Chapter Text
The light from the screen flickers through her closed eyelids as she waits, rubbing her clammy palms back and forth across her corduroy-clad thighs. The sensation is grounding. Ivanna knows that the high price she paid for these pants last week was more than worth it. She opens her eyes slowly, carefully noticing the other occupants of the theater without noticing them. The theater is showing an older film that is familiar enough, but not a big enough attraction to draw a huge crowd on a Tuesday evening. Sometimes, they get American films and it’s impossible to get a seat, but not tonight. There are a few people scattered through the rows, everyone sitting as far from others as possible.
Ivanna has the tenth row all to herself for now. She adjusts her clothes and decides to scoot to the third seat from the aisle, placing the suitcase of records on the second seat in. Establishing a physical barrier between herself and Twila, whenever she decides to show up. Distance will be good, will keep Ivanna from doing something patently stupid.
Ivanna squints at her watch and really tries not to care too much about the meeting. This is just business. The American clearly knows nothing about Moscow. Ivanna could probably fleece her and she’d be none the wiser. She’ll charge way too much for the records and leave with her pockets full. It should be easier to focus, sitting side by side in the dark theater without the distraction of Twila’s sunlit golden curls. She’ll get her money, hand over a couple of records, and be done with it.
She pinches herself, a reminder that softness will get her nowhere. She has to be hard, nonchalant, disinterested, just to fly under the radar and remain unnoticed. But, God, is that coldness exhausting. The cold lives in everyone’s bones here, so much a part of them that it freezes their hearts, too.
She is shaken from her thoughts by the sounds of jangling jewelry and the swoosh of denim approaching quickly, and she knows it has to be Twila. She clearly hasn’t learned to blend in.
“Psst, hey, Ivanna!”
If Twila is trying to whisper, she’s doing a terrible job at it.
She finally walks up and slides into the row. Moving to sit in the seat next to Ivanna, she frowns when she notices the suitcase in her way. She pulls the suitcase up quickly, thrusts it at Ivanna, and plops down, her arm brushing Ivanna’s casually. Ivanna’s heart does not quicken at all.
“What is this movie anyway? I guess I didn’t think about the Soviets making movies at all.” On the screen, a couple hunkers down in an apartment during an air raid.
“Летят журавли. I think it means…The Cranes are Flying? Is about the Great Patriotic War, in Moscow. Lots of drama. Lots of bad Nazis.” Ivanna stops there, allowing the silence to stretch.
“I brought some records you might like. 50 rubles each.” She knows it’s ridiculous and hopes the American’s lack of experience with Moscow will make her overlook the steep price. She unlatches the suitcase and opens it carefully to show the six records she’s bartered and worked for. She looks away while Twila leafs through the albums, not even commenting on the price.
“Um…no Fleetwood Mac?” Twila looks up hopefully.
“No Fleetwood Mac.” Ivanna pauses, a thought flitting unbidden into her head. Before she can catch herself, she says, “If you want new Fleetwood Mac, you pay me in advance 75 rubles. I try to find for you.”
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Ivanna turns her eyes to the ceiling, immediately regretting the words.
Twila’s eyes light up. “Yes! Yes, I can do that! Hey, do you like cupcakes? If you could lower the price a little I think I can sneak some of the Hostess cupcakes for you.”
Ivanna says, in a flat tone, “I like Ding Dongs.”
“Same thing, right?”
“No, no, not same thing. Very different thing.”
“I mean, if you don’t like them you could probably sell them for a big markup, right?”
Ivanna doesn’t say anything, letting the silence linger.
Twila clears her throat, chuckles a little, says, “So, uh, when you get the record, can you get in touch with me somehow? I can give you my phone number?”
“I don’t have telephone.”
“Okay, well then, maybe I’ll just come check in with you at the market? Are you there all of the time?”
“Most days.” Ivanna tries to keep her answers short, impersonal.
“Great! I’ll start stopping by when I can. I can swipe tons of stuff from the embassy, no sweat. This could be the start of a great partnership, huh?” She smiles and looks at Ivanna conspiratorially. Ivanna holds her gaze on the screen, studiously avoiding eye contact. She can see Twila’s smile fall out of the corner of her eye.
“Anyway, I’ll still take another one of these. How about…” she bites her lip, deciding. Ivanna closes her eyes, tries to stop the image from burning itself into her brain.
“Hotel California! I forgot to bring this with me. That will keep me occupied for a while.” She sings quietly under her breath, “Welcome to the Hotel California, such a lovely place…” and Ivanna hums along without thinking. She’s showing too much of herself. Time to lock it down.
Before Ivanna can respond and attempt to recover some dignity, she hears an angry “Tishe, tishe!” come from somewhere behind them. She turns slowly, putting on her best glower, and finds a middle-aged couple glaring daggers at them from a few rows back. Ivanna turns back, looks at Twila, and quietly translates for her, “‘Tishe’ means ‘be quiet.’ We lower our voices, yes?” Twila rolls her eyes, but nods, still holding the precious record in her hands.
“So, yes,” Ivanna whispers, gesturing at the album. “50 rubles.”
“50? Really? No discount for future business?” Twila wheedles in a low voice.
“50. Is fair price if you know how hard it is to get records that work.”
Twila sighs, rummages through her leather saddle bag and counts out some cash, squinting in the flickering lights from the screen. She hands it over and Ivanna’s fingers brush the back of her hand as she reaches up to take it. Again, a jolt moves up her arm at the contact, which could mean nothing. Ivanna leafs through the bills, counting up to 50. She schools her expression, trying to hide her delight that the scheme actually worked.
“Pleasure doing business with ya, Ivanna. I know you’ll get your hands on Rumours, I just know it.” Twila looks away, hesitating. Ivanna risks a glance at her and her expression is thoughtful. She looks poised to leave, but then her body relaxes back into the chair. “You know, I paid for the ticket. Might as well watch the whole movie, even though I won’t understand a word. Hey! You can tell me what’s going on, yeah? Maybe it’ll help me learn some words.”
Ivanna knows she should grab her suitcase of records, get up, and leave without a second glance. But, for some reason she’s unable to get her legs to work. After a struggle between her brain and body, she gives up and relaxes back into the chair, bracing herself to be in the presence of this brash, bold woman for longer than expected. Twila notices her unspoken decision, nods her head slightly, and turns her eyes to the screen. Ivanna does not notice the warmth of Twila’s arm seeping through her leather jacket. Ivanna does not notice that same heady shampoo fragrance that wafts every time Twila’s curls move. Ivanna does not notice the passion and intensity on Twila’s face as she focuses on the movie she doesn’t understand. Instead, she focuses on her breathing. In, out, in, out.
They sit like this for the rest of the movie. Ivanna does not notice the occasional twitch in her fingers as she holds herself back from reaching for Twila’s hand. God, Twila could be straight. Holding her hand could mean something worse than the embarrassment of rejection. Ivanna pinches her leg again, a physical reminder to get her head on straight and treat this like the new business relationship it is.
That’s all it has to be. Business.