Валентина Басан - Vera the Mistress

Vera enjoyed the joyride racing her brand-new car. Red Lexus from the Car Dealers, happy and elated, she sang along to the radio while her rather fast driving. The radio played a song performed by some Russian pop star: ”To hell with love". The phone pinged. Vera left it on the next seat without attention, since a brand-new car is not supposed to be scratched at least in the first month. Oleg, as promised, presented her with a long-awaited New Year gift having organized the excursion for Vera to the car sales salon for a vehicle.

Right at the moment he was in Thailand with his family. All his attention was paid to his baby-daughter under a year old. His wife was determined to visit the countries with warm or even hot climate conditions.

Verochka didn't like Thai very much, it was too hot, too authentic, and there were too many animals. Despite all her dislike towards Asia, she often flew there with friends or with Oleg, and by the way, with him she had a great vacation. He had his own Villa in Phuket and the silent servants were equally happy to see either his wife or mistress.

But Vera preferred to travel to Europe, she liked Italy, Spain, Montenegro. Now she would like to go to Courchevel, or Courch as she liked to casually call it, winter mountain air, snow, skiing, lifts, lots of acquaintances, mulled wine in the evenings and making love on the floor by the fireplace.

Well, it doesn't matter, tonight Oleg arrives in Moscow, and at midnight he is seeing me, telling tales to his wife about important and complicated business affairs. We will be together for a couple of days, then I will persuade him to go somewhere on skis, maybe to the Alps, – Vera went on dreaming, – and maybe he will soon leave his wife and …

Vera was deeply in her thoughts at the traffic light and did not notice the light going green. A siren wailed from behind as a black jeep honked like a war elephant blaring with its trunk. The impatient ones went around Vera’s car some of them poked their middle finger through the car window. At the next traffic light, the jeep overtook her and cut off her trajectory, then apparently determining to punish her for the ten seconds time loss because of Vera’s traffic light dreaming, curtly pulled up in front of her. The girl’s foot instantly pushed the brake and the seat belt bit into her ample round chest. The pain spread over her breasts, even though the operation was a few weeks ago, but still, her bosom was still heaving, and the scars were a little sore and itchy.

– This is Moscow, baby! – she muttered and turned into her private drive.

When she parked, she picked up her phone and looked at the display there was a text from Oleg.

"Honey, I'm not going to Moscow in the following two weeks. Having a great sunbathe here. Don't be bored. If you need money, contact Igor, he is going to transfer some money in any case."

The good mood was immediately spoiled. Slamming the door of the Lexus with such a force that the pigeons were scared and flew away from the chestnut tree nearby, Vera came in the entrance and pushed the button of the elevator. The button didn't light up.

Tamara, her elderly neighbor, was wearily descending the stairs.

– Verochka, good afternoon. The elevator doesn't work. This is the third time I've been down going shopping. Sclerosis.

– Good afternoon, Tamara, I see, let me help you. What do you need to buy in the store?

⁃ Oh, don't worry about it. I'll go to Lyuba on the first floor. She's waiting for me. God grant you a good bridegroom. Thank you, dear.

Tamara always used to wish Vera a good bridegroom, the girl laughed cheerfully, thanked the old lady, and hurried away on her business.

But today's mentioning about a bridegroom was particularly painful to hear.

Without any answering, she quickly ran up the stairs wearing high heels. On the second floor her eyes went wet and having reached the fifth floor she opened the door and entered the apartment, the tears were pouring down her make-up face. Apparently, that was the last straw. First there were bad words and rudeness of drivers at the traffic light, then Oleg, the elevator and finally the groom wishing neighbor. Vera took off her high-heeled boots and went straight to the kitchen for an open bottle of wine from the refrigerator without putting off her exclusively sewn coat. Having taken a big gulp of curing white wine, Vera leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes.

Vera Klimova was born in an average Soviet family of factory workers. Her parents saved some money and sold their country house on the picturesque riverbank for their daughter to move and study in Moscow. They believed their daughter would be an excellent student with her knowledge thirst and talent for the visual arts. The Headmaster of the school where Vera studied, made patronage to one of the Moscow Universities of design and architecture and also helped with the student hostel. The Klimovs could not hold their tears while packing Vera’s bags before her leaving for Moscow. On the one hand, they were desperately going to miss their only child, and on the other, the only job opportunity in a small town was a post-Soviet factory, a miniature of the whole Soviet and post-Soviet inefficient and failed command economic system. It certainly wasn’t a right place for smart and talented Vera, the winner of all high school educational competitions and Olympics in drawing, graphics, and design. Another additional incentive to send their daughter to the capital city of Russia was Dima, her boyfriend from a family of conventional alcoholics. He worked at the factory and put away a lot of booze on weekends, so for Vera's parents, Dima's future without higher education, studies and career growth was transparent and clear as a rock crystal. In the future they didn't want to see Vera wearing a washed-out dressing gown, with hungry children and hard drunk husband.

After graduating from high school with ease and honors, Vera quickly found a job in a company that produced designer furniture and decor. Oleg was the second client who ordered an interior solution for his country house.

Tall, statuesque, wearing an expensive suit and shoes so much cleaned and shiny, that you could use them as a couple of rear-view mirrors while autumn rainy driving. Oleg could not help impressing and fascinating a young twenty-three-year-old girl at a first sight. In comparison with Dima presenting her with a chocolate bar and field daisies plucked nearby the factory, Oleg did not just seem, but really was a kind of a celestial for Vera.

She stayed with him right after their first date. Vera had neither intention nor desire to say “No”.

And now the order was ready, furniture and decor for a country house were designed, manufactured and delivered on time. Vera understood that she might not see Oleg again and was afraid of the foregoing final conversation.

The conversation did take place, but not the one she had expected.

"Babe, I'm married. I like you very much, I'm crazy about you, but I won't leave my wife," he took a sip of water and called for the waiter.

Late autumn drizzled outside, but Vera's jacket was wet with cold sweat, and she felt as if there was a puddle under her chair, it seemed she was melting like a snowman by the fireplace, she stood up and looked around.

The waiter came over and helped her to sit down, while her lover looked through the menu with no attention.

"I'll have Caesar and duck in cranberry sauce." Dear, what would you like? Oleg asked solicitously.

Vera shook her head, nausea rising in her throat:

"I'll have some water and lemon, please."

When the waiter left, Oleg continued calmly.