Chapter 26

Pervasive dream images from childhood cascaded through her mind. You’ll be late you’ll be late hurry hurry hurry…

She was running as fast as she could. She couldn’t be late. She’d be punished.

Heart pounding, Vika thrashed around, struggling against something tying her down, not letting her breathe, not letting her run. What was going on?

Wriggling around, she finally managed to extricate herself from a flimsy sheet and from a rough wool blanket. What happened to her duvet? Her two soft luxurious pillows? And it was so noisy. And cold. She’d have to complain.

Somewhat awake by now but still confused, Vika was surprised to find herself in a narrow little bed—a cot, really. Gradually her unconscious mind, with its storage of childhood dreams and nightmares, receded. She smelled coffee. Room service?

Trying to sit up, she winced. She was sore all over and stiff, having had to scrunch herself into an uncomfortable position on this hard narrow mattress. What was she wearing? Vika couldn’t believe she had on a long flannel shirt of some kind. How come?

Then it all started coming back to her. It was last night. Outside the Hotel de Rome. How could she forget Frankie’s words? “You must hide. Bernie’s business partner here in Latvia is looking for you. He wants some package. He’s dangerous.”

She had reacted immediately, jumped into a cab and taken refuge with Simone and Aunt Velga, joining Svetlana who also was a refugee and was still recovering from her near-death “accident.”

Vika felt bereft. All she had of her own were the clothes she had on her back and her purse. Poor Simone! What a sad end to her birthday dinner last night had been!

There was a soft knock on the door and, as if conjured up, Simone  came in carrying a cup of coffee.

“Did you sleep okay?”

Awkwardly Vika pulled herself up to a seated position, “Thank you for everything, Simone.” She gave a rueful smile. “Your apartment is getting pretty crowded. I’m sorry.”

“Oh nothing, nothing. Everything is okay,” Simone replied, flustered and at a loss for words.

Vika gratefully accepted the coffee. What supreme irony that she who couldn’t live without luxury was now sheltering in a crowded mule sanctuary!

Simone smiled over her shoulder as she softly closed the door behind her.

Vika had to get busy. Her first call was to the Hotel de Rome where she instructed reception not to release any information about her to anyone. “Yes, madam,” was the reply. “We have not done so.”

Minutes later her phone rang. It was a local call. Frankie.

“Just to let you know. Two goons turned up at the hotel last night. The same ones who had been guarding me. I didn’t follow them around but I saw them leave.”

Vika had so many people to thank. It was something new for her since she had always taken her security and her wellbeing for granted. So, she thanked Frankie profusely and took his cell number.

She dreaded the thought that she’d have to go back to the hotel and  retrieve her possessions and, most importantly, the contents of the safe. She had to plan how to do this safely.

Another tap on the door and she heard Simone’s voice. “Breakfast is ready. Please come.”

Where in the world was her soft fluffy dressing gown? Her slippers? Her cosmetic bag? How was she supposed to brush her teeth? Put on her makeup?

We’re all ladies here, Vika finally said to herself. She pulled her jacket over the night shirt and ventured out of the room. She was hungry.

Aunt Velga’s best china was on the small kitchen table. Four places were set. Small bowls of porridge, an egg, and slices of bread. Four ladies sat down. What a moment! Vika didn’t understand Latvian and, of course, not Russian, so the conversation was stilted. Still, all four women felt a sense of camaraderie. And all three of them were fascinated by Vika—the rich American, sitting at their table and not looking rich at all.

Vika stared at what was in front of her. Nothing could win her over like a bowl of porridge. She realized that she had to say something. “Thank you. Thank you,” she said summoning up her best phony smile. She felt as if she was on life support. Just the essentials to keep her alive. Some food. Somewhere to sleep.

Still, the porridge was a problem. She couldn’t make it go away. Couldn’t insult the people who had taken her in. Could she be allergic to porridge? That was a long shot. She tried distraction.

“Oh! I just love eggs. And this bread is so nice.”

Svetlana, sitting opposite her, looked puzzled.

Simone frowned. “Eat the porridge now. It is hot.”

Aunt Velga, who only spoke Latvian in her house, pushed the bowl a little closer to Vika. “Nu?”

Could she grin and bear it? She could.

She cursed this porridge-besotted breakfast table, shivered slightly and dipped her spoon delicately into the thick lumpy mass. Her eyes lowered, she tried for an ummm sound but instead a harsh hacking noise escaped her lips.

But there was a God. Her cell sounded. Saved by the bell!  Vika looked up from her bowl and the balloon over her head said Thank you, Jesus! 

Her gladness vanished two minutes later as Irena described what was going on in New York. Vika looked around the table, at the three good-natured faces, brows wrinkled with concern. My mother should be here. With us. Safe. She said all this to herself as she listened to an account of Bernie’s threats against her mother.

“Listen, mamma, you’re leaving. You’re out of there. I insist!” Vika’s voice grew loud and forceful. “You have plenty of money in your account. Get yourself a ticket to Riga. Promise me!”

All thoughts of porridge were forgotten. Vika wanted a drink. She wanted a cigarette even though she wasn’t a smoker. She wanted something. Drugs? If not drugs outright, Valium would do. But where in the world would she find any of that around here?

Her mother was the only person she had ever loved. Ever would love, by the looks of things. She settled for coffee. There were tears in her eyes. Tears of frustration and anger.

“Please. More coffee. I can’t eat right now.”

Aunt Velga rushed to the coffee pot. Refilled Velga’s mug. And gave her a hug. Even though Velga didn’t understand English, she knew the word mamma.

Gulping her coffee, Vika said with determination, “I must get my stuff out of the hotel. I’ll find another hotel later but right now I need my stuff.”

Three heads nodded in agreement.

What was the plan? Vika couldn’t be seen going into the Hotel de Rome. Frankie seemed sure the goons would be back. Just to check.

Vika turned to Simone. At least Simone understood English. Vika brainstormed, doing all the talking herself, as Simone stared wide-eyes and bobbed her head up and down.

Plan A would have Vika in disguise. She’d ditch the glamor and reinvent herself. She hoped that there wouldn’t be the need for a plan B.