"Are you afraid that I might seduce you into selling state secrets?"
Bill lit another cigarette. He turned a page in the dossier, and I craned my neck for a peek. When he saw this, he pulled the dossier closer to him. Photographs. I knew they were ones that Oksana took of me.
"You met Oksana again later that week."
"Yes." "How did you know?"
He smirked. "Just a guess."
"How did you get those pictures?" I demanded.
He flipped out another photograph and set it atop the first. He adjusted his glasses and studied it with clinical sternness. He ignored my question.
"Did you find out she was KGB on the night of her party?"
"Yes."
I knew she was a security risk. I knew seeing her was forbidden. It was the height of the Cold War. The Soviet Union was backed against a wall, unable to compete with the US on military spending. They were embroiled in a shitshow of a war in Afghanistan. They had a party leader who was as paranoid as they come and a government that was corrupt and bloated. The KGB had been kicked into high gear, with Vienna being the focal point of their activities. And they were aggressive. Seeing her, I knew I was risking not only my clearance but also my career. But if I told them about her, they'd tell me not to see her again. I didn't want that. She made me feel good. I wanted to see more of her. So, I took the chance that she wasn't a spy. How likely was it, really? And if she were, why target me? There were plenty of single, lonely men at the embassy with access to more intel.
A few days after the river, I called her, remembering she had mentioned something about a party she had invited me to.
"Hello?" crackled the familiar voice on the other end. laughter, loud talking, and loud music in the background.
"Hi Villanelle. It's me, Eve. ""Is this a bad time?"
"Eve! It makes me so happy to hear from you. You're missing a great party! ""Why don't you come over?"
"Oh, I have no desire to be a..."
"Don't be silly; I want you here."
I was hesitant. I wanted to see her alone. I wanted her all to myself. But I agreed. "Ok. I'll be over."
She gave me the address. I quickly made myself up and hopped on a tram.
Her apartment was in the first district, on the border with the third, on the edge of the ring road, in a rather ornate baroque building. She was on the top floor. A large, luxurious penthouse fit for a royal princess This was a surprise; I never expected her to live in such grandeur and had no idea how she was able to afford such a place.
When I knocked on her door, she opened it at once, and her face brightened. An intense marijuana smell wafted out from within. She hugged me tightly and led me in by the hand. The apartment began with an elegant marble floored foyer larger than my whole apartment. In the living room, paintings in golden frames hung on every wall, a large crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, and a Turkish or an Afghan rug lay slanted on the oak parquet. People sat on her floor, surrounded by framed and unframed paintings and photographs, as well as books in tall bookcases. Several people were dancing in the centre of the room to Annie Lennox's singing. An eclectic bacchanalian mix of fashionable people in punk acid-washed jeans and skimpy cocktail dresses Others were barely dressed at all. A bare-breasted woman with a lei of fresh white flowers walked by with what looked like a Black Russian drink in her hand. She looked me up and down and winked before joining someone in the corner of the room, with whom she immediately started to make out.
Oksana shouted above the loud music, "Hi everyone, this is Eve!"
"Eve, this is everyone." A few folks waved and screamed hello as they turned to face me. Others were too distracted to pay attention. When I approached a group of friends, Villanelle grabbed my hand and slid me over to where she was sitting on a beanbag. The other people were also seated on beanbags. I was asked to join Villanelle. A man—actually a boy—with long hair pulled back in a ponytail and an unfastened top passed us the bonga as I went to sit next to him. I gave it to Oksana, who lit it nonchalantly before giving it to the next person, a stunning Russian lady with a young face who was wearing circular Elton John-style glasses and a scarf that was firmly knotted around her neck. Two more visitors joined the circle: a lady with a buzz cut and a guy who resembled Jesus. Within one another's arms, they had both fallen asleep. How do you know Villanelle? The Russian lady questioned me with a strong accent while grinning at me and giving me a quick once-over.
"We've only met twice. Randomly." I looked to her for assurance. She seemed to be assessing my character and intent as we conversed, almost as if she had already made up her mind about me before I even opened my mouth
She added, "Yes, twice, but Eve is quite a lovely friend. ""Last Sunday we spent the whole day at the river and had so much fun together."
The Russian woman seemed sceptical of me. or too stoned to express anything else. Her voice droned, "Ooh, that sounds very romantic."
"Oh, not romantic," I blurted. Villanelle giggled. At that moment, she spotted a man in the kitchen who was trying to open a bottle with what looked like a chef's knife. "Would you excuse me? "I need to yell at some guests," she said with a laugh, then jumped up and went to the kitchen, leaving me in the circle with the Russian woman and the boy and the passed-out couple. The conversation deadened, and the woman and the boy both stared at me lazily. I started a new thread. Leaning into them, I asked quietly, "So, what is her story?"
"What do you mean?" said the boy.
"I didn't realise she was this... rich."
The Russian woman let out a tittering laugh. "Old Russian money."
"Old Russian money?"
"Don't let her bohemian style fool you, dear. ""Her family is powerful." She put a heavy emphasis on the "P" in "powerful." "Not only in Russia, but here in Vienna as well. You should know she made her debut at the Vienna Opera Ball. "That makes her European nobility," She stared at Villanelle with a distant envy as she said this.
"I thought she was Czech," I said.
My heart palpitated. She had conveniently left out that little "Russian" detail. Suddenly, my fears started to come into focus.
"Her mother's Czech. But her father is a general in the Soviet military, I think. "It's hard to be a general if you're not Russian, I would say."
He took a drag from the weed and offered it to me. This time I took it, puffed on it, and wheezed. My first joint since college The boy chuckled lazily as I grimaced at the sharp, woody taste. I handed the joint to the Russian woman and croaked, "Oksana said she was from Prague."
When the Russian woman finished a puff, she replied, "Of course she is, dear. ""But who knows for sure?"
"And how did you all get to know her?"
"In the same way you did. Randomly. "Let me tell you, you are lucky to have Oksana as a friend."
"Thanks... I guess." I glanced over at Villanelle, who was having a glass of wine with the man in the kitchen. She was smiling and touching him as she spoke, being gracious and flirtatious. She glanced over my shoulder and smiled when she caught my eyes. She certainly did not look like a Russian spy, but that's the point, isn't it? After all, Russian spies are masters of deception, so it would make sense that Villanelle's warm and welcoming demeanour was a ruse to distract from her real identity The thought of it sent a chill down my spine.
A dreaded sense of responsibility and an associated urge to leave this apartment came to me. I felt stupid, almost embarrassed for coming here. I excused myself from the circle, stood, and tried sneaking out unnoticed. But at that moment, a new song started, and a random guy grabbed my hand and yanked me onto the dance floor to dance with him. Villanelle noticed me, so I stayed and danced, pretending I was not just about to flee.
We wouldn't want to let the predator smell fear, would we?
When the song ended, she came over and squeezed herself between me and my dance partner. He took the hint and gave her a polite berth. She and I danced together to the next song. As we danced, the stress of the situation tried its very best to melt away. My mind, screaming, grasped desperately at caution, fruitlessly trying to hold on to it for my sake. Apart from the light weed buzz, I was sober. I was sober enough to realise that the longer I stayed, the more I risked being drawn into a trap I couldn't see. At the same time, I told myself that leaving, now that she was watching, could be just as risky. So, I kept my cool and danced with her, knowing that if I made the wrong move, I could very easily get tangled in a dangerous situation.
The guy that lent me to Villanelle lingered nearby to make sure I wouldn't get too far. I could tell he was very interested in me. Soon, a friend, a wingman, joined him, and it became clear that their goal was to keep me and Villanelle apart at all costs.
The wingman whispered something in Villanelle's ear. She shrugged and nodded and started to dance with him, while my original dance partner took my hand. He wasn't bad looking. In fact, he was adorable and not bad at dancing. The music was loud, and as we danced, he shouted over it into my ear in German, and I struggled to understand what he was saying, but I could tell that it was a compliment.
"What's your name?"
"Eve!" I shouted.
"Eve, nice name!"
"Thanks! What's yours?"
"Sebastian!"
"Nice to meet you, Sebastian."
"American?"
"Yes!"
"Very nice. I like Americans! "I like you!"
I only smiled politely in return.
Another song came, and he pulled me closer to him. I smelled an awful, thick, sweet smell of Jägermeister on his breath. It got to be too much, so I tried pushing him away. Oksana, thankfully, saw me struggling. She took my hand, blew a kiss to the guys, and dragged me away. The guys, unperturbed, followed us off the dance floor. Oksana whisked me hurriedly into her room. A couple was in there, feeling each other up on Oksana's bed, and they were startled when we barged in. The girl let out a squeal of embarrassment and pulled her shirt down over her breasts. The guy sat up on his elbows and smiled, looking hopeful that we were there to complete his fantasy, but his hopes were quickly dashed when Villanelle said, "We need this room." She rolled her eyes and motioned for them to leave.
They left, and she shut and locked the door.
The room was a quiet reprieve from the living room party. The loud bass from the stereo thumped against the wall. Laughter, a ceaseless pink noise of music, and muffled conversations made the bedroom feel like a secret cloister. But soon knocking came at the door, then an aggressive jiggling of the doorknob. "Hey girls, are you in there? Come on, let us in! "We want to hang out."
He spoke in English with a bad faux-American accent.
She shook her head at me and put a finger to her lips. The knocking and jiggling didn't stop. I began to be nervous.
"Do you know these guys?" I whispered to her.
"No," she whispered back.
"Then why are they here?" I complained
She shook her head and sighed "It's complicated," she said, "but don't worry, everything will work out in the end." She hugged me and smiled before turning away .
When it was apparent they wouldn't give up, she shouted against the door, "Get lost, Arschlöcher!"
An eye appeared in the keyhole, appearing crazed and intent. I gasped and jumped backward at the sight of it. She blew hard into the keyhole. a loud yelp on the other side.
For a moment, it seemed like they had left. But then there was a loud thump against the door, and the door shuddered so strongly that dust fell from the ceiling. Then another thump.
"What are we going to do?" I cried out.
Calmly, she walked over to a nightstand, where her purse sat open, and reached for something inside.
"Come here," she instructed. I went. The door crashed open, and the two men barged in, looking fierce and intent, their wide grins baring teeth like wolverines. They swung the door closed behind them. One of them propped a chair against the door handle, and they approached us.
But then a silver-nickel flash came to my side. I turned and found a revolver levelled at them. Villanelle stood broadly, both hands on the pistol, with a steady aim. They both came to a halt and raised their hands, their shoulders drooping and their faces turning pale.
"I believe it is time for you to leave," she said to them.
They started backing up slowly. One fumbled trying to get the chair loose from the door.
A grin grew on her face, and a fire set in her eyes. She said, "Wait. "Take off your shirts and pants."
The guys looked at each other quizzically, then at Villanelle and me. One smirked and started removing his clothes. She pointed the gun at the other one and, in a cooing voice, said, "Und du, mein liebling."
He nodded and slowly removed his, saying, "How about you lower your gun, and I'll let you play with mine?"
"Perhaps. "Why don't you remove your little pants, so we see what we are dealing with first?"
She cocked her gun. "I'm not going to repeat myself." She took a step towards him; her stance was both commanding and intimidating. "I think you heard me the first time.
He stared at her for a moment before his shoulders slumped in defeat.
The crowd in the living room, oblivious to the showdown in the bedroom, laughed and cheered them as they ran for the exit He stepped back, feeling the intense pressure radiating from her presence.
Weak kneed, I sat down in a daze by the bedside. Villanelle shut the bedroom door, placed the pistol back into her purse, and sat next to me. Her transient toughness evaporated. "I'm sorry about that. "I'll have to find out who brought those creeps to my party."
She put an arm around me. "Are you alright?" I sighed
I scowled at her.
"What?"
"You have a gun," I stated.
"Yes."
"Why do you have a gun?"
"For moments like this. ""Aren't you glad that I did?"
I shuffled away from her. "Your friends say you are Russian. "Is that true?"
"My father is Russian."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I suppose because it hasn't come up."
I huffed.
"What's wrong?"
"Villanelle, we can't do this."
"Do what?"
", Villanelle. I'm working at the US embassy. ""Don't you think that's an issue?"
"No. I don't."
I shook my head at her, then walked over to the window and looked out over the brilliant amber lights of the city. The steeple of Saint Stephen's cathedral reached into the sky, lit like a votive candle. It was past midnight, and the city was yawning, stretching into sleep.
"You know we can't meet anymore, right?"
"Why?"
"Because you're probably a..."
She raised an eyebrow.
"A fucking spy," I said with a snarl in my voice.
I imagined her reacting to this suggestion in a way to feign ignorance or refusal. But she didn't.
"Yes, I can see why you would think that." She said in a calm voice, her facial expression remaining unchanged.
"Then you understand why we can't do this."
"Are you afraid that I might seduce you into selling state secrets?"
"Yes."
She scoffed. "I'm not so dangerous." She said this with a smirk, attempting to defuse the situation
"Forgive me if I don't believe you. But even if you aren't, there are rules. I'll have to report my interaction with you. I'm sorry, Villanelle. ""I really like you, but it's not worth the risk."
I started to leave.
"She rose abruptly from the bed. "I don't want you to go"...