“Somebody over there’s waving at you,” Rácz tells him. “Go for her and have something nice.” The stoker checks his watch. “Welcome in the New Year,” he suggests. He invited her only for Urban’s sake.
Rácz returns to the lounge. He pours Lenka and himself champagne. “Urban’s a nice lad,” he says. He smiles. “We’ve known each other quite some time. He’s been a bit on edge lately. It’s his work. Don’t you know what he does?” The stoker is surprised. “How shall I put it?”
Lenka listens with growing horror and disgust.
“It would disgust me, too,” Rácz adds finally. “You need to have a strong stomach for that.” Rácz is a respectable businessman. Sometimes he bends the law, true, but only because the laws are still too strict. As soon as things change, Rácz will have no reason to get round the law. Where would we be if everyone observed idiotic laws and regulations? We’d still be climbing trees. Rácz looks at his watch: a few minutes to twelve. He looks at Lenka. “Lenka,” he says. “May I call you Lenka?”
Lenka smiles. “Yes.”
“Do you trust me?” Rácz asks.
“I don’t understand,” Lenka admits.
Rácz is embarrassed. It’ll soon be midnight, New Year. Rácz would like to invite Lenka to see the fireworks high up, where the view is great, from the window of his suite. It’s right on the top floor. He’d like to know if she’d come up with him, or does she think he’s just like Video Urban?
Lenka shakes her head. No, she knows Rácz is different. She’d like to see the fireworks.
“Lift for the boss!” shouts the receptionist, when he sees the stoker and Lenka leave the restaurant and walk back towards the lifts. Rácz is carrying a bottle of chilled sparkling wine and two tall glasses. They get into the lift. They are quiet on the way up. Rácz assesses Lenka with his steely eyes.
“Well, this is where I live,” says Rácz, opening the door to his suite and turning on the light. Lenka looks around the living room. Rácz draws the curtain. “I think we ought to turn the light off,” he notes. “Do you mind, Lenka?”
Lenka says she doesn’t. Soon it’s midnight. Through the walls of the hotel come the thunderous roar of champagne corks popping and shouts from the restaurant and bar. Rácz with a practised move uncorks the bottle and fills both glasses with white champagne foam. They clink glasses. Rácz turns the light off. Across the river the fireworks start to explode. Bright points of light soar up into the black sky, are reflected on the surface of the river, and then go out.
“It’s so beautiful,” says Lenka.
“Do you like it?” asks Rácz.
“Yes,” says Lenka.
“So this is where you live?” Lenka asks, when the fireworks end and the stoker turns on the light.
“Yes,” says Rácz. “More champagne?” he asks.
“Yes, please,” says Lenka, “but just a little.”
Rácz thinks for a while whether to say it or not, but can’t resist. “One day all this hotel will belong to me,” he declares firmly, but a little shyly.
“Really?” Lenka asks.
“Yes,” says Rácz. Lenka will soon see. Rácz will buy it — everything, lock, stock, and barrel!
“But a hotel like this costs a lot of money,” remarks Lenka, feeling the champagne going to her head.
“Money’s no problem,” Rácz states. Rácz has plenty of money. He’s no third-rate hustler like Video Urban.
“Shouldn’t we go downstairs?” asks Lenka.
“Of course!” Rácz says, and collects himself. He stops fussing around looking for his wallet.
“I’d like to go home now,” Lenka admits in the lobby. From the open doors of the restaurant comes a monotonous mix of music, conversation, yelling, and clinking of glasses.
“So soon?” asks the stoker. “We haven’t even managed to have a good talk. I never showed you how everyone here does what I tell them.” Rácz is clearly disappointed.
Lenka smiles wearily. “Thank you for a very pleasant evening,” she says. “And thanks for the fireworks.”
Rácz waves his arm. “It’s nothing, my pleasure entirely. I’ll call you a taxi,” he offers.
Lenka demurs: no, it is not too far for her to walk home. She thanks him again.
Rácz won’t take no for an answer. The streets are full of strange people. The taxi will take her right to where she lives, Rácz promises. There’ll be no danger. Rácz orders the liveried porter, “A taxi for the lady! Right away!”
The stoker sees Lenka to the cloakroom and helps her with her coat. They both leave the hotel. The night is freezing cold. The taxi pulls up noiselessly and waits.
“Will we see each other again?” asks Rácz.
Lenka smiles. “I don’t know.”
“I’d be glad to see you,” says Rácz. He loses heart.
Lenka takes a piece of paper and a Chinese fountain pen from her handbag. She writes a few digits. “This is my phone number,” she tells him. “Call me some time. Maybe I’ll have some free time.” She gives him the piece of paper.
“Yes,” says Rácz. He will certainly phone. He folds the paper several times and reverently puts it in his breast pocket.
Lenka suddenly realises that Rácz has been standing out there wearing only a light dinner jacket. “You’ll catch cold,” she says. “You ought to go inside.”
“What? A cold?” The stoker laughs. He has experienced far colder weather. On military manœuvres. In Boletice and Jince. Everyone was going mad, but Rácz was laughing. Rácz takes off his dinner jacket and unbuttons his shirt before Lenka can object. He shouts, “Look! Rácz can take it; he’s a man! Cold doesn’t bother Rácz! When he is out with a girl like Lenka, he doesn’t even care if it is a hundred below! Rácz is all on fire anyway!”
Lenka bursts out laughing. “You’re mad,” she tells him, “but nice!” She lightly touches his shoulder and gets into the taxi. “And put your d.j. back on,” she tells the stoker.
Rácz shouts at the taxi driver: “I’m paying. When you’ve taken the young lady home, come back and find me. You know who I am, right?”
The taxi driver nods. “Sure, boss! Who doesn’t know you?”
Rácz murmurs with satisfaction. He steps back from the car window and waves. The taxi moves off.
Rácz adjusts his bow tie and puts the dinner jacket on. “I’ll get you, my little dove,” he tells himself, as he watches the taxi leave. By God he will! He’ll get her and he’ll teach her to dance to his tune.
When the stoker gets back to the restaurant, Urban blocks his way. Urban’s face is red from drink.
“What is it?” Rácz asks.
“Have you sent her home?” asks Urban.
“Yeah, she went home to sleep,” Rácz confirms.
“Did she go up to your room?” asks Urban.
“And what if she did?” Rácz wonders.
“Did you do anything to her?” Urban pulls himself to his full height.
Rácz smiles and pushes Urban out of his way.
“Get a grip on yourself, Rácz,” says Urban. “Don’t harm her! She’s not one of the Ambassador scrubbers. She’s not the right girl for you.”
The stoker turns away.
And why should Rácz be restricted to the whores in the hotel? Who said that Rácz isn’t allowed to fall in love with a decent girl? Who decided that Rácz has no right to love? Who decided that Rácz could only have gypsies and hookers? Urban can get off his back. Doesn’t Urban realise that he means nothing to Lenka? She didn’t even say good-bye to him. Isn’t that proof enough for Urban? Rácz didn’t even touch her. They went up only to see the fireworks. It was romantic. She gave him her telephone number, yes, him, Rácz! And why not? And anyway: Urban should stop behaving like a relative of hers. He’s not. Urban is Rácz’s guest. He should be having fun; he should be dancing. He can eat and drink his fill. He can screw Wanda: she’s eager for it. But he’d better keep the fuck out of Rácz’s business, or he’ll be sorry. This isn’t a threat, it’s a friendly warning.