Chapter 13

Lena. The note in my pocket. It must be her.

"Oh, sorry, of course I recognize you," I replied. "I just didn't expect your call, so I couldn't believe my ears."

"Vova... Listen, I have a terrible problem, and I don't even know how to tell you," the unfamiliar Lena hesitated on the other end. Actually, it could easily be some other Lena. The name is common; in my school class, for example, there were four Lenas. We had to figure it out somehow. One Lena insisted on being called Alena and nothing else. The shortest one was called Lenochka. Another Lena won the regional sambo championship in the tenth grade, and everyone addressed her by her full name—Elena Valeryevna. So, the last one was simply Lena. Just Lena. I couldn't even remember her last name. So who knows which Lena was on the phone. Maybe it was the Lena my predecessor in this body was in love with. Or maybe not. But does it really matter? Whoever she is, the girl called asking for help. So I should help.

"I'm listening carefully, Lenochka," I said. "I'll help however I can."

"I feel so awkward, really," her voice sounded muffled at the end, as if she had covered the receiver with her hand. And I'd say she either giggled or cried. One of the two. "But could you come over right now? This is really not a conversation for the phone, honestly."

"I can. Just give me the address," I answered without hesitation.

"Don't you know?" the girl exclaimed in surprise.

"It's always better to clarify," I replied. "Who knows where exactly you're having trouble."

"I'm at home," she said, sounding hurt. "Komsomolskaya, two."

"And the apartment?" I asked when the pause dragged on.

"Twenty!" she snapped. Did she take offense? "So, will you come?"

I mentally mapped out where Komsomolskaya was. It seems they renamed it Vysotsky Street in 2007 when they erected a monument in the small park opposite one of the university buildings. It was really close. Just step out of the house, cross the school stadium, and there you are. The street is short, just a row of five-story Khrushchyovkas on both sides. And a clinic.

"I'll be there in ten minutes," I said.

"Hurry, I'm waiting!" she said. And at the end, she covered the receiver again. Did it just sound like someone else's voice in the background? And it seemed like Lena was giggling again. "Okay, I'm waiting very, very eagerly!"

The line beeped with the busy tone. I shrugged, put down the receiver, and headed to my room to get dressed. Most likely, this girl doesn't have any real problems. Or if she does, it's something like "I desperately want ice cream, a unicorn, and a hug!" But does that mean I'm going to ignore her request and stay home? Especially since it's raining outside. You can hear the raindrops drumming on the windowsill.

Of course, I'll go. It's only in the fable about the boy who cried wolf that the child was left to fend for himself when the real wolves came. In reality, people would still rush to help, no matter how many times he fooled them before. At least to give him a scolding and share a laugh together.

I took off my home sweatpants and pulled on jeans and a T-shirt. After critically inspecting my wardrobe, I threw on a plaid shirt. I went back to the kitchen.

"I need to step out for a bit on some errands," I said. "I'm not sure when I'll be back."

"Oh, really!" Mom's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "And you'll be gone for the night again? What about tomorrow?"

"Everything's still on for tomorrow, Mom," I said. "I won't be long. I need to help a girl."

"A giiiiiirl?" Dad drawled with a sly grin, but I didn't engage in further banter.

"Take an umbrella!" Mom called after me.

"Oh, so he can go out at night, and I have to be home by ten..." my sister said sulkily.

"Quiet," Mom waved her off. "He's an adult and a boy. You're a girl."

I grabbed the umbrella. I've learned how long it takes for my hair to dry now. I would've also put on a hat if I could find one. I checked if my keys were in my pocket. I stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind me.

The entrance needed a renovation, of course. But as I understand it, I should get used to the fact that decay will be the norm for the next few years. Peeling paint, cracked plaster, and a couple of scribbles about a lady named Verka with questionable morals—that's not the worst I could expect.

I stepped out into the wet autumn darkness. The icy rain was making bubbles in the puddles. A lone streetlight peered into the yard from around the corner. I opened the umbrella and walked out from under the awning.

I walked through the seemingly deserted streets, most of the light coming from the windows of the houses. I cut through the courtyards towards the school, passing a vandalized hockey rink—the fence on one side was broken, and there hadn't been any lights there for a long time. To avoid walking around the fence, I hopped over the school's fence. I cursed as I landed in a puddle.

Ah, here's Komsomolskaya. From above, it looks like a little Christmas tree—the buildings are set at an angle to the street. I found building number two. Apartment twenty is on the fifth floor, first entrance. No coded locks or intercoms yet, nice...

I climbed to the fifth floor and pressed the doorbell next to apartment twenty.

There were footsteps behind the door, then some rustling, whispers, and giggling. The peephole darkened, more rustling. Silence. I rang the bell again.

The door cracked open. A pretty girl's face peeked out from under the chain.

"Are you alone?" she asked, a little scared.

"Were you expecting someone else?" I shrugged.

"No..." she closed the door again, the chain clinked, and now the door swung open fully. And I got the chance to see what kind of Lena this was. Well… quite cute. But she was dressed rather provocatively. A short, something between a dress and a nightgown, barely covered her round bottom. Her slim legs were clad in fishnet stockings. Her face was caked with makeup. At least she didn't have that ridiculous teased hair that all the girls here sport. Her reddish hair was simply curled, tousled, and sprayed with that same trendy silver hairspray. The Lena? Or was she too small? I'd say she was at most fifteen years old. Her "slutty" appearance certainly added some years, but not enough to make her look of age.

"Come on in," she said. Her movements were odd. She tried to sway her hips and strike sultry poses, but it came off as clumsy as if Pinocchio were trying to do a striptease.

"So, what kind of trouble are you in?" I asked, taking off my jacket.

"Oh…" she hesitated again." Let's have a drink first, okay?

"Aren't you a bit too young for alcohol?" I almost blurted out but instead just smirked.

The apartment was a typical two-room Khrushchyovka. A tiny hallway, with the kitchen and a combined bathroom on the left. Straight ahead, there was a closed door leading to a small room. To the right, an entrance to the living room. There was a built-in closet of Soviet design between the bathroom and the front door for storing things. A carpet runner, burgundy with green stripes along the edges, covered the floor. The wallpaper had a soft square pattern, like a padded cell in a mental institution.

Wobbling her hips awkwardly and adjusting her tiny dress, Lena led me into the living room. Inside was a couch, polished wall furniture with crystal glassware glinting behind its doors, and a heavy TV set on a stand. On top of the TV was a two-cassette player, "Vega." Above the couch hung a carpet. Two armchairs faced the TV, with a coffee table between them. On the table was a glass decanter with some cloudy pink liquid, two wine glasses that clearly matched the decanter, and a plate with slightly dried-out triangular cheese sandwiches.

"Mind if I put on some music?" Lena asked, glancing at me sideways, and without waiting for a reply, pressed a button. Music began to play. Oddly, it started from the chorus, not the beginning. "Lady in red is dancing with me..." I even recalled the singer's name. Chris de Burgh, a hit from all the slow dance compilations. [5]

Lena, swaying a bit stiffly, went to the table and picked up the decanter. Only then did I notice that her dress—nightgown, really—was red. Her nails were painted red too.

"Some wine?" she asked in a sultry voice. Again, without waiting for an answer, she poured half a glass into each wine glass. She quickly grabbed hers and took a big gulp. She sat down in an armchair, crossed her legs. She was wearing high heels, of course. How could I have missed that… The shoes were clearly too tight for her, and she looked visibly relieved to sit down. Yeah, this seemed like an attempt at seduction. A very childish attempt at seduction. "Why aren't you drinking? It's homemade wine, my grandma makes it! It's really good, honestly!"

"Sorry, I was just admiring your beautiful legs," I said, taking the glass out of politeness. I didn't feel like drinking at all. Meanwhile, Lena quickly emptied her glass and poured herself another. Her cheeks flushed, and her eyes sparkled.

"Do you remember when we got lost in the park?" she suddenly blurted out. "You know, back when… well…" she giggled. She took another sip of wine, grimacing as if she were drinking medicine. "Yesterday, my friend and I went for a walk down the alley, and this car stopped next to us. A foreign car, can you believe it? And the driver goes, "Hey girls, want to go for a ride?""

"Wait, wait," I interrupted. "What does that have to do with our walk in the park?"

"In the park?" she repeated, startled. She took another sip. "Oh, right… In the park… The "Chamomile" carousel… Oh, my favorite song is playing, let's dance!"

She finished the rest of her wine, jumped out of the chair. She swayed. Sticking out her hip, she struck a supposedly seductive pose and reached out her hand to me.

"It's a ladies' choice dance!" she announced in a completely drunken voice. "The ladies invite the gentlemen!"

I carefully set down my glass, took her sweaty hand, and put my arm around her waist. Lena pressed herself against me and started wriggling her entire body.

And singing along with the tape player.

"Let's come together, right now, oh yeah, in sweet harmony…" [6] — Lena sang, her eyes half-closed. Her heels wobbled, and she stepped on my foot a couple of times, but she didn't seem to notice. I held her waist tightly to keep her from collapsing onto the floor.

It wasn't the first time I'd seen someone get drunk this fast. The situation was just ridiculous. Was she trying to seduce me? But why?

I felt no excitement from holding a drunk teenager in my arms. I mostly felt sorry for the girl. She clearly wasn't passionate either, acting more like she was following some stupid playbook. By the end of the song, I was seriously considering dragging her to the bathroom and sticking her head under cold water.

When the last notes faded, she flopped back into the armchair and for some reason burst out laughing, throwing her head back.

"You're so handsome, Vo-va!" she gasped between laughs. "Vo-va… Do your parents call you Vova or Volodya? Vo-lo-dya… It sounds so funny!"

She grabbed the carafe again and poured herself more wine. Before I could catch her hand, she downed it in one gulp. "This wine is so strong... Oh... It's all gone... But don't worry, there's more in the kitchen... Just need to stra... hic... strain it..."

She tried to stand up, but her heel buckled, and she fell back into the chair, laughing again.

Then she leaned forward, burying her face in her hands.

"I don't feel so good..." she mumbled.

"Alright, miss, let's get you to the white porcelain friend," I said, lifting her upright, kicking off her ridiculous high heels, and guiding her toward the bathroom door. Lena mumbled something in protest, tried to pull down her hiked-up dress, and sobbed a little. But at least she made it to the toilet, which was something.

"Never thought, Lena, that your problem would be needing someone to hold your hair," I said, carefully gathering her disheveled curls into a bun at the back of her head as she leaned over the toilet.

"I feel so awful..." she groaned.

"Always happy to help," I muttered.

At that moment, the door to the small room creaked open.

"And what exactly are you two up to here?" a very familiar female voice asked. The tone was laid-back and sarcastic, something I'd heard just today.

"And a good evening to you, Nadezhda," I said, glancing at my sister's friend—the same one I had kicked out of the house earlier today.

"Geez, you're such an idiot, Lenka!" Nadya said dejectedly, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. "Why did you have to get drunk like that?"

"Let me guess," I smirked. "I was supposed to get drunk, start making advances, and then you'd make a scene and call the cops?"

"Nadya, leave me alone, I feel sick..." Lena whined, not lifting her head from the toilet.

"Are you impotent or what?" Nadya hissed angrily. "She's been in love with you for ages, like a cat!"

"Shut up!" Lena squealed.

"You shut up!" Nadya snapped back. "I'm helping you as a friend, and instead, you got wasted like a pig. You couldn't even... seduce him! Who would want you like this?"

"Nadezhda, aren't you ashamed to talk to your friend like that?" I said, and I had half a mind to slap this brat.

"And you just shut up, you freak," she spat. "The girl's practically throwing herself at you for free, and you're like a log!"

"Something didn't go according to plan, huh?" I narrowed my eyes. "The setup failed?"

Nadya scoffed and turned away.

"What, it was a great plan, wasn't it?" I smirked. "Reliable as a Swiss watch. Are you even sane? Calling a guy over and playing these games? You didn't set me up; you set up your friend. Do you have any brains at all, you stupid little girl?"

Nadya lifted her chin and showed by her whole demeanor that she didn't care at all what might have happened to her friend if, instead of me, there'd been some sex-crazed brute who'd have had his way with the drunk, underage Lena.

"Listen, 'friend', you should go home," I said, letting go of Lena's hair, whose "fountain" seems to have stopped flowing. "Come on, put on your boots and off you go!"

"Have you lost your mind? What makes you think you can boss me around? This isn't your house!" Nadya flared up.

"I may not be Schwarzenegger, but I've got enough strength to toss you out the door," I said, standing in the doorway of the bathroom, hands on my hips. Though still scrawny and not very imposing, I was taller than this brat who thought she was some great schemer. "So you better go on your own. While I'm still in a good mood!"

"The buses aren't running anymore; am I supposed to walk all the way to Soviets Square?" Nadya protested, her eyes flashing.

"If you've got legs, you'll get there," I shrugged indifferently and turned to Lena, who was sitting on the floor. "Lena, how are you feeling?"

"Lena, tell him!" Nadya shrieked. "I'm your guest, he has no right to throw me out!"

"Lena is out of this discussion due to her health," I said. "By the way, why aren't you putting on your boots yet?"

"Are you serious, throwing a girl out on the street at night?" Nadya pursed her lips. "I could get attacked and raped!"

"It's raining, all the thugs have scattered," I replied. "Besides, it's their problem if they catch a cold later."

"Unbelievable... You're such a fucking asshole!" Nadya grabbed her jacket from the wardrobe. "Lenka, you… some friend you are!"

Lena sat on the floor next to the toilet, rocking back and forth with her eyes closed.

Nadya stormed out the door, slamming it so hard that the plaster fell from the ceiling.

I locked the door with two turns of the key and returned to Lena, who was still in the bathroom.

"How are you feeling?" I repeated my question. "Can you make it to the bed on your own?"

The girl turned her cloudy gaze towards me but immediately lowered it.

"It's so embarrassing," she muttered.

"It's okay, it happens," I said. Damn, what kind of day is this? Now I have to offer moral support or play psychologist again? "Alright, I see you're starting to think clearly. I should get going."

"No, wait!" Lena shrieked, grabbing my hand.