He nodded towards the racket that was sticking out of her bag. “Playing tennis, eh?”
“Yes, I am. And Pavel Mikhailovich wishes to try his hand,” Nina explained.
“Indeed?”
The face of the security chief showed polite interest, but it seemed to Nina that none of that was news to him. “Can it be that he has my room bugged?” thought Nina. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“I used to play a bit, too,” Sinitsin said with a chuckle. “Maybe, you’ll let me join in sometime, too?”
“We will. But not today,” Samsonov said, giving him back the signed papers. “As far as I know, you’ve got a lot on your plate, Sinitsin.”
It was Samsonov’s habit to treat all his male subordinates with army-style familiarity and curtness, while they were invariably respectful – and many of them quite obsequious – towards him. Nina considered this disparity as another proof of bad manners on the part of the director. On the other hand, Samsonov was quite civil to all the female employees except for Klara Fedorovna and Marina.
The elevator reached the basement floor. Sinitsin got out of the cabin along with them and accompanied them to the car. As they walked, he went on speaking to Samsonov in a low voice, never forgetting to smile at Nina. Nina could not hear almost anything – she only caught the word ‘Atlas’. Samsonov listened, striding vigorously with his head down, and finally cut the other man short brusquely, “All right, we’ll talk about that tomorrow.”
The director’s car was waiting for them with the engine already running. Samsonov took the front seat, and Nina got into the back. Sinitsin held the door politely open for her.
The driver stepped on the gas, and the car glided, purring softly, onto the ramp leading up to the garage exit gate. In the rear window, Nina caught a glimpse of Sinitsin. The security chief was following the car with his eyes, not smiling any more.
“Well, coach, it’s your call. Where are we heading?”
The car was huge. Samsonov was way off in front, so Nina could only see the back of his head and took some time to realize that he was speaking to her.
Samsonov turned his head round so that the white collar of his shirt cut into his thick neck.
“Nina, are you there?”
Nina started. It was the first time since she had come to work on the twelfth floor that the director had called her by her first name. She was sure that Samsonov had forgotten it, but apparently he really had a good memory.
She gave him the address.
“And one more thing – you’re going to need some sports clothes. And a pair of tennis shoes, too.”
“That’s right,” agreed Samsonov. “And what about the racket?”
“You can hire one in the club,” explained Nina.
Samsonov turned to the driver, “Kolya, make a stop at a sports store.”
They were driving through the city. It was late autumn. The day was cold but clear, and the rays of the setting sun were playing in pools of cold water and on the rain-sprinkled car bonnets.
“Damn, look at all this traffic! How’s one supposed to drive?” muttered Samsonov. “Kolya, I don’t know how you can even manage this.”
“It’s all right,” replied Kolya.
Kolya was a young guy with stick-out ears and tousled hair. He was a master of driving – if Nina had not seen, through the stained windows of the car, the street lights glide by, she could have thought that she was not in the director’s car, but at home, sitting in her favorite chair.
The car pulled over by the glittering show window of a sports store.
“Here, take this.“ Samsonov handed a plastic card to Kolya. “Buy me some tennis stuff. Take your own pick. I have size… Do you remember what size I have?”
“It’s fifty-six,” replied Kolya.
“Yeah, right. And it’s forty-four for shoes.”
Kolya did not seem at all surprised by the commission – obviously, he had run errands like that before.
“I hate jostling around in stores,” Samsonov remarked, confirming Nina’s guess.
Nina smiled to herself. “Men! No woman will entrust someone else with buying her clothes – a woman will do the shopping herself, fussing about in the fitting room for at least half an hour. And this one doesn’t seem to care what he pulls on.”
As Kolya was closing the door, another idea occurred to Samsonov. “Hey, buy me a racket, too. Why hire?”
“What kind of racket do you want, Pavel Mikhailovich?”
“Aren’t they all the same?”
Nina had had no intention to intervene, but she could not help it.
“Nikolai, you’d better buy a racket for beginners,” she remarked from the back of the car.
Kolya nodded, but Samsonov stopped him.
“As you were, soldier! Who do you listen to? You listen to me. Get a regular racket for grown-up guys.” He turned to Nina, laughing, “Don’t you order my Kolya around. I am director here yet.”
“Sorry,” Nina muttered, and added to herself, “Thick, conceited stud!” Over the period of their acquaintance, she had pronounced that verdict in her mind a hundred times.
Kolya grinned, slammed the door shut and left.
“A good kid,” said Samsonov. “A terrific driver and a prompt fellow, too. And most important, he is faithful.”
He said that with an emphasis, putting some meaning of his own into the words. But Nina took it her own way. “Look who’s talking of faithfulness!” she said in her mind. “Exploiter, puppeteer, what have you done to deserve faithfulness?”
“I’m afraid, I’ll lose him soon, though,” remarked Samsonov.
“Why so?” responded Nina from the back seat.
“Got married.”
“Who got married?”
“Not me – him.” Samsonov grinned. “They’re expecting a baby, too. His wife wants him to find another job. She agrees to a smaller pay provided the work is not dangerous… That’s sensible of her, though.”
“Does he have dangerous work?” asked Nina.
Samsonov turned his head to her so that his collar cut into his neck like a knife.
“I have dangerous work, and so he does, to keep me company.”
“What’s the danger?” inquired Nina.
Samsonov looked at her searchingly and, seeing that she was genuinely puzzled, waved the question away, “It’s nothing, really. Forget it.”
He kept silent for a while, and then asked, “Are you married?”
Nina started in her seat.
“No, I am not,” she uttered.
“Why not?”
Samsonov asked one unceremonious question after another as if trying to complete the image of a boorish boss that Nina created in her mind.
“I was married once. Divorced. No children,” she reported in an even tone, eager to be through with the job of satisfying the director’s idle curiosity.
“Really? I see,” Samsonov said and dropped the matter.
“What is it you see, you blockhead? You don’t see a thing,” Nina responded in her mind. She would have mentally pursued the topic further if it had not been for Kolya who came back from the store.
Kolya carried a large plastic bag from which the handle of a racket was protruding.
“Hey, give it to me.” Samsonov took out the racket and started feeling and palming it.
He showed the racket to Nina: “What do you think?”
“It’s a good racket,” said Nina. “An expensive one.”
Samsonov’s face was radiant – the picture of a boy that had received a new toy. He could not wait to use the racket, and he would actually have started swinging it right away if there had been a bit more space in the car.
“I say, physical exercise is an important thing. It’s for real, I mean it,” Samsonov reflected aloud. “I’m thinking of installing some fitness equipment in our basement. We don’t have anywhere to squeeze in a swimming-pool or a tennis court, but we’ll find room for a dozen treadmills and exercise bikes. The employees could practice after work or even during their lunch break.”