Then Kolya called.
Nina went down. Music was ringing in her head; she was feeling relaxed and spirited at the same time. The clothes from the best fashion houses no longer hindered her.
The huge Samsonov’s car was standing by the entrance. Kolya was out, wiping the windshield. Both the car and the driver were being scrutinized rapturously by three local pensioner women who were sitting on a bench close by. When they realized that the car had come for Nina, their curiosity rose to dangerous levels, fraught with clinical consequences. Undoubtedly – if the blood pressure did not kill them – that event was going to be the main subject of their gossip for a week ahead.
“Good evening,” Nina said politely to her neighbors and waved to the driver: “Hello, Kolya.”
She was aware that she looked dazzling, and for the first time in her life she was not afraid to be so. She deserved it.
At the sight of Nina, Kolya’s hand on the windshield froze. The simple-minded guy let out: “Wow!”
“What?”
“You’re high class,” Kolya said with conviction. “Totally super.”
Nina gave him a worldly smile and took the front seat. She was followed by three pairs of pensioner eyes whose owners had stopped breathing with excitement.
Kolya started the car and set out for the restaurant. “At this time of day, all the avenues are jam-full, so we’ll have to do some dodging about,” he warned.
And they did. Before that, Nina had had no idea how many side streets and back alleys this city had which could be used to make a route from point A to point B. Kolya knew them all. The director’s car was diving under arcs, sallying deep into dark yards, and at times seemed to circle around, but the bottom line was that it moved rather rapidly towards its goal. Kolya seemed to have no part in it – the heavy automobile found its way on its own, miraculously making turns and squeezing through where, it seemed, a compact Zhiguli would not have made it.
“Kolya, Pavel Mikhailovich told me that you were going to become a father. Is that true?” inquired Nina.
“Yeah,” Kolya smiled broadly. “It’s going to be a guy. Nastena is six months into it already.”
“Are you going to leave Pavel Mikhailovich?”
“Yeah…” The guy stopped smiling. “Nastena wants me to. She says she fears for me. I say, what is there to fear? This is armor, see?” Kolya knocked on the door. “What can happen to me here?”
In fact, the automobile was very heavy; Nina felt that it did not move in the same way as ordinary cars did.
“Do you mean to say that in the event of a car accident – God forbid, of course! – you are not going to be hurt?”
Kolya gave her a strange look.
“Eh? … Yeah, car accidents are no problem to us here.”
“What are you going to do?” inquired Nina.
Kolya’s face lit up.
“You see, I have this idea. Some guys that I know and I want to set up a motor club. I used to be a racing driver before the army, you know… So, we plan to build a motordrome for amateurs.”
“Motordrome?”
“Yeah. It’s where you can take some lessons for a driving test, or do some real racing if you’re up to it. True, we don’t have anything yet, but Pavel Mikhailovich promised to help.”
“It’s a great idea. Sign me up,” said Nina. “I’ve long been meaning to get a driving license.”
“Deal!” Kolya exclaimed. “Why don’t you try racing, too? I’ll teach you.”
“Deal!” responded Nina.
She felt that she was up to anything.
Chapter 5
Despite all of Kolya’s skill, they were a little late for the party. On entering the restaurant, Nina stood still, baffled. She had never before been to a corporate function of such scale. The huge room was crammed with round tables. The stage, decorated with lots of balloons and tinsel, was ablaze with lights while the rest of the restaurant was immersed in semi-darkness. On the stage, someone was making a speech about the bright way that Gradbank was following led by its wise director, Pavel Mikhailovich Samsonov. Clearly, it was neither the first nor the last time that night that somebody spoke of Gradbank’s bright way and the director’s wise leadership. The audience was barely listening – the guests at the tables were busy pouring out champagne, laughing, and going over to other tables to clink glasses with people they knew.
Nina hardly recognized anyone – mostly, those gathered were not the bank’s employees, but shareholders, partners, and other important persons. Mostly, they were mature men with bellies. They were wearing expensive suits, but some already had the top buttons of their shirts undone and their ties gone awry. Among the men, occasional dressed-up women of various calibers could be observed. “Thank God, I’m not the only dressy one here,” thought Nina.
She looked around, not knowing where to squeeze in. She would like to join Klara Fedorovna, but the woman was nowhere to be seen. Then Nina spotted in the back of the restaurant some familiar faces – those of Ariadna Petrovna and a few of her staff. The analysts occupied a separate table.
Stepping awkwardly on her high heels, Nina hurried to them.
“May I? …”
Her colleagues stared at her in blissful amazement. Their former co-worker who had miraculously ascended to heaven, showed herself to them at last in her true form – that of a goddess.
“Hi, Shuvalova,” said Ariadna Petrovna. “Let me see…“ She took from Nina’s hand the invitation card that Kolya had provided her with.
“You belong at the director’s table, not here,” said Ariadna Petrovna.
Nina stared at the card.
“Here, look,” said the woman. “Do you see this stamp here – the image of a lion? That’s Director’s emblem. Didn’t you know that? How come you never know nothing, Shuvalova?”
Nina was about to step away, but her chief stopped her: “Hold on. Come here. Closer. Turn around.”
The woman picked a knife from the table, made a quick movement, and slipped into Nina’s hand a small cardboard rectangle. A price tag.
Fortunately, the room was poorly lit, and nobody could see Nina blush. “Damn price tag! Where did it spring from?” Nina was sure that she had cut them all off.
“Thank you, Ariadna Petrovna…”
“Come on, move it, don’t keep your betters waiting.”
“Where’s the director’s table?” Nina asked the woman who clearly knew everything.
“Look around,” said Ariadna Petrovna.
Nina did. Samsonov was striding across the room towards her. There were about two hundred people in the restaurant, and that meant that about two hundred pairs of eyes watched Gradbank’s general director Pavel Mikhailovich Samsonov traverse the hall paying no attention to those sitting and barely clearing the tables, to take the arm of a splendidly dressed young woman who almost no one recognized to be the analytic department worker Nina Shuvalova.
Pavel Mikhailovich examined Nina openly from head to foot.
“Damn!” he uttered.
“What?” Nina asked innocently.
“You’re high class!”
Nina barely suppressed a giggle on hearing the general director express himself in the same words as his driver.
“I know, Pavel Mikhailovich. I am super,” she replied saucily, looking him straight in the eye.
He grabbed her arm and dragged her to the director’s table which was placed beside the scene. Nina minced along awkwardly on her high Italian heels, but then she accommodated more or less to his stride, making two quick steps for each one of his.
What Nina could not know was the impression that the two of them made on the crowd. Despite the poor lighting, all the guests devoured Samsonov and Nina with their eyes, and to many of them the same thought occurred, “Here’s one great couple.” All those present knew Marina, and of course, Nina could not rival her in sheer beauty, but whenever Marina was by Samsonov’s side, she was still on her own – a perfection that did not need any supplements – while Samsonov and Nina looked ideally together.