Lola Smirnova - Twisted

She looks at him and whispers, ‘I think we are done here, Michel. Let’s go back to the hotel…’

Totally mixed up, he gets up off his chair and mutters, ‘Of course… let’s go. Are you sure you don’t want to tell me what he said to you?’

Lena shakes her head and they leave.

The next day, Michel leaves. Lena decides to accompany him all the way to Kiev, to Borispol International. Michel’s cracked rib and injured arm make it really difficult for him to manage his luggage. Also, Lena still believes that he’s keeping his surprise proposal until the last moment, that right there in the airport he will go down on one knee, pull a little red velvet box from nowhere and make her the happiest woman in the world…

Seriously… what’s wrong with this woman?

Michel does get onto one knee when they arrive at the airport, but only to tie his shoelace. And the only vow he gives her is to call her when he gets home. When she comprehends that there will be no proposal, the tears blur her eyes.

‘Oh, don’t cry, baby. I will see you soon. Right?’

She nods her head, grateful for his not-so-piercing nature.

Another heartbreaking drama for Lena, which I very much doubt teaches her anything – again. She cries all the way back to Kherson. She has nothing left but to find a justification for why he didn’t propose to her (‘He is not ready yet’, or ‘He is just too scared of his strong feelings for me’).

She pulls herself together and concentrates on the trip to France.

Having lost the opportunity to buy the flat in Kiev, Natalia decisively jumps into research about how else she and Lena can lay out their money. This is one thing I guess I’ve always admired about my big sister – even though she is still angry with me for ruining that perfect investment opportunity that we could pull off only if all three of us threw money in, she never wasted a minute of her time on blame or regret, looking straight away for ways to solve the problem.

Since our return from Luxembourg, she’s been checking the local newspapers every day and spending hours at the Internet café digging for any tips or clues about what would work best for the amount of money she and Lena had.

A few days ago she overheard two old gossiping neighbours talking about one of their mutual friends, who was moving to Moscow to live with her boyfriend and was selling her business…

‘Can you believe it? Our bourgeoise madam peroxided her hair to a noxious white. She thinks it makes her look twenty again,’ one of the neighbours enthusiastically dished the dirt to the other.

‘But have you seen the boyfriend? At least ten years younger than her. He’s obviously after her money…’ splashed out of the other neighbour’s mouth.

Natalia politely butted into the conversation, interrogated the grannies, and a few minutes later was on her way to the business a few blocks away from our home.

It was a two-bedroom apartment on the first floor of a typical nine-storey apartment building (identical to the one that my family and all other post-Soviet-zone folk lived in), which had been turned into a not-so-fancy but clean and successful hair salon.

A metal staircase ran from the ground to a gap in the balcony wall, which was the main entrance. The balcony itself had been transformed into a little waiting area, which led to a room that was the men’s section. From there, a modestly sized passage led to the second room. It was considerably bigger than the first, fully equipped with washbasins, hooded hair dryers and big mirrors, and was reserved for the female clientele.

Natalia loved the scene and contacted the owner right away. Her name was Sophie. She was a very pleasant and intelligent woman (although the grannies were right – it did look like she overused the peroxide) and made Natalia feel like they had been good friends forever. Their conversation stayed warm and friendly, even while they negotiated the price.

An hour later, my sister had a deal she was happy with: the price was affordable and included the business, all the equipment, and the flat itself. Sophie then asked Natalia to stay for another cup of coffee and discuss a few more things about the salon’s current staff members.

‘You know, Natalia, I feel that I am kind of responsible for those people. And I will not sell my business if I am not sure I’ve protected them… they all are good people with fairly good skills…’

Natalia found this quite reasonable and agreed to sign a three-month employment contract for the staff. ‘And then, obviously, it will all depend on their professionalism and discipline,’ my sister reasoned, and they shook hands on the deal.

In any case, there was no salary involved as the staff worked on 30 per cent commission. It was a fair number, considering that the products, like shampoos and hair colours, were the salon’s responsibility. That way, Natalia and Lena could be sure that their stylists used quality products and were as motivated and interested in the success of the business as they were.

Natalia was very excited and kept sharing her dreams with Lena about how they would run their new business. When I caught one of their tête-à-têtes in the kitchen I couldn’t stop myself. My inner green monster was out of control .

‘Great idea, Nata! Your hairdressers are honestly going to give you your 70 per cent while you’re in France? Yeah, right! You are going to become businesswoman of the year.’

Natalia just shushed me, ‘No one was talking to you, Jul.’ And they went back to their discussion.

Nevertheless, she took my words into consideration and called our mother in Istanbul, asking her to come back and help them with the new business.

At first Mom protested, explaining that she knew nothing about hair and was scared that she wouldn’t be able to pull it off. But Natalia reassured her, explaining that the business needed a manager who would keep an eye on the staff and deal with the everyday admin work.

‘Besides, it’s been too long for you and dad to be living apart. You know it can’t last this way. This is a great opportunity for you to reunite,’ my sister added, and Mother didn’t resist for much longer. She did feel very lonely away from her family. So she agreed.

I’m finishing packing my bags as Natalia walks in to the room.

‘Rethink this, Jul. I lived in Turkey for five years. It’s not as good as your friend promises it is. Let’s go to France together. I will lend you the money. Lena and I will help you.’ Her voice is filled with genuine concern.

‘I don’t need your help! Leave me alone. I don’t want to add more troubles in your life, as you’re always saying I do.’ I continue throwing my clothes into the open suitcase on the floor. This adds quite a dramatic effect to my words .

Natalia sighs and sits down on the bed.

‘Don’t be like that, Jul. I care. We all care about you… and you know that.’

I try to avoid eye contact with her – I know she has expressions in her stash of manipulative tools that can be very convincing, ‘Nata, just leave me alone. I don’t have much time. I am telling you, I am going to Turkey and it’s not open for discussion… especially not with you.’

She jumps off the bed, swinging instantly from I-am-your-bestfriend-in-the-world to bitchy-furious. ‘Okay! You think you are clever? Fine, but just don’t run back here when you get into trouble. Again.’

The fact that I can make her lose it, even for a minute, makes me feel so good. I just calmly smile back at her: ‘Are you done?’

‘Julia, your cab is here.’ Father’s shout from the kitchen interrupts our clash. ‘Hurry up! Where is your luggage? I will help you to bring it down.’