Under A Mask of A Geisha
The illegal consumption of narcotic drugs, psychotropic substances, and their analogues causes harm to health. Their illegal trafficking is prohibited and entails legal responsibility as stipulated by law.
Dedicated to my former colleagues from the fashion theater and youth TV channel.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
She slowly approached the window. Dawn was already mercilessly breaking, and on the horizon, an invisible brush illuminated the fading night canvas of the boundless sky with ever bolder, more decisive strokes – purple and orange streaks of a new spring day, filling the cool morning air with the scent of lilac. She crossed out the current date on the wall calendar with a black marker, slammed shut the laptop adorned with a sticker of cherry blossoms against the backdrop of the alluring Mount Fuji, extinguished a cigarette in the ashtray, and picked up a photograph in an elegant silver frame. She took the picture, preserving the image of their fleeting happiness, now gone forever, out of the frame, and gently traced his smile with her finger. A lighter clicked, and a flame engulfed the edge of the glossy paper.
Soon, the dancing, reddish flame, reflected in her wide, tear-filled eyes, transformed the embracing couple into hazy, ashen snowflakes.
"That's it," she whispered.
She lay down on the bed, which still held his warmth, hugged the pillow scented with his favorite peach shampoo, and curled up into a ball, closing her eyes.
"That's it! That's it!" echoed in her head.
Every second was taking her further and further away from this world, full of pain and disappointment.
She slowly approached the window. Dawn was already mercilessly breaking, and on the horizon, an invisible brush illuminated the fading night canvas of the boundless sky with ever bolder, more decisive strokes – purple and orange streaks of a new spring day, filling the cool morning air with the scent of lilac. She crossed out the current date on the wall calendar with a black marker, slammed shut the laptop adorned with a sticker of cherry blossoms against the backdrop of the alluring Mount Fuji, extinguished a cigarette in the ashtray, and picked up a photograph in an elegant silver frame. She took the picture, preserving the image of their fleeting happiness, now gone forever, out of the frame, and gently traced his smile with her finger. A lighter clicked, and a flame engulfed the edge of the glossy paper.
Soon, the dancing, reddish flame, reflected in her wide, tear-filled eyes, transformed the embracing couple into hazy, ashen snowflakes.
"That's it," she whispered.
She lay down on the bed, which still held his warmth, hugged the pillow scented with his favorite peach shampoo, and curled up into a ball, closing her eyes.
"That's it! That's it!" echoed in her head.
Every second was taking her further and further away from this world, full of pain and disappointment.
Chapter 1
The hands on the ornate clock in the "Prince Igor" banquet hall ticked with agonizing slowness. Minutes stretched into an eternity as the guests, already seated, craned their necks, their anticipation a palpable hum in the air. All eyes were fixed on the massive oak doors, willing them to swing open and reveal the happy couple. By the window, perched on a small platform behind a polished marble desk, the registrar tapped her pen against her notepad, a picture of professional patience, though even she seemed to be fighting a yawn. She was here to officially join Kirill Tabakov and Daniella Gromova in marriage, but the bride and groom, for reasons unknown, were decidedly late for their own wedding.
This was no ordinary wedding. The union of the only son of the owner of the "Atlantis" shopping center and the daughter of the esteemed dean of the journalism faculty at Vorontsov University of International Relations had set Emerald Island, their small Black Sea resort town, abuzz. Firstly, no one had forgotten Tabakov Senior's shadowy dealings during the turbulent nineties. And it was Gromov, Daniella's father, the very journalist who had penned scathing exposés about him in the local newspaper, "Our Truth," who was now about to become his in-law. The irony was a juicy morsel that the townspeople were already savoring. Secondly, Kirill Tabakov, a young, ambitious lawyer, was considered Emerald Island's most eligible bachelor. News of his impending nuptials had shattered the hopes of more than a few girls. And thirdly, the rumors had been confirmed: nineteen-year-old Daniella, a model student at the Academy of Veterinary Medicine and a dedicated volunteer at the local animal shelter, was pregnant. Her recent act of heroism, rescuing several dogs from a burning building, had already made her a local celebrity, splashed across the headlines and trending on Telegram channels.
A collective gasp rippled through the room. The massive oak doors finally swung open with a dramatic flourish. Framed in the doorway, like figures in a Renaissance painting, stood the bride and groom, surrounded by their wedding party. The long wait was over. The show was about to begin.
Daniella was a vision in a white lace dress, a style reminiscent of Princess Grace Kelly’s elegant wedding gown. Her chestnut hair, swept back from her face, accentuated the striking, almost otherworldly quality of her large, grey-green eyes. She looked, without a doubt, like the most beautiful bride in the world. And yet, she was undeniably anxious.
From the moment she entered the hall, guests couldn't help but notice a deep disquiet radiating from her. Her fingers fidgeted nervously with her wedding bouquet, crushing the delicate blooms ever so slightly. Every few seconds, her gaze darted towards the restaurant doors, a frantic search playing out in her eyes. Even as the room fell into a solemn hush, as the marriage officiant began to weave the words that would bind them together, her attention remained fractured, drawn back to the entrance as if expecting someone to arrive.
Finally, after a brief introductory speech, the lady turned her attention to Daniella. "Daniella," she said, her voice clear and resonant, "do you take Kirill to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"
The bride cast one last, hopeful glance towards the doors, a flicker of desperation in her eyes. Then, a wave of guilt washed over her as she looked at the groom, her expression a silent apology. After a tense pause, a moment of internal struggle etched on her face, she declared with a sudden, unwavering resolve:
"I won't get married until Vasya arrives!"
Daniella kicked off her sky-high stilettos and luxuriated for a moment in the feeling of the soft carpet beneath her bare feet, a small sigh of relief escaping her lips. Then, sweeping her gaze across the assembled guests, a tentative, apologetic smile gracing her face, she exclaimed:
"Let's wait for her, okay?"
This was no ordinary wedding. The union of the only son of the owner of the "Atlantis" shopping center and the daughter of the esteemed dean of the journalism faculty at Vorontsov University of International Relations had set Emerald Island, their small Black Sea resort town, abuzz. Firstly, no one had forgotten Tabakov Senior's shadowy dealings during the turbulent nineties. And it was Gromov, Daniella's father, the very journalist who had penned scathing exposés about him in the local newspaper, "Our Truth," who was now about to become his in-law. The irony was a juicy morsel that the townspeople were already savoring. Secondly, Kirill Tabakov, a young, ambitious lawyer, was considered Emerald Island's most eligible bachelor. News of his impending nuptials had shattered the hopes of more than a few girls. And thirdly, the rumors had been confirmed: nineteen-year-old Daniella, a model student at the Academy of Veterinary Medicine and a dedicated volunteer at the local animal shelter, was pregnant. Her recent act of heroism, rescuing several dogs from a burning building, had already made her a local celebrity, splashed across the headlines and trending on Telegram channels.
A collective gasp rippled through the room. The massive oak doors finally swung open with a dramatic flourish. Framed in the doorway, like figures in a Renaissance painting, stood the bride and groom, surrounded by their wedding party. The long wait was over. The show was about to begin.
Daniella was a vision in a white lace dress, a style reminiscent of Princess Grace Kelly’s elegant wedding gown. Her chestnut hair, swept back from her face, accentuated the striking, almost otherworldly quality of her large, grey-green eyes. She looked, without a doubt, like the most beautiful bride in the world. And yet, she was undeniably anxious.
From the moment she entered the hall, guests couldn't help but notice a deep disquiet radiating from her. Her fingers fidgeted nervously with her wedding bouquet, crushing the delicate blooms ever so slightly. Every few seconds, her gaze darted towards the restaurant doors, a frantic search playing out in her eyes. Even as the room fell into a solemn hush, as the marriage officiant began to weave the words that would bind them together, her attention remained fractured, drawn back to the entrance as if expecting someone to arrive.
Finally, after a brief introductory speech, the lady turned her attention to Daniella. "Daniella," she said, her voice clear and resonant, "do you take Kirill to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"
The bride cast one last, hopeful glance towards the doors, a flicker of desperation in her eyes. Then, a wave of guilt washed over her as she looked at the groom, her expression a silent apology. After a tense pause, a moment of internal struggle etched on her face, she declared with a sudden, unwavering resolve:
"I won't get married until Vasya arrives!"
Daniella kicked off her sky-high stilettos and luxuriated for a moment in the feeling of the soft carpet beneath her bare feet, a small sigh of relief escaping her lips. Then, sweeping her gaze across the assembled guests, a tentative, apologetic smile gracing her face, she exclaimed:
"Let's wait for her, okay?"
Trouble always seemed to find her. So, it wasn't even surprising that on her twin sister's wedding day, during a photo shoot around the city's main landmarks with the bride and groom, it was Vasilisa whose heel broke on her brand-new sandals, and it was she who, tripping, somehow managed to fall into the only puddle in the entire square. The wedding ceremony at "Prince Igor" was about an hour away, and Vasya raced home to change. She certainly didn't expect to get stuck in traffic on the way back, and now she had no choice but to sit in the stuffy taxi, nervously tapping her fingers on her clutch, and listen to the chatter of the DJ from the new radio station "Bravo," who had replaced her beloved "I Got Love" by Miyagi & Andy Panda.
"For those who haven't heard the news yet, on Tuesday at 9:00 PM sharp, Stas Wetzel's show 'Avid Movie Buff' will premiere on our radio waves. I have only seconds left of my broadcast. I, Roman Nadezhny, am saying goodbye to you until tomorrow. I wish you a pleasant Saturday evening in good company, as I intend to do myself - my way leads to a bar, and yours to 'My Way' performed by Calvin Harris. I'm handing over to my colleague Leo Morozov. Arrivederci!"
"Look at them, making up silly pseudonyms!" exclaimed the taxi driver, an elderly man with comically bristling mustaches and an inexhaustible penchant for monologue. "Some Schnitzel, just like a Fritz. At least the other one, Nadezhny[1], has a Russian surname. Do you like 'Bravo'?"
"Well, yes," Vasilisa breathed, slightly bewildered by the absurd question.
It was the only youth radio station in the city. It had only appeared a month ago, but it had already gained mega-popularity among the residents of Emerald Island: they listened to it at home, at work, at gym, during lectures, and on public transport, and some of the "Bravo" staff had even managed to acquire crowds of fans.
"I don't think it'll last long," the taxi driver continued. "The radio will work until autumn, and then poof, it'll be gone, no more 'Bravo.' It's all about the elections! Kazakov just wants to bribe the youth this way, so you vote for him."
Vasilisa understood what he meant. These fruits of a secret plan had long been discussed by the residents of Emerald Island. The governor of the region, Stepan Kazakov, who had previously made a fortune in oil, was running for a second term in September and had already begun preparations for the upcoming battle: he hired a group of Moscow public relations specialists, awarded apartments and "Oka" cars to veterans of the Great Patriotic War, began organizing concerts by Russian pop stars in the central square of the city, opened a radio station, and soon, it was rumored, planned to launch a television channel with the same name, "Bravo."
This topic ignited a spark within Vasya. Deciding to follow in her father's footsteps, she enrolled in the journalism faculty. Vladimir Gromov, however, showed his daughter no favoritism. He was known as the strictest dean, a man who never accepted bribes and refused to acknowledge any family connections in the workplace. Within the university walls, his daughter was simply another student, treated by Vladimir Yakovlevich with the same severity as everyone else, often held to an even higher standard. Consequently, none of Vasya's classmates envied her. On the contrary, they sympathized, especially when her father began nearly every seminar with the words, "I believe Gromova would like to answer the questions on the topic we covered."
A love for journalism seemed woven into Vasilisa's very DNA. She was constantly on the hunt for a captivating subject for her next blog post. The discussion about the upcoming gubernatorial elections certainly piqued Vasya's interest, but the words of DJ Nadezhny left a sour taste in her mouth—something in his rambling had stirred a troubling thought, only to vanish without a trace, mockingly waving its tail in farewell. Something he'd said had irked her. But what exactly?
Vasilisa bit her lower lip and frowned, straining to concentrate and grasp the fleeting thought. The effort contorted her face into a rather comical expression. The taxi driver, catching her reflection in the rearview mirror, chuckled and continued his monologue.
"Ugh, now I'm hungry after hearing about that Schnitzel! I could really go for some chicken with mashed potatoes and a fresh cucumber salad! Couldn't he have picked a normal stage name? They make up all sorts of nonsense, these liars!"
"Why do you assume they're making it up? My great-grandmother had that last name. Maria Wetzel," Vasilisa retorted, glancing once more at the time displayed on her phone, which she nervously twisted in her hands, silently praying for the traffic jam to dissipate.
Suddenly, the girl slapped her forehead.
"I'm such an idiot!"
Roman Nadezhny had mentioned a new project by one Stas Wetzel.
"'Avid Movie Buff'!" He hadn't even bothered to change the name, the jerk!
Just the other day, when a May downpour had generously drenched the city and the invigorating post-rain smells enveloped the evening streets, her friend Belka had come over to her place before Daniella's bachelorette party, so they could get dolled up together for the celebratory evening. During a coffee and pastry break in the living room, Belka had pulled a folder out of her backpack with a satisfied look on her face.
"Did you hear the radio announcement about the casting call? They need presenters with their own projects! I've written something up here. I want to run into an acquaintance from 'Bravo' at the club and show it to him."
"Ha! With an acquaintance?" Vasya teased. "We know, we know what kind of acquaintance! Dimochka Markin - your new admirer."
"Ugh, we're just talking, not dating!" Belka playfully swatted her hand with the folder.
"And you want to lug that folder to the club?" Daniella asked, curious. "You could just send the file to this Dima on Telegram, VK, or email."
"I prefer to share secret projects the old-fashioned way, I'm all about old school, so as not to leave a trace," their friend replied matter-of-factly. "Listen! The title is 'Die-Hard Movie Buff.' Here's the project concept and the script for the pilot episode. It's a game. The caller is asked questions from the world of cinema about films, directors, actors, and film companies, and they're given four multiple-choice answers. Five questions for each person. If the player answers three out of five, they get the chance to request their favorite song and give a shout-out on the air, and if they answer all the questions, they're rewarded with movie tickets for two. What do you think?"
"Belka, it's amazing! 'Bravo' will snatch you up in a heartbeat!" the twins replied in unison.
But the bachelorette party was a resounding success, so much so that the "movie buff-ess" managed to lose her precious folder, without even having a chance to show it to that "acquaintance" from the radio station. Apparently, someone had the good fortune to find Belka's project that evening, and the person didn't hesitate—instead of contacting the author using the provided contact information, the idea thief Stas Wetzel showed up at the casting call and was now planning to become the new star of "Bravo" instead of Belka!
The outraged Vasilisa intended to sort out this blatant story of her friend's stolen project as soon as possible, restore justice, and punish the brazen thief. But that would come later. For now, she was only concerned with one thing—making it to her sister's wedding on time.
She was fifteen minutes late and was deeply touched by Daniella's act of stubbornly waiting for her to arrive at "Prince Igor."
After the solemn part of the ceremony, the newlyweds took their places at a separate table, and the hungry guests, at last, began to enjoy the festive meal with true delight.
Vasilisa settled in among the younger crowd, where her older brother, twenty-two-year-old Taras, a university graduate, held sway. She knew almost everyone present, including the groom's side, and she had even become friends with his cousin, Maxim Tabakov, over the past year.
Their mutual friend, Andraníka, was the one who brought them together. Last year, Vasilisa desperately needed material about an athlete for "Ostrovok"[2], the local newspaper she'd just begun freelancing for, and Nika had suggested her neighbor.
Max, without a doubt, had a connection to the world of sports. He'd once been hailed as a future football star, participated in the Russian Youth Championship, and even attracted interest from Premier League clubs. Maxim was the only local player on the "Bravo Tigers" team, whose president was none other than the current governor, Stepan Kazakov. The rest of the players had been hired for exorbitant salaries from those same capital city clubs.
Maxim's career had been skyrocketing, but then came the fateful accident that forced him to relearn how to walk. Football was a closed chapter forever, and now Max was studying international business and business administration at MGIMO university in Moscow.
He had also spent the previous May holidays in his native Emerald Island, and at Andranika's request, agreed to give an interview to her friend. Initially, Maxim hadn't been thrilled about talking to the press, but when he learned that the aspiring journalist Vasilisa was the twin sister of his brother Kirill's girlfriend, he gave in to the persuasion.
And he was glad he did. The interview turned out brilliantly. The editor praised Vasilisa, and she proudly emailed Max scanned pages of the newspaper. Maxim, who by then had returned to Moscow, responded by sending her a bouquet and a thank-you note to the editorial office.
During summer vacation, they often crossed paths in the same group of friends with Daniella and Kirill. Then Max went back to study in the capital, and a correspondence began on VKontakte[3], sometimes blossoming into late-night heart-to-hearts on Telegram. But no matter how much Danya nudged them towards a more romantic relationship, her sister and her boyfriend's cousin remained just friends.
Before Vasilisa and Max could even exchange joyful greetings, a short, plump man who had crossed into his fourth decade appeared on the very same podium where Daniella Gromova had transformed into Tabakova. His small eyes, set in a shiny face with a smug grin, looked at the guests haughtily, as if he were a king appearing before a crowd of his subjects, while his ridiculous black and white striped suit, in which he probably imagined himself as a tough gangster, looked more like pajamas.
"Ha! And what kind of fruit is this?" Vasilisa blurted out.
At that moment, the gangster spoke into the microphone, and her bewildered exclamation, drowned out by the booming voice from the speakers, was only heard by those who were sitting near her at the table.
"That's Dolgonosov - the wedding jester, or rather, the master of ceremonies. No wedding in the city is complete without him," someone from the guys explained with a laugh.
Vasilisa watched in horror as Dolgonosov sparkled with flat jokes and brazenly dragged guests onto the stage to participate in his ridiculous contest.
"When I get married, there definitely won't be a master of ceremonies at my wedding!" she declared.
"I doubt you'll ever have a wedding at all," her sarcastic brother Taras chuckled. "There isn't a fool in the whole wide world who would want to marry a crazy person like you!"
"Ha! Quite the contrary! No girl would marry a fool like you, even if they were offered a sack of gold coins. Got it?"
"And what's new with you, Miss Ha?" Maxim interjected into their conversation, preventing an impending quarrel. "How's your theater doing? By the way, why aren't the girls here?"
He meant her friends from the "Ariel" fashion theater, where Vasilisa had worked since her school days.
"The girls are on tour in St. Petersburg, they'll be back the day after tomorrow," she grabbed a plate and piled a mountain of snacks and salads on it. "Mmm, I'm so hungry!... Only Nika stayed for the wedding, she should be here soon. Nika couldn't miss such an event, we've been friends since childhood."
"I thought you met Andranikа at the theater," Max said, surprised, pouring wine into her glass.
"No, Nika and I have been friends since the fifth grade. We even prepared for the 'Ariel' casting together at her house - we cranked up the music in the attic, put on her mom's stilettos, and hobbled around in them, imagining ourselves on the catwalk surrounded by photographers. We were fourteen."
"I'd give a lot to fly back in time and see that show!" Maxim laughed.
"Buddy, come visit us at home sometime, we have a ton of discs with that kind of stuff," Vasilisa's brother chuckled.
Max had known Andranika since childhood, ever since her family moved into the house next door in the exclusive "Laguna" cottage village. Back then, he had been most struck by the girl's strange name. Now he knew that she had been named after the male Armenian doctor who had literally saved her life during a difficult birth. At first, her parents wanted to simply name her Nika, after the Goddess of Victory, because their little girl had managed to defeat Death itself, but then they decided to immortalize their gratitude to the doctor, Andranik Karenovich, with a similar name, Andraníka.
Max had watched this fair-haired girl with chubby cheeks grow into a long-legged beauty who loved to sunbathe by the pool with a laptop on her knees, constantly typing something. How many times had friends visiting him asked him to introduce them to the mysterious girl from the neighboring yard, but each time Nika politely refused to participate in his parties, citing her busy schedule. She was too absorbed in writing her mystical detective stories to waste time on the company of noisy idlers, who, in retaliation for her lack of interest in them, nicknamed her the robot Android.
Max listened with a growing sense of wonder as he heard the story of how Vasilisa and Andranika had met almost a decade ago, when his neighbor transferred to a new gymnasium and found herself in the same class as the Gromov twins. Two kindred spirits, both with an adventurous streak, had found each other, as if Fate itself had gifted them this chance encounter. By their senior year, the friends had rightfully earned the title of the Wildest Girls in school.
"Guys, isn't it Koza-Dereza[4]?" Taras exclaimed, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Dyed her hair red, has she?! Or is that a wig again?"
For years, he had teased his sisters' friend Andranika, whose last name was Kozachuk[5], with that nickname, and every time he did, he couldn't help but burst into laughter, as delighted as a child who had just come up with the joke.
Vasilisa turned to see Andranika standing in the restaurant doorway, a lavish bouquet of flowers and a gift box clutched in her arms. The last time they'd seen each other, just yesterday, Nika had sported sleek, golden-brown hair, but now a mane of fiery, unruly red curls cascaded over her bare shoulders. Dressed in a turquoise evening gown that accentuated her delicate tan and her bottomless, sea-green eyes with their alluring haze, her friend looked absolutely breathtaking.
Andranika apologized for being late, congratulated the newlyweds, and scanned the restaurant in search of her friend.
"Over here!" Vasilisa waved, just as something wet spread across her dress.
"Oops, sorry!"
Taras, distracted by the sight of Nika, had accidentally knocked over a glass of wine onto his little sister, who stared in horror at the large, dark-red stain spreading across her golden silk dress.
"Oh, thank you so much! I was 'dreaming' about going home to change for the second time in an hour!" Vasilisa's lips pouted in a way that made her look like a spoiled little girl on the verge of tears.
She jumped up from her chair, forgetting that Andranika was approaching from behind. Her friend reflexively recoiled, and then, losing her balance on her high heels, crashed to the floor.
"You girls just can't seem to avoid trouble!" Max couldn't help but laugh as he helped his neighbor to her feet. "If you only knew how much I've missed you two!"
"Those two hens belong in a circus, charging admission," Taras remarked with a sneer.
"Oh, shut up!" Nika retorted, brushing off her dress, a flush of embarrassment creeping up her face under the amused gazes of the guests.
"Why were you late?" Vasilisa asked.
"Overslept. I went to bed just before dawn and didn't hear my alarm. Or your calls, either. I barely managed to get up."
"Have you heard on the radio about 'The Avid Movie Buff'? We need to find that scumbag Stasik Wetzel immediately!"
"Belka's 'Avid Movie Buff'? On the radio?!" Her friend's eyes widened in surprise.
"Her game starts on Tuesday at 9 PM, but it's being hosted by some Stas Wetzel. We need to find out who this smart aleck is and kick his butt so he doesn't dare plagiarize again. I checked social media while I was in the taxi, but I couldn't find any Stas Wetzel."
"Don't you know that..." Max exclaimed in surprise, but he didn't get a chance to finish his sentence.
Taras interrupted him, noticing the bride and her bridesmaid, whom they had both attended the academy of veterinary medicine with, approaching their table. Leaping from his chair, he clapped his hands together with exaggerated fervor.
"Oh, look who it is! Our precious bride has arrived!"
Vasilisa, eyebrows raised, turned to Andranika.
"Ha! What's gotten into him? Where's all this energy coming from?"
Andranika mirrored Vasilisa's puzzled expression, her eyes lingering on the guy's overly enthusiastic welcome.
Daniella, a weary smile playing on her lips, beckoned them closer.
"Ladies, would you mind joining me for a quick trip to the powder room?"
Covering a wine stain on her dress with a napkin, Vasya nodded and fell into step beside the bride. Her fingers danced across her phone screen, summoning an Uber while her mind wrestled with a more pressing dilemma: which dress to change into next.
It wasn't until they were safely ensconced within the sterile, mirrored confines of the restroom, far from the prying eyes and well-meaning smiles, that Daniella finally allowed her carefully constructed facade to crumble.
"Girls, you won't believe it," she began, her voice a weary sigh. "We just got here, and I'm already exhausted by the guests! I don't even know half of them! And they just keep coming and coming with congratulations, and I have to listen to each one and thank them for their gift. This isn't the wedding I wanted at all, but you can't argue with Kirill's dad. He cares more about what people think. How can Tabakov's only son get married and have a wedding with less than three hundred people? 'What a *sha-a-ame!'" she mocked, mimicking her new father-in-law's booming voice.
Andranika squeezed Daniella's hand.
"Hold on, Dan’ka! At least the day after tomorrow, you and Kirill will be strolling through Paris."
"Finally, your dream is coming true!" Vasilisa declared, dabbing a napkin with water. She started scrubbing at the wine stain, then paused, realizing she should probably consult Google on how to save a silk dress first.
"What are you doing?!" her sister exclaimed, swatting Vasilisa's hand away. "You're making it worse! You need to try lemon juice or a vinegar solution first."
It was no surprise that Daniella knew this. Unlike her somewhat clumsy twin, she was known as a true homemaker and a jack-of-all-trades. She cooked with such skill that second helpings were inevitable, knitted luxurious sweaters, and created tablecloths and curtains that were striking in their originality and beauty. Kirill was incredibly lucky to be marrying such a resourceful and talented girl.
As for Vasilisa, she was all thumbs. “Your hands grew out of the wrong place,” her brother Taras liked to say. She blamed her father, who had given her that name in honor of his childhood friend Vas’ka, as he had promised him in his youth. Her mother, who had managed to save her firstborn from being named Vasily, had intended to name the twins Daniella and Isabella, but her husband, determined to keep his word, insisted on equality—they would name one girl as she wished, and the second would have the name he chose. So she became Vasilisa, and, as if following the principle of " How to ship call, so it will float," she grew up to be a real tomboy, a hooligan Vas’ka.
"Are you going to catch the bouquet?" Daniella asked. "I'll deliberately throw it in your direction so that Kirill's annoying cousins don't get it."
"God forbid! Don't even think about throwing it at us!" Andranika laughed. "We're doing just fine being free for now. If you throw the bouquet at us, Vasya and I will run in opposite directions."
Vasilisa nodded in agreement.
"Ha! We are birds of free flight, so let your bouquet fly right past us."
"What about that photographer you've been dating?" her sister reminded her.
"Oh, we're just hanging out for now. Besides, he left for Moscow today for some exhibition. And he's definitely not the one I'd catch a bouquet for."
"Well, it's up to you, picky ones! Listen, doesn't it seem like this weird entertainer in pyjamas is about to get drunk soon? That's when it'll really be 'What a sha-a-ame!'" Daniella mimicked her father-in-law again, eliciting laughter from her friends.
[1] Nadezhny in Russian means ‘reliable’, ‘trustworthy’.
[2] Ostrovok means a small island.
[3] VKontakte is Russian social network, like Facebook (Instagram and Facebook social networks owned by Meta Platforms Inc. were declared extremist by the Tverskoy Court of Moscow on March 21, 2022 and banned in Russia).
[4] Koza-Dereza is a character from Russian, Belarusian and Ukrainian fairy tales. It’s a goat who is a bully and a liar.
[5] Here is a reference from KOZAchuk to KOZA-Dereza.
"For those who haven't heard the news yet, on Tuesday at 9:00 PM sharp, Stas Wetzel's show 'Avid Movie Buff' will premiere on our radio waves. I have only seconds left of my broadcast. I, Roman Nadezhny, am saying goodbye to you until tomorrow. I wish you a pleasant Saturday evening in good company, as I intend to do myself - my way leads to a bar, and yours to 'My Way' performed by Calvin Harris. I'm handing over to my colleague Leo Morozov. Arrivederci!"
"Look at them, making up silly pseudonyms!" exclaimed the taxi driver, an elderly man with comically bristling mustaches and an inexhaustible penchant for monologue. "Some Schnitzel, just like a Fritz. At least the other one, Nadezhny[1], has a Russian surname. Do you like 'Bravo'?"
"Well, yes," Vasilisa breathed, slightly bewildered by the absurd question.
It was the only youth radio station in the city. It had only appeared a month ago, but it had already gained mega-popularity among the residents of Emerald Island: they listened to it at home, at work, at gym, during lectures, and on public transport, and some of the "Bravo" staff had even managed to acquire crowds of fans.
"I don't think it'll last long," the taxi driver continued. "The radio will work until autumn, and then poof, it'll be gone, no more 'Bravo.' It's all about the elections! Kazakov just wants to bribe the youth this way, so you vote for him."
Vasilisa understood what he meant. These fruits of a secret plan had long been discussed by the residents of Emerald Island. The governor of the region, Stepan Kazakov, who had previously made a fortune in oil, was running for a second term in September and had already begun preparations for the upcoming battle: he hired a group of Moscow public relations specialists, awarded apartments and "Oka" cars to veterans of the Great Patriotic War, began organizing concerts by Russian pop stars in the central square of the city, opened a radio station, and soon, it was rumored, planned to launch a television channel with the same name, "Bravo."
This topic ignited a spark within Vasya. Deciding to follow in her father's footsteps, she enrolled in the journalism faculty. Vladimir Gromov, however, showed his daughter no favoritism. He was known as the strictest dean, a man who never accepted bribes and refused to acknowledge any family connections in the workplace. Within the university walls, his daughter was simply another student, treated by Vladimir Yakovlevich with the same severity as everyone else, often held to an even higher standard. Consequently, none of Vasya's classmates envied her. On the contrary, they sympathized, especially when her father began nearly every seminar with the words, "I believe Gromova would like to answer the questions on the topic we covered."
A love for journalism seemed woven into Vasilisa's very DNA. She was constantly on the hunt for a captivating subject for her next blog post. The discussion about the upcoming gubernatorial elections certainly piqued Vasya's interest, but the words of DJ Nadezhny left a sour taste in her mouth—something in his rambling had stirred a troubling thought, only to vanish without a trace, mockingly waving its tail in farewell. Something he'd said had irked her. But what exactly?
Vasilisa bit her lower lip and frowned, straining to concentrate and grasp the fleeting thought. The effort contorted her face into a rather comical expression. The taxi driver, catching her reflection in the rearview mirror, chuckled and continued his monologue.
"Ugh, now I'm hungry after hearing about that Schnitzel! I could really go for some chicken with mashed potatoes and a fresh cucumber salad! Couldn't he have picked a normal stage name? They make up all sorts of nonsense, these liars!"
"Why do you assume they're making it up? My great-grandmother had that last name. Maria Wetzel," Vasilisa retorted, glancing once more at the time displayed on her phone, which she nervously twisted in her hands, silently praying for the traffic jam to dissipate.
Suddenly, the girl slapped her forehead.
"I'm such an idiot!"
Roman Nadezhny had mentioned a new project by one Stas Wetzel.
"'Avid Movie Buff'!" He hadn't even bothered to change the name, the jerk!
Just the other day, when a May downpour had generously drenched the city and the invigorating post-rain smells enveloped the evening streets, her friend Belka had come over to her place before Daniella's bachelorette party, so they could get dolled up together for the celebratory evening. During a coffee and pastry break in the living room, Belka had pulled a folder out of her backpack with a satisfied look on her face.
"Did you hear the radio announcement about the casting call? They need presenters with their own projects! I've written something up here. I want to run into an acquaintance from 'Bravo' at the club and show it to him."
"Ha! With an acquaintance?" Vasya teased. "We know, we know what kind of acquaintance! Dimochka Markin - your new admirer."
"Ugh, we're just talking, not dating!" Belka playfully swatted her hand with the folder.
"And you want to lug that folder to the club?" Daniella asked, curious. "You could just send the file to this Dima on Telegram, VK, or email."
"I prefer to share secret projects the old-fashioned way, I'm all about old school, so as not to leave a trace," their friend replied matter-of-factly. "Listen! The title is 'Die-Hard Movie Buff.' Here's the project concept and the script for the pilot episode. It's a game. The caller is asked questions from the world of cinema about films, directors, actors, and film companies, and they're given four multiple-choice answers. Five questions for each person. If the player answers three out of five, they get the chance to request their favorite song and give a shout-out on the air, and if they answer all the questions, they're rewarded with movie tickets for two. What do you think?"
"Belka, it's amazing! 'Bravo' will snatch you up in a heartbeat!" the twins replied in unison.
But the bachelorette party was a resounding success, so much so that the "movie buff-ess" managed to lose her precious folder, without even having a chance to show it to that "acquaintance" from the radio station. Apparently, someone had the good fortune to find Belka's project that evening, and the person didn't hesitate—instead of contacting the author using the provided contact information, the idea thief Stas Wetzel showed up at the casting call and was now planning to become the new star of "Bravo" instead of Belka!
The outraged Vasilisa intended to sort out this blatant story of her friend's stolen project as soon as possible, restore justice, and punish the brazen thief. But that would come later. For now, she was only concerned with one thing—making it to her sister's wedding on time.
She was fifteen minutes late and was deeply touched by Daniella's act of stubbornly waiting for her to arrive at "Prince Igor."
After the solemn part of the ceremony, the newlyweds took their places at a separate table, and the hungry guests, at last, began to enjoy the festive meal with true delight.
Vasilisa settled in among the younger crowd, where her older brother, twenty-two-year-old Taras, a university graduate, held sway. She knew almost everyone present, including the groom's side, and she had even become friends with his cousin, Maxim Tabakov, over the past year.
Their mutual friend, Andraníka, was the one who brought them together. Last year, Vasilisa desperately needed material about an athlete for "Ostrovok"[2], the local newspaper she'd just begun freelancing for, and Nika had suggested her neighbor.
Max, without a doubt, had a connection to the world of sports. He'd once been hailed as a future football star, participated in the Russian Youth Championship, and even attracted interest from Premier League clubs. Maxim was the only local player on the "Bravo Tigers" team, whose president was none other than the current governor, Stepan Kazakov. The rest of the players had been hired for exorbitant salaries from those same capital city clubs.
Maxim's career had been skyrocketing, but then came the fateful accident that forced him to relearn how to walk. Football was a closed chapter forever, and now Max was studying international business and business administration at MGIMO university in Moscow.
He had also spent the previous May holidays in his native Emerald Island, and at Andranika's request, agreed to give an interview to her friend. Initially, Maxim hadn't been thrilled about talking to the press, but when he learned that the aspiring journalist Vasilisa was the twin sister of his brother Kirill's girlfriend, he gave in to the persuasion.
And he was glad he did. The interview turned out brilliantly. The editor praised Vasilisa, and she proudly emailed Max scanned pages of the newspaper. Maxim, who by then had returned to Moscow, responded by sending her a bouquet and a thank-you note to the editorial office.
During summer vacation, they often crossed paths in the same group of friends with Daniella and Kirill. Then Max went back to study in the capital, and a correspondence began on VKontakte[3], sometimes blossoming into late-night heart-to-hearts on Telegram. But no matter how much Danya nudged them towards a more romantic relationship, her sister and her boyfriend's cousin remained just friends.
Before Vasilisa and Max could even exchange joyful greetings, a short, plump man who had crossed into his fourth decade appeared on the very same podium where Daniella Gromova had transformed into Tabakova. His small eyes, set in a shiny face with a smug grin, looked at the guests haughtily, as if he were a king appearing before a crowd of his subjects, while his ridiculous black and white striped suit, in which he probably imagined himself as a tough gangster, looked more like pajamas.
"Ha! And what kind of fruit is this?" Vasilisa blurted out.
At that moment, the gangster spoke into the microphone, and her bewildered exclamation, drowned out by the booming voice from the speakers, was only heard by those who were sitting near her at the table.
"That's Dolgonosov - the wedding jester, or rather, the master of ceremonies. No wedding in the city is complete without him," someone from the guys explained with a laugh.
Vasilisa watched in horror as Dolgonosov sparkled with flat jokes and brazenly dragged guests onto the stage to participate in his ridiculous contest.
"When I get married, there definitely won't be a master of ceremonies at my wedding!" she declared.
"I doubt you'll ever have a wedding at all," her sarcastic brother Taras chuckled. "There isn't a fool in the whole wide world who would want to marry a crazy person like you!"
"Ha! Quite the contrary! No girl would marry a fool like you, even if they were offered a sack of gold coins. Got it?"
"And what's new with you, Miss Ha?" Maxim interjected into their conversation, preventing an impending quarrel. "How's your theater doing? By the way, why aren't the girls here?"
He meant her friends from the "Ariel" fashion theater, where Vasilisa had worked since her school days.
"The girls are on tour in St. Petersburg, they'll be back the day after tomorrow," she grabbed a plate and piled a mountain of snacks and salads on it. "Mmm, I'm so hungry!... Only Nika stayed for the wedding, she should be here soon. Nika couldn't miss such an event, we've been friends since childhood."
"I thought you met Andranikа at the theater," Max said, surprised, pouring wine into her glass.
"No, Nika and I have been friends since the fifth grade. We even prepared for the 'Ariel' casting together at her house - we cranked up the music in the attic, put on her mom's stilettos, and hobbled around in them, imagining ourselves on the catwalk surrounded by photographers. We were fourteen."
"I'd give a lot to fly back in time and see that show!" Maxim laughed.
"Buddy, come visit us at home sometime, we have a ton of discs with that kind of stuff," Vasilisa's brother chuckled.
Max had known Andranika since childhood, ever since her family moved into the house next door in the exclusive "Laguna" cottage village. Back then, he had been most struck by the girl's strange name. Now he knew that she had been named after the male Armenian doctor who had literally saved her life during a difficult birth. At first, her parents wanted to simply name her Nika, after the Goddess of Victory, because their little girl had managed to defeat Death itself, but then they decided to immortalize their gratitude to the doctor, Andranik Karenovich, with a similar name, Andraníka.
Max had watched this fair-haired girl with chubby cheeks grow into a long-legged beauty who loved to sunbathe by the pool with a laptop on her knees, constantly typing something. How many times had friends visiting him asked him to introduce them to the mysterious girl from the neighboring yard, but each time Nika politely refused to participate in his parties, citing her busy schedule. She was too absorbed in writing her mystical detective stories to waste time on the company of noisy idlers, who, in retaliation for her lack of interest in them, nicknamed her the robot Android.
Max listened with a growing sense of wonder as he heard the story of how Vasilisa and Andranika had met almost a decade ago, when his neighbor transferred to a new gymnasium and found herself in the same class as the Gromov twins. Two kindred spirits, both with an adventurous streak, had found each other, as if Fate itself had gifted them this chance encounter. By their senior year, the friends had rightfully earned the title of the Wildest Girls in school.
"Guys, isn't it Koza-Dereza[4]?" Taras exclaimed, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Dyed her hair red, has she?! Or is that a wig again?"
For years, he had teased his sisters' friend Andranika, whose last name was Kozachuk[5], with that nickname, and every time he did, he couldn't help but burst into laughter, as delighted as a child who had just come up with the joke.
Vasilisa turned to see Andranika standing in the restaurant doorway, a lavish bouquet of flowers and a gift box clutched in her arms. The last time they'd seen each other, just yesterday, Nika had sported sleek, golden-brown hair, but now a mane of fiery, unruly red curls cascaded over her bare shoulders. Dressed in a turquoise evening gown that accentuated her delicate tan and her bottomless, sea-green eyes with their alluring haze, her friend looked absolutely breathtaking.
Andranika apologized for being late, congratulated the newlyweds, and scanned the restaurant in search of her friend.
"Over here!" Vasilisa waved, just as something wet spread across her dress.
"Oops, sorry!"
Taras, distracted by the sight of Nika, had accidentally knocked over a glass of wine onto his little sister, who stared in horror at the large, dark-red stain spreading across her golden silk dress.
"Oh, thank you so much! I was 'dreaming' about going home to change for the second time in an hour!" Vasilisa's lips pouted in a way that made her look like a spoiled little girl on the verge of tears.
She jumped up from her chair, forgetting that Andranika was approaching from behind. Her friend reflexively recoiled, and then, losing her balance on her high heels, crashed to the floor.
"You girls just can't seem to avoid trouble!" Max couldn't help but laugh as he helped his neighbor to her feet. "If you only knew how much I've missed you two!"
"Those two hens belong in a circus, charging admission," Taras remarked with a sneer.
"Oh, shut up!" Nika retorted, brushing off her dress, a flush of embarrassment creeping up her face under the amused gazes of the guests.
"Why were you late?" Vasilisa asked.
"Overslept. I went to bed just before dawn and didn't hear my alarm. Or your calls, either. I barely managed to get up."
"Have you heard on the radio about 'The Avid Movie Buff'? We need to find that scumbag Stasik Wetzel immediately!"
"Belka's 'Avid Movie Buff'? On the radio?!" Her friend's eyes widened in surprise.
"Her game starts on Tuesday at 9 PM, but it's being hosted by some Stas Wetzel. We need to find out who this smart aleck is and kick his butt so he doesn't dare plagiarize again. I checked social media while I was in the taxi, but I couldn't find any Stas Wetzel."
"Don't you know that..." Max exclaimed in surprise, but he didn't get a chance to finish his sentence.
Taras interrupted him, noticing the bride and her bridesmaid, whom they had both attended the academy of veterinary medicine with, approaching their table. Leaping from his chair, he clapped his hands together with exaggerated fervor.
"Oh, look who it is! Our precious bride has arrived!"
Vasilisa, eyebrows raised, turned to Andranika.
"Ha! What's gotten into him? Where's all this energy coming from?"
Andranika mirrored Vasilisa's puzzled expression, her eyes lingering on the guy's overly enthusiastic welcome.
Daniella, a weary smile playing on her lips, beckoned them closer.
"Ladies, would you mind joining me for a quick trip to the powder room?"
Covering a wine stain on her dress with a napkin, Vasya nodded and fell into step beside the bride. Her fingers danced across her phone screen, summoning an Uber while her mind wrestled with a more pressing dilemma: which dress to change into next.
It wasn't until they were safely ensconced within the sterile, mirrored confines of the restroom, far from the prying eyes and well-meaning smiles, that Daniella finally allowed her carefully constructed facade to crumble.
"Girls, you won't believe it," she began, her voice a weary sigh. "We just got here, and I'm already exhausted by the guests! I don't even know half of them! And they just keep coming and coming with congratulations, and I have to listen to each one and thank them for their gift. This isn't the wedding I wanted at all, but you can't argue with Kirill's dad. He cares more about what people think. How can Tabakov's only son get married and have a wedding with less than three hundred people? 'What a *sha-a-ame!'" she mocked, mimicking her new father-in-law's booming voice.
Andranika squeezed Daniella's hand.
"Hold on, Dan’ka! At least the day after tomorrow, you and Kirill will be strolling through Paris."
"Finally, your dream is coming true!" Vasilisa declared, dabbing a napkin with water. She started scrubbing at the wine stain, then paused, realizing she should probably consult Google on how to save a silk dress first.
"What are you doing?!" her sister exclaimed, swatting Vasilisa's hand away. "You're making it worse! You need to try lemon juice or a vinegar solution first."
It was no surprise that Daniella knew this. Unlike her somewhat clumsy twin, she was known as a true homemaker and a jack-of-all-trades. She cooked with such skill that second helpings were inevitable, knitted luxurious sweaters, and created tablecloths and curtains that were striking in their originality and beauty. Kirill was incredibly lucky to be marrying such a resourceful and talented girl.
As for Vasilisa, she was all thumbs. “Your hands grew out of the wrong place,” her brother Taras liked to say. She blamed her father, who had given her that name in honor of his childhood friend Vas’ka, as he had promised him in his youth. Her mother, who had managed to save her firstborn from being named Vasily, had intended to name the twins Daniella and Isabella, but her husband, determined to keep his word, insisted on equality—they would name one girl as she wished, and the second would have the name he chose. So she became Vasilisa, and, as if following the principle of " How to ship call, so it will float," she grew up to be a real tomboy, a hooligan Vas’ka.
"Are you going to catch the bouquet?" Daniella asked. "I'll deliberately throw it in your direction so that Kirill's annoying cousins don't get it."
"God forbid! Don't even think about throwing it at us!" Andranika laughed. "We're doing just fine being free for now. If you throw the bouquet at us, Vasya and I will run in opposite directions."
Vasilisa nodded in agreement.
"Ha! We are birds of free flight, so let your bouquet fly right past us."
"What about that photographer you've been dating?" her sister reminded her.
"Oh, we're just hanging out for now. Besides, he left for Moscow today for some exhibition. And he's definitely not the one I'd catch a bouquet for."
"Well, it's up to you, picky ones! Listen, doesn't it seem like this weird entertainer in pyjamas is about to get drunk soon? That's when it'll really be 'What a sha-a-ame!'" Daniella mimicked her father-in-law again, eliciting laughter from her friends.
[1] Nadezhny in Russian means ‘reliable’, ‘trustworthy’.
[2] Ostrovok means a small island.
[3] VKontakte is Russian social network, like Facebook (Instagram and Facebook social networks owned by Meta Platforms Inc. were declared extremist by the Tverskoy Court of Moscow on March 21, 2022 and banned in Russia).
[4] Koza-Dereza is a character from Russian, Belarusian and Ukrainian fairy tales. It’s a goat who is a bully and a liar.
[5] Here is a reference from KOZAchuk to KOZA-Dereza.
*
Having said goodbye to his radio listeners, Roman Nadezhny wasn't in a hurry to leave the studio. His friend, Korney An, had invited him to spend the evening in the company of two hot dancers. It was a tempting offer that was hard to refuse. Korney had promised to pick him up by the end of his broadcast, and while waiting for his friend, Roma, sprawled in his chair with a can of energy drink, discussed the upcoming party next Saturday in honor of their colleague, DJ Phil's, birthday with Leo Morozov, who had replaced him."So, who's going?" Lyova inquired, a slender, short brunette whose thin-rimmed glasses accentuated his intellectual appearance, highlighting his dark, expressive eyes. His resonant, pleasant voice, for some reason, always conjured an image in the minds of female listeners of a tall, blue-eyed blond. Lyova Morozov was no Hollywood heartthrob, certainly, but his charm alone was enough to earn him a reputation as a conqueror of young girls' hearts. Though, in that arena, competing with Nadezhny was a lost cause. Tall, tanned, with chestnut hair, lively brown eyes, and a cocky smirk that drove the girls wild, Roman enjoyed an almost unfair level of popularity with the opposite sex.
"Oh, everyone," he replied, "Mashka Uspenskaya, Irka Davydova, Dimon Markin..."
Just then, the studio's intercom phone rang.
"It's security for you!" Lyova said, handing the receiver to Roma.
He held it to his ear.
"Yeah, it's me... Korney An? Yeah, let him through, please. I'll sign the pass... Let him come up to the second floor. I'll meet him here."
Roma returned the phone to Lyova, who couldn't suppress a smirk upon hearing the guest's name.
"Could it be that DJ Kukruznik[1] himself is gracing us with his presence?"
Nadezhny had known Korney since their school days, so when An suddenly became a local TV star a couple of years ago, he continued to see him as an old friend, not a celebrity. True, he occasionally had bouts of star fever, and when Korney got carried away, Roma was quick to bring him back down to earth.
An almost never did anything without a motive. Therefore, his offer to pick up Roma seemed suspicious, especially considering the fact that it involved trekking to the other side of town, and the screen star hadn't yet acquired a car of his own. Nadezhny, a journalism student, didn't need to be a clairvoyant to figure out the reason for this visit.
Korney had often lamented how impoverished local television had become: the equipment was long outdated, the sets were also "a century" old, and the salary left much to be desired. And against the backdrop of all this bleakness, a new TV channel, "Bravo," under the management of Prokhor Trofimov, a former presenter from the capital's "Fifth Button" channel, was about to go on the air.
The "Bravo" broadcasting company was located in a spacious three-story mansion with a magnificent view of the endless expanse of the sea. While only the radio station was currently operating, the launch of the television channel was planned for the very near future. Roma had seen with his own eyes the sophisticated equipment that had been brought in, the stylish sets and luxurious furniture being carried into the studio, and specialists from Moscow, from that same "Fifth Button" channel, were conducting accelerated training for the channel's future employees. After its launch, the "Bravo" TV channel would immediately eclipse the local state broadcasting company. Undoubtedly, An, nicknamed Kukruznik by the people, was thinking about moving here and had decided to go on a reconnaissance mission.
Lyova took off his headphones.
"If Kukruznik wants to get a job at 'Bravo,' he's in for a big disappointment," he exclaimed, as if reading Roma's mind. "I heard there's an agreement between Trofimov and the head of the state broadcasting company. Trofimov won't hire his people at 'Bravo,' otherwise everyone from local TV will defect here."
"And what does Trofimov get out of it?"
"I don't know. Probably orders from above. It's just advantageous for Kazakov that way."
"Yeah, he doesn't need them fighting each other," Roma agreed. "Both television channels should be working toward the same goal – for Kazakov to win the election – and not wasting time on internecine wars."
His intuition hadn't failed him. An toured the entire building, peeking into almost every corner. He was a short, scrawny blond with a head that was disproportionately large for his body. With such a memorable appearance, the "big-headed" Korney certainly stood out from the other TV presenters. He was known, but not particularly loved by the public. An hosted a music show called "Music Box" as DJ Jet. On the air, he mugged, laughed unnaturally, and tried to copy the mannerisms of the Moscow VJs, but not always successfully.
"Jet? More like a biplane Kukuruznik!" they'd quip, twisting his last name into a joke about the old Soviet-era An-2 agricultural plane.
Having gained some notoriety on a light entertainment show, Korney decided to aim higher, to build a career in the cutthroat world of political broadcasting. He traded his jeans and bandanas for a suit and tie, but after a string of disastrous live appearances, he was forced to retreat to the safe haven of his pre-recorded "Music Box."
Korney grated on the nerves of many viewers, who voiced their bewilderment in the comment sections of social media, wondering what merit he possessed that justified his presence on screen. What few knew was that An was the protégé of a certain aging lady who headed the production department, a woman with a well-known penchant for young interns.
After a thorough tour of the television and radio broadcasting complex, when An's curiosity had been fully sated, the friends descended back into the lobby.
"So, what do you think of the place?" Roma asked.
An shrugged. "Not bad!"
They stepped out onto the street. Instead of heading towards the parking lot, Roma turned in the direction of the bus stop. Korney watched him with a surprised expression.
"Damn! I completely forgot your car's under repair. Ah, I was hoping we could go for a spin."
"Not today. Spill the beans! You thinking of transferring here?" Roma asked.
"Nah. "Bravo" probably won't be around after the elections. Keeping a machine like that afloat is an expensive luxury!"
"We'll see what happens!" Roma replied with a shrug. "So, what's the deal with the dancers? Where are we meeting them?"
"At "Elysium" at nine."
"You're kidding me! You want me to show up at a restaurant in shorts and a baseball cap? We've got forty-five minutes. Let's call a cab and head over to my dorm. I'll change, and maybe I'll pop in on my neighbor while I'm there. Marinka promised to write an essay for me."
"Is it possible that the mega-brain Roman Nadezhny actually buys student works?" An quipped.
"I just don't feel like wasting time on all that writing."
"Speaking of writing!" Korney remembered as they rode in the taxi. "A journalist called me yesterday. She wants to write an article about me in "Ostrovok"."
"One of my classmates works there. Completely nuts!"
"I hope it's not her," his friend chuckled. "We're meeting on Monday at 6:15 PM at the "Khrust"[2] cafe."
Nadezhny studied journalism at Vorontsov University and lived in the student campus. Once, this enormous stone building with marble columns, sprawling amidst a lawn and a dense park, not far from a pond, belonged to Count Vorontsov. Later, it was a museum, and even later, a summer pioneer camp with tents pitched on that very lawn.
Now, all of this was the property of the Count's descendant, Viktor Vladimirovich Vorontsov, who had established the university. Two-story cottages, a shop, a cafe, and a sports complex had been built around the main building, transforming the area into a first-class student campus.
Roma's room was located directly above the coffee shop where he usually had breakfast. Nowhere else had he tasted such fragrant coffee and a delicate apple and cinnamon pie that melted in the mouth. In the mornings, the divine aroma of fresh pastries wafted through his open window, and it was often this that prompted the sleepy, hungry student to part with his cozy bed.
Out of habit, Roma peeked into the coffee shop before heading up to his room. One could always find a lot of familiar faces here, and this time was no exception.
"Oh, hey there, stars of radio and TV!" a red-haired guy named Egor waved to them.
At twenty-five, he looked much younger than his years, almost like a teenager, so many found it hard to believe that this young man lectured students at Vorontsov University on wildlife conservation and volunteered at a drug rehabilitation center. And a couple of days a week, he also worked as a DJ at the "Berloga[3]" nightclub, alternating with Nadezhny. Egor Arutyunov was an extraordinary person, and his friends, including Roma and Korney, never had to be bored in his company.
Egor got up from the table and walked towards them.
"You're just who I need!" he said, looking at Roma. "I've run into some problems. Could I crash at your place for a couple of days?"
"No problem! Besides, you work at the university, so you won't have any issues with security. Stay as long as you need!"
"Thanks, man, you've really saved me!" Egor sighed in relief.
"What happened?" Korney asked. "Did your landlady kick you out? Behind on rent?"
"No, it's a weird situation. I'll explain later. It's a long story."
"Alright. I could have taken you in too, but my mom's relatives are coming from the village..." An spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness.
"That's exactly why I didn't ask you. And where are you guys off to? I can smell some grand evening plans in the air!"
"You guessed it!" Roma confirmed with a laugh. "Want to come with us to "Elysium"?"
Egor slung his backpack over his shoulder.
"Can't. I need to sort something out now. And then I'm off to "Berloga"."
"Alright, whatever you want! Let's go. I'll give you a spare key. Just lock the door properly, especially if you've brought any valuables with you. We've got a thief around here lately. Already cleaned out a few rooms."
The friends left the coffee shop and went up to the second floor. In the hallway, Nadezhny remembered that he was going to pop in on his neighbor Marina about the promised essay. After opening his room for Egor and Korney, he approached the neighboring one and knocked.
The door wasn't opened for a long time, and Roma was already about to leave when he suddenly noticed that it wasn't locked And even was slightly ajar.
Could the local robber have broken into the room?!
With these thoughts, Roma pushed the door. It slowly swung open, as if inviting him to enter. Which he did after a few seconds of hesitation.
Marina was asleep on the bed, curled up in a fetal position like a child. Roma didn't want to wake his neighbor and was already intending to leave the room, which he had barged into uninvited, but then his eyes fell on the empty pill packets and an empty martini bottle on the bedside table.
A terrible thought, like lightning, pierced Roma.
Marina wasn't asleep! She was already somewhere far away, from where there was no road back.
[1] The Kukuruznik (Corncob) is the nickname of the Soviet An-2 light multipurpose aircraft. This nickname appeared due to the fact that the aircraft was massively used to pollinate corn fields. However, aviation experts consider this name disparaging and prefer to call the aircraft "Annushka". Speaking of Korney - this is a reference to his surname An, as in the name of the aircraft.
[2] Khrust (хруст) means “crunch”.
[3] Berloga (берлога) mean “den”, “cave”.
An almost never did anything without a motive. Therefore, his offer to pick up Roma seemed suspicious, especially considering the fact that it involved trekking to the other side of town, and the screen star hadn't yet acquired a car of his own. Nadezhny, a journalism student, didn't need to be a clairvoyant to figure out the reason for this visit.
Korney had often lamented how impoverished local television had become: the equipment was long outdated, the sets were also "a century" old, and the salary left much to be desired. And against the backdrop of all this bleakness, a new TV channel, "Bravo," under the management of Prokhor Trofimov, a former presenter from the capital's "Fifth Button" channel, was about to go on the air.
The "Bravo" broadcasting company was located in a spacious three-story mansion with a magnificent view of the endless expanse of the sea. While only the radio station was currently operating, the launch of the television channel was planned for the very near future. Roma had seen with his own eyes the sophisticated equipment that had been brought in, the stylish sets and luxurious furniture being carried into the studio, and specialists from Moscow, from that same "Fifth Button" channel, were conducting accelerated training for the channel's future employees. After its launch, the "Bravo" TV channel would immediately eclipse the local state broadcasting company. Undoubtedly, An, nicknamed Kukruznik by the people, was thinking about moving here and had decided to go on a reconnaissance mission.
Lyova took off his headphones.
"If Kukruznik wants to get a job at 'Bravo,' he's in for a big disappointment," he exclaimed, as if reading Roma's mind. "I heard there's an agreement between Trofimov and the head of the state broadcasting company. Trofimov won't hire his people at 'Bravo,' otherwise everyone from local TV will defect here."
"And what does Trofimov get out of it?"
"I don't know. Probably orders from above. It's just advantageous for Kazakov that way."
"Yeah, he doesn't need them fighting each other," Roma agreed. "Both television channels should be working toward the same goal – for Kazakov to win the election – and not wasting time on internecine wars."
His intuition hadn't failed him. An toured the entire building, peeking into almost every corner. He was a short, scrawny blond with a head that was disproportionately large for his body. With such a memorable appearance, the "big-headed" Korney certainly stood out from the other TV presenters. He was known, but not particularly loved by the public. An hosted a music show called "Music Box" as DJ Jet. On the air, he mugged, laughed unnaturally, and tried to copy the mannerisms of the Moscow VJs, but not always successfully.
"Jet? More like a biplane Kukuruznik!" they'd quip, twisting his last name into a joke about the old Soviet-era An-2 agricultural plane.
Having gained some notoriety on a light entertainment show, Korney decided to aim higher, to build a career in the cutthroat world of political broadcasting. He traded his jeans and bandanas for a suit and tie, but after a string of disastrous live appearances, he was forced to retreat to the safe haven of his pre-recorded "Music Box."
Korney grated on the nerves of many viewers, who voiced their bewilderment in the comment sections of social media, wondering what merit he possessed that justified his presence on screen. What few knew was that An was the protégé of a certain aging lady who headed the production department, a woman with a well-known penchant for young interns.
After a thorough tour of the television and radio broadcasting complex, when An's curiosity had been fully sated, the friends descended back into the lobby.
"So, what do you think of the place?" Roma asked.
An shrugged. "Not bad!"
They stepped out onto the street. Instead of heading towards the parking lot, Roma turned in the direction of the bus stop. Korney watched him with a surprised expression.
"Damn! I completely forgot your car's under repair. Ah, I was hoping we could go for a spin."
"Not today. Spill the beans! You thinking of transferring here?" Roma asked.
"Nah. "Bravo" probably won't be around after the elections. Keeping a machine like that afloat is an expensive luxury!"
"We'll see what happens!" Roma replied with a shrug. "So, what's the deal with the dancers? Where are we meeting them?"
"At "Elysium" at nine."
"You're kidding me! You want me to show up at a restaurant in shorts and a baseball cap? We've got forty-five minutes. Let's call a cab and head over to my dorm. I'll change, and maybe I'll pop in on my neighbor while I'm there. Marinka promised to write an essay for me."
"Is it possible that the mega-brain Roman Nadezhny actually buys student works?" An quipped.
"I just don't feel like wasting time on all that writing."
"Speaking of writing!" Korney remembered as they rode in the taxi. "A journalist called me yesterday. She wants to write an article about me in "Ostrovok"."
"One of my classmates works there. Completely nuts!"
"I hope it's not her," his friend chuckled. "We're meeting on Monday at 6:15 PM at the "Khrust"[2] cafe."
Nadezhny studied journalism at Vorontsov University and lived in the student campus. Once, this enormous stone building with marble columns, sprawling amidst a lawn and a dense park, not far from a pond, belonged to Count Vorontsov. Later, it was a museum, and even later, a summer pioneer camp with tents pitched on that very lawn.
Now, all of this was the property of the Count's descendant, Viktor Vladimirovich Vorontsov, who had established the university. Two-story cottages, a shop, a cafe, and a sports complex had been built around the main building, transforming the area into a first-class student campus.
Roma's room was located directly above the coffee shop where he usually had breakfast. Nowhere else had he tasted such fragrant coffee and a delicate apple and cinnamon pie that melted in the mouth. In the mornings, the divine aroma of fresh pastries wafted through his open window, and it was often this that prompted the sleepy, hungry student to part with his cozy bed.
Out of habit, Roma peeked into the coffee shop before heading up to his room. One could always find a lot of familiar faces here, and this time was no exception.
"Oh, hey there, stars of radio and TV!" a red-haired guy named Egor waved to them.
At twenty-five, he looked much younger than his years, almost like a teenager, so many found it hard to believe that this young man lectured students at Vorontsov University on wildlife conservation and volunteered at a drug rehabilitation center. And a couple of days a week, he also worked as a DJ at the "Berloga[3]" nightclub, alternating with Nadezhny. Egor Arutyunov was an extraordinary person, and his friends, including Roma and Korney, never had to be bored in his company.
Egor got up from the table and walked towards them.
"You're just who I need!" he said, looking at Roma. "I've run into some problems. Could I crash at your place for a couple of days?"
"No problem! Besides, you work at the university, so you won't have any issues with security. Stay as long as you need!"
"Thanks, man, you've really saved me!" Egor sighed in relief.
"What happened?" Korney asked. "Did your landlady kick you out? Behind on rent?"
"No, it's a weird situation. I'll explain later. It's a long story."
"Alright. I could have taken you in too, but my mom's relatives are coming from the village..." An spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness.
"That's exactly why I didn't ask you. And where are you guys off to? I can smell some grand evening plans in the air!"
"You guessed it!" Roma confirmed with a laugh. "Want to come with us to "Elysium"?"
Egor slung his backpack over his shoulder.
"Can't. I need to sort something out now. And then I'm off to "Berloga"."
"Alright, whatever you want! Let's go. I'll give you a spare key. Just lock the door properly, especially if you've brought any valuables with you. We've got a thief around here lately. Already cleaned out a few rooms."
The friends left the coffee shop and went up to the second floor. In the hallway, Nadezhny remembered that he was going to pop in on his neighbor Marina about the promised essay. After opening his room for Egor and Korney, he approached the neighboring one and knocked.
The door wasn't opened for a long time, and Roma was already about to leave when he suddenly noticed that it wasn't locked And even was slightly ajar.
Could the local robber have broken into the room?!
With these thoughts, Roma pushed the door. It slowly swung open, as if inviting him to enter. Which he did after a few seconds of hesitation.
Marina was asleep on the bed, curled up in a fetal position like a child. Roma didn't want to wake his neighbor and was already intending to leave the room, which he had barged into uninvited, but then his eyes fell on the empty pill packets and an empty martini bottle on the bedside table.
A terrible thought, like lightning, pierced Roma.
Marina wasn't asleep! She was already somewhere far away, from where there was no road back.
[1] The Kukuruznik (Corncob) is the nickname of the Soviet An-2 light multipurpose aircraft. This nickname appeared due to the fact that the aircraft was massively used to pollinate corn fields. However, aviation experts consider this name disparaging and prefer to call the aircraft "Annushka". Speaking of Korney - this is a reference to his surname An, as in the name of the aircraft.
[2] Khrust (хруст) means “crunch”.
[3] Berloga (берлога) mean “den”, “cave”.
Chapter 2
Vasilisa knew with unwavering certainty that being late to university on Monday was absolutely forbidden. A certain Vladimir Yakovlevich, dean of the journalism faculty and, incidentally, her father, could not stand it when students arrived late to his lectures. Therefore, although with great difficulty, she managed to get up at ten minutes to seven, which was a true feat for her after a series of holidays and her sister's two-day wedding.
By the time Vasilisa was ready and appeared in the kitchen, her family was already having breakfast. Her father was drinking strong coffee and reviewing his morning mail on his tablet. Her mother, with inexhaustible energy, fluttered around the stove, conjuring up fluffy syrniki[1], while Taras was devouring scrambled eggs with fried bacon with gusto.
"Oh, Sleeping Beauty has awakened!" her brother, as usual, greeted her with a sarcastic smile and turned on Bravo radio.
Immediately, the mournful voice of DJ Phil, whom Vasilisa could not stand, echoed through the kitchen.
"Turn him off immediately!" she grimaced, then kissed her parents in turn. "Good morning, Mom, Dad!"
"Good morning!"
Taras changed the radio station, and the kitchen filled up with the voice of Julianna Karaulova and her song "Vneorbitnye" (Out-of-Orbit).
"What's wrong with him? He's a normal guy! I've known Phil for a hundred years!" exclaimed Taras.
"As for me, I would want to not to hear him for a hundred years!"
"Vasya," her mother hugged her, "stop grumbling. Eat syrniki. Or do you want scrambled eggs too?"
"I'll just have coffee with a vanilla cheese bar," Vasilisa took her mug and inserted a capsule into the coffee machine.
"This daughter should learn to cook for herself, at least scrambled eggs! Otherwise, she'll remain an old maid, no one will marry her, unlike Danielka," Taras laughed.
"Everyone's already tired of your old boring hurdy-gurdy!", his sister replied.
"Son, stop it!" her mother ruffled his hair.
Vladimir Yakovlevich gave his son a stern look.
"Has someone already forgotten he's late for his internship?"
Vasilisa sat down at the table and stuck her tongue out at her brother.
"Ha! I wouldn't be surprised if this internship is as real as your imaginary practice last summer. Mom, has Dania written? She's probably already flying to Moscow. And tonight, she and Kirill will be strolling along the Champs-Élysées. Lucky her!" she sighed wistfully.
"Yes," her mother smiled, wiping her hands on her apron. "Paris is the city of lovers. Someday, you'll go there too."
"Aha! Oh, what's this?" Vasilisa's attention was drawn to a small, delicate peach-colored envelope on the windowsill. "An invitation!"
"Your dad and I have been invited to a wedding on Saturday."
"Whose?"
"Dmitry Alekseevich's," her father replied and immersed himself in his tablet again.
"Sotnikov?! The psychology professor?" Vasilisa's jaw dropped in surprise.
"Yes, he invited colleagues from our university."
"Why are you so shocked?" Taras immediately noticed, anticipating a new opportunity for trolling. "Are you in love with him or something?"
"No! We just didn't know he has a fiancée. So many girls are crazy about him! I wonder, why did he suddenly decide to get married?"
"Maybe his girlfriend got pregnant?" her brother suggested.
"Okay, that's enough, stop discussing him like two gossiping old women on a bench!" their father exclaimed. "Dmitry Alekseevich is a pleasant young man, graduated with honors from the psychology faculty of Moscow State University. He has a brilliant future ahead of him within the walls of our university."
Vasilisa picked up the invitation and whistled.
"Wow! A wedding at 'Prince Igor', just like Dania's! Where does he get so much money for such a banquet?"
Dmitry Alekseevich Sotnikov enjoyed great popularity among the students. In the year he'd been working at Vorontsov University, he'd become one of their most beloved professors. Young, communicative, energetic, Sotnikov taught his subject brilliantly and, moreover, could always encourage and support them in difficult times. They could openly talk to him about their problems and share personal experiences without worrying that anyone would find out.
"Apparently, the banquet is being paid for by his future wealthy banker father-in-law," Taras concluded. "By the way, speaking of rich Pinocchios, Nazalny has a new video out exposing a deputy. He has so much money, even his toilet seat is encrusted with diamonds, rubies, and emeralds. That's how some people live!"
"Ha! And how does he sit on it? Scratching his butt?"
Her brother froze for a few seconds because such a thought hadn't occurred to him.
"He probably meant the toilet lid!"
"I wonder why all of your favorite Nazalny's topics are about toilets? What is he? A blogger reviewing them? It seems like Nazalny, constantly sticking his nose into other people's business, dreams of a multi-million dollar advertising contract with toilet manufacturers."
"You're out of touch, honey! Nazalny has actually announced that he will be participating in the elections!"
Vasilisa almost sprayed her brother with coffee and, choking, began to cough.
"What elections?"
"For the post of governor! First, he'll remove Kazakov, and then he'll go further and overthrow Putin! And he has a real chance, by the way, because young people are all about him!"
“You mean stupid young people like you?"
"Okay, less talking nonsense and faster with breakfast!" Vladimir Yakovlevich began to lose patience. "We need to hurry so we're not late for the first class, and you, Taras, for your internship."
"Dad, I wanted to ask you something before I forgot. It concerns the contest."
A few days ago, an announcement appeared near the dean's office about a contest for the best article among students of the journalism faculty. The winner would receive a trip to Moscow for the international youth festival "Lights of Eurasia."
"What exactly do you want to know?"
"Do I have a chance to win the contest?"
"Write the best article, and the trip is yours," her father replied.
"What if I actually write the best one, but you give the trip to someone else, so no one thinks you're promoting your daughter?" Vasilisa rattled off.
Vladimir Yakovlevich shook his head.
"I've already said everything. You should hurry with the article, by the way. The deadline is in two weeks. And we've already received several excellent works, for your information."
"Damn! And I haven't even chosen a topic yet!" his daughter frowned.
As always, her brother Taras came to her rescue.
"Why don't you write about how you dreamed of raising piglets as a child, and now you've turned into one of them - you're dirty again!" he laughed, pointing to the chocolate mark on her cheek left by the wrapper of the glazed cheese bar, and simultaneously filming her with his phone camera.
"I'm fed up with you, you idiot! I”ll throw your phone down the garbage chute!"
"Vasilisa, Taras, stop it!"
"Maybe you'll write about the sights of our city?" Mom suggested. "For example, about the temple on the mountain. This year it turns one hundred and five years old. It has a very interesting history. Few people know about it, but our neighbor at the dacha[2], the sweet old lady Lidia Semenovna, once told me..."
"I don't want to write about any temple! It's boring! I want something unusual, intriguing..."
"You don't have the brains for that," Taras, as always, couldn't resist a sarcastic comment.
Just then, the landline phone rang. Vasilisa snatched the receiver from the table, continuing to glare at her brother from under her brow.
"Hallo!"
In response, muffled sobs were heard, followed by Daniella's agitated voice.
"Vas’ka, it's me. Don't say my name and let the parents know anything. I couldn't get through to your mobile."
"Damn, I forgot to turn off silent mode! What happened? Where are you?" her sister worried.
"At the airport. Our flight was delayed. I need to talk to you," Daniella sobbed.
"Okay, why are you crying? And where's Kir..." Vasilisa stopped herself.
"Kirill? He and Max went to the cafeteria, and I'm calling from the restroom. I don't want him to suspect anything. Let me call you back on your mobile? Otherwise, you'll be late for class, and Dad will nag you all week."
"No need, I'll come now. Wait!"
Vasilisa jumped up from the table under the surprised glances of her family, who were listening to her conversation with interest.
"What's happened there? Who was calling?" Mom worried.
"Sorry, I need to sort out some urgent business. Dad, sorry, I'll be late for your lecture."
"I don't let anyone in after the bell, you know that! What's going on there?"
"Nothing! Then mark me absent. Ciao!"
Grabbing her backpack in the hallway, Vasilisa ran out of the apartment. Descending in the elevator from the tenth floor, she recalled that she had spent a lot during the holidays, and, checking her wallet, scraped together only three hundred and seventy rubles.
"That's enough for a taxi! There's still about five hundred rubles on the bank card. I'll run into the editorial office after lunch. Maybe they'll pay the fee," Vasya encouraged herself, calling a car in the app.
This morning at Emerald Island Airport was unusually lively and noisy for a Monday. After a string of May holidays, numerous guests of the resort town were returning home for work and study. Quickly finding her sister in the crowd of passengers and well-wishers would have been difficult if Daniella hadn't run out to meet her. The first thing Vasilisa noticed was her red, slightly swollen eyes from tears.
If Dan'ka cried like that, then things are really bad.
"What happened? How do you feel? Does your stomach hurt?" she bombarded her sister with questions, becoming agitated.
"I'm fine, but a girl died because of me," Daniella whispered fearfully, barely holding back tears.
"How did she die?! What nonsense are you talking about?" Vasilisa widened her eyes. Dania had never harmed a fly in her life, and here she was making such a statement!
"Do you see this?" her sister held out her phone with a post open on the display from the local Telegram channel "Gossip Girl." "It says here that the day before yesterday, Marina Shmeleva committed suicide in your Vorontsova student town. Maybe you even know her."
"I don't know any Shmeleva. But what does that have to do with you? If this girl committed suicide, how can you be involved in this?"
"She dated Kirill before me. Marina loved him, so she committed suicide on our wedding day. They write that they found a calendar in her room, on which our date was crossed out in black!"
"Stop it, Dan'ka! Nothing is really known yet about what actually happened there," Vasilisa exclaimed, quickly scanning the text of the post. "Maybe this Marina had some problems that made her decide to commit suicide. Maybe she found out she had some incurable disease, for example."
"Do you think that's possible?.. Maybe you’re right. In the comments of your university's community on VKontakte, I read that she played on the university volleyball team, but she recently quit training," Daniella recalled.
"You see! Dan'ka, I'm sure you have nothing to do with this! And what does Kirill say?"
"Nothing. He doesn't seem to know. As soon as I read it, I said I felt sick and ran to the restroom, and I sent him and Max to the cafeteria. So you really think it's not about me?" her sister asked with hope in her voice.
"Sure! Don't even think about it now. Go to Paris, relax, and don't forget that you can't be nervous in your condition. Got it?" Vasilisa exclaimed. "And in the meantime, I'll figure everything out and send you a detailed report so you can be sure you have nothing to do with it. I've already come up with a plan. If this Marina lived in the student town, I need to ask the classmates there. Maybe they know her or her roommate."
"Her name is Olesya Plotnikova, judging by the comments. People are sympathizing with her because she is now afraid to stay in their room, and it's not possible to move her to another place. Do you know her? From the IL - Faculty of International Law."
"No, but if she studies at IL, maybe Belka knows her. I'll start the investigation with the roommate. I think she can clarify a lot," Vasilisa typed the name of the deceased girl's roommate into the VKontakte search engine, quickly found her page, and saw a familiar face of a pretty blonde on the avatar. "I know her! She was in the university's advertising booklet last year!"
"It's also written here that Olesya sings in your university KVN[3] team and is a member of the university book club," Daniella also looked at the phone screen. "So, Belka definitely knows her."
"Well, that's great! If Olesya is in the book club, Belka is well acquainted with her. I'll ask her to arrange a meeting for us," Vasilisa rejoiced and, to distract her sister from anxious thoughts, changed the subject of conversation. "Ha! Belka recently did something crazy. Remember how she dreamed of a detective club? So, in the university book club, she found an ally. And do you know who it is? Katya, Dad's assistant! They are going to organize their detective club. Just imagine Dad's face when he hears about it!"
"He hasn't recovered from her magic club yet," Daniella involuntarily laughed, recalling how Dad complained about his assistant, who laid out Tarot cards at every opportunity.
"Katya even gave Belka a joke detective kit for her birthday with a magnifying glass, fake mustache, evidence bags, glasses, some pipettes, and all sorts of accessories. So, Dan'ka, I promise you, I'll figure out this story, enlist the help of our Miss Belka Marple, and report everything to you by your arrival, okay?"
Smiling, Daniella hugged her sister tightly.
"Thank you for coming and calming me down!"
"Just don't cry again!"
They finished their anxious conversation just in time, only moments before Kirill and Max approached them.
"Oh, Vas'ka! How did you end up here? We already thought we were seeing double."
"I found out that your flight was delayed and decided to personally wish you a good flight. Will you at least make it to your flight to Paris?"
"We will. I chose a flight with a time buffer to avoid such situations."
"What a prudent brother-in-law I have!" Vasilisa praised him. "Unfortunately, I have to leave you now. I have a lecture from our crazy dad. And it's better not to anger him with lateness."
"Yeah, sis, your lot is not easy - Mom watched over you at school, and now Dad doesn't give you a break at university," Daniella laughed.
"Ha! Peace is just a dream."
"Let me drop you off at the university," Maxim offered.
"Aren't you flying to Moscow? Your classes have started."
"I need to sort out some family matters. I'll go in a few days."
They said goodbye to the newlyweds and headed towards the exit.
In the glass doors, Vasilisa, engrossed in conversation with her friend, collided with a short brunette man around thirty-five years old, whose cold blue eyes pierced her through, like a stab from a steel blade. The man, not letting her pass despite the rules of etiquette, didn't even apologize and hurried deeper into the hall.
"Something about that guy's face looks familiar," she frowned.
"He looks a lot like my professor. Almost a clone of him! Nogotkov gave us lectures last year. Such a jerk, if you only knew!" Max exclaimed.
"I've definitely seen him somewhere! Maybe in the newspaper. Like he's our new local politician."
The friends got into Max's car, and he immediately turned on Bravo radio. DJ Phil's voice boomed throughout the cabin.
"Oh no! Not him again!" Vasilisa covered her ears with her hands, which amused her friend. "I can't stand him!"
To her happiness, Phil fell silent at that moment, and a song "We Don’t Talk Anymore" by Selena Gomez and Charlie Puth began to play.
The car started and drove out of the airport parking lot.
"So, where did you disappear to after the wedding? We didn't even get to talk properly."
"I was helping Dan'ka. There were tons of things to do! All these organizational moments are so exhausting, almost to the point of losing my pulse! By the way, since I'm already late for the lecture and Dad won't let me in anyway, let's stop by the Ostrovok editorial office. They promised to give me a fee."
"OK. And how are things on your personal front?" Max inquired. "Are you dating anyone?"
Vasilisa shrugged.
"There's one guy. We met at a photography workshop. He's a photographer."
"Fallen in love?"
"With whom? With Denis? We've only known each other for a couple of weeks. We just hang out, go to the movies, to cafes. What's new with you? How's your Moscow girlfriend doing?"
"We broke up, so now I'm actively searching."
"Ha! Add this status to your social media pages! By the way, I can give you a couple of phone numbers of the models from our theater!"
"Better let's meet in the evening?" Max suggested. "We'll walk along the embankment or sit in a bar, chat. You'll tell me about your new adventures."
"Great! I'll be free after eight."
"I'll pick you up!"
[1] Syrniki are fried pancakes or flatbreads made from cottage cheese dough, often served for breakfast or as a dessert.
[2] Dacha is a summer cottage.
[3] KVN - Club of the Funny and Inventive people
By the time Vasilisa was ready and appeared in the kitchen, her family was already having breakfast. Her father was drinking strong coffee and reviewing his morning mail on his tablet. Her mother, with inexhaustible energy, fluttered around the stove, conjuring up fluffy syrniki[1], while Taras was devouring scrambled eggs with fried bacon with gusto.
"Oh, Sleeping Beauty has awakened!" her brother, as usual, greeted her with a sarcastic smile and turned on Bravo radio.
Immediately, the mournful voice of DJ Phil, whom Vasilisa could not stand, echoed through the kitchen.
"Turn him off immediately!" she grimaced, then kissed her parents in turn. "Good morning, Mom, Dad!"
"Good morning!"
Taras changed the radio station, and the kitchen filled up with the voice of Julianna Karaulova and her song "Vneorbitnye" (Out-of-Orbit).
"What's wrong with him? He's a normal guy! I've known Phil for a hundred years!" exclaimed Taras.
"As for me, I would want to not to hear him for a hundred years!"
"Vasya," her mother hugged her, "stop grumbling. Eat syrniki. Or do you want scrambled eggs too?"
"I'll just have coffee with a vanilla cheese bar," Vasilisa took her mug and inserted a capsule into the coffee machine.
"This daughter should learn to cook for herself, at least scrambled eggs! Otherwise, she'll remain an old maid, no one will marry her, unlike Danielka," Taras laughed.
"Everyone's already tired of your old boring hurdy-gurdy!", his sister replied.
"Son, stop it!" her mother ruffled his hair.
Vladimir Yakovlevich gave his son a stern look.
"Has someone already forgotten he's late for his internship?"
Vasilisa sat down at the table and stuck her tongue out at her brother.
"Ha! I wouldn't be surprised if this internship is as real as your imaginary practice last summer. Mom, has Dania written? She's probably already flying to Moscow. And tonight, she and Kirill will be strolling along the Champs-Élysées. Lucky her!" she sighed wistfully.
"Yes," her mother smiled, wiping her hands on her apron. "Paris is the city of lovers. Someday, you'll go there too."
"Aha! Oh, what's this?" Vasilisa's attention was drawn to a small, delicate peach-colored envelope on the windowsill. "An invitation!"
"Your dad and I have been invited to a wedding on Saturday."
"Whose?"
"Dmitry Alekseevich's," her father replied and immersed himself in his tablet again.
"Sotnikov?! The psychology professor?" Vasilisa's jaw dropped in surprise.
"Yes, he invited colleagues from our university."
"Why are you so shocked?" Taras immediately noticed, anticipating a new opportunity for trolling. "Are you in love with him or something?"
"No! We just didn't know he has a fiancée. So many girls are crazy about him! I wonder, why did he suddenly decide to get married?"
"Maybe his girlfriend got pregnant?" her brother suggested.
"Okay, that's enough, stop discussing him like two gossiping old women on a bench!" their father exclaimed. "Dmitry Alekseevich is a pleasant young man, graduated with honors from the psychology faculty of Moscow State University. He has a brilliant future ahead of him within the walls of our university."
Vasilisa picked up the invitation and whistled.
"Wow! A wedding at 'Prince Igor', just like Dania's! Where does he get so much money for such a banquet?"
Dmitry Alekseevich Sotnikov enjoyed great popularity among the students. In the year he'd been working at Vorontsov University, he'd become one of their most beloved professors. Young, communicative, energetic, Sotnikov taught his subject brilliantly and, moreover, could always encourage and support them in difficult times. They could openly talk to him about their problems and share personal experiences without worrying that anyone would find out.
"Apparently, the banquet is being paid for by his future wealthy banker father-in-law," Taras concluded. "By the way, speaking of rich Pinocchios, Nazalny has a new video out exposing a deputy. He has so much money, even his toilet seat is encrusted with diamonds, rubies, and emeralds. That's how some people live!"
"Ha! And how does he sit on it? Scratching his butt?"
Her brother froze for a few seconds because such a thought hadn't occurred to him.
"He probably meant the toilet lid!"
"I wonder why all of your favorite Nazalny's topics are about toilets? What is he? A blogger reviewing them? It seems like Nazalny, constantly sticking his nose into other people's business, dreams of a multi-million dollar advertising contract with toilet manufacturers."
"You're out of touch, honey! Nazalny has actually announced that he will be participating in the elections!"
Vasilisa almost sprayed her brother with coffee and, choking, began to cough.
"What elections?"
"For the post of governor! First, he'll remove Kazakov, and then he'll go further and overthrow Putin! And he has a real chance, by the way, because young people are all about him!"
“You mean stupid young people like you?"
"Okay, less talking nonsense and faster with breakfast!" Vladimir Yakovlevich began to lose patience. "We need to hurry so we're not late for the first class, and you, Taras, for your internship."
"Dad, I wanted to ask you something before I forgot. It concerns the contest."
A few days ago, an announcement appeared near the dean's office about a contest for the best article among students of the journalism faculty. The winner would receive a trip to Moscow for the international youth festival "Lights of Eurasia."
"What exactly do you want to know?"
"Do I have a chance to win the contest?"
"Write the best article, and the trip is yours," her father replied.
"What if I actually write the best one, but you give the trip to someone else, so no one thinks you're promoting your daughter?" Vasilisa rattled off.
Vladimir Yakovlevich shook his head.
"I've already said everything. You should hurry with the article, by the way. The deadline is in two weeks. And we've already received several excellent works, for your information."
"Damn! And I haven't even chosen a topic yet!" his daughter frowned.
As always, her brother Taras came to her rescue.
"Why don't you write about how you dreamed of raising piglets as a child, and now you've turned into one of them - you're dirty again!" he laughed, pointing to the chocolate mark on her cheek left by the wrapper of the glazed cheese bar, and simultaneously filming her with his phone camera.
"I'm fed up with you, you idiot! I”ll throw your phone down the garbage chute!"
"Vasilisa, Taras, stop it!"
"Maybe you'll write about the sights of our city?" Mom suggested. "For example, about the temple on the mountain. This year it turns one hundred and five years old. It has a very interesting history. Few people know about it, but our neighbor at the dacha[2], the sweet old lady Lidia Semenovna, once told me..."
"I don't want to write about any temple! It's boring! I want something unusual, intriguing..."
"You don't have the brains for that," Taras, as always, couldn't resist a sarcastic comment.
Just then, the landline phone rang. Vasilisa snatched the receiver from the table, continuing to glare at her brother from under her brow.
"Hallo!"
In response, muffled sobs were heard, followed by Daniella's agitated voice.
"Vas’ka, it's me. Don't say my name and let the parents know anything. I couldn't get through to your mobile."
"Damn, I forgot to turn off silent mode! What happened? Where are you?" her sister worried.
"At the airport. Our flight was delayed. I need to talk to you," Daniella sobbed.
"Okay, why are you crying? And where's Kir..." Vasilisa stopped herself.
"Kirill? He and Max went to the cafeteria, and I'm calling from the restroom. I don't want him to suspect anything. Let me call you back on your mobile? Otherwise, you'll be late for class, and Dad will nag you all week."
"No need, I'll come now. Wait!"
Vasilisa jumped up from the table under the surprised glances of her family, who were listening to her conversation with interest.
"What's happened there? Who was calling?" Mom worried.
"Sorry, I need to sort out some urgent business. Dad, sorry, I'll be late for your lecture."
"I don't let anyone in after the bell, you know that! What's going on there?"
"Nothing! Then mark me absent. Ciao!"
Grabbing her backpack in the hallway, Vasilisa ran out of the apartment. Descending in the elevator from the tenth floor, she recalled that she had spent a lot during the holidays, and, checking her wallet, scraped together only three hundred and seventy rubles.
"That's enough for a taxi! There's still about five hundred rubles on the bank card. I'll run into the editorial office after lunch. Maybe they'll pay the fee," Vasya encouraged herself, calling a car in the app.
This morning at Emerald Island Airport was unusually lively and noisy for a Monday. After a string of May holidays, numerous guests of the resort town were returning home for work and study. Quickly finding her sister in the crowd of passengers and well-wishers would have been difficult if Daniella hadn't run out to meet her. The first thing Vasilisa noticed was her red, slightly swollen eyes from tears.
If Dan'ka cried like that, then things are really bad.
"What happened? How do you feel? Does your stomach hurt?" she bombarded her sister with questions, becoming agitated.
"I'm fine, but a girl died because of me," Daniella whispered fearfully, barely holding back tears.
"How did she die?! What nonsense are you talking about?" Vasilisa widened her eyes. Dania had never harmed a fly in her life, and here she was making such a statement!
"Do you see this?" her sister held out her phone with a post open on the display from the local Telegram channel "Gossip Girl." "It says here that the day before yesterday, Marina Shmeleva committed suicide in your Vorontsova student town. Maybe you even know her."
"I don't know any Shmeleva. But what does that have to do with you? If this girl committed suicide, how can you be involved in this?"
"She dated Kirill before me. Marina loved him, so she committed suicide on our wedding day. They write that they found a calendar in her room, on which our date was crossed out in black!"
"Stop it, Dan'ka! Nothing is really known yet about what actually happened there," Vasilisa exclaimed, quickly scanning the text of the post. "Maybe this Marina had some problems that made her decide to commit suicide. Maybe she found out she had some incurable disease, for example."
"Do you think that's possible?.. Maybe you’re right. In the comments of your university's community on VKontakte, I read that she played on the university volleyball team, but she recently quit training," Daniella recalled.
"You see! Dan'ka, I'm sure you have nothing to do with this! And what does Kirill say?"
"Nothing. He doesn't seem to know. As soon as I read it, I said I felt sick and ran to the restroom, and I sent him and Max to the cafeteria. So you really think it's not about me?" her sister asked with hope in her voice.
"Sure! Don't even think about it now. Go to Paris, relax, and don't forget that you can't be nervous in your condition. Got it?" Vasilisa exclaimed. "And in the meantime, I'll figure everything out and send you a detailed report so you can be sure you have nothing to do with it. I've already come up with a plan. If this Marina lived in the student town, I need to ask the classmates there. Maybe they know her or her roommate."
"Her name is Olesya Plotnikova, judging by the comments. People are sympathizing with her because she is now afraid to stay in their room, and it's not possible to move her to another place. Do you know her? From the IL - Faculty of International Law."
"No, but if she studies at IL, maybe Belka knows her. I'll start the investigation with the roommate. I think she can clarify a lot," Vasilisa typed the name of the deceased girl's roommate into the VKontakte search engine, quickly found her page, and saw a familiar face of a pretty blonde on the avatar. "I know her! She was in the university's advertising booklet last year!"
"It's also written here that Olesya sings in your university KVN[3] team and is a member of the university book club," Daniella also looked at the phone screen. "So, Belka definitely knows her."
"Well, that's great! If Olesya is in the book club, Belka is well acquainted with her. I'll ask her to arrange a meeting for us," Vasilisa rejoiced and, to distract her sister from anxious thoughts, changed the subject of conversation. "Ha! Belka recently did something crazy. Remember how she dreamed of a detective club? So, in the university book club, she found an ally. And do you know who it is? Katya, Dad's assistant! They are going to organize their detective club. Just imagine Dad's face when he hears about it!"
"He hasn't recovered from her magic club yet," Daniella involuntarily laughed, recalling how Dad complained about his assistant, who laid out Tarot cards at every opportunity.
"Katya even gave Belka a joke detective kit for her birthday with a magnifying glass, fake mustache, evidence bags, glasses, some pipettes, and all sorts of accessories. So, Dan'ka, I promise you, I'll figure out this story, enlist the help of our Miss Belka Marple, and report everything to you by your arrival, okay?"
Smiling, Daniella hugged her sister tightly.
"Thank you for coming and calming me down!"
"Just don't cry again!"
They finished their anxious conversation just in time, only moments before Kirill and Max approached them.
"Oh, Vas'ka! How did you end up here? We already thought we were seeing double."
"I found out that your flight was delayed and decided to personally wish you a good flight. Will you at least make it to your flight to Paris?"
"We will. I chose a flight with a time buffer to avoid such situations."
"What a prudent brother-in-law I have!" Vasilisa praised him. "Unfortunately, I have to leave you now. I have a lecture from our crazy dad. And it's better not to anger him with lateness."
"Yeah, sis, your lot is not easy - Mom watched over you at school, and now Dad doesn't give you a break at university," Daniella laughed.
"Ha! Peace is just a dream."
"Let me drop you off at the university," Maxim offered.
"Aren't you flying to Moscow? Your classes have started."
"I need to sort out some family matters. I'll go in a few days."
They said goodbye to the newlyweds and headed towards the exit.
In the glass doors, Vasilisa, engrossed in conversation with her friend, collided with a short brunette man around thirty-five years old, whose cold blue eyes pierced her through, like a stab from a steel blade. The man, not letting her pass despite the rules of etiquette, didn't even apologize and hurried deeper into the hall.
"Something about that guy's face looks familiar," she frowned.
"He looks a lot like my professor. Almost a clone of him! Nogotkov gave us lectures last year. Such a jerk, if you only knew!" Max exclaimed.
"I've definitely seen him somewhere! Maybe in the newspaper. Like he's our new local politician."
The friends got into Max's car, and he immediately turned on Bravo radio. DJ Phil's voice boomed throughout the cabin.
"Oh no! Not him again!" Vasilisa covered her ears with her hands, which amused her friend. "I can't stand him!"
To her happiness, Phil fell silent at that moment, and a song "We Don’t Talk Anymore" by Selena Gomez and Charlie Puth began to play.
The car started and drove out of the airport parking lot.
"So, where did you disappear to after the wedding? We didn't even get to talk properly."
"I was helping Dan'ka. There were tons of things to do! All these organizational moments are so exhausting, almost to the point of losing my pulse! By the way, since I'm already late for the lecture and Dad won't let me in anyway, let's stop by the Ostrovok editorial office. They promised to give me a fee."
"OK. And how are things on your personal front?" Max inquired. "Are you dating anyone?"
Vasilisa shrugged.
"There's one guy. We met at a photography workshop. He's a photographer."
"Fallen in love?"
"With whom? With Denis? We've only known each other for a couple of weeks. We just hang out, go to the movies, to cafes. What's new with you? How's your Moscow girlfriend doing?"
"We broke up, so now I'm actively searching."
"Ha! Add this status to your social media pages! By the way, I can give you a couple of phone numbers of the models from our theater!"
"Better let's meet in the evening?" Max suggested. "We'll walk along the embankment or sit in a bar, chat. You'll tell me about your new adventures."
"Great! I'll be free after eight."
"I'll pick you up!"
[1] Syrniki are fried pancakes or flatbreads made from cottage cheese dough, often served for breakfast or as a dessert.
[2] Dacha is a summer cottage.
[3] KVN - Club of the Funny and Inventive people
After Dean Gromov's lecture, rhetoric classes with Svetlana Malysheva were on the schedule. The young, attractive teacher taught her subject so fascinatingly that students usually didn't skip her classes. Roma was one of them, but this morning he decided to allow himself to be a little late for her class. As usual, Nadezhny overslept, and since being late for Vladimir Yakovlevich's lectures was strictly forbidden, he went to the lecture on an empty stomach. As soon as the bell for the break rang in the university corridors, he rushed to the cafe and ordered a double burger with french fries.
Lately, his thoughts constantly revolved around the tragic suicide of his neighbor Marina. Two days had already passed, and he still couldn't believe in her death. They weren't close friends, but they communicated often and always helped each other out as good neighbors. The more Roma thought about what had happened, the more he blamed himself for not being able to notice signs of suicidal thoughts in Marina in time and protecting her from this desperate act. And this morning, after a nightmare in which she begged for help, reaching out to him with her hands and plaintive cries, he even had the idea that Marina's death was shrouded in a dark secret, and he should unravel it.
Everything in this story really looked very strange. It was believed that Marina committed suicide because of her unhappy love. But she didn't have a boyfriend! Roma was absolutely sure of that. Since she broke up with the well-known Tabakov, she had several fleeting relationships, he had met her with different guys more than once, some stayed overnight. Such things cannot be hidden in a student town if you live next door. But in recent months, Marina hadn't brought anyone to her place, and the "Actively Seeking" status remained on her social media pages. Who, then, could she have committed suicide because of?
Roma didn't think it happened because of Tabakov. Marina reacted calmly to the news of his upcoming wedding and his girlfriend Daniella's pregnancy. He knew this because he himself witnessed her reaction. Once, they were celebrating the birthday of their neighbor in the cottage, and one of the girls present accidentally blurted out that she had seen Tabakov with his volunteer girlfriend at the family planning center. Marina just snorted, saying, "Maybe he'll finally grow up when he gets married. Otherwise, he just has only the wind in his head."
Although, on the other hand, she could have pretended that the news didn't affect her? She feigned indifference, continued to have fun at the birthday party, even sang her favorite song in Japanese from "Tokyo Ghoul" in karaoke, but inside, perhaps, a wound was bleeding in her heart.
"What if Marina's death was somehow connected to those suicides that were rumored in the student town?" Roma suddenly realized.
It all started in January of this year, when Vera Denikina hanged herself in the neighboring cottage immediately after the New Year holidays. Fortunately, she was saved. True, the girl lost her mind and ended up in a psychiatric hospital.
A couple of months later, Alya Skobchuk jumped from the roof of a nine-story building. As it turned out later, she had problems with drugs.
And now Marina swallowed sleeping pills.
As suggested by psychology professor Dmitry Alekseevich Sotnikov, who arrived at the student town to provide psychological assistance to students who discovered Marina's body, each of the girls suffered from depression, and the first suicide in their circle served as a kind of impetus and example of solving problems in such a reckless way.
Dmitry Alekseevich's help was needed not only by Roma, who still couldn't recover from what happened. Marina's roommate had a hysterical breakdown. Olesya refused to believe that her friend had killed herself. The entire cottage plunged into mourning.
By the time Roma finished his burger, he had decided to investigate each of these three cases. He had the idea to write an article on this topic for a contest announced at the faculty. And for this, it was necessary to collect as much information as possible about all three girls who decided to end their lives.
At the very moment when he almost finished his coffee, absorbed in thinking about the future article, his thoughts were interrupted by Egor.
For these two days, since his friend had settled in with him that fateful evening, they hadn't really talked: either Roma slept until noon and then aired on the radio, or Egor worked at the club at night and slept during the day.
"Romych, hi! I urgently need your advice," he plopped down at his table.
"Hey! Go ahead. Only I have a lecture starting in three minutes."
"In short, I've been wondering for a long time whether to tell anyone about this at all. But I trust you. The thing is, I accidentally found out something in our center," Egor nervously ruffled his red hair and, leaning over the table, whispered. "It seems like my boss is involved in shady dealings."
"Selezneva?! The one they write about in the newspapers, that she's an honored employee of our region? The governor even presented her with an award last year."
"The very one. On Friday, I was practically the last one to leave work. Only Lidia Alexandrovna remained there. At the bus stop, I recalled that I had forgotten my phone charger and returned. In the hallway, I heard Selezneva talking to someone on the phone. She said that the goods would be ready by Monday, that is, today. Just imagine, Selezneva is dealing drugs!"
"What makes you think it's drugs? Maybe she's distributing cosmetics or 'Amway' products or whatever it's called?" Roma suggested.
"Screw cosmetics!" his friend reacted violently, with indignation.
Egor leaned towards Roma again and rattled off in a whisper:
"I overheard the end of the conversation on a parallel phone. She deliberately didn't talk on her cell phone, but on a landline. Today at 6:30 PM they are meeting at 'Khrust.' Remember, there the toilets are shared! So Selezneva has to enter the far left stall. That guy will hide the money behind the tank in advance. Lidia Alexandrovna will only have to pick them up, leave the goods there behind the tank, and go on with her business."
"In my opinion, they chose a bad place. What if someone else goes into the stall and finds the money or the goods."
"Would you look behind the tank in a public toilet?" Egor smirked. "Exactly! Me neither."
"Okay, so what's the problem? Why have you been worrying so much for so many days?"
"I don't know what to do. I think Selezneva suspects that I know. It seemed like she caught me when I hung up the phone. We were supposed to prepare a project together on the weekend, but I turned off my cell phone and moved in with you so she couldn't find me," he confessed.
"You're just paranoid, bro. Calm down!"
"How can I calm down if my boss is, maybe, Pablo Escobar in a skirt. And what would you do in my place?"
"Well, your Selezneva is nowhere near the most famous drug lord in Colombia!" Roma chuckled. "What would I do?... If you file a complaint against her and run into the wrong policeman, this could mean digging your own grave. What if she has a 'roof'[1] there?"
His friend nodded and sighed.
"So what would you do in my place?" Egor asked again.
Roma's eyes lit up.
"I have an idea!"
[1] ‘Roof” means patronage in business. This is the name given to people from among bandits or law enforcement officers who informally represent the interests of a businessman for a certain percentage of the profit.
Lately, his thoughts constantly revolved around the tragic suicide of his neighbor Marina. Two days had already passed, and he still couldn't believe in her death. They weren't close friends, but they communicated often and always helped each other out as good neighbors. The more Roma thought about what had happened, the more he blamed himself for not being able to notice signs of suicidal thoughts in Marina in time and protecting her from this desperate act. And this morning, after a nightmare in which she begged for help, reaching out to him with her hands and plaintive cries, he even had the idea that Marina's death was shrouded in a dark secret, and he should unravel it.
Everything in this story really looked very strange. It was believed that Marina committed suicide because of her unhappy love. But she didn't have a boyfriend! Roma was absolutely sure of that. Since she broke up with the well-known Tabakov, she had several fleeting relationships, he had met her with different guys more than once, some stayed overnight. Such things cannot be hidden in a student town if you live next door. But in recent months, Marina hadn't brought anyone to her place, and the "Actively Seeking" status remained on her social media pages. Who, then, could she have committed suicide because of?
Roma didn't think it happened because of Tabakov. Marina reacted calmly to the news of his upcoming wedding and his girlfriend Daniella's pregnancy. He knew this because he himself witnessed her reaction. Once, they were celebrating the birthday of their neighbor in the cottage, and one of the girls present accidentally blurted out that she had seen Tabakov with his volunteer girlfriend at the family planning center. Marina just snorted, saying, "Maybe he'll finally grow up when he gets married. Otherwise, he just has only the wind in his head."
Although, on the other hand, she could have pretended that the news didn't affect her? She feigned indifference, continued to have fun at the birthday party, even sang her favorite song in Japanese from "Tokyo Ghoul" in karaoke, but inside, perhaps, a wound was bleeding in her heart.
"What if Marina's death was somehow connected to those suicides that were rumored in the student town?" Roma suddenly realized.
It all started in January of this year, when Vera Denikina hanged herself in the neighboring cottage immediately after the New Year holidays. Fortunately, she was saved. True, the girl lost her mind and ended up in a psychiatric hospital.
A couple of months later, Alya Skobchuk jumped from the roof of a nine-story building. As it turned out later, she had problems with drugs.
And now Marina swallowed sleeping pills.
As suggested by psychology professor Dmitry Alekseevich Sotnikov, who arrived at the student town to provide psychological assistance to students who discovered Marina's body, each of the girls suffered from depression, and the first suicide in their circle served as a kind of impetus and example of solving problems in such a reckless way.
Dmitry Alekseevich's help was needed not only by Roma, who still couldn't recover from what happened. Marina's roommate had a hysterical breakdown. Olesya refused to believe that her friend had killed herself. The entire cottage plunged into mourning.
By the time Roma finished his burger, he had decided to investigate each of these three cases. He had the idea to write an article on this topic for a contest announced at the faculty. And for this, it was necessary to collect as much information as possible about all three girls who decided to end their lives.
At the very moment when he almost finished his coffee, absorbed in thinking about the future article, his thoughts were interrupted by Egor.
For these two days, since his friend had settled in with him that fateful evening, they hadn't really talked: either Roma slept until noon and then aired on the radio, or Egor worked at the club at night and slept during the day.
"Romych, hi! I urgently need your advice," he plopped down at his table.
"Hey! Go ahead. Only I have a lecture starting in three minutes."
"In short, I've been wondering for a long time whether to tell anyone about this at all. But I trust you. The thing is, I accidentally found out something in our center," Egor nervously ruffled his red hair and, leaning over the table, whispered. "It seems like my boss is involved in shady dealings."
"Selezneva?! The one they write about in the newspapers, that she's an honored employee of our region? The governor even presented her with an award last year."
"The very one. On Friday, I was practically the last one to leave work. Only Lidia Alexandrovna remained there. At the bus stop, I recalled that I had forgotten my phone charger and returned. In the hallway, I heard Selezneva talking to someone on the phone. She said that the goods would be ready by Monday, that is, today. Just imagine, Selezneva is dealing drugs!"
"What makes you think it's drugs? Maybe she's distributing cosmetics or 'Amway' products or whatever it's called?" Roma suggested.
"Screw cosmetics!" his friend reacted violently, with indignation.
Egor leaned towards Roma again and rattled off in a whisper:
"I overheard the end of the conversation on a parallel phone. She deliberately didn't talk on her cell phone, but on a landline. Today at 6:30 PM they are meeting at 'Khrust.' Remember, there the toilets are shared! So Selezneva has to enter the far left stall. That guy will hide the money behind the tank in advance. Lidia Alexandrovna will only have to pick them up, leave the goods there behind the tank, and go on with her business."
"In my opinion, they chose a bad place. What if someone else goes into the stall and finds the money or the goods."
"Would you look behind the tank in a public toilet?" Egor smirked. "Exactly! Me neither."
"Okay, so what's the problem? Why have you been worrying so much for so many days?"
"I don't know what to do. I think Selezneva suspects that I know. It seemed like she caught me when I hung up the phone. We were supposed to prepare a project together on the weekend, but I turned off my cell phone and moved in with you so she couldn't find me," he confessed.
"You're just paranoid, bro. Calm down!"
"How can I calm down if my boss is, maybe, Pablo Escobar in a skirt. And what would you do in my place?"
"Well, your Selezneva is nowhere near the most famous drug lord in Colombia!" Roma chuckled. "What would I do?... If you file a complaint against her and run into the wrong policeman, this could mean digging your own grave. What if she has a 'roof'[1] there?"
His friend nodded and sighed.
"So what would you do in my place?" Egor asked again.
Roma's eyes lit up.
"I have an idea!"
[1] ‘Roof” means patronage in business. This is the name given to people from among bandits or law enforcement officers who informally represent the interests of a businessman for a certain percentage of the profit.
Three times a week – Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays – Vasilisa imparted her knowledge of French at the Young Lady’s School at the "Ariel" Fashion Theater. These modest but regular payments, combined with her fees for articles in "Ostrovok," allowed her to maintain some semblance of financial independence from her parents. Of course, she couldn't afford lavish dresses or exotic travels, but she could buy her favorite perfume, sitting in cafes, movie tickets, and a night out at a club without having to ask her parents for money.
Vasilisa's history with "Ariel" ran deep. She was only fourteen when the city's first and only fashion theater opened. "Ariel" announced a casting call for girls to participate in fashion shows. Daniella, whose life revolved around her animal blog, remained completely indifferent to the news. But Vasilisa and her best friend Nika, like many other teenage girls inspired by the triumph of Russian beauties like Natalia Vodianova and Irina Shayk on the world's runways, were filled with a burning desire to become models.
To their great joy, both passed the audition. There was a special spark in Vasilisa, a certain charm that drew people to her. The gaze of her gray-green eyes, framed by fluffy eyelashes, seemed to radiate an inner light, and her open smile with its soft dimples was one of the most powerful weapons in the coquettish Gromova's arsenal, one that almost never failed.
The select group included about fifty girls. The aspiring models were taught choreography, acting, the basics of makeup, runway walking, and even psychology. It was in these classes that Vasilisa and Nika met Nastya, and a little later, Belka joined them. And for many years, this inseparable quartet remained the closest of friends.
Every evening, the schoolgirl Vasilisa vanished into the theater for countless rehearsals, for "Ariel" didn't stage ordinary fashion shows, but rather elaborate, theatrical spectacles. It wasn't long before they were performing at entertainment events around the city, and the theater became the talk of the town. The girls' happy faces flashed across local television, in newspaper pages, on news websites, and in advertising banners.
Thanks to the connections of the theater's director, Tamara Andreevna Mironova, Governor Stepan Kazakov quickly learned about "Ariel." He became their patron, allocating funds for new collections and financing participation in various arts festivals. In return, at any time of day or night, in any weather, and on any day of the week, the theater had to perform at his social events at a moment's notice.
Soon, "Ariel" began touring the country with its show. The girls were doing what they loved, while traveling and earning, albeit small, amounts of money.
However, in eleventh grade, at her father's insistence, Vasilisa had to leave the theater and focus on preparing for the Unified State Exam (EGE). She entered university and dedicated herself to her studies. The carefree school days, when she could skip classes, not prepare for lessons, and go on tour for a week, were over. Dean Gromov would have immediately expelled his restless daughter if she had continued her bustling activity in the theater as a model.
After leaving "Ariel," Vasilisa suddenly had a lot of free time. And she wasn't about to waste it. First, she found a job tutoring French through an advertisement, since, thanks to her mother, a gymnasium teacher, the twins had mastered the language from early childhood. Then, she learned that the "Ostrovok" newspaper was looking for new writers. Thus, Vasilisa became a freelance correspondent. And before the start of the new academic year, Mironova invited her to teach la langue française at the Young Lady’s chool.
Tamara Andreevna decided to expand her business, and "Ariel" sprouted three new branches: a theatre-studio of children's fashion for girls aged five to ten, a Young Lady's School for girls aged eleven to thirteen, and a School of Beauty for girls aged fourteen and older. In addition to choreography and acting, the children were taught drawing. The girls from the Young Lady's School and the School of Beauty now had subjects like horseback riding, English and French, aesthetics, etiquette, and the art of makeup.
Meanwhile, the lives of the theatre's actresses continued apace. Vasilisa's friends also dove headfirst into the "gnawing of the granite of science." The youngest, Belka, finished school externally at sixteen, became a law student at Vorontsov University and started a book blog. Nastya studied hotel management at a branch of a Moscow university located in the same building as "Ariel." Andranika, after studying for a year and a half at MGIMO's Faculty of International Relations, took academic leave and returned to Emerald Island. She now headed the children's fashion studio and performed with the theatre at shows. But after her mystical detective novel, "Second Bloom", was published a month ago under the pseudonym Nika Kaya, Andranika became a veritable sensation. The appearance of their own, and such a young, writer in Emerald Island was a significant event, and all the local media began writing about Nika, dreaming of obtaining photographs of the mysterious stranger who carefully concealed her identity.
Before evening classes at the theatre, the friends usually dropped by the buffet. None of them even thought about diets. They ate everything they wanted, led active lives, played sports, often swam in the sea in the summer, and had no problems with excess weight.
After her French lesson at the Young Lady's School, Vasilisa went down to the buffet and found Belka and Nastya there.
"Vas’ka, we missed you and Nika in St. Petersburg so much!" the friends hugged and kissed her.
"Especially me," Nastya grumbled. "You can't get anywhere with Belka, she's constantly nose-deep in a book, 24/7, there was not even anyone to chat with. And then Timur, with his you-know-what friend, dragged us around the museums. I almost died of boredom there."
She mentioned Belka's cousin, a student at the FSB Academy. He and his friend Nikita had gone to the northern capital for the weekend and, finding out from social media that his beloved little sister was also in St. Petersburg, had offered to meet up.
For Nastya, Nikita's appearance was an unpleasant surprise. A couple of years ago, they had a fleeting affair that ended in disaster for her, and she didn't like to recall it.
"Oh, don't grumble!" Belka brushed her off. "You could have flirted with Nikita, instead of wandering around behind us with a sour face. Maybe this time a spark of true love would have ignited between you."
"Oh no, thanks! I'll never forgive him for hitting on Nika behind my back! If Timur had brought Artem Golub with him, then I would have flirted," Nastya added with a laugh. "I follow him on Instagram[1]. The other day he posted a photo from a shoot for some TV channel. I think with his looks, he'll definitely become a star!"
Belka agreed when the conversation turned to her brother's classmate.
"Last year, when I was thinking about going to Moscow, he encouraged me to apply to his university. Timka asked him to take me to the Open Day."
"Golub also seems to be studying at the journalism faculty?" Vasilisa recalled.
"Exactly! I need to introduce you. He'll be helpful to you with your studies."
"And me, too!" Nastya exclaimed. "At least I'll get to see this handsome guy in real life."
"Ha! You already have a tradition of falling for Timka's friends."
"Hey, I'm just kidding. What's the point of these handsome guys anyway?"
"Exactly! So, how was the trip overall? Your photo reports in Stories weren't enough, you didn't post much," Vasilisa slyly swiped a French fry from Belka's plate. "What's new with the show?"
Nastya Koroleva, a striking blonde with a short Twiggy-style haircut, sighed. The hairstyle suited her very well, emphasizing her long neck and slightly protruding ears, which gave her a touching look. At a height of one meter eighty, with sapphire blue eyes and a dazzling smile, she seemed like some unreal, fantastic creature, a beautiful elf who had accidentally landed on our planet. She looked especially impressive when walking with her beloved puppy - the equally blue-eyed husky, Iceberg.
"Mironova is squeezing all the juice out of us! Two shows a day. If she had her way, she'd squeeze in a third."
Belka confirmed Nastya's words with a nod, causing the pencil, carelessly stuck in the elegant bun gathered on her head, to fall, and black silky hair immediately streamed down her shoulders.
At fourteen, Belka caused a sensation during the new selection for "Ariel." Taller than average, thin as a reed, with an appearance that revealed her mother's Kalmyk-Russian and father's Dargin-Circassian roots in the delicate oval of her face, high cheekbones, and almond-shaped eyes, clearly defined like a doe's, she was very striking. A bright, exotic beauty with delicate white skin and shining emerald eyes resembled a Japanese porcelain anime doll. It was because of this resemblance and her love for the works of Haruki Murakami and Hayao Miyazaki that she enrolled in Japanese language courses in her school years and even persuaded Andranika to join her.
[1] Instagram and Facebook social networks, owned by Meta Platforms Inc., were declared extremist by the Tverskoy Court of Moscow on March 21, 2022 and banned in Russia.
Vasilisa's history with "Ariel" ran deep. She was only fourteen when the city's first and only fashion theater opened. "Ariel" announced a casting call for girls to participate in fashion shows. Daniella, whose life revolved around her animal blog, remained completely indifferent to the news. But Vasilisa and her best friend Nika, like many other teenage girls inspired by the triumph of Russian beauties like Natalia Vodianova and Irina Shayk on the world's runways, were filled with a burning desire to become models.
To their great joy, both passed the audition. There was a special spark in Vasilisa, a certain charm that drew people to her. The gaze of her gray-green eyes, framed by fluffy eyelashes, seemed to radiate an inner light, and her open smile with its soft dimples was one of the most powerful weapons in the coquettish Gromova's arsenal, one that almost never failed.
The select group included about fifty girls. The aspiring models were taught choreography, acting, the basics of makeup, runway walking, and even psychology. It was in these classes that Vasilisa and Nika met Nastya, and a little later, Belka joined them. And for many years, this inseparable quartet remained the closest of friends.
Every evening, the schoolgirl Vasilisa vanished into the theater for countless rehearsals, for "Ariel" didn't stage ordinary fashion shows, but rather elaborate, theatrical spectacles. It wasn't long before they were performing at entertainment events around the city, and the theater became the talk of the town. The girls' happy faces flashed across local television, in newspaper pages, on news websites, and in advertising banners.
Thanks to the connections of the theater's director, Tamara Andreevna Mironova, Governor Stepan Kazakov quickly learned about "Ariel." He became their patron, allocating funds for new collections and financing participation in various arts festivals. In return, at any time of day or night, in any weather, and on any day of the week, the theater had to perform at his social events at a moment's notice.
Soon, "Ariel" began touring the country with its show. The girls were doing what they loved, while traveling and earning, albeit small, amounts of money.
However, in eleventh grade, at her father's insistence, Vasilisa had to leave the theater and focus on preparing for the Unified State Exam (EGE). She entered university and dedicated herself to her studies. The carefree school days, when she could skip classes, not prepare for lessons, and go on tour for a week, were over. Dean Gromov would have immediately expelled his restless daughter if she had continued her bustling activity in the theater as a model.
After leaving "Ariel," Vasilisa suddenly had a lot of free time. And she wasn't about to waste it. First, she found a job tutoring French through an advertisement, since, thanks to her mother, a gymnasium teacher, the twins had mastered the language from early childhood. Then, she learned that the "Ostrovok" newspaper was looking for new writers. Thus, Vasilisa became a freelance correspondent. And before the start of the new academic year, Mironova invited her to teach la langue française at the Young Lady’s chool.
Tamara Andreevna decided to expand her business, and "Ariel" sprouted three new branches: a theatre-studio of children's fashion for girls aged five to ten, a Young Lady's School for girls aged eleven to thirteen, and a School of Beauty for girls aged fourteen and older. In addition to choreography and acting, the children were taught drawing. The girls from the Young Lady's School and the School of Beauty now had subjects like horseback riding, English and French, aesthetics, etiquette, and the art of makeup.
Meanwhile, the lives of the theatre's actresses continued apace. Vasilisa's friends also dove headfirst into the "gnawing of the granite of science." The youngest, Belka, finished school externally at sixteen, became a law student at Vorontsov University and started a book blog. Nastya studied hotel management at a branch of a Moscow university located in the same building as "Ariel." Andranika, after studying for a year and a half at MGIMO's Faculty of International Relations, took academic leave and returned to Emerald Island. She now headed the children's fashion studio and performed with the theatre at shows. But after her mystical detective novel, "Second Bloom", was published a month ago under the pseudonym Nika Kaya, Andranika became a veritable sensation. The appearance of their own, and such a young, writer in Emerald Island was a significant event, and all the local media began writing about Nika, dreaming of obtaining photographs of the mysterious stranger who carefully concealed her identity.
Before evening classes at the theatre, the friends usually dropped by the buffet. None of them even thought about diets. They ate everything they wanted, led active lives, played sports, often swam in the sea in the summer, and had no problems with excess weight.
After her French lesson at the Young Lady's School, Vasilisa went down to the buffet and found Belka and Nastya there.
"Vas’ka, we missed you and Nika in St. Petersburg so much!" the friends hugged and kissed her.
"Especially me," Nastya grumbled. "You can't get anywhere with Belka, she's constantly nose-deep in a book, 24/7, there was not even anyone to chat with. And then Timur, with his you-know-what friend, dragged us around the museums. I almost died of boredom there."
She mentioned Belka's cousin, a student at the FSB Academy. He and his friend Nikita had gone to the northern capital for the weekend and, finding out from social media that his beloved little sister was also in St. Petersburg, had offered to meet up.
For Nastya, Nikita's appearance was an unpleasant surprise. A couple of years ago, they had a fleeting affair that ended in disaster for her, and she didn't like to recall it.
"Oh, don't grumble!" Belka brushed her off. "You could have flirted with Nikita, instead of wandering around behind us with a sour face. Maybe this time a spark of true love would have ignited between you."
"Oh no, thanks! I'll never forgive him for hitting on Nika behind my back! If Timur had brought Artem Golub with him, then I would have flirted," Nastya added with a laugh. "I follow him on Instagram[1]. The other day he posted a photo from a shoot for some TV channel. I think with his looks, he'll definitely become a star!"
Belka agreed when the conversation turned to her brother's classmate.
"Last year, when I was thinking about going to Moscow, he encouraged me to apply to his university. Timka asked him to take me to the Open Day."
"Golub also seems to be studying at the journalism faculty?" Vasilisa recalled.
"Exactly! I need to introduce you. He'll be helpful to you with your studies."
"And me, too!" Nastya exclaimed. "At least I'll get to see this handsome guy in real life."
"Ha! You already have a tradition of falling for Timka's friends."
"Hey, I'm just kidding. What's the point of these handsome guys anyway?"
"Exactly! So, how was the trip overall? Your photo reports in Stories weren't enough, you didn't post much," Vasilisa slyly swiped a French fry from Belka's plate. "What's new with the show?"
Nastya Koroleva, a striking blonde with a short Twiggy-style haircut, sighed. The hairstyle suited her very well, emphasizing her long neck and slightly protruding ears, which gave her a touching look. At a height of one meter eighty, with sapphire blue eyes and a dazzling smile, she seemed like some unreal, fantastic creature, a beautiful elf who had accidentally landed on our planet. She looked especially impressive when walking with her beloved puppy - the equally blue-eyed husky, Iceberg.
"Mironova is squeezing all the juice out of us! Two shows a day. If she had her way, she'd squeeze in a third."
Belka confirmed Nastya's words with a nod, causing the pencil, carelessly stuck in the elegant bun gathered on her head, to fall, and black silky hair immediately streamed down her shoulders.
At fourteen, Belka caused a sensation during the new selection for "Ariel." Taller than average, thin as a reed, with an appearance that revealed her mother's Kalmyk-Russian and father's Dargin-Circassian roots in the delicate oval of her face, high cheekbones, and almond-shaped eyes, clearly defined like a doe's, she was very striking. A bright, exotic beauty with delicate white skin and shining emerald eyes resembled a Japanese porcelain anime doll. It was because of this resemblance and her love for the works of Haruki Murakami and Hayao Miyazaki that she enrolled in Japanese language courses in her school years and even persuaded Andranika to join her.
[1] Instagram and Facebook social networks, owned by Meta Platforms Inc., were declared extremist by the Tverskoy Court of Moscow on March 21, 2022 and banned in Russia.
"I was just telling Nastena that it's time for us to look for a new job," Belka said. "With these constant rehearsals and trips, there's no personal life."
"Yes, but I can't leave," Nastya sighed. "Otherwise, I'll be expelled."
Between Tamara Andreevna and her longtime friend - the rector of the Moscow university branch, Konstantin Stepanov, from whom the theater rented an office, a couple of classrooms, and a dance hall in the basement - there was an agreement: her girls studied at his branch in the evening department with a colossal discount in exchange for performances at his events. Tamara Andreevna had taken care of this, because Stepanov could always be negotiated with when the theater went on long tours, but there were often problems with those who studied at school or other universities.
Several girls from the theater studied at the branch, and each of them remembered the sad story of their former stage colleague. One of the "Ariel" models named Karina decided to quit the theater, and on the same day, she was expelled from the university.
"Don't worry! Karinka was removed because she quit with a scandal. You just need to negotiate with Mironova. She'll meet you halfway. You'll see! And where's Nika? Did you call her?" Vasilisa asked, continuing to pilfer potatoes from Belka.
"She had a fight with her father again, and he locked her at home. Andranika said she hates him and promised to come up with something to escape."
As far back as Vasilisa could remember, Nika and her father had always been at odds. But after Alexander Kozachuk won the mayoral election for Emerald Island, the rift between daughter and father deepened into a chasm. He disapproved of every one of her pursuits, disliked her social circle, and constantly attempted to control every aspect of her life. But headstrong Nika wouldn't allow it. During her senior years of high school, Kozachuk spent a fortune on tutors to get her into MGIMO, and flew into a rage when his daughter dropped out in January and returned home.
The strained relationship between them seemed particularly strange to Vasilisa, considering that before moving to Emerald Island from Mariupol, their family had been in a terrible accident, and ten-year-old Nika was injured the most. The girl spent several weeks in intensive care, and after a severe head injury, she suffered from partial memory loss. And instead of surrounding his only child, whom he had almost lost, with care and love, her father constantly tried to make her dance to his tune.
In the theater, Andranika was nicknamed "Chameleon," like her favorite 90s supermodel, Linda Evangelista. Nika often drastically changed her image, drawing inspiration from the looks of famous beauties, mostly from old Hollywood movies. She had been Matilda from "Leon" and Mia from "Pulp Fiction" with a short black bob and straight bangs, a luxurious blonde with curls in the style of Marilyn Monroe, a short-haired brunette "like a boy" a la Demi Moore from "Ghost," fiery orange like Milla Jovovich in "The Fifth Element," and now stood out from the crowd with a cloud of small, reddish curls, reminiscent of a young Nicole Kidman, albeit in a more African style. With her collection of wigs and colored contact lenses, even close friends sometimes struggled to recognize Nika-Chameleon and had already forgotten what color hair and eyes nature had endowed her with.
"Yes, but I can't leave," Nastya sighed. "Otherwise, I'll be expelled."
Between Tamara Andreevna and her longtime friend - the rector of the Moscow university branch, Konstantin Stepanov, from whom the theater rented an office, a couple of classrooms, and a dance hall in the basement - there was an agreement: her girls studied at his branch in the evening department with a colossal discount in exchange for performances at his events. Tamara Andreevna had taken care of this, because Stepanov could always be negotiated with when the theater went on long tours, but there were often problems with those who studied at school or other universities.
Several girls from the theater studied at the branch, and each of them remembered the sad story of their former stage colleague. One of the "Ariel" models named Karina decided to quit the theater, and on the same day, she was expelled from the university.
"Don't worry! Karinka was removed because she quit with a scandal. You just need to negotiate with Mironova. She'll meet you halfway. You'll see! And where's Nika? Did you call her?" Vasilisa asked, continuing to pilfer potatoes from Belka.
"She had a fight with her father again, and he locked her at home. Andranika said she hates him and promised to come up with something to escape."
As far back as Vasilisa could remember, Nika and her father had always been at odds. But after Alexander Kozachuk won the mayoral election for Emerald Island, the rift between daughter and father deepened into a chasm. He disapproved of every one of her pursuits, disliked her social circle, and constantly attempted to control every aspect of her life. But headstrong Nika wouldn't allow it. During her senior years of high school, Kozachuk spent a fortune on tutors to get her into MGIMO, and flew into a rage when his daughter dropped out in January and returned home.
The strained relationship between them seemed particularly strange to Vasilisa, considering that before moving to Emerald Island from Mariupol, their family had been in a terrible accident, and ten-year-old Nika was injured the most. The girl spent several weeks in intensive care, and after a severe head injury, she suffered from partial memory loss. And instead of surrounding his only child, whom he had almost lost, with care and love, her father constantly tried to make her dance to his tune.
In the theater, Andranika was nicknamed "Chameleon," like her favorite 90s supermodel, Linda Evangelista. Nika often drastically changed her image, drawing inspiration from the looks of famous beauties, mostly from old Hollywood movies. She had been Matilda from "Leon" and Mia from "Pulp Fiction" with a short black bob and straight bangs, a luxurious blonde with curls in the style of Marilyn Monroe, a short-haired brunette "like a boy" a la Demi Moore from "Ghost," fiery orange like Milla Jovovich in "The Fifth Element," and now stood out from the crowd with a cloud of small, reddish curls, reminiscent of a young Nicole Kidman, albeit in a more African style. With her collection of wigs and colored contact lenses, even close friends sometimes struggled to recognize Nika-Chameleon and had already forgotten what color hair and eyes nature had endowed her with.
"How's Daniella doing? Are they in Paris already?"
Vasilisa launched into a breathless account of her morning conversation with her sister at the airport, concluding with, "So I've decided to investigate this Marina Shmeleva's suicide and prove to Dan'ka that she had nothing to do with it. I don't believe Kirill's ex died because of their wedding. Belka, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost!"
"Marina was in my intensive Japanese course, and we sometimes crossed paths at the ikebana classes. I can't believe she's gone," the news of the familiar student's death stunned her friend.
"I figured you might know her. I was going to try to get to her roommate through you, to get more information about Shmeleva, but it turns out you knew Marina yourself. Can you tell me about her? I looked for her on social media but couldn't find her. Maybe she was registered under a pseudonym."
"Yes, she's in our Japanese group on VKontakte. Her nickname is Midori, after the heroine of Haruki Murakami's 'Norwegian Wood'. We weren't close, but she seemed like a cool girl. She always had all sorts of cute things laid out on her desk – adorable stickers, Japanese talismans... Marina was cheerful, humorous, lived in the student dorms, even though she was from a fairly wealthy family from somewhere up north. She wanted to fly to Osaka after the summer session."
"And what was she like lately?"
"Now that I think about it, Marina was a little sad and distracted during the last class, but when the conversation turned to the upcoming trip to Japan, she perked up. Marina was planning to film several stories about the lives of Japanese people studying Russian for her future YouTube channel and seemed inspired by the idea."
"You know her roommate Olesya Plotnikova too, right? She's studying International Law like you."
"Poor Oles’ka! I didn't even think about her. I can't imagine what she's going through now!" Belka exclaimed. "She and Marina lived together all year, they must have become friends."
"Do you know her well? Can you introduce us?"
"I talked to Olesya even more often than with Marina. She's in our book club. A good girl, from Krasnodar. Very talented, and she's on a scholarship, by the way. Olesya won a bunch of different Olympiads and impressed the admissions committee with her achievements. Plus, she is an orphan. So they immediately gave her the scholarship spot."
"I see. Please introduce us as soon as possible. And can you send me the link to Marina's page?"
"OK. Listen, why don't you guys come over to my place tonight for a sleepover! My folks are gone for a couple of days, so we can have a girls' night. You know, Vas'ka, we absolutely have to figure out what happened to Marina! Firstly, in memory of her, and secondly, to reassure Dan'ka. I'll text to Andranika in our chat now."
"Here we go! Belka's starting an investigation," Nastya grumbled. "The whole trip to St. Petersburg she was reading Agatha Christie, and then on the train she helped the conductor look for missing bags of peaches from the next compartment."
"Well, we found them, didn't we!"
"Ha! Belka Poirot – that sounds cool!"
"Belka Marple then. I'm a girl after all, and I don't have a magnificent mustache like Hercule's."
"Be glad you don't have any at all," Nastya laughed.
"Ha, she does have some! The fake mustache from the detective kit that Katya, my dad's assistant, gave her!"
"And I have them with me right now," Belka chuckled, patting her backpack. "It's all in here, I carry it around just in case. You never know when I might need night-vision goggles, or binoculars, or lock picks."
"Wow, you even have lock picks!"
"They weren't part of the set, I added them myself after my two-day spy course."
That's what the friends jokingly called the get-togethers with her cousin Timur, who, just a week ago during the early May holidays, had been sharing his skills with them. Initially, he had intended to tell his little sister everything he knew about tactical medicine, insisting it was very useful information for everyone. At that time, Nika was visiting Belka, and she had readily agreed to listen to Timur's "lecture." Vasilisa and Nastya, however, had declined Belka's invitation. In the end, one thing led to another, and the topic of tactical medicine smoothly transitioned to the secrets of cybersecurity, and on the second day of the so-called "training," it even got to the point where Timur taught the girls how to use lock picks.
"You didn't mention that you learned how to use lock picks at spy school! I would have gone too," Nastya exclaimed. "As for this suicide, I can explain it to you myself. Students at your university are just spoiled brats, they don't have any real problems, so they invent tragedies for themselves. You have to really hate yourself to kill yourself over some guy!"
"Mayakovsky also condemned Esenin's suicide, and then shot himself five years later," Belka retorted.[1]
"Well, that's definitely not going to happen to me, not in five years, not in five hundred!"
"Alright, girls, enough arguing! I'm off to an interview at 'Khrust,' and then I'm as free as a bird in the sky!" Vasilisa had completely forgotten about her meeting with Maxim. "So, wait for me with yummy treats! I mean, don't wait for me with yummy treats, but you all wait for me together with yummy treats. Hopefully, Nika will be able to sneak away to your place for a sleepover."
She completely took the plate of fries from her friend and shoved the rest into her mouth.
"Belka, how do you think it's possible that Marina's death is somehow connected to those suicides in the student dorm?" Vasilisa mumbled with a full mouth.
"To be honest, I thought about that too."
"I'm thinking of writing an article about it and submitting it to the contest."
"What contest?" Nastya asked, intrigued.
"Their journalism faculty is holding a competition for the best article," Belka replied. "The winner will go to a summer arts festival in Moscow. Young people from different countries will gather there."
"Ohhh!" Nastya immediately lost interest in such a contest. "By the way, Vas’ka, have you heard that Dina is inviting us all to her birthday at 'Elysium'?"
"No way! She's always whining about being broke after the divorce, and now she's decided to throw a party?"
Dina had also worked at "Ariel" since its inception. She was older than the four friends, had already graduated from university, and had even been married to the son of one of the governor's close associates. However, their marriage lasted only six months, after which the young husband kicked her out of his three-story mansion by the sea in a scandal. The thing was, Dina possessed not only a striking appearance but also a difficult personality. Crude, quick-tempered, and sometimes hysterical, she could drive anyone crazy. At first, the girls at the theater avoided her, but over the years of working together, they had managed to get used to her mood swings.
Belka shrugged.
"Maybe she's got a secret admirer who's organizing the party? By the way, Karina's coming too. They're still friends, you know. So let's get ready for Saturday. And on Friday, we could go to the movies. I got four tickets as a gift."
"Dimochka gave them to her," Nastya blurted out with a laugh.
Not long ago, Belka had caught the attention of Dima Markin, a DJ at "Bravo" radio. All the radio station employees received free movie tickets from "Cinema Ost," one of the sponsors for the radio programs.
"Tell Dimochka thank you. I'm off to interview Kukuruznik now. We're meeting at 'Khrust' at 6:15 PM."
"Ewww!" Nastya wrinkled her nose.
"He hosted the presentation of Arkady Makarov's new album. We performed there last year when you left the theater. And that awkward Kukuruznik tried to hit on Nastyona," Belka laughed, remembering the event. "Brrr! It was an unpleasant sight!"
"My editor commissioned a big article. I had a choice – an interview with Kukuruznik or a report on the musical 'Lair,' and you know how much I hate musicals. I can get a good fee for this interview. I just need to get some interesting information."
"Vas'ka!!!" Nastya exclaimed in horror. "You're going to go there looking like that?"
"What?" her friend replied, offended. "Why are you yelling? Geez, you scared me!"
In a white T-shirt that accentuated her gentle tan, pink baggy banana pants, sneakers, and a baseball cap from which a dark chestnut ponytail peeked out, Vasilisa was confident that she looked adorable.
"You won't impress him in that outfit," Nastya continued. "You definitely won't be able to pry any secrets from him for a hot article."
Zayana nodded in agreement.
"I don't think he'll try to finish the interview quickly, as his vanity knows no bounds, and he'll huff and puff with all his might to make the article about him as bulky as possible. But I agree with Nastya - Kukuruznik likes seductive beauties in the style of femme fatales. Put on a tight dress, high heels, and I guarantee he'll tell you about all his skeletons in the closet for a whole multi-volume book."
"Judging by everything, Kukuruznik is crazy about blondes," Nastya recalled. "There's a wig in the costume room from Nika's collection. She hasn't picked it up yet after the last performance. Want to try it on?"
Vasilisa listened attentively to her friends' instructions.
"Thank you, guys! What would I do without you!"
Laughing, they headed to the theater's costume room to pick out an outfit for the seductive journalist Gromova.
[1] Vladimir Mayakovsky and Sergey Esenin were famous Russian poets.
Vasilisa launched into a breathless account of her morning conversation with her sister at the airport, concluding with, "So I've decided to investigate this Marina Shmeleva's suicide and prove to Dan'ka that she had nothing to do with it. I don't believe Kirill's ex died because of their wedding. Belka, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost!"
"Marina was in my intensive Japanese course, and we sometimes crossed paths at the ikebana classes. I can't believe she's gone," the news of the familiar student's death stunned her friend.
"I figured you might know her. I was going to try to get to her roommate through you, to get more information about Shmeleva, but it turns out you knew Marina yourself. Can you tell me about her? I looked for her on social media but couldn't find her. Maybe she was registered under a pseudonym."
"Yes, she's in our Japanese group on VKontakte. Her nickname is Midori, after the heroine of Haruki Murakami's 'Norwegian Wood'. We weren't close, but she seemed like a cool girl. She always had all sorts of cute things laid out on her desk – adorable stickers, Japanese talismans... Marina was cheerful, humorous, lived in the student dorms, even though she was from a fairly wealthy family from somewhere up north. She wanted to fly to Osaka after the summer session."
"And what was she like lately?"
"Now that I think about it, Marina was a little sad and distracted during the last class, but when the conversation turned to the upcoming trip to Japan, she perked up. Marina was planning to film several stories about the lives of Japanese people studying Russian for her future YouTube channel and seemed inspired by the idea."
"You know her roommate Olesya Plotnikova too, right? She's studying International Law like you."
"Poor Oles’ka! I didn't even think about her. I can't imagine what she's going through now!" Belka exclaimed. "She and Marina lived together all year, they must have become friends."
"Do you know her well? Can you introduce us?"
"I talked to Olesya even more often than with Marina. She's in our book club. A good girl, from Krasnodar. Very talented, and she's on a scholarship, by the way. Olesya won a bunch of different Olympiads and impressed the admissions committee with her achievements. Plus, she is an orphan. So they immediately gave her the scholarship spot."
"I see. Please introduce us as soon as possible. And can you send me the link to Marina's page?"
"OK. Listen, why don't you guys come over to my place tonight for a sleepover! My folks are gone for a couple of days, so we can have a girls' night. You know, Vas'ka, we absolutely have to figure out what happened to Marina! Firstly, in memory of her, and secondly, to reassure Dan'ka. I'll text to Andranika in our chat now."
"Here we go! Belka's starting an investigation," Nastya grumbled. "The whole trip to St. Petersburg she was reading Agatha Christie, and then on the train she helped the conductor look for missing bags of peaches from the next compartment."
"Well, we found them, didn't we!"
"Ha! Belka Poirot – that sounds cool!"
"Belka Marple then. I'm a girl after all, and I don't have a magnificent mustache like Hercule's."
"Be glad you don't have any at all," Nastya laughed.
"Ha, she does have some! The fake mustache from the detective kit that Katya, my dad's assistant, gave her!"
"And I have them with me right now," Belka chuckled, patting her backpack. "It's all in here, I carry it around just in case. You never know when I might need night-vision goggles, or binoculars, or lock picks."
"Wow, you even have lock picks!"
"They weren't part of the set, I added them myself after my two-day spy course."
That's what the friends jokingly called the get-togethers with her cousin Timur, who, just a week ago during the early May holidays, had been sharing his skills with them. Initially, he had intended to tell his little sister everything he knew about tactical medicine, insisting it was very useful information for everyone. At that time, Nika was visiting Belka, and she had readily agreed to listen to Timur's "lecture." Vasilisa and Nastya, however, had declined Belka's invitation. In the end, one thing led to another, and the topic of tactical medicine smoothly transitioned to the secrets of cybersecurity, and on the second day of the so-called "training," it even got to the point where Timur taught the girls how to use lock picks.
"You didn't mention that you learned how to use lock picks at spy school! I would have gone too," Nastya exclaimed. "As for this suicide, I can explain it to you myself. Students at your university are just spoiled brats, they don't have any real problems, so they invent tragedies for themselves. You have to really hate yourself to kill yourself over some guy!"
"Mayakovsky also condemned Esenin's suicide, and then shot himself five years later," Belka retorted.[1]
"Well, that's definitely not going to happen to me, not in five years, not in five hundred!"
"Alright, girls, enough arguing! I'm off to an interview at 'Khrust,' and then I'm as free as a bird in the sky!" Vasilisa had completely forgotten about her meeting with Maxim. "So, wait for me with yummy treats! I mean, don't wait for me with yummy treats, but you all wait for me together with yummy treats. Hopefully, Nika will be able to sneak away to your place for a sleepover."
She completely took the plate of fries from her friend and shoved the rest into her mouth.
"Belka, how do you think it's possible that Marina's death is somehow connected to those suicides in the student dorm?" Vasilisa mumbled with a full mouth.
"To be honest, I thought about that too."
"I'm thinking of writing an article about it and submitting it to the contest."
"What contest?" Nastya asked, intrigued.
"Their journalism faculty is holding a competition for the best article," Belka replied. "The winner will go to a summer arts festival in Moscow. Young people from different countries will gather there."
"Ohhh!" Nastya immediately lost interest in such a contest. "By the way, Vas’ka, have you heard that Dina is inviting us all to her birthday at 'Elysium'?"
"No way! She's always whining about being broke after the divorce, and now she's decided to throw a party?"
Dina had also worked at "Ariel" since its inception. She was older than the four friends, had already graduated from university, and had even been married to the son of one of the governor's close associates. However, their marriage lasted only six months, after which the young husband kicked her out of his three-story mansion by the sea in a scandal. The thing was, Dina possessed not only a striking appearance but also a difficult personality. Crude, quick-tempered, and sometimes hysterical, she could drive anyone crazy. At first, the girls at the theater avoided her, but over the years of working together, they had managed to get used to her mood swings.
Belka shrugged.
"Maybe she's got a secret admirer who's organizing the party? By the way, Karina's coming too. They're still friends, you know. So let's get ready for Saturday. And on Friday, we could go to the movies. I got four tickets as a gift."
"Dimochka gave them to her," Nastya blurted out with a laugh.
Not long ago, Belka had caught the attention of Dima Markin, a DJ at "Bravo" radio. All the radio station employees received free movie tickets from "Cinema Ost," one of the sponsors for the radio programs.
"Tell Dimochka thank you. I'm off to interview Kukuruznik now. We're meeting at 'Khrust' at 6:15 PM."
"Ewww!" Nastya wrinkled her nose.
"He hosted the presentation of Arkady Makarov's new album. We performed there last year when you left the theater. And that awkward Kukuruznik tried to hit on Nastyona," Belka laughed, remembering the event. "Brrr! It was an unpleasant sight!"
"My editor commissioned a big article. I had a choice – an interview with Kukuruznik or a report on the musical 'Lair,' and you know how much I hate musicals. I can get a good fee for this interview. I just need to get some interesting information."
"Vas'ka!!!" Nastya exclaimed in horror. "You're going to go there looking like that?"
"What?" her friend replied, offended. "Why are you yelling? Geez, you scared me!"
In a white T-shirt that accentuated her gentle tan, pink baggy banana pants, sneakers, and a baseball cap from which a dark chestnut ponytail peeked out, Vasilisa was confident that she looked adorable.
"You won't impress him in that outfit," Nastya continued. "You definitely won't be able to pry any secrets from him for a hot article."
Zayana nodded in agreement.
"I don't think he'll try to finish the interview quickly, as his vanity knows no bounds, and he'll huff and puff with all his might to make the article about him as bulky as possible. But I agree with Nastya - Kukuruznik likes seductive beauties in the style of femme fatales. Put on a tight dress, high heels, and I guarantee he'll tell you about all his skeletons in the closet for a whole multi-volume book."
"Judging by everything, Kukuruznik is crazy about blondes," Nastya recalled. "There's a wig in the costume room from Nika's collection. She hasn't picked it up yet after the last performance. Want to try it on?"
Vasilisa listened attentively to her friends' instructions.
"Thank you, guys! What would I do without you!"
Laughing, they headed to the theater's costume room to pick out an outfit for the seductive journalist Gromova.
[1] Vladimir Mayakovsky and Sergey Esenin were famous Russian poets.
Korney An glanced at his watch. It was already twenty minutes past seven, and the journalist hadn't deigned to arrive yet. He was indignant.
How unprofessional to be late for a meeting with the interviewee! What insolence and disrespect! After all, she was the one who needed to prepare the material, and he, a star, was sitting here waiting for her like a queen. Korney regretted not arriving at the cafe later, so that she would be waiting for him, not the other way around.
The young man sat alone by the window, drinking cucumber lemonade and reading the news on Telegram out of boredom.
"Khrust," located on the outskirts of the city near the beach, was crowded. Many recognized the TV presenter and looked at him with curiosity.
"Soon they'll start asking for autographs!" An smirked smugly to himself.
At the moment when, in his dreams, Korney, already a TV star of universal scale, was answering questions from a popular Youtube blogger named Uriy Mut', author of the channel "On the Path to Uri," and not some late-arriving cheeky journalist from a local rag, Romka Nadezhny himself appeared in the doorway of the cafe. An raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"Hey there, old man!" Judging by his astonished expression, Roma also did not expect to meet his TV star friend. "What's up, lonely dove?"
"I'm waiting for a journalist. I told you I was going to be interviewed here," Korney began to act important, as usual.
"Ah, yes, that's right! I vaguely remember something like that."
"Well, as for you, the newspapers don't write about you, DJ 'Bravo' Nadezhny. By the way, I keep forgetting to ask, where did you even dig up such a pseudonym?"
"Actually, it's my mother's maiden name. It's more memorable than Nikitin, and perfect for radio," Roma replied and glanced at his watch.
It was 6:23 PM. Selezneva should be here soon with the goods she was planning to hide in the restroom. So, it was time to act.
"I'll be gone for a couple of minutes. I'll come back later, you don't mind, do you? I want to take a look at your journalist."
"Hoping she'll be interested in you too? That's why you came, admit it!"
"Yep! I even practiced a seductive smile in front of the mirror for half an hour to impress her," Roma laughed and walked towards the bar.
Left alone again, Korney was about to return to the Telegram news channels, but then his attention was drawn to a slender blonde who appeared in the doorway of the cafe, wearing a tight-fitting dark red dress, elegant stiletto sandals, and carrying a miniature handbag. Platinum hair fluttered with every step, black sunglasses gave her an air of mystery, and for some reason the words from a song echoed in Korney's head: "I'm losing my roots and flying into the sky."
Suddenly, the girl of his dreams walked straight to his table.
"Good evening! I apologize for being late," lipstick the color of ripe cherries accentuated the snow-white smile of the beautiful stranger.
Removing her sunglasses, she fixed her huge eyes on the young man, and An immediately drowned in that shimmering grayish-green whirlpool.
"Uh..." he couldn't tear his gaze away from her. "So... you're the one who wants to interview me?"
"Yes. My name is Vasilisa. I'm from 'Ostrovok'," she took a recorder, a notepad, and a pen from her handbag. "I have a few questions for You."
"Maybe we can switch to 'ты'?[1]" Korney smiled carnivorously. "I'm not that old!"
"Great! So, let's start."
They chatted amiably. An willingly answered even tricky questions, inserting jokes and witty, in his opinion, sayings. He puffed himself up as much as possible to impress Vasilisa and even shared his cherished dream of becoming a writer with her, while she inwardly thanked her friends for the excellent advice on the transformation. Kukuruznik was charmed by her, and the interview went smoothly.
[1] The informal 'you' in Russian
How unprofessional to be late for a meeting with the interviewee! What insolence and disrespect! After all, she was the one who needed to prepare the material, and he, a star, was sitting here waiting for her like a queen. Korney regretted not arriving at the cafe later, so that she would be waiting for him, not the other way around.
The young man sat alone by the window, drinking cucumber lemonade and reading the news on Telegram out of boredom.
"Khrust," located on the outskirts of the city near the beach, was crowded. Many recognized the TV presenter and looked at him with curiosity.
"Soon they'll start asking for autographs!" An smirked smugly to himself.
At the moment when, in his dreams, Korney, already a TV star of universal scale, was answering questions from a popular Youtube blogger named Uriy Mut', author of the channel "On the Path to Uri," and not some late-arriving cheeky journalist from a local rag, Romka Nadezhny himself appeared in the doorway of the cafe. An raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"Hey there, old man!" Judging by his astonished expression, Roma also did not expect to meet his TV star friend. "What's up, lonely dove?"
"I'm waiting for a journalist. I told you I was going to be interviewed here," Korney began to act important, as usual.
"Ah, yes, that's right! I vaguely remember something like that."
"Well, as for you, the newspapers don't write about you, DJ 'Bravo' Nadezhny. By the way, I keep forgetting to ask, where did you even dig up such a pseudonym?"
"Actually, it's my mother's maiden name. It's more memorable than Nikitin, and perfect for radio," Roma replied and glanced at his watch.
It was 6:23 PM. Selezneva should be here soon with the goods she was planning to hide in the restroom. So, it was time to act.
"I'll be gone for a couple of minutes. I'll come back later, you don't mind, do you? I want to take a look at your journalist."
"Hoping she'll be interested in you too? That's why you came, admit it!"
"Yep! I even practiced a seductive smile in front of the mirror for half an hour to impress her," Roma laughed and walked towards the bar.
Left alone again, Korney was about to return to the Telegram news channels, but then his attention was drawn to a slender blonde who appeared in the doorway of the cafe, wearing a tight-fitting dark red dress, elegant stiletto sandals, and carrying a miniature handbag. Platinum hair fluttered with every step, black sunglasses gave her an air of mystery, and for some reason the words from a song echoed in Korney's head: "I'm losing my roots and flying into the sky."
Suddenly, the girl of his dreams walked straight to his table.
"Good evening! I apologize for being late," lipstick the color of ripe cherries accentuated the snow-white smile of the beautiful stranger.
Removing her sunglasses, she fixed her huge eyes on the young man, and An immediately drowned in that shimmering grayish-green whirlpool.
"Uh..." he couldn't tear his gaze away from her. "So... you're the one who wants to interview me?"
"Yes. My name is Vasilisa. I'm from 'Ostrovok'," she took a recorder, a notepad, and a pen from her handbag. "I have a few questions for You."
"Maybe we can switch to 'ты'?[1]" Korney smiled carnivorously. "I'm not that old!"
"Great! So, let's start."
They chatted amiably. An willingly answered even tricky questions, inserting jokes and witty, in his opinion, sayings. He puffed himself up as much as possible to impress Vasilisa and even shared his cherished dream of becoming a writer with her, while she inwardly thanked her friends for the excellent advice on the transformation. Kukuruznik was charmed by her, and the interview went smoothly.
[1] The informal 'you' in Russian
Roma moved away from Korney's table and headed towards the bar to send a message urgently. He pulled out a disposable mobile phone with a burner SIM card and texted Selezneva's number.
"Things are changing. Stall furthest to the right."
After that, Roma hurried to the restroom. He needed to check what he and Egor had prepared in advance after lunch.
Installing the hidden mini-surveillance camera wasn't difficult, but they hadn't been able to do it in the designated stall, the one furthest to the left. All day long, as luck would have it, it had been locked for technical reasons, and to avoid blowing the operation, they had to urgently change their plan on the fly. That's how the idea came about to switch stalls and send a message to Selezneva right before she appeared at the cafe, so she wouldn't have time to verify this information with the client.
In the restroom, Roma was in for a surprise. The stall furthest to the left was working again! He watched as a girl came out of it and headed to the sinks.
Nadezhny darted into the same stall and looked behind the toilet tank. There was nothing there. This meant that the buyer hadn't come yet, and he was about to appear to hide the money behind the toilet.
Roma decided to return to Korney. His table just so happened to have a perfect view of the restroom doors. He could monitor all the patrons entering it.
"Oh, while I was gone, you, An, didn't waste any time!" he exclaimed, seeing his friend in the company of a stunning blonde.
Roma approached them with an ice-cold Red Bull can in his hand, which he'd bought at the bar on his way back to the table, and was about to take a sip when the girl turned around, and he saw her face.
"Gromova?!?" In surprise, he dropped the sweating can right on Vasilisa.
Their classmates had long been accustomed to their animosity with Gromova and even knew the reason why they hated each other so fiercely.
It all started in kindergarten. Little hooligan Romka loved to play pranks on the girls in his group. But one of them turned out to be just as mischievous and rambunctious, and if he threw worms into her plate of soup, after naptime he might find himself taped to his crib with scotch tape.
Romka's war with one of the Gromova twins continued until their parents bought an apartment in a new area of the city and transferred their daughters to another kindergarten.
Who knew that almost fifteen years later, fate would bring them together again in the same group, but this time at university. After a year of studying in Moscow, Roma was forced to return to Emerald Island and continue his studies at Vorontsov University. The childhood enemies, of course, didn't recognize each other. Or rather, they recognized completely different characters from their past.
"Things are changing. Stall furthest to the right."
After that, Roma hurried to the restroom. He needed to check what he and Egor had prepared in advance after lunch.
Installing the hidden mini-surveillance camera wasn't difficult, but they hadn't been able to do it in the designated stall, the one furthest to the left. All day long, as luck would have it, it had been locked for technical reasons, and to avoid blowing the operation, they had to urgently change their plan on the fly. That's how the idea came about to switch stalls and send a message to Selezneva right before she appeared at the cafe, so she wouldn't have time to verify this information with the client.
In the restroom, Roma was in for a surprise. The stall furthest to the left was working again! He watched as a girl came out of it and headed to the sinks.
Nadezhny darted into the same stall and looked behind the toilet tank. There was nothing there. This meant that the buyer hadn't come yet, and he was about to appear to hide the money behind the toilet.
Roma decided to return to Korney. His table just so happened to have a perfect view of the restroom doors. He could monitor all the patrons entering it.
"Oh, while I was gone, you, An, didn't waste any time!" he exclaimed, seeing his friend in the company of a stunning blonde.
Roma approached them with an ice-cold Red Bull can in his hand, which he'd bought at the bar on his way back to the table, and was about to take a sip when the girl turned around, and he saw her face.
"Gromova?!?" In surprise, he dropped the sweating can right on Vasilisa.
Their classmates had long been accustomed to their animosity with Gromova and even knew the reason why they hated each other so fiercely.
It all started in kindergarten. Little hooligan Romka loved to play pranks on the girls in his group. But one of them turned out to be just as mischievous and rambunctious, and if he threw worms into her plate of soup, after naptime he might find himself taped to his crib with scotch tape.
Romka's war with one of the Gromova twins continued until their parents bought an apartment in a new area of the city and transferred their daughters to another kindergarten.
Who knew that almost fifteen years later, fate would bring them together again in the same group, but this time at university. After a year of studying in Moscow, Roma was forced to return to Emerald Island and continue his studies at Vorontsov University. The childhood enemies, of course, didn't recognize each other. Or rather, they recognized completely different characters from their past.
End of the introductory section.