Page 13 of Pageant

I start to long for mornings and dread the weekends when I’m not needed. Sundays are the worst. They are cold and lonely, even when the sun is beating down. I’m never happier than on Monday mornings when I’m on my way to Ivan Kalashnik’s home, humming under my breath. I ring the bell and wait for Lilia to open the door and smile at me.

She always smiles at me. Me. I’m fucking no one.

I’ve done things that would make her hide her face in horror. If she could see inside my head, all the lust-filled thoughts I’ve had about her, she’d turn away from me in disgust. In my head, I’ve fucked her forward, backward, sideways, and then all over again. I’ve shoved her to her knees and thrust my cock into her ass. She can’t get enough of me. I sit at her kitchen counter and drink coffee with my face carefully blank while she tells me her plans for the day. All the while I’m devouring her with my eyes and trying to imagine how she tastes, how she sounds when she comes, the exact grip of her pussy on my cock. Her husband can’t be screwing her. He just can’t be. He’s so old, and she’s younger than I am. It would be criminal to force a beautiful woman like Lilia to suck Ivan Kalashnik’s dick. Maybe Ivan can’t even perform anymore. Yes, that’s it. The only man screwing Lilia Aranova is me, in my head, morning and night.

Just over a month into my new job, Lilia opens the door and she doesn’t smile. Her face is gray and she can’t meet my eyes. She turns away without even saying hello, and suddenly my world crumbles to dust.

I follow her into the kitchen, wondering what I did to make her look at me like that. What someone else might have said about me. In the middle of pouring coffee, her hand shakes and she has to put the pot down and grab hold of the edge of the counter.

“Lilia?”

Suddenly, she bolts across the kitchen for the laundry room. I stare after her, wondering what the hell is going on. A retching sound reaches me, and I follow her and push the door open.

Lilia’s leaning over with her head in the sink, and she’s throwing up. Panic races through me. Has she been poisoned?

“You need doctor. I will get Ivan.”

She waves a hand at me to stop, but she doesn’t raise her head. “Elyah, no. I’m fine. I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, I’m fucking confused. Then I swallow, hard. All this American food is softening my brain. I had myself convinced that Ivan wasn’t having sex with his wife, that she’s my angel who only exists for me in the few minutes I see her every morning. I picture my ugly boss with his hands on her perfect body. His tiny, limp dick is spent and shriveling as jealousy and disgust flash through me.

“Pozdravl’ayu,” I mutter, and back away.Congratulations.

She turns the tap on and rinses her mouth, then straightens up. “Do you like children?”

I’ll have to watch her stomach grow day after day with the baby inside her. She’ll caress her belly and smile. The whole world will want to touch her because she’s radiant and perfect, full of new life and hope. Ivan’s fucking baby.

“Net.”No. I fling the word at her, stride out of the house, and slam the front door behind me. From now on, I’ll wait for Ivan in the car so I don’t have to look at her.

I stew on it all day, my boss in the back seat of his car while I drive him around. I hate this fucking country. I hate stupid American women who invite dangerous ex-cons into their homes instead of making them wait outside. Who talk to you and smile at you like they like you instead of treating you like the dirt that you are.

I shouldn’t have to know that Lilia is fucking pregnant.

I don’t fucking want to know that Lilia is pregnant.

I’m never looking at her again.

That resolution doesn’t even last the day. The next morning, I’m ringing the front doorbell, my palms sweating.

Lilia opens it and she gives me an uncertain look when she sees it’s me. I follow her into the kitchen and watch her pour me a cup of coffee.

“I am sorry for yesterday. I…” I trail off, wondering what the hell I can say. “I do like children. I miss my family.”

Her face softens in sympathy, and she reaches out to touch my hand. “Of course you do. I’m sorry you can’t see them, Elyah.”

She turns away, and I stare at my hand. That’s the first time she’s ever touched me.

“Do you have brothers and sisters?” she asks.

“Three older sisters.”

“Three! You must have been their pet and so spoiled.”

I smile, because in a way she is right. When I was a boy, anyway. By the time I was a teenager, I was determined to protect them. I got into so many fights with their boyfriends.

“Any nephews and nieces?”

I nod, and my gaze drops to her belly. “I hear I have two nieces and a nephew.”

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