn’t attached to the purchase, he would probably be okay.

Probably.

*

He and Tatyana woke up early the next day and made love. They talked about the ceremony at one p.m. and how they’d get there, what they’d wear.

Paul got to work early and spent a few minutes looking at real estate websites, in search of a bigger apartment. Tatyana was willing to consider Brooklyn but preferred Manhattan and definitely didn’t want to live in New Jersey. She wanted to be near other artists.

He was astonished at the price of real estate in the city. Even for someone like him, who worked on Wall Street, nice apartments were prohibitively costly. Even with his salary at Galkin’s firm doubled.

It was funny: left unspoken between him and Tatyana was the plain fact that her father had offered to buy them a place, whatever its cost. But Tatyana didn’t want a place that advertised her wealth, and Paul wanted a place that he could afford on his own. He wanted them to live within their means—not her father’s means.

He called Tatyana. “I found a place I think you’ll like,” he said. “But we have to look at it quickly.”

“Not today!” she said.

“No, not today. Of course not. But soon.”

*

Paul snuck out of the office—“Taking a long lunch,” he said breezily to Margo Whitworth—wearing his best blue Armani suit, a white shirt, and a patterned gold Armani tie that sort of sparkled in the light. He’d stopped at a florist to pick up the bouquet of white peonies he’d ordered, Tatyana’s favorite, adorned with a spray of white lily of the valley. Tatyana wore a white halter-neck jumpsuit with a fitted waist and wide, straight legs, along with stiletto heels and diamond earrings. He’d never seen her so dressed up.

He was nervous, of course, but more than that, he felt like he was observing the world from outside his body. He was aware of everything: the funky smell of the taxi, the sunlight bouncing off the glass of the skyscrapers they passed, Tatyana’s perfume, the brass letters on the side of the building that announced OFFICE OF THE CITY CLERK , CITY OF NEW YORK .

They waited a little less than half an hour, watching the other brides and grooms, grooms and grooms, and brides and brides. There were Asian and Blacks and Latinos. Some were cuddling, some bickering. You could tell by looking who were the intended and who were the guests. There was a gift shop that sold emergency bow ties. The bathrooms were big and clean and had lots of mirrors. Paul overheard someone saying there were more marriages performed here than in Vegas. Rick arrived and gave Paul a hug, Tatyana a kiss.

When their names were called, they clasped hands and entered the wedding chapel, which was really just a room with lavender walls and a green vinyl bench and fluorescent lighting. Their officiant was a kindly middle-aged judge with a white beard who reminded Paul vaguely of Santa Claus. He wondered if the guy did freelance gigs during the holiday season. They all signed the marriage certificate. Rick congratulated them.

Tatyana glanced at Paul with mock terror, and he did the same, then they kissed, and he put his arm around her waist. He gave Rick a scared look, too, and then smiled to make clear he was kidding. “Thanks for coming,” Paul said. He felt, on some deep level he didn’t understand, that he was saying goodbye to his friend, that he was leaving Rick behind and entering a new world.

*

As they were coming out of the Office of the City Clerk, he heard a familiar voice speaking loudly in Russian: Arkady and Polina came rushing up to them. Galkin held a huge bouquet of pastel peonies and ranunculus in both his hands. How the two knew they were getting married at City Hall mystified Paul. But Arkady seemed to have his own sources of information. Polina kissed Tatyana on both cheeks, while Arkady handed the flowers to his daughter.

Polina said to Tatyana, eyeing her attire, “Wonderful! I’d never be able to pull off that outfit.”

“Why, thank you, sestrichka, ” Tatyana replied. She gave Paul a secret smile.

Polina gave Paul a surprisingly intimate hug, both her arms around his waist, pulling him in tight for a long time. Then she put both hands on his shoulders. “I’m so happy for you,” she said. “Tatyana was lucky to catch you.”

Then Arkady moved in, offered Paul both hands and drew him in for a hug.

“Paul,” he said, “just promise you take care of my little girl.”

“You can count on it,” Paul said.

Arkady smiled and spoke quietly, out of Tatyana’s earshot. “If you ever leave her or cheat on her, I will have you killed. The prenup will be least of your concerns.” Then he laughed, and then Paul pretended to laugh, but somehow he didn’t find it very funny.