Zariah
Only a few months have passed since I met Danushka Molotov and we’ve connected in such a short time. We crossed paths on one of the lowest days in our lives. We were two melancholic wives in the alcohol section of Whole Foods, in Beverly Hills. My husband was pissing me off, because at the time, I just couldn’t fathom how he’d want to return to the cage after a torn patella. I’d tortured myself with YouTube videos of the worst MMA fights to ever occur, where the men were breaking their legs and having their skulls cracked. That was the worse time in my marriage with Vassili. I was so very afraid of him returning to the cage. And Danny, although Russian, was dealing with her own demons about marrying a fellow Russian. We talked for a few moments. It was a start of a relationship that I needed. I have Taryn who isn’t married, and I suspect may never settle down as long as she still has her looks. Where I’m from, too many friends are a bad thing, and so I didn’t have any married friends until I met Danny.
I know, I know. She has the same first name as Danushka Resnov. And my husband’s forehead vein pops out each time he reminds me to steer clear of his sister. I’ve done my due diligence. Background checks and everything. And his sister looks like the Terminator. Pale. Brown hair. Big nose and muscular. Danushka Molotov looks exactly like Kate Moss.
I’m shuffling along with the hubbub of Los Angelinos to work when Tye Tribbett’s latest CD is interrupted by an incoming call. Starting off my day without praise and worship is something I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy. I’m a mess and three quarters without a sane mind! But I stop singing along and press the touchscreen to accept her call.
“Danny? I received your text last night, are you really back in town?” I gush into the phone.
“Yes. And I’m hijacking you at noon today for lunch.”
“Ha, that’s fine. So, did you get the house?”
“We did. As you know, my husband and I traded in Bel Air for Italy for a few months. Our new home is in escrow now. We’re vetting potential caretakers for our home here.”
“Humph, look no further, I don’t mind moving into your home while you’re away.” I joke. The home I share with Vassili is large in its own right, but Danny’s husband has a hand in the steel industry and international banking. Aside from how busy he is, their home in Bel Air could entertain a person for a year from grand courtyards, to a theater and bowling alley. They have a baseball field, there’s no reason to leave their home.
“I’ll pencil you in for an interview,” Danny joshes back. “Horace is conducting background checks and all. But I want to invite you to Italy.”
“Girl, I told Vassili that we have to take a trip to Apulia one day soon. I’m so happy that you guys are working out, and we will come to your housewarming if you have one,” I say, traveling down the street, Billingsley Legal is a few blocks ahead.
“Oooooh, we bought the house with furniture in it, but I wouldn’t mind having friends over for a week or so. Horace could spare at least a week to entertain. I have you to thank for that, Zariah, I wasn’t much of a talker before.”
“That’s what marriage is about. To compromise, you have to talk it out.”
“My family is different. We are old school Russians, and I’ve had such a negative mentality. I knew that if I married one of my own, it wouldn’t work out. Russian men,” she says in her thick accent, and I can just imagine her dash crunching. “But I fell in love with one. And, here we are, Horace and I are working out.”
I pull around the cars, which are headed into the Hot Chilly’s drive-thru line, across from the law firm. These idiots sure know how to act when it comes to good food.
“Alright, Danny, I’m heading into work. What time and where should we meet for lunch?” I ask while maneuvering around the tail end of an illegally positioned car.
“I have actually learned to cook. At least I attempted to. Horace and I took a class. If you are feeling courageous enough to try one of my new recipes, meet me at my place at noon? We can always go out instead, my treat.”
“I’ll meet you at your place.” I swoop into a spot.
***
At Billingsley Legal, I seek out Tyrese Nicks. He exuded the wrong kinda vibes when we crossed paths last week. From his eating me with his eyes, to the distaste he has in my last name. And what’s up with the history we have and the assumptions he’s made?
It’s been over a week since Vassili cornered him in my office, and due to my husband’s recent acts of aggression which sent us to Atlanta, I had no time to correct Mr. Nicks. Until he has chosen to promote or move on to other endeavors, we have to work together in a common accord. With the legal firm’s main goal to edify families, all of the attorneys and members of Billingsley Legal get along together, well, we try our best too, anyway.
I find him in his office, typing away.
“Good morning,” I assert myself at the door.
The typing stops. His gaze drags over me from head to toe and back again. I’m wearing a dress that accentuates my curves, and stops mid-calf, yet is appropriately fashioned with a thin cardigan. High heel peep toe booties and bangles finish off my ensemble. Those dimples of his are resurrected as he grins and says, “Come in.”
Eh… that’s not entirely necessary for what I need to get across, but I oblige and take a seat across from him. “So how are you liking the new job?”
“Pays the bills.” Flippant fucker as if I can’t tell his navy-blue suit doesn’t hug his muscles in a way that screams it was made specifically for him. He comes from a good black family, and I am not aware of that due to any sort of knowledge of him, but his diplomas behind him. He offers a half smile. I don’t match that. “I’m learning how to sympathize with people, Zariah. My previous professor suggested that I give a damn about people before I become...”
“This big bad wolf?” I cock a brow.
He nods. “This place serves two purposes. I learn to communicate with quote-unquote victims, before I move along to DA.”
I can appreciate a man with confidence, but he just made our clients seem like nobody’s. “What better way to do it than with the ex-Chef Deputy District Attorney and working with a demographic that actually needs people to give a damn.”
“Precisely. Is that still your plan as well?” he inquires.
This is the perfect opportunity to insert myself. “No, my original plan would’ve caused me to burn out before I made enough money to give a damn. So my father once worked with yours? And apparently I know you?” I cross my legs, lean forward, and await his response. Usually it makes a man choke when I’m too forward.
“Damn, woman, you truly are an attorney. We either lie or bite. That hurt.” He offers a killer smile. “You don’t remember me, whatsoever?”
He asks questions for my questions. My lips set into a line. This is a man’s world, but baby, I play well. “Do you have a problem with my husband? Or just my last name in general?”
Tyrese rubs his clean-shaven face. I can’t stand a man whose face looks like a babies’ ass. “This conversation is headed exactly where I anticipated. Zariah, I’m just astounded by your choice in a husband.”
“Elaborate,” I grit out, unable to fathom why I’m having this idiotic conversation with a man who has no relevance in my marriage. But I’ll let him build his case? And then I’ll be the lawyer, hell, I’ll play judge, jury and executioner on his ass. I see my father through his gaze. So judgmental.
“You always wanted to get the bad guy when you were a kid, then you married him.”
Who the hell is this man and why does he believe he knows me?
Tyrese’s desk phone rings on key. The motherfucker has the last word as picks up the headset he offers a greeting into the receiver.
“Put whomever you’re speaking to on hold,” I order.
“Excuse me for a second.” Tyrese places a hand over the receiver. “We can finish this conversation later. How about lunch—”
“Now!” My index finger slams onto the mute button. “Let’s start with an apology because apparently, you’re learning to become apologetic while working with victims of spousal abuse and whatnot.” I huff. “Oh, and while we’re on the record, damn it, I apologize that you were forgettable when we were teens. I’m actually making that assessment based on how old you look, mid-twenties like myself. So, with that said, I’m going to be apologetic enough to forget you’re a misjudge of character. My marriage has nothing to do with you. If I were to become a defense attorney, believe that whomever I’m set to prosecute will receive the same service as the next man or woman and so on and so forth! While you came to the conclusion that I lost my fucking mind and married a hoodlum, I’ll go ahead and grant you that assessment. Cause Vassili will knock you down to size for continuing to flirt with me.”
“Zariah, I’m not trying to be a dick—”
“That concludes this conversation. Have a blessed day.” See, Tye Tribbett and the gospel choir have assisted me with starting off the day.
***
Danny has a humongous knife in her hand, and she slices and dices like she’s worked at a butcher shop. She’s a pale blonde, with a thin yoga body and I assumed that our lunch would consist of all veggies, as evidenced by her cutting more cucumbers and zucchini for the salad on the counter. But it’s almost 1pm, and I’m nursing an expensive glass of wine, with a name that I cannot pronounce, while sitting in a kitchen so large its comparable to my master suite becoming a walk-in closet. And the aroma in the oven is to die for.
“Almost ready?” I ask. “Girl, that lasagna has my stomach rumbling.
“Let’s see…” Danny peeks inside of the oven, mumbles in Russian and tosses her mittens onto the Italian marble countertop.
“Maybe I should’ve taken you to lunch instead?” She gives a wry smile while heading back to the chair across from me.
“No worries, here. I could lose a few pounds,” I say, comfortably seated in the plush chair. Ironically, I’m constructing the perfect tiny sausage and aged-cheese slices on a square cracker. These damn things are good.
“I really did learn to cook. Horace, too. Albeit, we always had the chef there to instruct us.” She chuckles. “Because of you I’m not frowning, and life is good, you know?”
I nod. “I really am happy for you.”
“My favorite line use to be Russian Men, pah!” She makes a face at that. “I can’t believe Horace swept me off my feet. I can’t believe we are a year into our marriage. It’s crazy.”
“It is crazy, in retrospect. How we were raised.” I shake my head in thought.
“Yes! You should be with some anal-retentive businessman. I should be with … someone not Russian.”
“Humph, I met the perfect guy as far as past expectations go.”
“Like your father?” she asks. I nod. When I nod, Danny scoffs. “Rigid beliefs. High expectations? Say it isn’t so!”
“Yes, we have a new attorney at Billingsley Legal. He knows me from back when I was a rigid teenager—well, that’s how I suspect he knows me based on his disappointment in my choice of husband.”
“What?” Danushka offers one of her signature frowns.
“Well, this asshole comes to me with this notion that I’ve lost touch with reality due to the man I married.”
“Oh goodness. I dated a football player once. My family expected him to be uneducated and…” she leans back in her chair. “And I didn’t care how the guy treated me as long as he…”
“Wasn’t Russian?” I finish her sentence, tasting the crisp smooth wine.
“Yup. This is why I love you, Zar. Not only do you finish my sentences. But we both married men we couldn’t fathom spending the rest of our lives with.”
“We stepped out on faith and it paid off.” I agree with her wholeheartedly. My soul is settled having a friend like Danushka who, unlike Taryn, fights for something good. In my past, I never saw myself with a knight in shining armor. I have my father to thank for that. There’d be no acting in a certain demeanor or even at the very least catering to my husband’s expectations. I never knew marriage was about unity until I met Vassili and we became a team. Working at Billingsley Legal helps with that as well.
***
Later on, Danny and I are stuffed. The recipe to the lasagna she made is in my leather purse as she walks me past a marble fountain to her front door.
“I really am considering the housewarming in Italy,” Danushka says. “We have yet to meet each other’s husbands, and vacation makes for a good double date, right?”
I nod my head in agreement. There were too many times in the past that either Vassili was out of town, promoting an upcoming match, or her husband was away on business. “We can always set aside everything for some ‘us’ time, and Italy sounds just like the place to do it.”