Twisted (19 page)

I close my eyes, trying to recall the sensation again and again
…
damn, it was good. I need it. Every minute I hope my phone will start ringing, and that it will be Alexandra, whose soft, seductive voice would say, ‘Victoria, do you remember that client from Şişli? He wants you back.’

Oh my! That would be so great …

The phone does ring. It’s Alexandra. ‘Hey Victoria, how are you? I have a job for you. It’s a new client; he wants you to come to Asia side, so start getting ready now. He will be waiting for you in two hours.’

Crap.

Another month disappears. It whisks by in a haze: I’m constantly drowning in booze and drugs, or in a deep sleep to get over the booze and drugs.

I am sitting in our kitchen, having my ‘morning’ coffee and cigarette at 3 p.m. and checking my inbox, ignoring naked Inna, who hurriedly runs in and out of the bathroom. She is gearing up; there is a client waiting for her in an hour’s time.

Hi my Poppy-seed,

How are you? Hope everything is going well with you in Istanbul … I can’t believe we’re apart, and that Natalia and I can’t keep an eye on you.

We are finally in Nimes. We had a good flight and an easy switch to the train in Paris. It is unbelievably fast. We crossed all of France just in three hours!

When we got here, the owner of the club, his name is Paul, met us at the station and took us to the apartment. He looks like a nice chap; although he is ex-military and he doesn’t speak English at all!

So after all, the trip was good, except for the incident at the French embassy in Kiev. Oh my! Those bastards treat people like complete garbage!

You remember our trip to the Luxembourgish embassy in Moscow? That fat bitch who almost killed me, threatening to reject my application because I used the bathroom? Yes, I know it said ‘Staff Only’, but it was the only loo they had. What I was supposed to do?

This time it was quite a young man who submitted our papers for the visa. He just started yelling at Natalia and I because we whispered a few words and smiled at each other while he was busy checking our contracts and certificates. Besides, this place didn’t even have a bathroom, regardless of the fact that we had to spend three hours there …

Anyway, what doesn’t kill us will make us stronger, right?

The club looks very small – we just had a tour with Paul. The apartments we stay in are awesome. It’s a double-storey, spacious, holiday-style flat with an open-plan kitchen.

Okay, Jul, I have to run, still have to unpack, shower and get ready to work. It’s our first night, and I am so scared now … Natalia looks cool as a cucumber though! You know she is an ‘iron lady’

!

Write me about what is happening on your side? How is business?

How is Inna doing?

We miss you very much.

xxx

‘What the fuck is this, Jul? Have you totally sniffed your brains out?’

Inna’s angry yell shakes me up with fright. I look up from the computer screen. Still undressed, now wearing only a tiny black G-string and high heels, she is standing in the middle of the room with a small plastic bag, stuffed with white powder, in her hand.

‘What the fuck are you thinking?’ Her voice gets even louder.

‘What is your problem? Stop shouting! You scared the shit out of me! You get wasted all the time too, with the only difference being that your fuel is liquid! So why don’t you just address some of those questions to yourself?’

‘I don’t care what you do out there, but I don’t want this shit in my place! Don’t you understand that there is a huge difference between being deported because they drag you off the client, and getting yourself thrown into jail because you carry your weekly stock with you?’ She lowers the volume.

I stay silent; I have nothing to say to Inna. I am offended by her tone but she is right.

She sighs and takes few steps closer to the table, still waving the little plastic bag in the air.

‘Look. I know we all like to have some fun while doing the “best job in the world”, but I beg you not to bring this stuff in here anymore, okay? I heard there were quite a few police raids in Laleli and Aksaray yesterday. They storm the hotels, drag the girls out of their beds and throw them into jail. Without even seeing them on a customer! Do you get it, Jul?! The cops have started to play really dirty. You never know … we could even get reported by one of our friendly but fucking curious neighbours and then we will get fucked for real …’

I nod.

‘Okay, I need to go now. I am sorry I shouted at you, but I am really scared of getting into trouble, especially over bullshit stuff like this.’

Inna and I are packing to go home for a couple of days. Our sixty-day tourist visas expire tomorrow and we have to cross the border to get new ones, for another two months.

This time I convince my roommate to take a plane. I can’t even think of locking myself on that boat again. Besides, I can take no gear with me. It’s obviously too dangerous to carry drugs across the border. That means at least 48 hours without a hit or a drag of dope. I have to be creative. I check, and find only two possible routes: through Odessa or Nikolayev.

The latter is closer to Kherson and is cheaper as well – looks like a real catch for us. An hour-and-a-half flight, then another hour on the bus, and we are home.

It’s a charter flight, An-24, and once a week it goes to Istanbul from Nikolayev and back. Since the end of the Soviet era in the late 80s, the air transport system, including most of the government-owned airports, has been neglected, especially in the little towns, to the point of complete dysfunction. For the last few years, this has been the only flight that’s landed at and taken off from Nikolayev International Airport.

I was optimistic, thinking that nothing could be worse than two days on a thirty-year-old boat full of passengers and at least half of the crew who were hammered into a critical condition.

I was mistaken …

The first thing that shocks us is the size of the airplane. It looks more like a bus with propellers and wings. Then we learn that smoking is permitted onboard – anyone who wishes to have a drag can go to the cargo section at the end of the aircraft and enjoy a cigarette.

Faster and safer …? Hmm … I guess the only thing I didn’t slip up with is the ‘faster’ part – this definitely looks to me like a pretty fast way of kicking the bucket.

Despite this, the flight to Nikolayev goes well and we get home in one piece. Two days go by very quickly. Before I know it I am in a cab, going to fetch Inna on the way to Nikolayev to fly back to Istanbul.

As we arrive and head for the check-in, the woman at the counter looks at our itinerary and says that there are some problems; before she can issue our boarding passes we have to go to the office to sort them out.

Inna and I exchange annoyed looks and without any further comments head up the stairs, following the woman’s directions. There are at least another seven already stressed passengers waiting in the reception area. From their conversation, we learn that the airline has overbooked the flight by selling at least ten extra tickets; now they are trying to decide who to leave behind.

Unfuckingbelievable! Classic bullshit!

We finally get approached by one of the airline staff. A short, ball-shaped woman with ridiculous combed-back blonde hair, who looks as if she went to sleep in the 70s, stayed in a heavy slumber for 30 years and, for some unknown-to-mankind reason, woke up this morning, forgot to look in the mirror and came to work.

‘There was a mistake in the system and the flight is overbooked. I am very sorry. We are trying to do everything possible to fix that, but it’s the airline’s decision that the passengers who paid for their tickets in Ukraine are first in the line to get on board.’

‘Bullshit!’ This was not Inna talking; it was the spirit of the six-pack of beers she’d guzzled in the cab on the way to the airport, complaining that she was scared of flying. ‘It’s unacceptable! We’ve paid for our fucking tickets! No matter where we did so, we have the right to be treated the same way as others!’ Inna is already screaming while looking down at the teased white mop. It is clear that Inna is about to lose it for real. The woman takes a small step back and starts babbling, ‘Don’t worry, girls. I will make sure you get on this flight.’

While tipsy, Inna is trying to explain to the woman how unfair it is when people get divided, and that this is pure discrimination, and while the woman in turn struggles to calm Inna down, I overhear a conversation between the check-in staff we saw earlier and one of the crew members. Turns out that the airline has decided to take all 60 passengers instead of 50, to make more money. The flight is also very much overloaded, exceeding its cargo weight allowance.

What the hell? Why can’t I just find an inexpensive but civilised way of traveling?

I freak out but decide not to tell Inna – no one knows how she will react to this piece of information.

As we get checked in and go through security and passport control, we walk into the waiting area, which has a funny sign – ‘
’ – on its entry door. I am sure that this white and blue board has been there since Soviet times, and I find it quite difficult to translate or explain to the part of the world that doesn’t speak Russian. Instead of simply naming the waiting area ‘waiting area’ or ‘departure lounge’, the sign says ‘Accumulator’, meaning that the area was designed to gather travellers before boarding. But the nature of the word and its usage gives the passengers a feeling that they are not humans, but a flock of sheep that needs to be restrained.

It has such a communistic flavour – ‘From each according to his abilities, to each according to his needs
²²
’. But it always happened that people’s needs were reduced to the point of absurdity. For instance, when the rest of the world had been using Pampers since 1961, the greatest and the most powerful country in the world wouldn’t even consider producing a similar item. To make its people’s lives better or more comfortable was never a part of Soviet policy. Up until the end of the 90s, we were using swaddling clothes or napkins.

Same story here … the preposterous sign leads to the waiting area filled with uncomfortable and half-broken wooden chairs, dirty toilets, and a dodgy kiosk selling cheap vodka and instant swill that can hardly be called coffee, both served in awful plastic cups.

Classic!

This attitude touched every aspect of people’s lives. The level of technological development, including utilities for the home like washing machines, dishwashers or microwaves, medicine, and the auto industry, was low and shamefully backward. Nothing was ever done to improve the living conditions of the regular Soviet citizen, because it was always assumed that he or she needed basics and nothing more.

The word ‘
’ on the doors of the waiting area is a perfect example of the quality of life that we Soviet folk had through all those years. We were brainwashed puppets, who actually believed that our country was the best in the world, and that it gave us the best living conditions possible … ever!

Arggh … pathetic …