The Insider (5 page)

“The last part is certainly familiar. But it looks like you landed on your feet.”

“Yes, I landed on my feet,” she said, appreciating the American expression. “No place else to land.”

“You'd never go back to Russia?”

“It is my home, but no, I think I will never go back.”

“So how did you wind up working at a securities firm?”

“Things were hard for me after CPJ went out of business. My stock options were worthless. Too many people looking for work in the city. Very scary. I was afraid I was going to get evicted from my apartment, not have money for groceries. I called everyone I knew from Russia who was over here. Finally, I found out that my second cousin Irina was living in Brighton Beach. Irina knew someone in San Francisco who knew this guy Yuri. Yuri helped me get the receptionist job at Equilon. Being a receptionist is a step down from my last job, but it is only temporary.”

Will sipped his drink, searching for something encouraging to say about her job search that didn't sound patronizing.

“So now you know everything about me and I know nothing about you,” Katya said. “What about you? What do you do?”

“I'm an attorney,” Will said, somewhat reluctantly. Will knew from experience that things could take a turn for the worse at this point.

“I knew it,” she said, pleased with herself.

“It was the suit, right?”

“No, it was the way you talk,” she said. “Like someone who is used to having people pay attention. If I were on jury, you'd get my vote.”

“Thanks, but I'm not that kind of attorney. I don't go to court. I'm a corporate lawyer. I negotiate deals.”

“So how long have you been a lawyer?”

“Almost seven years. As a matter of fact, I just made partner today.”

“Today? That is amazing, Will! Congratulations!” Will had been congratulated many times that day, but this was the one that made him feel the best because there was no qualifier, no personal history to take into account.

“Thanks. So, I hope you don't mind me asking, but what are you doing hitting the clubs alone?” Will surprised himself with his liquored directness. “Don't you have a boyfriend?”

She noted his forwardness with an arched eyebrow. “No, not really. There was a guy back in Moscow, but that ended when I came here. So what about you?”

“I have a few friends I can call up for dinner or a movie, but nothing to get excited about.”

“Well, if you can't get excited, there is no point, right?” Katya tried to be deadpan, but she couldn't suppress a crooked little smile. At that moment, Will knew how the evening had to end.

Will looked around the room at the couples wrestling on the adjoining couches. “Would you like to get out of here?”

Katya lifted herself out of the couch. “I must get home. Securities dealers start early. Markets open at six thirty and I have to be in by eight thirty.”

“Where do you live?”

“Not far from here. I've got an apartment off Polk Street on Russian Hill. And no Russian Hill jokes, please.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“It's not too far. I can catch a cab outside.”

“I'm headed that way. How about if we share a cab? I can see you to your door.”

“That is very sweet of you. Sure.” Will felt that he and Katya were like chess players, both looking several moves ahead, barely concentrating on the current maneuvers.

It was eleven thirty and the club was shifting into high gear as Will and Katya made their way through the bar, heading for the door. The suit-and-tie crowd from the financial district was now gone, replaced by resplendently funky club kids.

The city seemed unnaturally quiet when they emerged onto Fillmore Street from the noisy club. Accustomed to shouting to be heard, Will felt tentative now, not wanting to say the wrong thing.

They walked quickly down Fillmore to California Street and caught a cab. During the short taxi ride, they filled the pauses with the smallest of talk, comparing the weather in the Bay Area and Ukraine. As they drew closer to Russian Hill, the silences grew longer.

Finally, the cab stopped in front of a three-story Victorian on Pacific Street. It was simultaneously charming and a bit run-down, like so many San Francisco apartment buildings where the landlord knows that he has an inexhaustible supply of young tenants.

Katya twirled and pointed to the building like a game show hostess revealing a prize. “What do you think?”

“Very nice.”

Katya gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Can I come up?” he asked.

She paused. “Not tonight. Too soon. But I hope you'll give me a call. Equilon Securities. It's in the book. You were very sweet to see me home.”

They said good night, and he watched her enter the building. He kept the cabbie waiting for a moment as she made her way to her apartment, and he watched the light come on in a second-floor window.

Then the curtains opened to reveal Katya, who saw him standing on the lawn looking up at her. It was hard to tell because she was in silhouette, but he sensed that she was smiling.

After a moment, she pushed the window open and leaned out, tossing her key chain at his feet. Marveling at his good fortune, he dispatched the cabdriver and picked up the keys.

He climbed the stairs and the door opened before he could knock.

“I just want you to know that I am breaking rules for you,” she said.

The shortcomings of Katya's small studio apartment were gamely overcome by a coat of yellow paint and her decorating efforts. Glancing around at the white, pressed-wood chairs and other Ikea-style furnishings, Will noted that he'd probably spent thousands of dollars more in furnishing his condo in the marina, with results that resembled a high-tech dorm room. Katya's apartment, and the way she had made something warm and homey out of what was essentially a dump, told him more about her than any single thing that she had said to him that night.

Will studied the Matisse and Moscow Ballet posters on the walls as Katya hurried about picking up a bra and a few other stray items of clothing and tossing them in a closet.

“Please, sit . . . sit,” she said as she returned to him. “Can I get you a drink?”

Katya stepped past Will to turn the dead bolt. Will moved aside to make room, and they were only a few inches apart, both radiating heat in the cold apartment.

Katya looked up at Will and brushed a lock of black hair out of her eyes. Will bent down and kissed her, inhaling the metallic aftertaste of vodka. Katya pushed Will back against the door of the apartment. They took each other's clothes off like two kids unwrapping Christmas presents. Her fingers felt cold as she unbuckled his belt.

After they struggled out of their clothes, Will was naked in the bed. Katya returned from the bathroom wearing a black bra and panties. She had two tattoos: a tribal design around her ankle and a star on her right shoulder blade. Her navel was pierced by a small silver ring. Will had never slept with a woman with tattoos or piercings before and decided that, for reasons he could not begin to fathom, he liked the idea. Dana, his ex, certainly had not borne tribal markings of any kind. In fact, Will did not know of an attorney with tattoos or piercings. Of course, he had not seen that many attorneys with their clothes off.

Without saying a word, Katya jumped into bed and straddled him. Her dark hair hung straight down around her face like a curtain. Looking up at her, he found himself unable to resist the urge to touch her navel ring, examining the surface tension of skin where the silver band disappeared to complete its circle inside her. As he drew a circle around her navel with his index finger, her stomach muscles trembled.

Okay,
Will thought.
I guess the superpowers have kicked in now.

Will awoke in the morning, hung over, in Katya's bed with her arm draped across his chest. His head felt like a railroad car in which heavy crates had not been properly secured. He reconstructed the events that had led him to the apartment on Pacific Street, trying to decide whether this was something he was going to regret. The sunlight shone with depressing clarity on the tiny apartment, with its thread-bare sofa and flaking paint. But, then again, it also revealed Katya.

She was breathing softly into her pillow next to him. He admired the white-on-white of her skin against the sheets. The downy black hair on her forearm. The curve of her back as it dipped beneath the sheet. There was really no telling who she was or what her reaction to him might be when she awoke. Better to lie very still and let this pleasingly strange moment linger.

He noticed a small stack of CDs next to the bed. Atop the stack was a CD from some Russian rock band with an unpronounceable name. The Slavic fellows on the cover all had shoulder-length hair and some wore headbands, suggesting that somewhere in the Commonwealth of Independent States was a land where eighties hair-metal bands still roamed the earth. Will decided to chalk that one up to cultural differences. Next was a Dave Matthews Band CD (a little pedestrian, but not a deal breaker). At the bottom of the stack was
I'm Your Man
by Leonard Cohen.

“Good morning,” Katya said, rolling over in bed. Her eyes followed his over to the stack of CDs. She ran her hands through her hair. “So . . . what am I supposed to do with you now?” she asked.

“Anything you like.”

“Okay, then, I'd like you to feed my cat.”

“Is that some kind of Russian euphemism?”

Katya's face went blank for a moment as she checked her mental English-Russian dictionary. If her face were a computer screen, it would have displayed a tiny hourglass icon. Then she laughed, apparently deciding that she got the joke, and made an expression of mock disapproval.

Will scanned the small apartment. “You have a cat?”

“He's under the bed. That's where he goes when I have company.”

“What's his name?”

“Ron.”

“Ron? I would have thought Vlad or Ivan or something.”

“He is American cat, so he should have proper American name,” she declared. “Where do you come up with these names? . . . Bill, Frank, Dave, Mike . . . ” she said, mimicking a flat Midwestern accent.

“How about Will?”

“Will is a sweet name. And William . . . I think I like that even better.”

Katya simultaneously rolled onto her back, stretched, and pulled up the covers. She scratched her finger across the comforter several times. Ron the cat, a stocky white shorthair, responded to the summons, bounding heavily onto the bed. Ron studied Will with a mixture of fear and contempt as Katya massaged the furry slope of his forehead with her index finger.

“I saw you looking at my CDs. I hope you are not music snob.”

“Uh, no. Well, I mean . . . okay, yes, some of my friends have said that.”

“So, do you have problem with my musical taste, Will?”

“No, not at all. I noticed you listen to Leonard Cohen.”

“Yes. Very popular in Russia. I think we relate to his . . . pessimism.”

“What time is it?” Will asked.

Katya glanced at the bedside alarm clock. “Seven fifteen. What time do you have to be at work?”

“No later than nine. I have a meeting at the office.”

“If you need to go now, I understand,” Katya said. “I have to get ready for work, too.”

“No, I have some time. I'll need to stop by my place to change into some fresh clothes before I head over to the office.”

To Will's disappointment, Katya put on some clothes, slipping on an oversized Giants T-shirt. She made coffee in the corner of the apartment that served as a kitchen. Will rummaged in the sheets at the foot of the bed, looking for his boxer shorts.

Along the wall next to the bed was a low shelf filled with cookbooks, including several by Alice Waters of Chez Panisse.

“You sure have a lot of cookbooks,” Will observed.

“Like I told you, I plan to open restaurant someday. Maybe I'll call it Katya's. It would be a California twist on Russian cooking. I've already got the menu all worked out; all I need is the money. Every other cuisine has gotten an Alice Waters makeover, why not Russian?”

“Why not?” Will said. “Sounds like a great idea.”

Katya poured orange juice into two glasses. “So, what is your day going to be like? Some big deal, right?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. A merger.”

“Oh, really? What kind of business?”

Will considered his next words carefully. He knew that he really shouldn't say anything, but he wanted to impress Katya and figured there could be no harm if he kept the details sketchy. “Encryption software.”

“I just read something about a company like that. What was the name? Jupiter something. Right?”

There was no mistaking the surprised look that crossed Will's face.

“It
is
Jupiter, isn't it?”

He could have lied to Katya (there were certainly plenty of other encryption software companies), but he knew that his expression had given him away. Blatantly lying would only create awkwardness between them, so he tried evasion.

“I'm afraid I really can't talk about deals that I'm working on.”

“So I was right!” Katya exclaimed. “But we've just met and you don't trust me enough yet to talk about it.”

“It's not about whether I trust you.”

Katya simply stared at him, unconvinced.

Finally, Will gave in. “How did you know about that, anyway?”

“I work at a securities firm, remember?” Katya replied, mildly annoyed. “And there was an article about Jupiter last week in the
Chronicle
. It said they were the biggest encryption company. You know, Will, sometimes I even read the
Wall Street Journal
. What I want to know is, were you surprised that I guessed, or surprised that I knew it?”