Page 119 of The Oligarch's Daughter

“Let’s get some takeout, and then we can head over to Park Avenue and meet my father and Polina.”

“Park—our new apartment? Is that the surprise?”

“I guess I’m not so good at keeping secrets.”

“So it’s finished?”

“We’re going to meet them at eight thirty or nine.”

Which was when he had to meet Addison. “That was when Rick and I are supposed to have a beer,” Paul said. “Can we do it tomorrow instead?”

“We can’t blow off my parents.”

“I’m not blowing them off. I just want to reschedule.”

“Out of the question,” she said firmly. “Papa’s going to London on business tomorrow. We can’t reschedule.”

“Okay,” Paul said, defeated. “We’ll meet them tonight.” He would have to text Addison and postpone.

*

They took a Lyft to Park Avenue and pulled up beside their new building, its façade a graceful limestone. They greeted the doorman and took the elevator to the ninth floor. Paul felt a weird skirmish of emotions: he was excited to see the place, but a little apprehensive that, after his in-laws’ renovations, it would be dripping with gold.

The elevator doors opened, and they saw not their old apartment door but large, ornate brass-filigreed double doors. These were flung open, and Arkady and Polina bustled out, both of them crying, “Welcome!” Arkady was wearing his blue-and-white bird’s-eye L.L.Bean sweater, and his wife was in a tight-fitting black dress. They hugged Tatyana, then Polina hugged Paul, and Arkady shook his hand firmly.

“Welcome to your new apartment!” Galkin said.

“What—what the hell did you do?” Paul yelped. The words escaped before he could bottle them up. “The door . . .”

“Is salvage from sacred mosque in Morocco. Apartment is nice, yes? Is very simple and spare. The way you both like it, yes?”

But everything looked different. For one, the apartment seemed much larger.

“I don’t understand,” Paul said. “What—what happened to the apartment next door?”

“I buy out neighbor,” Galkin said gleefully. “Pay them to move very fast. Everyone has price.” He’d hired the celebrity Japanese architect Tadao Ando to combine the two apartments into one gracious, high-end home in the minimalist style. Now the apartment went on forever. It was a blend of old New York architecture and modern interior design. The walls were white and gray and beige and pale yellow. The carpets were an indeterminate shade between gray and beige. The sofas were long and gray and comfortable looking. Everything was done in a neutral palette. It was tasteful and simple but not boring. There was no gold plating, no ticky-tacky.

Tatyana’s eyes were wide, her mouth agape, then smiling. She seemed stunned and delighted. She, who rented an apartment in the East Village with a problematic toilet, was now thrilled with this beige Versailles of the Upper East Side, this modernist Taj Mahal.

Paul was silent as he looked around. The apartment was now two classic sixes combined, immense. Inside, he seethed. He had gone to the mat to buy this apartment, had maxed out his finances, had spent everything he had—and now his father-in-law was making him look like a pissant.

One of the many rooms was set up as Tatyana’s photography studio. Another, Polina told them, could be used as a gallery to show her photographs. “Pápachka,” she said, visibly moved. She spoke to him quickly in Russian and then said, “Thank you.”

“I am impressed,” Paul said tightly. “Thank you.”

“If you don’t like,” Arkady said, “you can redo how you want.”

“But it’s perfect,” Tatyana said.

*

Pushkin was yapping when they arrived home back at their old place. Tatyana took him out for a walk while Paul poured himself a large glass of bourbon. He took a big gulp.

Tatyana returned with the dog. He and she collapsed on the couch. Pushkin scrambled into her lap. After what they’d just seen, this place really did seem like a shithole, as her father had said. Paul poured her a glass of rosé.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Tatyana said. “Nobody could do a reno so fast—board approvals, certificates from the city planning office? Impossible, right? But Papa has his ways.”

“Meaning substantial payoffs.”

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