The Craigslist Murders - Brenda Cullerton [57]
“If there’s one thing I know all about, Pavel. It’s walls.”
“Yes, Charlotte. I realize that. Now, let me get the bill and you can tell me all about them.”
As Pavel eyed the head waiter, Charlotte wrapped herself up in her velvet shawl. She thought, I can’t believe I’m talking. Like John, the homeless man, if she wasn’t talking to clients, Charlotte spent most of her time talking to herself. But tonight, she felt as if Pavel had cast a spell again; as if she were, somehow, enchanted. Pulling the shawl around her like a shroud, she shivered. Talking was dangerous.
35
Charlotte had been taught to submit gracefully. But the resentment that lay just beneath the surface made each and every act of submission, no matter how trivial, feel like rape. So when they’d arrived back at the loft, Pavel had sensed her reluctance. Unlike other men, he hadn’t rushed her. He’d sat, sipping a cognac, patiently waiting for her to come to him.
“Would you tell me another fairytale, Pavel?” she asked, moving closer to him on the couch and stretching out her legs. “About your dacha.”
“Ahh! My beloved dacha!” he replied. “I hope you are not another one of those Americans who always think of that ridiculous Egyptian in Dr. Zhivago? What was his name?”
“Sharif. Omar Sharif,” Charlotte said.
“Right. I will tell you about my banya that I built with my own hands,” he said, briefly touching her hair. “But first you must relax. Close your eyes, Charlotte.”
She obeyed.
“In the big house, I did nothing but pay people to spend my money. It has a swimming pool and fancy Finnish sauna. This is for business. But the banya, this small wooden cabin, is only for me and my closest friends.”
Pavel’s voice was so deep, so mellifluous, she felt as if she were being carried away. As his hands slowly massaged her neck, she purred.
“Good! You are getting relaxed, Charlotte. The banya is made of cedarwood. Inside, I have made a simple room for drinking vodka and hot tea with jam. There are pegs nailed into the wall for hanging my robes and towels. They are all white and soft. From Sweden. You cannot imagine what luxury these towels are for me, Charlotte. You are asleep?” he asked, gently pinching her arm.
“No, just dreaming, Pavel. Tell me more,” Charlotte said.
“When I sit in my sauna, I like it very, very hot. So I dip a big wooden spoon into a bucket filled with water from my river.”
Charlotte smiled. “Your river, Pavel?”
“That is correct. Before it was the people’s river. But now it is on my property. So it is my river,” Pavel replied. “I throw this water on hot rocks. You can hear the hiss, the sizzle of heat. I slap my back with a broom of birch twigs. It stings. The soap and the slap of leaves. But it feels good. Then I climb wooden steps and soak in a deep wooden tub with cool river water.”
Pavel’s hands had now slipped discreetly beneath her shirt. He was gently kneading the muscles in the small of her back. How did he know exactly where she ached? Charlotte sighed.
“Are you still here, Charlotte?” he asked.
“I’m melting.”
“After the banya, I go out and plunge into my river. I put my head under this ice-cold still clean rushing river. I hold onto a rusty old ring on the dock because the river flow is so strong. The river is also full of weeds. Weeds that can strangle people who are drunk.”
Pavel gently squeezed the flesh above her buttocks. She was so relaxed, he could have strangled her right then and she wouldn’t have even bothered to struggle.
“I come up from the river, naked. I am dripping wet and reborn. Clean and pure like a baby after baptism. This is how we Russian men get clean after another day of hurting or cheating other people. People who are sometimes friends. We must do this or we drown ourselves.”
Languid with the heat from the fireplace and the strength of his stroking hands, Charlotte touched his face.
“I