Yelena Moskovich - The Natashas

César leaped at the phone, grabbing it, dropping it, catching it, and answering it.

“H-h-he-llo?” he said, panting.

“Hello, hello.”

“Marcel?”

“Where are you, César, can you hear me over there?”

“Yes I can hear you, I was just…”

“Great! Good to hear! César…”

“Yeah?”

“I was wondering if you—”

“I’m your man !” César said deeply, almost threatening.

“You are, you are…” said Marcel, and César smiled widely into the phone. “Listen, César, I know I’m your agent, but…” Marcel’s voice turned a bit sheepish. “I consider you my buddy as well.”

“Really? I mean. Me… too…”

“Oh César, that’s great! That’s really great to hear.”

“No problem. So about—”

“Yes, exactly, that’s exactly why I’m calling…”

The gilded finger of “Melody” is playing the sky like a harp.

“Do you have any plans tonight, César?”

“No nope nope totally free, do they need me to—”

“Actually, I was wondering if—”

“Yes, I can, I’m free!”

Violeta Parra’s singing and smiling, singing and smiling.

“Oh, César I really appreciate this, I really do!”

“Sorry?”

“If you could pick up my daughter.”

“Huh?”

“My daughter. She’s coming in tonight. At the train station, Gare de l’Est.”

“Oh.”

Marcel gave César the details, time, place, train number, and César nodded solemnly and wrote the information down on a piece of paper. It was too late to take back his offer. Just before hanging up, Marcel added: “Also… if you wouldn’t mind… taking her for a walk.”

“Uh. Okay.”

“Great!”

“So… what does your daughter look like?” César asked.

“Well… buddy… you remember the photos in my office?”

“Sure. I mean, which one?”

“Both!”

And with that, Marcel hung up. As César set down the phone down, it began to occur to him that this errand may well be part of the audition process. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed quite likely that it was in fact connected. He just had to play it smart. He zipped his jacket, grabbed his cell phone. He thought he could feel it about to ring, but it kept quiet. He stuffed it into his pocket and ran out the door.

There was a phone ringing somewhere else. The woollen man held the receiver up to the black wool over his cheek. It rang and rang. He stayed calm, sure that the person he was trying to reach would be there. And sure enough, the line was picked up.

“Hello…” Emmanuelle said.

“¿Cómo estás, preciosa?” the man’s mouth moved behind the black wool.

“Who is this?” she said.

“Playin stoopid with me, princessa?”

The woollen man could feel the woman rolling her eyes at him. Then, by the difference in breath over the line, he heard her taking the phone away from her mouth and preparing to hang up on him. At this, an electric bolt went through his nerves.

“PUT THAT MOTHAFUCKIN PHONE BACK TO THAT SWEET SMOOTH EARLOBE, BITCH.”

He heard the woman’s breath quicken.

“Shh, calm down, bébé, I play nice wid you. So princessa, don speak no spanich, datz ok, I’m multi-lingual… mmm… I hear dat bébé heart of yers go boomboom lika bunny — dunbe scared o’me…”

In the pause, he could feel the woman pulling away.

“NATASHA, WHAT DID I SAY PUTA MADRE!” he shouted into the phone.

“Natasha is not my name,” Emmanuelle replied.

“I’m juss playin wichou. Don’t j’you like to play? If I waz overder I’d give you a kiss-kiss, mmm.”

“ Don’t come near me, ” Emmanuelle said.

“Hé stoopid, I’m far away on a phone talking to you. An no offens, bébé, but you aint da one I really wana see…”

“Who do want?”

“Who you tink, stoopid. Manny wanna see Miss Playboy. Manny gotta real hard-on for Miss Playboy . Manny bout to bust his load juss tinkin bout it, shit. Manny wanna get his cum all over Miss Playboy , nice an creamy all up on dem big boobies, fuk man, Miss Playboy got Manny ready to xplode!”

“Stop calling her that,” Emmanuelle said.

“Callin who wat,” the man echoed.

“My sister.”

“Yer sister. Yer sister. Dats real precious family shit. Id likta cork up yer troat wiff my dick, stik it all da way in, till u cant breathe, bitch.”

“Well, you can’t. You’re far away talking on the phone, remember.”

“Lissen to you, smartass bitch.”

“Don’t call me that either.”

“Bébé gurl, I’m guna call you an yer sweetass sister whateverdafuck I want. I’m guna come by tonite and wen I look at you in da eyes, den you won be such a smartass bitch.”

There was a pause as Emmanuelle took in the man’s words.

“You lissenin OR WHAT?”

“ I’m listening ,” Emmanuelle said.

The woollen man pulled the black wool up to his nose, letting his bare lips touch the receiver. “ See you tonite ,” he said in one hot breath.

Emmanuelle’s head flinched up from the pillow. She looked to the window. A blue glow was coming through the darkness. It was almost dawn.

Emmanuelle quietly peeled the covers open and crawled out of the bed. She rolled the covers back, looked at her sleeping sister for a moment, then tiptoed back to her room.

Years away, a ten-year-old girl with puffed eyes walks into her big sister’s room.

I can’t sleep, Bee .

Years away, a young bride is lying lifeless at the bottom of the bathtub.

Years away, a reporter asks a glazed-eyed boxer:

So how does it feel to be the world champion?

Years away, Violeta shoots herself in the head.

Years away, a man extends a fresh, white rose.

Years away, children sing the national anthem around a gagging girl.

I’m just a fighter… You are my country, you are my family. My fists are yours .

A young girl’s tailbone hits the edge of the stairs.

A sleek red door closes and the Mercedes drives off.

Béatrice and the girl she remembers not to call “Sabine” stand in the warm sand.

“Sit down, Béatrice,” the girl tells her. “Not there, stupid. Right here.”

Béatrice shifts her feet warily in the sand. “Here?” she asks.

The girl places her hand on Béatrice’s shoulder and pushes her down.

“DUH.”

After the stone circle is arranged, the girl flips the tail end of each of her braids behind her and says, “You ready?”

“…Yeah.”

“Didn’t your parents teach you any manners?”

“Huh?”

“Say Yes ma’am when you answer me.”

“Yes… ma’am.”

The girl looks down at the stone circle and takes her time turning each stone clockwise, counter-clockwise, as if cracking a code. She speaks as she turns.

“Béatrice, you’re pretty.”

“Thanks.”

“Pretty girls grow up to be happy-and-stupid in the face.”

“Oh.”

“Oh??”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Don’t yes ma’am me on that, I know I’m right, I don’t need your approval.”

Béatrice bites her lip.

“My mom says I’m the most beautiful girl in the world… but she’s stupid. I’m okay for now, but I don’t see things going uphill for me in the future in the way of looks. Which is, by the way, what is called a blessing in disguise . It means I don’t have to worry about turning out happy-and-stupid in the face (YUK!). I’d rather be sad than happy that’s for sure! There’s nothing , nothing , nothing worse in this whole wide world than being STUPID, got it?”