Not to me, that is.
But do you want to hear a story about the best bad night ever?
It's Saturday night. Kira is getting anxious, because she is supposed to go out with friends she has never gone out with before and wants me to come. I am sick. Crazy-person, sleep-deprived feverish sick. But I've been stuck in the house for about a week, and am completely stir-crazy. I'm insanely envious of Kira getting to go out, and I tell her so.
But she's not so sure about this night. She has a feeling that her student is trying to set her up with his friend, because he's been so insistent that she meet him. Something about the evening gives her an uneasy feeling, but she doesn't know why.
Still I'm jealous.
"You're jealous of ME?! I'M jealous of YOU! You don't have to go out with a bunch of people you don't know! I wish I were you."
"I wish I were you."
Then ensued a five minute fever-and-wine- inspired conversation about how If we actually were to get to switch bodies for the evening, we'd then, by transitive properties, still want to each be the other person. Heavy stuff. Think about it.
So anyway, she goes out for her fabulous night in Moscow, and I sit in bed with two kittens. Unfair trade.
Then, she's back at midnight.
Midnight. Very early, by Moscow standards. She walks into the apartment where I, in my fever-and-cold-flashing state, have settled on an outfit consisting of 1970's track shorts, a tank top, a touque, and a bedsheet wrapped around me toga-style. But this bit of crazy was nothing compared to her evening...
As she tells it:
When she gets in the car, Elvis (yes, his name is
Elvis) gets a phone call from the friend they are to meet. Kira makes use of her limited Russian, and understands that he is telling the guy that she speaks only English. Oh, and it's not a big group, either.
So this can't be a set up. He'd never set up an English girl with someone she can't understand. In fact, why would he even bring her out in such a cozy situation when she'll be virtually cut off? What is going on here?
The phone call ends and he tells her:
"That was Slava. He was asking about my girl and whether you speak Russian."
His girl?Oh, and did I mention Elvis is married? Yeah, that's important here.
Kira gets that
oh shit feeling and makes a feeble attempt to explain that her roomate is sick, and she's got to come home early. But she is also trapped in the car and has no choice but to ride this night out, at least for a little.
Elvis takes her to a little cozy Uzbekistani restaurant. As she described it to me later, it was exactly like that restaurant in the Godfather where Michael shoots Salozzo and the police captain, where home cooked food and
discretion are key. Except Uzbekistani.
He guides her to the table where his "most important" friend is seated with a woman (also not his wife, for the record). This is Slava: "hairy, lots of jewelery, cashmere-wearing, and spread in his chair relaxed and refined, drinking his cognac. This man does not condescend to speak in any English." The word
presence means everything here. Oh, and the word
scary.Slava, as it turns out, is a casino boss. Little surprise.
Over dinner, they discuss going to
Fabrik one of Moscow's hottest clubs, famous for employing face-control on a regular basis. Face control, if you don't know, is when they don't let you in because of...well, your face. The good-looking only.
Kira registers concern over not getting in, and they all laugh.
"If you're with us, you'll get in."
Aha. We're dealing with that kind of people, then (read: scary)
Kira needs a drink and a smoke in a big way. But they don't drink. Or smoke. Though adultery is a harmless enough vice, apparently.
She reminds everyone, over the very expensive cognac (the only acceptable beverage) that she needs to get home to her roommate who is sick and she can't go to the club.
But guess what? The other woman at the table just happens to be a doctor, and tells Kira that her plan to bring me ice cream is a bad one. Kira must then endure ten agonising minutes of feigning concern to an actual doctor about an illness both she and I know is just a nasty flu. And Kira is a piss-poor liar. Poor girl.
But Kira is not to be swayed, and insists on a ride home after the dinner. The whole way home, Elvis is teasing her, upset that she won't go dancing. Then, because the evening was not awkward enough, he informs her that he is a singer. It's his hobby. He sings and records cover songs. Like Bryan Adams and George Michael.
For real.
So of course, he pops in a CD, and makes her listen to his covers of these songs. As if that were not enough, next comes up an instumental track of a song he plans to record next:
Please Forgive me. Of course, he treats her to a sing along.
Of course.Kira endures this, wondering if he's ever considered recording this song for his wife.
When the Elvis serenade is over, he pops in trance music, and proceeds to dance to it in the driver's seat, complete with the white-man overbite.
Kira is camera shy, but she showed me, so allow me to demonstrate:
He drops her off, and she runs into the apartment, to me in my Farrah-meets-snowboarder-meets-Animal house getup and makes a beeline for the kitchen and the wine. She has earned it.
So to sum up:
Kira accidentally went on a date with a married singing -and-dancing Uzbekistani man named Elvis and his mobster friend.
Good times, Moscow.
Still wish I'd been her, that night.
