Update on Workshopping plus Dan's Novella

Below I've copy and pasted Dan's novella if you want it up here for reference. Hard (paper) copies of Dan's novella and Charles' novella are already on the 8th floor. After posting this I'll make hard copies of Jonathan's as well. Next week we'll discuss all three. A Novella- Dan Zollman 3 November 2008 ENGL 471 A cold front had moved in over the Russian country side near the city of Petrozavodsk. A cold temperatures drove most of the residents in doors, leaving the place barren and still. Occasionally a resident would venture out, moving sluggish, as if they were in an old black and white picture movie, fighting to keep the cold on the outside. There was nothing else to do but wait for the ocean currents and the wind to bring some warmth back into the land. Until then the snowmen would remain unfinished in the square, resembling standing corpses as they lost limbs, eyeballs, and buttons without the children there to maintain them. Only one car moved through the town this early in the morning, its tires cracking harshly against the ice crystals on the road. The iced windows prevented anyone from seeing who was driving but the small clear hole in the front windshield showed that there was at least some warmth inside the car. The small, black volvo moved slowly but deliberately through the town, attracting the attention of the old men who sat at their windows drinking coffee. They were glad that they were not outside in this cold. The Iron Curtain had been lifted for over a decade but that had not let in any warmer air into Russia. Russia was still Russia just as it always will be. It was now a Russia without all of the bells and whistles of the Soviet Union. The Glorious Revolution had backfired on the Russian people but they did what they do best. They lasted. They did not admit defeat and adopt the ways of England, France, or America instead they chose a new strategy and remained unique and independent. One thing was for certain though, the Russia people did not long to return to any of the ways of Soviet Russia. They had been persecuted and humiliated under that regime and they no longer wanted any part of it... most of them anyways. The black car moved down the road until it came into view. The Petrozavodsk paper mill was seated upon a small hill, standing out like a giant playground amidst the country landscape. The mill had been a product of Soviet Russia, who spared no expense in making it a large and unbecoming blemish on the land. The Soviets had grand ideas of making and controlling all of the printed paper in that area of Russia with the Petrozavodsk plant. In its time the smoke stacks would never rest from spewing out the dark particles that came from producing thousands of lies. Whenever someone wished to publish a book, a copy was sent to this plant where it was first read over closely. The plant employed literary experts who could recognize the slightest anti-Soviet tone in a sentence like “the red sun set against a dark sky” which of course called for the fall of the Soviet Union. At this point the book would be highlighted and sent to an authority who would decide either that the book should be edited or that the book should be burnt and the author should be shot, or at least have their hands broke. From this plant came forth some of the most brilliant Soviet propaganda. Posters supporting Lenin and Stalin’s five year plan were printed here. Magazines glorifying the works of the proletariat in creating the large factories were printed here. Pamphlets that instructed citizens in identifying anti-Soviet supporters were produced here. Generic letters to the families of the dead were produced here. The plant had been alive. Now only part of the plant was actually used. The dormitories that had housed the employees were barren, and the printing press lay rusted and broken inside the large warehouse. The plant was only a producer of clean white paper. The grounds in and around the plant were always littered with paper. Much of it was that same old propaganda that was printed during the dying throes of the Soviet Union. During those last few years the plant was still producing but the paper wasn’t going anywhere. The citizens needed a job, and they were ordered to produce paper even if the trucks seldom came to pick up any of their products. The ghosts of the Soviet Union haunted the surrounding area as the wind liberated the paper from its resting place within the plant. “WE ARE SORRY TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR SON HAS DIED IN THE SERVICE OF HIS COUNTRY........” “YOUR CURRENT PLACE OF RESIDENCE IS BEING DEMOLISHED, PLEASE RELOCATE TO ONE OF THE COMMUNITY RESIDENCES THAT WE HAVE PROVIDED....” “YOUR HUSBAND HAS BEEN SHOT TO DEATH BY FIRING SQUAD AFTER UNDENIABLE EVIDENCE IN HIS PARTICIPATION IN ANTI-SOVIET MATTERS WAS FOUND. PAY THE FOLLOWING SUM FOR THE BULLET THAT WAS WASTED UNDER PENALTY OF LAW...” Everyone hated the plant, but seeing as it still provided jobs for some people it was tolerated. Parents would send their children out to gather the paper for their fires, trying to get some use out of the hurtful drifting nuisances. The children thought it was fun to collect some of the most rare and personal papers and keep them. They would trade these papers back and forth or play games in which they would imagine themselves issuing the letter to someone. To them it was a game, it was no longer real. The elders would sit inside and watch their lives be reenacted by the children outside, shuddering at the thought of what could be written on those papers. Thankfully the pen had lost its bite. The black Volvo pulled into the parking lot in front of the plant. The sky above the plant was clear that day because there was nothing coming out of the smokestacks. The light was dulled by light ice fog created by the cold, giving everything a grayish complexion. The door opened and a blue heel stepped out onto the ground. The door slammed, echoing in the parking lot, and the figure made her way down the sidewalk, ignoring the cold with her steady pace. The sound of her heels on the cold pavement was like a watch, click-clack click-clack, growing steadily louder as it bounced off the building she was approaching. A few restless pieces of papers took flight as doors to the entrance were flung open. When she entered a room people would adjust themselves. Men sat up straight and women would fix their hair as her tall, slender frame marched across a room, always with a purpose. Her very presence demanded respect and attention, creating a tense atmosphere in every place she visited. Her light blue eyes would almost lifelessly survey their surroundings, pausing to stare people directly in their faces. Sometimes people who did not know her nervously mistook this as a gesture of familiarity and would smile back at her. Kristina Bazhenov did not smile. To Kristina a smile was a sign of weakness, showing that you either did not know what was going on or that you were giving in and submitting your self to another person. She hung her long gray coat on one of the hooks in the entrance way and made her way inside. Her long strands of light blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, adding more definition to the sharp features of her face. Kristina took great pride in her hair, letting it grow long and always keeping it combed. In her purse she always kept an assortment of combs and a small pair of scissors just in case her hair got out of control, which seldom happened. She never missed a chance to check her hair when she passed in front of anything that reflected back at her. Kristina was stunning, unforgettable, and intimidating but she was not beautiful in the “common” sense of the word. Her face seemed weathered, making her seem older than she really was. Her teeth were small, gray, and sharp little protrusions that stuck out haphazardly inside her mouth. If you could not hear her talking she would look like some sort of vicious animal flashing its teeth at you, but people pretended not to notice her teeth. Her voice was low pitched and commanding but she spoke with perfect pronunciation. This was Kristina Bazhenov as she appeared to the world. She entered the main office of Vitally Frolov her manager only to find that he was not there. In fact the whole factory was quiet and cold. Kristina thought that apparently people were using the cold as an excuse to be late, or even worse not come to work today. Vitally is not fit to be manager if he cannot set a good example for the rest of the workers. She would have to let the owners of the the mill know about this incident. Kristina made a memo to herself in the small notebook that she always had on her person. The plant was unusually cold, probably because the giant furnace had not been turned on yet. Kristina moved to the managers chair and sat down, watching her breath rise above her for a moment. She had been at the mill for eight years now, rising quickly through the ranks. What was she really doing here? What would happen when she became manager? She reached out and put her hands on the cold service of the desk, leaving them there. Kristina’s family used to live in Petrozavodsk. They lived there throughout the duration of the Soviet Union and the Cold War with the United States. Kristina, being the youngest member of her family, was brought into the world at the same time the Soviet Union was being kicked out. Her father was a member of the KGB and often had to leave her sickly mother with herself plus her four brothers and two sisters. She had loved her father more than anyone else. He called her his sweet Tina and always gave her the most attention when he was at home. She had loved her papa more than anything else in the world. “Papa, why do you have to go?” She said, crying into the rough wool fabric of his coat. “Sweet little Tina, Papa has to go. It is his job. But don’t worry, I’ll always come back to you baby.” His voice was warm and reassuring. “But what do you do papa? Why can’t I come too?” Kristina asked, her blue eyes peering into his own. “Someday baby, someday you can go too. Until then be a good girl and help your mother.” He tore her off of him and set her on the ground. His car had pulled in to pick him up, and he said some more quick goodbyes to the other members of his family. Kristina stood there sobbing and holding her face in her hands. She heard the door slam and looked up to see her daddy inside the car. She screamed out “Papa!” But he didn’t look back. She was five years old at the time and she has not seen him since that day. Now at the age of twenty-five she finds herself reliving that day. The sound of the door screeching open brought her back to present time. Even in the office Kristina could feel the draft of cold air enter the room. After a minute her red nosed boss entered the room. Vitally Frolov was a middle aged man with a large beard and an even larger belly. His wife fed him well at home, evidence of his meals could always be found hiding amongst the curls of his beard. At first he did not notice Kristina’s presence in the room as he set his coat and lunch box down and began to fiddle with his boots. “Oh! Kristina, I did not see you there. What brings you here so early on such a cold day?” He asked her, still bent over his boots. “Seven O’clock, I believe is the designated starting time for managers at this plant. Why should the cold give us an excuse to be late?” She said, rising from his seat and walking toward him. Vitally’s boots were now off, and he stood on the cold floor in only his socks. Kristina moved in between him and his locker where his shoes were, standing a good four inches taller than him with her heels on. “I am going to my office to sort out the orders for next week. You had better turn on the furnace or the workers will complain and want to go home.” A look of hope flashed in Vitally’s eyes for a moment but she quickly said “but we won’t let them will we?” “No Kristina, we have too much work to get done, we cannot fall behind. I will turn the furnace on as soon as I put my shoes on. And try to get those reports done by lunch so that I an look forward to them. Goodbye. That last statement reminded Kristina that he was the boss. She was always at least ahead of her work and there was no reason for getting the reports done today. She stood there for a second longer, looking down at the defiant little man. He had his victory and she would leave him there to relish in it. “Goodbye!” She replied shortly and then quickly exited the room, leaving Vitally standing by himself. Vitally put on his cold but more comfortable Nike shoes and then went out to start up the furnace. Working in a paper mill invited the habit of blowing out the pilot every day before leaving. This prevented any of the drifting paper from catching on fire and it saved fuel. Vitally made his way down the stairs to the first floor where the large furnace was located. He bent over and grabbed a piece paper, lit it on fire, and turned on the gas while holding the burning paper next to the gas outlet. With a little poof the gas ignited and Vitally dropped the paper. He moved over to the wall and turned the furnace up to sixty degrees. Kristina would not like it to be up that high, but he did not care. It was cold and he was the boss. He made short little hops to quickly go up the stairs that led to his office. The sound of the furnace starting up could be heard throughout the plant. The workers would arrive soon and huddle around the vents, putting work off until their hands and feet warmed up or until Kristina came out and saw them. Kristina gave a short “hmmph” of contentment as she heard the heater start up. Vitally would have to get used to listening to her. She had chosen an office that was far away from the most active part of the mill. It was colder back down the corridor, but she liked it back there. This was her favorite part of the mill. She opened the door to her office, a small room covered in paper. Kristina, like the children, had also taken to collecting interesting pieces of the past. Many of the old Soviet posters that hung on the wall were illuminated by the glow of the small desk lamp that she turned on, the motionless faces of the figures on the wall stared on in silence. Kristina’s desk was littered with paper and on one side sat two stacks of books. The books were old and weather beaten, it was impossible to see the print on most of the covers and several of the books did not even have covers. These were the old manuscripts that had been sent for review but ended up getting backlogged into the piles of books that the plant had received. Kristina would collect these books and bring them back to her office in her spare time. She had read through the interpreted works of philosophers from around the world and she had the privilege of being the sole reader of many great pieces of fiction. When she was finished with a book she stayed true to the old government and tossed the book in the fire. Something felt good about erasing the words of these people. It silenced the doubts in her mind. Kristina had come to the paper mill not because she loved paper or any thing to do with it. She came because it had been affiliated with the Soviet KGB and it had been a key player in subterfuge and propaganda. She would be like her father, a woman devoted to the old government up until her dying breath. Her father had been a man of action, he served faithfully and made the ultimate sacrifice for his country and his family. Kristina could not see any higher honor than this so she committed herself to leading a similar lifestyle. Unfortunately for her, not everyone held the same view. It was hard enough being a woman in a land ruled by men, but it was even harder to be a Soviet supporter and a woman. She had tried to get into government, secret service, and even the police but there was just no place for her. Her mother tried to convince her to let go of her ideas and ideals. “Why do you insist on keeping the old memories alive?” Her mother asked her. “Because it is all I have mama, its all... without this I am nothing!” “Without what? Without dreams and your love for that old government. You are nothing now Tina.” “Don’t call me that, that was papa’s name.” “Why can’t I call you that, I’m your mother.” Mrs. Bazhenov paused for a moment, thinking on her next words. “And I am still here for you!” Kristina was filled with anger and astonishment. “How could you say that! How could you say that papa was not here for us. He gave up everything for us. What did you do? You are always sick, you just sit around being sick all the time. Papa loved us all, even you and...” “Enough Kristina! You do not know what you say. I’ve known your father alot longer than you, do you not think I miss him too. But how old were you when he left? Five, right? How much of him do you really remember? It has been 12 years now Kristina. Did you know that he actually spent most of his time up in the mill? He was only a few miles away Kristina..” She had heard enough. With that last sentence Kristina found herself running out of the house, making her way up to the mill. Perhaps there was some trace of her father there, maybe someone could tell her something? She ran through the icy roads, past the children building their snowmen, and down the long road to the mill. She could see it in the distance, smoke billowing out of the stacks. With each stride she came closer and the mill grew larger. The paper mill was the last thing that her and her father could share. Kristina tried hard to remember his face, his voice, but it was all a garbled vision of the past. He never looked back, she knew that, she could still see his hat in the window. But they would always have the mill. That is why she worked so hard, she must be perfect so that they could never take the mill away from her. The mill must stay productive so that it would never be closed down. The mill was all that Kristina had left. Her family had left years ago, heading for a warmer climate. “Traitors!” Kristina thought to herself. How could they just pack up and leave behind their heritage? They had lived in the community residence for at least twenty years. They knew people here. She would never leave the mill behind. Kristina put down the book that she had been reading, another one for the fire entitled, The Fires of Heaven. The book encouraged the reader to challenge authorities, a major problem for leaders in business and politics. She picked up the stack of orders and began processing them, there seemed to be fewer than usual. Back in his office Vitally was basking in the heat that poured into his room from the vent below him. He had positioned his desk and chair so that he was seated directly above the warm vent. Vitally was not concerned with the orders today, he had just learned of a very important event. The paper mill was going to be absorbed! It was not to be absorbed by just anyone, it was being taken over by an American company. The United News Network, better known as UNN, had reached an agreement with the owners of the company that very day. “Why would they want this old building?” Vitally wondered. The labor was cheap, but not as bad as it was in other places. “Mother Russia must really be losing it if we are cooperating with the Americans now.” But this didn’t bother vitally. He was told that he would be able to keep his job, but they would have to replace some of the personnel with Americans. Vitally was writing furiously on a piece of paper. It was a proposal. The phone on the side of the wall began ringing. Vitally glanced at it for a moment but quickly abandoned the prospect of moving away from the warmth to answer the phone. Vitally had an opportunity to get rid of one of his major problems. Kristina Bazhenov was bad news. He had watched her quickly rise to her manager position and he felt that his own job security had been threatened. Vitally had never really liked women, especially women with an attitude like Kristina’s. Now her father was a different story. Vitally and him had been close back in the day, but he had no idea where the man had gone or what happened to him. Knowing of Kristina’s quest to find something of her father in the mill, Vitally kept his mouth closed and never let her know about their connection. Kristina had to go. The absence of her bossy attitude, questions, and arrogant personality would make the plant a much nicer place to work. Unfortunately he was not in the position to fire her, and the people that were knew that she was an asset to the business. “Well, she can be an asset to the Americans.” He thought to himself, looking over his proposal. I am pleased to hear that the merger has gone well. I am sorry to hear that we must give some of our own countrymen up to allow our new employers a place among us. Be that as it may I have one suggestion. The position of Manager of Orders would be an excellent managerial position for someone new to the mill. I have spoken with Ms. Bazhenov, the current holder of this position, and she has informed me that she would be glad to support the merger and leave her position here for one in the United States. Though I will regret losing this valuable worker, I feel that it will be for the overall good of the company. Signed Vitally Frolov Vitally pushed his shoes off and held his feet over the heater and leaned back. The room filled with the smell of sweaty socks as Vitally leaned back, chuckling to himself. “Wait until she finds out about this. It will be too late for you Kristina. You will have to leave, or you will have to quit you job here. There’s no getting out of this one.” The phone rang again, but there was no way he was getting up. The workers downstairs heard the familiar click clack of Kristina’s heals approaching and quickly stood up, put down their coffee, and stopped their conversations. Her blue eyes glanced down at the for a minute as she walked by the window but she quickly looked back up. Kristina was cracking her knuckles as she walked down the hallway. She did not crack them all at once, pushing on all them with the palm of her hand. Instead she cracked them methodically one at a time. The sharp cracking noise was surprisingly loud for being emitted out of such long slender fingers. The joints of her fingers appeared a little to large for the rest of her fingers, a product of her finger popping habit. Click-clack, crack, click-clack, crack the sound of her knuckles blended with the sound of her heels, announcing that she was coming and that she was upset. Vitally heard the sound of the distant firing squad and braced himself for her visit. He slid his Nikes back on and moved the letter into his desk just as she opened the door. “Ahem, Kristina. What brings you here before lunch? He said, still trying to close the desk drawer as she moved closer to the desk. Kristina, still cracking her fingers, moved over to the phone on the wall and put the receiver to her ear. “I see that there is still a tone here. Why haven’t you been answering your phone? Isn’t that what you’re paid to do?” Her voice rose. “Maybe this is why our orders have been decreasing. Don’t shake your head at me, I’ve noticed that we have had less and less orders lately. Vitally stayed seated, still unwilling to leave his heat. “Kristina, the orders always fall when it gets colder out. People buy less because they stay indoors more during the cold months. Is this the reason you came here? “No.” She said, glancing at some of the papers on his desk. “I have come to discuss the west corridor with you. I believe that we can open it up and put it to some use. Vitally glanced down and realized that he still had a letter with the large letterhead logo of UNN printed on the top of his page. He hoped that Kristina would not notice this, and attempted to humor her questions. This was not the first time she asked about the west corridor. “Kristina, we have talked over this before. What could we possibly do with the west corridor?” “Well Mr. Frolov. I believe that if we cleaned it up and heated it we could work on the old printing press and... “The printing press!” Vitally belched, chuckling. “Why that old printing press will never run again Kristina. Haven’t you seen it back there? “Yes Sir, well we could maybe replace it. I believe that by expanding the mills services we could make a greater profit and establish ourselves once again as a vital community resource.” Again, Kristina glanced down at the paper sitting in front of Vitally. She had just noticed the large UNN letters on the letterhead. Vitally saw her glance down again and quickly said “Kristina I want you to take control of your project and start working on it as soon as possible.” Kristina had been thinking over the UNN logo, a known adversary, but was quickly brought back into the conversation by Vitally’s statement. Had the insolent old man finally listened to reason? “Start today? That sounds good Sir, but I don’t know where to begin. “Begin by getting the place cleaned up. You know how much loose paper and dust is back there. We can’t do anything until it is picked up.” “Yes you are right Sir, I’ll gather some of the workers and...” “No, we are shorthanded today. If you want this project to get done you will have to start it by yourself.” Kristina was in the process of trying her blonde hair up into a bun. If she smiled she would have done so now. “I’ll start immediately, thank you Sir. It really is for the good of the company” “I’m sure it is.” Vitally said, taking a deep breath as he watched Kristina making her way towards the door. “Make sure you get rid of all of those books!” He called out after her as the door was closing. He was safe. “That should keep her occupied and quiet for a while.” He thought to himself. Yes, life was looking good for Vitally Frolov. Charlie Moore The sun peeked through the scattered trees and roofs to bring light to the world of the working men and women of Greenshade suburbs. Husbands and wives kissed, or didn’t, gulped down that last drink of coffee and jumped into their “environmentally” friendly foreign cars. In a matter of minutes the dead streets were filled with lines of vehicles, like ants marching to and from the hill. With that they were gone. The suburbs now belonged to those who stayed at home. After the stampede, dogs were let out to survey their own little patch of green on earth. Stay at home moms and dads might venture out, still in their pajamas, for some reason or other. The children wouldn’t be up for an hour or so, it being the summer months. These few moments of relative stillness were precious to those who were still awake. Inside the house was still. The kitchen still had the smell of coffee and eggs and the dishes lay unwashed on the counter. The entire house seemed to glow as the sun entered in through the windows and warmed the house. Dust could be seen in the penetrating light, floating lazily down from nowhere. It could be cleaned later. In these precious moments the numerous duties and cares of the day were put on hold. These were the moments when a person could realize themselves. It created a time to become familiar with yourself through the silence. It was healing. It was nostalgic. It was not what Charlie Moore was encountering this morning. The stillness of the house was shattered by sound of feet thudding quickly down the stairs. In a flash of clothes and half groomed features Charlie burst into the kitchen, gulped down a cold, day old cup of coffee and bent down to tie his shoes. The shades were still drawn, allowing only a dim light to enter the the living room. Charlie slid on his brown loafers, realized that he left his briefcase upstairs, and ran up to retrieve it with his shoes on. His bedroom was a wreck. The sheets on the bed were only halfway on. The large flowry comforter lay as if it were some slain monster on the ground. An assortment of clothes and garbage were strewn haphazardly around the bedroom. A box of chinese food sat on top of the dresser next to a collection of perfumes and jewelry boxes. Charlie made a quick mental note to clean up the place before Shannon came home and ran downstairs with his briefcase. The door slammed behind him, leaving the house to enjoy the sweet morning on its own. Charlie brought the Corolla’s speedometer up to a quick fourty-five. He was late for work and this gave him an excuse to exceed the communities twenty-five mile an hour speed limit. The rows of houses sped by him as if he were replaying the same scene on a video. They were all the same, occasionally varying in color or lawn ornaments. It was a jungle out there, easy to get lost in if you didn’t know your way. One wrong turn in an unfamiliar area and you were destined to wander the lonely corridors in search for a familiar street name. Many of Charlie’s co-workers employed an in car gps that told you what to do in case of a wrong turn. Without missing a beat the seductive electronic voice told you where you were and how to get where you were going. It was a comfort to always know where you were going. Charlie Moore knew where he was going. There would be no time to stop by one of the little drive thru coffee shops today. Those girls are always so glad to see you in the morning. If you went often enough they might even remember you. Once they knew your face they could associate it with your drink. Charlie was a black and white Mocha. It felt good to have some sort of companion out there. Charlie would try to wave as he drove by his stand. They might recognize his car. He approached Coffee Tyme on the corner of Lancaster and Cannon lane and rolled down his window. The little shop was located at a major junction within the suburbs. It took long enough to get out of the suburbs that the residents allowed the little establishments to be put up in a few locations. People could not go that long in the morning without coffee and it was harder to find a good place once you were out on the freeway. This was Charlie’s coffee stand, he knew that Melissa would be working. The girls were always surprised when he called them by their first name for the first time. He always felt clever when they gave him a confused look and he stared back for a moment as if they should know him. After a moments pause he would always tap his breast and point at them who would, in turn, look down to see their own name tag. As Charlie rolled down his window he gave his horn two short honks and leaned out to see if Melissa had seen him and then BUMP! His car gave a startling jolt as he hit the brakes. “Have I been hit” he thought to himself, looking in his rearview mirror? He was the only car on the street at the moment. And then he saw it. A small bundle of fur lay in the road about twenty feet behind him. “Damn. Must have been a dog.” The animal was too big for a cat, and he could not imagine any other pet living in the area. For a moment he considered the thought of driving on. “Someone will pick it up later. I don’t have time to deal with it” he thought. His engine idled, still in the drive position. But then another thought quickly came to him. What if Melissa had seen him hit the dog. There would be no way out of it, she recognized his car. Charlie imagined the upset owners, probably a crying child and flustered mother, coming out to their dead pet. They would surely ask Melissa if she saw what happened. Charlie glanced at her window in the coffee house, it was closed for the moment. He had no choice, he had to take care of the dog. Charlie backed his car up along the white line on the side of the road. A million things were flashing in his mind. “I am late for work, I don’t have time to deal with this.” “Who’s dog is this, what should I do with it?” “Had Melissa seen me hit the dog?” “I wonder if she will be upset?” “What will Shannon say about this?” He stepped out of the car, now parked parellel to the dog in the road. The animal was still moving, kicking one of its legs and whining. The whining was terrible, it was as if Charlie could hear the animals pain with every whine. The dog appeared to be a small black and white border collie. Charlie’s grandfather had a border collie for a while. The dog would take advantage of Charlie’s adolescent size and knock him over every chance it got, flooding his face with kisses and consuming whatever food he had on his person. The dog looked like his grandfathers, except it had a large white strip on its nose. As he approached it he noticed a small pool of dark blood growing from the dog’s side. He animal took no notice of him and continued to writhe about and whine there on the pavement. How had Charlie come to this point in his life? He couldn’t help thinking as he stood there in front of the dying creature that everything in his life had led up to this moment. He couldn’t help hitting the dog, it was something that was going to happen. He looked up for a moment, shielding his eyes from the sun. No, he did not believe in God. God was a thing of the past, as Nietzshe said “God is dead.” Dead in our imaginations. Charlie no longer needed God. He had his life laid out before him. God was replaced with cookie-cutter houses, “environmentally friendly” cars, GPS navigators, and coffee shop girls. There was no more room for God in this world. No, it wasn’t God that brought him here. Charlie brought his hand down and looked over toward Coffee Tyme. Melissa had opened the window and was staring out at him. Catching his attention she yelled out to him “do you need any help sir?” Why hadn’t she used his first name? “Do you have any trash bags” Charlie called back to her. She nodded her head and disappeared back into the shack. The dog had not died yet. Charlie wondered how long it would take. Maybe the animal would survive the incident? His thoughts were disturbed by the sound of Melissa’s flip flops slapping against the pavement. She looked rather disturbed. Charlie watched her run across the pavement toward him in her short brown shorts and tight t-shirt. Melissa was a looker, Charlie was sure of that. Something about the intense emotional expression on her face and her casual “summer girl” outfit turned Charlie on. She was innocent, or at least she was in his mind. She really cared for this dog that lay their dying on the cold pavement. He longed to touch her. But then again he didn’t. He had a beautiful wife, a house, and a successful career. Charlie knew that he didn’t want her, but for some reason he did. “Ooooh, poor puppy!” she squealed as she got closer. “Is it alright? Do you think it will make it?” “I don’t know” Charlie said. “It didn’t even see it.” How could he not have? The dog was in the the middle of an empty street on a sunny morning. Melissa bent down and put her hand up to the dog’s nose. For the first time it seemed to take notice of its surroundings and it licked her hand. Charlie shuddered. “I think it is those people’s dogs, I’ve seen it around before” she said, nodding toward one of the nearby houses. “Maybe we should get it off the road first.” Melissa, in tears at this time, nodded in agreement. Charlie was not sure of the best way to go about doing this, not knowing how in tact the dog actually was. He stood awkwardly over the dog for a moment and then moved as if he were going to drag it off to the side. “Oh, don’t do that” said Melissa. “Here I’ll do it,” she gave him a sharp glance. Melissa bent over and picked the dog up slowly, she held it as if it were a newborn child. The dog’s whines had died down to the occasional long whine. She carried it to the nearest lawn, kneeled down and then rested the dog in the soft grass. Charlie stared at the blood stain in the middle of the road for a moment. He had the odd sensation of floating above himself. It was as if he were watching a movie about himself. He felt as though he were staring at a crime scene. He envisioned a white chalk line in the shape of a border collie on the pavement. Stifling a small chuckle he turned back toward the dog and the girl. The man who owned the lawn was walking out toward them. He still wore his flannel pajama bottoms and a t-shirt that said “Maui Wowie” in big red letters. “Hey, what happened here?” he said with a look of concern as he walked toward them. “I hit this dog on accident, is it yours?” Charlie asked. “No, but it looks like the McCallums little collie” he replied. “I’ll give em a call, hold on” he said, rushing back into his house.” This thing was beginning to be quite the ordeal. The time was 8:45 and Charlie knew that he would have to call into work and let them know he would be an hour or more late. The dog was much quieter now, but it was still breathing. Melissa remained kneeled beside it, petting it and occasionally saying “Its okay girl, its alright.” The sun was beginning to grow a little higher in the sky. Charlie was sweating but he did not know if the cause was the sun or his nerves. He took off his suit jacket and carried it to the car. “Sir, please don’t go anywhere” it was the man again. “I’ve called Mrs. McCallum, she’ll be right over.” “Don’t worry, I’ve just gotta make a quick call” Charlie said, ducking his into his car. He threw his coat in the passenger seat and sat down in the driver’s seat, leaving the door open. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed the secretaries office. “(HNN???) what can I do for you today?” the receptionists voice was cool and impersonal, a product of rehearsal and repetition. “Yes, this is Charlie Moore from the office of personnel relations. I am calling to let Roger Barkis to know that I am going to be a little late today due to an accident on my way in.” “I’ll let him know Sir. Have a nice day,” and with a click she was gone. Charlie wanted to stay in the car a moment longer. He left the phone help up to his ear so that it looked like he was still talking. He saw, what he supposed to be, Mrs. McCallum running across the street from her house next door. Charlie felt guilty, sitting there in the murder weapon with the phone up to his ear. “Hello! Helllo” he yelled into the receiver. “What was that?” he thought to himself. He was sure that he had just heard someone saying his name in the receiver. It sounded as though someone was talking not to him, but about him in the background. He held the phone up to his ear, listening closely. Nothing. The sound of the woman crying brought him back. He stepped out of his car and returned to the pitiful scene. Apparently the dog had died. Both Melissa and Mrs. McCallum were crying and the neighbor man was doing his best to comfort them. “At least she’s not in any more pain” the neighbor said. “Oh, Maggie. I can’t believe it. I just let her out” Mrs. McCallum sobbed. Charlie was not sure what to do. He waited a moment and said “I’m sorry mam, I didn’t see her. If there’s anything I can do...d’ya want money or anything?” “No, no its alright. I should have kept on eye on here... she normally stays in the yard” she had forgiven him. Melissa was not so quick to forgive him. She stood there, her shirt stained with the dogs blood, glaring at Charlie. Charlie felt released and was about to leave when Melissa said “what if it were a child?” Charlie was utterly unprepared for the question. “It wasn’t dear, this is different” Mrs. McCallum again came to the rescue. “I don’t know” the neighbor chimed in. “I have a child that could have just as easily been on these streets. How fast were you going?” Before Charlie could answer Melissa yelled out “Fast! He was going way over the speed limit. I saw him.” “I was late for work, I...” Charlie was cut off. “Late for work? LATE FOR WORK” the neighbor yelled. “Do you think that gives you an excuse. What if it had been my child.” How had Charlie gotten here? “Yeah, and why weren’t you watching the road?” Melissa chimed in. She was beautiful even in her anger, but Charlie didn’t notice. “I, I, look I’m really sorry” he stuttered. “But at least it didn’t happen. I’ll be more careful, I’ll...” he was only digging himself deeper. Suddenly the attention was diverted from him as Mrs. McCallum grabbed the plastic bag and began scooping the lifeless bundle of blood and fur into it. “Just go” she said. “I want to get this cleaned up before the kids are up.” “Charlie walked backwards toward his car. “I’m sorry, so sorry” he said, but there was no reply. He stepped into his car, turned the key, and slowly rolled away from the scene. It was a shit morning for sure. He glanced at the clock, 9:10, he could swing by for a much needed cup of coffee before heading to work. Maybe the day was not a total loss. He glanced up nervously in his rearview mirror again, feeling as though someone would be chasing him. Seeing nothing he returned his gaze to the road, putting the past behind him. Kristina Part II The next day it was a little warmer outside and Kristina made her way into work quickly. Vitally had gotten there first today, a rare occasion, and had already started unlocking things around the plant. He met her in the corridor that led to her office. “Mornin, Krisitna” said Victor. “Good Morning Victor” she replied, noticing that he was already in his Nikes. “What brings you here so early?” “Oh, had some business to get to early this morning. Nothing big, nothing big. Just had to get it done. Thats all. Are you going to be back in the warehouse all day again?” something about him seemed a little suspicious. “Yes, probably. Will there be any extra hands available today?” “No, probably not, we are shorthanded again” “Well then, I will work on room 48 then” “Hmm, the room with all of the books” “Yes, thats the one. What do you think we should do with them. The books I mean” “Hmm, yes, hhmm. I don’t know. Maybe we should give them out. Like a charity or something. Or maybe we could sell them” he sat there for a minute giving out the occasional “hmm” before saying “You know, I don’t care what you do with them. Just get them out of there.” “Yes, sir. Oh, Sir?” “Yes Kristina.” “When are we going to start moving things in? I need a timeline.” “Hmm, I should guess we could start within a week.” “Within a week? I won’t be finished by that time. Victor paused again, looking up into her blue eyes for a moment before quickly looking back down. He was enjoying this new power he had over her, but he was aware that he might be pushing her too far. “Don’t worry, we will move in slowly” he said while starting to move away. “Just worry about room fourty-eight for now.” Kristina nodded and moved back toward her office. The office was cold again. “Why is it always cold in here?” she thought to herself. She did not remember it being as cold as it had been the past couple of days. She had left her coat on and decided to leave it on. Her entire office seemed odd, like it was not her own. Looking around at the posters and personal items she knew that they were hers, they were what made her. How could they seem so unfamiliar to her? She looked hard at the mirror on the wall. Had it always been there? No, it had. Was it moved? No it wasn’t. She took the opportunity to check her hair. Always perfect. The key fit roughly into the old brass door knob. After shaking the door for a minute, checking the key to see if it was all the way in, and shoving her shoulder into the solid metal door Kristina finally made her way into room fourty-eight. Nobody had been in the room for at least a year. The light from the hallway shone into the room, allowing Kristina to enter the room once her eyes adjusted. The dust gave everything the appearance of being in a black and white movie. A few stacks of books were piled up next to an old metal desk that loomed out of the surrounding darkness. Kristina brushed her hand on the side of the wall in search of a light switch. The switch clicked on, letting a sharp noise pierce the air of the room. The light flickered on slowly but still worked. The walls were covered with a barren light shade of gray. No posters were put up in this room, the only thing it held was dust, the two stacks of books, and the desk. Kristina didn’t remember this room being so empty but felt relief in the fact that it would be a quick cleanup. She walked over to the desk and swept the dust off of the chair. The chair was cold and Kristina was careful to tuck her long coat underneath her as she sat down. She grabbed the first book off of the nearest stack. The book had a faded green cover with no title on the front. Kristina opened the first page and again found no title. She flipped through the first few pages of the book, her eyes searching closely for any trace of ink, and found nothing. Then there it was, in the middle of the page and about half way through the book there was some lettering. She held the book up close to her face, her blue eyes reading the line over and over. It read “Kristina Bazehnov.” A commotion in the hallway interrupted Kristina. She quickly closed the book, dropped in the large pocket on the left side of her coat and moved to the door to meet what sounded like Vitally talking to a few other unrecognized voices. “Yes, yes. This will work nicely” said an unfamiliar voice. “This must be the help Vitally promised” Kristina thought to herself. She stepped out into the hallway, brining Vitally and his group to a halt. Vitally had with him two men, one of which was obviously not a Russian. He wore a black business suit with a poorly tied tie and looked rather cold, he took a second to let his hungry eyes look over Kristina’s features before he made eye contact with her and quickly let them drop to the floor. The other man was the one that had been speaking to Vitally. He was dressed more practically than the other man and still managed to look professional. Without missing a beat he quickly said “Excuse us Miss Kristina I believe.” She gave him a quick conformation nod as he stuck his hand out to meet his own. Kristina saw Vitally squirming nervously in his Nikes. “I’m Victor Terletsky and this is Adam Weber, your replacement.” Adam, recognizing his name in the conversation, reached out his hand as well only to quickly draw it back as an expression of anger and surprise grew on Kristina’s face. Her well trimmed eyebrows raised high on her forehead as she quickly turned to Vitally who had moved a couple steps back, using the men before him as a human shield. “What! Replacement!” she sneered at Vitally. “What is this? You cannot replace me! Get these men out of here now Vitally.” She was now standing over him, looking straight down into his face. Vitally froze for a moment, still shifting back and forth. The American Adam had no idea what was going on. He moved up against the wall, smiling nervously. Victor was only listening intently. “Kristina, we’ve been bought out. HNN purchased us yesterday and they want to transfer some workers from the U.S. over here. I thought...” “When were you going to tell me about this!” Kristina was losing her composure. A few strands of her blonde hair were hanging down over her face. Before giving Vitally time to answer she continued. “When was I to hear about this? Vitally I know you did this. You did it on purpose....” Then Victor interrupted. “What is this Vitally. She does not know?” “No I don’t know” she cried back. “I am not leaving!” “Vitally, you know someone has to go. We already have Adam here” he said giving a quick glance over to Adam. He went on, trying to hide the low persuasive tone in his voice “and you said this would go over smoothly.” “It will, it will” said Vitally. “No problem” he said in English to Adam who was still leaning awkwardly against the wall. “Kristina, this is a promotion. They have set up everything for you in America.” Victor jumped in. “Yes Kristina, everything has been arranged. This is just a trial run, to see how workers adapt across cultures. If you don’t like it you can always come back, but please give it a try.” “No!” and with that Kristina clacked quickly down the hallway, leaving the men behind her before they had a chance to say anything else. “We’ll give her a minute” said Vitally to Victor. Adam watched for the flash of white flesh that showed from the bottom of Kristina’s skirt as she walked through the door at the end of the hallway. Charlie Part II Charlie juggled his briefcase, newspaper, and cup of coffee as he entered the elevator that would take him to floor that his office was on. The elevator was almost empty this time of morning, he only shared it with one other person. It was a woman who worked on the floor above Charlie’s. He always saw her push the button for the sixth floor, and often took the opportunity to look over her outfit during her brief moment of preoccupation. Today she wore tight black slacks. As she leaned forward to push her button Charlie was sure that he could make out a panty line encircling her firm little ass. She looked back at him quicker than he had expected. He smiled and gave a barely audible “g’morning.” “She must have seen my eyes jump up” he thought to himself. The woman smiled back and moved to her side of the elevator without saying a word. Charlie felt as if he should say something else as the elevator slowly lifted them up. Words were not necessary here. People lived in their own little spheres and talking to strangers was no longer considered polite or necessary. Charlie was sure that she felt the same way. Everyday people were forced together in elevators, airports, and rooms only to teeter on the brink of conversation and then feel relieved when it doesn’t happen. The elevator door opened up to reveal the fifth floor offices of HNN and Charlie stepped out. He could feel the woman’s eyes on him as he became uncomfortably aware of his stride as he walked away. Charlie decided to go to the secretaries desk up front to let them know he was in and waste a little time before he started work. Becky was working up front, not exactly the person Charlie was hoping to see. Becky was a middle aged woman of large proportions. She had very little time for Charlie or his attempts to break the ice with her. “Hallo, Becky. How’s You’re morning going?” “Same as always Mr. Moore.” “Thats good, well I hope it is. Anyways, I was just stopping by to let you know that I’m in now.” “In what?” Becky asked, looking above the rims of the glasses that sat low on her nose. “Haha, in for work. I called earlier to let you know that I was going to be late.” Becky went back to looking at her computer screen. “But you’re not late Mr. Moore. You’re here same as usual.” “What what time is it? asked Charlie. “Why, its nine o’clock Mr. Moore. And if it is alright I’d like to get back to work. I have enough to do without you coming around with your little games.” Charlie checked his watch and said “You’re wrong, maybe you should pay more attention to the clock Becky” before turning his back on her. Becky never looked up from her computer. Charlie barely had time to sit at his desk when his boss burst in the door. “Where have you been? Today is not the day to be late!” he was excited about something. “Don’t you remember that Russian woman that is flying in today. You were supposed to pick her up. Her planes been in for half an hour and Eva just let me know that you called in late. “Eva?” Charlie thought to himself. He thought he had talked to Becky on the phone. It was odd that Trevor, his boss, has just now got the message. “My bad. I hit a dog on my way in this morning and...” “You hit a dog? What the fuck took you so long? It doesn’t take two goddamn hours to hit a dog!” The veins along Trevor’s temples looked as though they would burst open onto his red face. “Well, the owners came and...” Charlie didn’t have time to explain himself but he checked his watch again. Had it really been two hours? “I don’t care. You need to be on your way to the airport five minutes ago. We’ll talk about his later. Hell, I’ll even help you wash the mutts guts from your hood. Just go get the girl and do like I told you.” Charlie followed him out into the hallway, he heard Trevor muttering something to himself about “it all going smoothly.” It took Charlie twenty five minutes to get from HNN to the airport. He had just gone through the pickup gait in his car and cruised slowly down the road in search of gate fifteen. A few weeks ago Trevor had informed Charlie that, as a member of the public relations department, he would be placed in charge of making sure that a new employee transferring from Russia would fit in in the U.S. It was all a big publicity stunt, Charlie knew that they didn’t really need the Russian office. The company was bored and some wealthy writer or journalist decided that it would be interesting to mess with someone’s life. It was Reality TV without the cameras. Charlie took a special interest in this project. He had spent the last couple of weeks setting up a place for the Russian to live and thinking of things to do with her once she was in America. Charlie was given very little information about the Russian, only that it was a female with experience in labor management. She didn’t sound like the kind of woman Charlie was in to. Labor management sounded rough, Russia sounded even rougher. There was gate thirteen, then fourteen, and finally fifteen. There was no one waiting in front of the gate. “Damn” Charlie thought to himself. “What if she has already left.” He parked his car on the side of the curb and looked around. There were a few people sitting in the shade on a bench outside, they weren’t the person he was looking for. An old man pulled his luggage slowly behind him as he passed in front of Charlie’s car, struggling against the heat. Charlie figured that he had better get out and look inside for her. He felt like one of those limo drivers with a cardboard sign. “Should I get a sign?” he wondered. “What if I don’t recognize her?” He had never even imagined the pickup. And how had he forgotten to pick her up today? Lately Charlie had been preoccupied with his wife. She had been gone for a few days but still managed to stay on his mind through constant phone calls and emails. Last night she had accused Charlie of cheating on her while she was gone. Catherine was often gone. Her job required her to be gone. She was an author, but not in the traditional sense. Catherine wrote stories that were not here own, she was a professional autobiographer. Charlie had always found her profession to be intriguing. He had been full of questions when they first met. “An autobiographer? You’re kidding right, you’re an editor or something.” He took another drink of wine, his third that night. “Don’t laugh” Catherine replied jokingly. “Its real. Listen, you know how many people write autobiographies right?” “No, but I know that I am not planning on writing one any time soon. haha” “Not ordinary people, your ARE funny Charlier,” apparently Catherine had also had a few glasses. “Celebrities, politicians, and other famous people. They are always writing autobiographies.” “Well, yeah, but don’t they write their own?” Charlie asked, playing with the few noodles that remained on his plate. “Do you think they really have the time? Have you ever noticed how quickly they come out with these autobiographies?” Charlie shook his head. “Have you ever read one?” “Yeah, I read most of Bono’s once. Pretty interesting stuff in there.” “Thats just it Charlie. Do you think people’s lives are really that interesting?” “Well, Bono has done alot and...” “Do you think Bono really sat down and wrote that during all of his touring and trips to Africa?” Catherine had grown serious. Charlie thought for a second and, catching on to what Catherine was getting at, said “well maybe he had some help.” “Yeah, from people like me. You see,” she took another sip of wine, closing her eyes and relishing the rich taste, “people’s lives are never that great. Half of Bono’s time is probably spent on an airplane, and you know his childhood wasn’t as great as it sounds. Give me anyone’s life and I’ll make it a story.” Charlie’s interest was peaked. “Wait, so its all made up?” “No, not all of it. We get a basic outline and sort of fill in the middle. We ask for certain important events that we might elaborate on and go from there.” Catherine leaned back in her chair confidently. “How much do you “elaborate? How do the actual people respond to this?” “However much it takes Charlie. As long as the book sells its all good. Sometimes people don’t like it, but eventually the autobiography becomes a part of them and they accept it. Once it is out there it might as well have already happened. Oh, don’t look at me like that Charlie. We don’t change that much, just the little things. And we never publish without permission from the author.” The waiter brought the bill, and Charlie paid. After dinner he and Catherine went back to his apartment and had sex. Kristina Part 3 The trip home seemed to take longer than usual. Krisitna mulled over Vitally’s proposition the entire way. “How can I leave Petrovadsk?” she thought to herself. “I have everything here. Well, everything and nothing at the same time. This is my life, the life that I have worked on for the past twenty years. I can’t just up and leave. Or can I?” She thought of her father. It seemed that as though she would be leaving him. She remembered the explosion of words and anger in Vitally’s office. Had he told the truth? His words rung in her ears, “Your father left you Kristina, he left for the U.S. You have nothing here!” The shock was too great for belief. Kristina shut Vitally out when he said this. “How could he have known?” Then she remembered that Vitally had worked at the plant when her father was still around. The gravity of his statement hit her and she stopped the car, dead in the road. She felt it coming on, her face contorted trying to hold it back for a brief moment. The car was filled with an agonizing scream as the little heater struggled to keep the warm breath from fogging up the window. Kristina buried her face in her arms and leaned on the the steering wheel. She tried hard to see his face as he sat in the black car. “Why didn’t he look back?” She was saying it out loud, her voice moaning as she repeated it over and over. It had all been for him. She had all been for him. “Who am I?” she thought. “I am not like my father. I know nothing about him.” The pain seemed to radiate from her heart to her throat. Warm tears streamed down her face, quickly turning to little puddles of ice when they hit the cold plastic dashboard. Kristina was startled by a gentle tap on her window. “Excuse me? Hello!” it was a man’s voice. Kristina attempted to roll the window down but it was frozen. She opened her door a crack and peered out. The man was surprised to see a pretty blonde looking up at him. Her hair was disheveled and her eyes were puffy. Kristina sniffed, trying to regain her composure. “Ca, sniff, can I... Whats the problem?” she asked, craning her neck out to make eye contact with the man. “You’re parked in the middle of the road Miss. I didn’t know anyone was in the car.” he looked back at his truck. “Engine trouble?” Something in this man made Kristina feel good. He was a good person, she could tell by the way he spoke to her. He sounded truly concerned. It had been a long time since Kristina had ever needed any help, it was odd to be asked. “No, I’m... Well, I’m fine and” she opened her door wider and looked back at his truck. There was a woman and a boy, probably about ten years old, sitting inside the truck and watching the man. She ran her fingers through her hair, putting it back in its place, and said with as sincere a look as she could muster “Thanks.” She shut the door and put the car in drive. The man stood there for a minute before shrugging his shoulders and walking back to his family. Kristina sped through the open countryside. Something had awakened in her. It was a new sort of ambition. She did not need her father. She did not need any man. The world was hers for the taking. They had let the cat out of the bag when they chose to transfer her to America. She felt free. While driving through town Kristina looked out at the people in the streets. Children disgusted her. She couldn’t stand there unpredictable mannerisms and general uncleanliness. She slowed down as a group of them crossed the road in front of her. A couple of them looked at the car and picked up their pace while the rest walked at a comfortable pace across the road. As her car approached them at an alarming speed they took notice and ran the rest of the way. Nothing was going to stop her now. She saw the local Russian woman out trying to manage their hoards. “Hmmph, they are no better than vending machines. Pop a few coins in their slot and out comes a bag of chips. Thats not the life for me.” In the United States she could take her potential and do whatever she liked with it. Americans, such as the man at the paper company, were easily dominated in Kristina’s opinion. She would take her revenge out on the people that her father left her for. Kristina’s apartment was modest and immaculate. Her high heels were arranged on a shoe rack next to the door. One large pair of winter boots were leaned up against the rack in attempt to make them look ordered and neat. It would be an easy move. As Kristina swung her coat off her shoulders something fell out onto the tile floor. It was the book with the green cover. She had forgotten all about it. She picked the book up and sat down with it at her table. The book seemed thicker than she had remembered it being. She quickly thumbed through the pages again, trying to find the writing that she seen earlier. A quick flash of text caught her eye and she turned the pages back to find it. This time it was not her name. There, about half way down and on the right side of the page were the words “He waited for her.” Kristina’s brow furrowed, she folded the page in half to mark its place and continued to look for her name. After looking for close to fifteen minutes she gave up her search and tossed the book on her bed as she walked to the bathroom. Kristina’s bed was as flat as a board. No ripple existed in the comforter and a single white pillow was placed at the head of the bed. Besides Kristina no other person had laid on this bed for a long time. There was one man that had the rare priviledge of entering Kristina’s apartment. She met him about five years earlier and for a while she thought that he was the one. He shared the same views as she did, he dressed perfectly, and he always looked Kristina in the eye. Theirs was a relationship without secrets. They held nothing back, taking on every subject as if they were discussing something in a business meeting. Kristina never saw the man’s apartment, and he did occasionally stay here with her. The nights that the man stayed in the apartment were not much different from any other night. The place stayed just as clean and almost as quiet as when Kristina was there alone. The only difference being the slight squeak of the bed for ten to fifteen minutes sometime between the hours of nine and ten-thirty. They had sex as if they were trying not to have it. Kristina laid flat on the bad, her white limbs giving her a corpse like appearance, as the man slowly and steadily pumped his pelvis. There were some soft moans and some short grunts but conversation was closed until the act was over. It would have been an odd scene to an outside on looker. To these two sex was a process, something that had to be done. They looked like animals, having sex not for pleasure but for necessity. Afterwards the man would go to the shower while Kristina changed her sheets, waiting for her turn to shower. Sometimes when she got out the man was not there. She would brush her hair, turn the thermostat down, and click the light off, just as she did every night. Kristina had not had sex since the last time he spent the night. One day the man left on a business trip for a weekend and she did not hear from him again for over a month. She did pass by him on the streets several times since but they only acknowledged each other as acquaintances, not even stopping to utter more than a few syllables as the walked by each other. It had been a necessary relationship. The next day Kristina walked into the paper mill with a little quicker step than usual. The workers that were there early came to attention, expecting a short list of orders from her she walked by, only to be relieved when she marched past them without as much as a glance. They sat back down and sipped on their coffee while discussing the rumors about her that had been circulating since yesterday. They hoped that they were true. Kristina did not stop until she reached Vitally’s office, which was already occupied by himself, Victor, and the American. The two Russians looked guilty, as though they had just been caught in the act of something, and the American was still smiling. They braced themselves, expecting a verbal, and possibly physical, attack from Kristina. Kristina paused for a moment, taking a second to look at all three of them before saying “When does the plane leave?” Vitally let out a breath in relief. “So you’ve decided to go after all? This is good Kristina.” Victor was translating for the American, the tone in his voice was excited. Vitally continued “I think you will find it much better there and...” “I don’t want to hear another word out of you” Kristina said fiercely, looking him in the eyes. “You have done something wrong here Vitally. I could have you fired for this, but I am going to show you some mercy and take the proposition offered by these two gentleman. My business is with them, not you. You will get the necessary papers ready for me to sign and cut me my last check. I hope that this is the last interaction that will ever go on between us.” Vitally nodded, gave the other two men a nervous look and left the room mumbling something about “getting papers ready.” Kristina turned her attention to Victor. “Now Sir, get me out of here.” They had offered Kristina two weeks to prepare to leave since she had been unaware of the merger, but she shortened it down to two days. The thought of staying in Petrovadsk for any longer now repulsed her. Everything about the place seemed different now. She had to drive by everything that used to bring back fond memories of her old family everyday. What used to cause painful but fond feelings of regret and longing now only brought forth anger. It drove her forward. She would escape everything. Maybe she was more like her father than she had thoughts. She would leave him to fade into nothing just as he left her to rot in Petrovodsk. Kristina had brought the green book with her in her purse, but soon forgot about it. Now, as she waited at the airport for someone to pick her up, she looked for her bookmark. The page must have flattened itself out in her purse because she could not find it. She had gathered her three suitcases around here on the bench and she sat straight, watching closely for her ride. “I already see how it will be in dealing with these American’s she thought to herself.” She had been sitting there for almost twenty minutes after gathering her luggage. She put the book back in her purse and made a sort of game out of making eye contact with people. Once she caught there eye they would always look away, pretending not to have noticed. “Yes, I think I will like it here” she thought to herself. Catherine Catherine Moore opened the blinds, revealing the dull light that came filtered through the light gray clouds that hung over Seattle. The small cluster of sky scrapers that formed the downtown business area reached up in a failing attempt to puncture the clouds and let some light through. She walked over to her desk and turned her computer on. As the computer loaded the desktop picture popped up. It was a picture of her and Charlie when they went and visited her parents on the East coast. The thought of him holding her in her arms like he was in the picture made her miss him. Charlie had always been a bit of a flirt, but she did not think that he was the cheating type. Their discussion on the phone last night went bad, but Catherine knew that it was because she missed him so much. It didn’t sound as though he was missing her as much and she overreacted. Catherine was always the first to admit that she was wrong. She threw the stack of loose papers that leaned on the phone on the ground and called his cell phone number. “Hello?” Charlie’s rich warm voice answered quickly. (time diff?) ‘Hey, Hun. How’s it going?” “Oh, hey Cathy. Don’t worry I’m at work right now, I’m not fucking Mrs. Thompson” Charlie said with an edgy tone of sarcasm in his voice. “Oh Charles, don’t say that. Look, I’m sorry I said that last night. I miss you right now. Please don’t be angry.” “Well its kinda hard hun. I miss you too, and here I am getting accused of fucking around. Its... Look, I’m at work right now. I’m about to pick someone up and I’ve gotta go.” After a short pause he continued, “look, i’ll later tonight. I’m sorry I yelled at you.” That was all Catherine needed to hear. “Thank you Charles. It will be late here but I’ll wait up for your call. Love you!” “I love you too. Bye.” “Bye.” Now Catherine could go back to work. Charlie had been on her mind all day. Every time she went to write another page in her clients life Charlie seemed to find his way into her work. She also had to prepare for her meeting with a prominent Seattle businessman tomorrow. His book had been written, the last item on the agenda was to choose a name for it. The man had wanted something like “My Life” or “Growing up Smart.” One of those generic names that could be found on every bookshelf in America. That was these people’s problem in the first place. How could I make an interesting life out of the traditional American life. Everyone has read the same thing a hundred times. “At such and such an age I entered in upon my first business venture,” “My first kiss happened like this blah blah blah,” “I met my wife while doing this and that?” Sometimes Catherine felt as though she was writing the same story over and over. She explained to her clients that an interesting life was one filled with blood, betrayal, and problems. When would they learn? She started in on chapter forty, “Midway upon the journey of our life.” Charlie Moore part 3 Charlie hung up the phone with Catherine and glanced at his watch. He waited for her for a few minutes before grudgingly realizing that he would have to go find her. It was much hotter out that it had been earlier that morning. Charlie could see heatwaves rising, making everything seem as though it were in motion in some blurry water color world. The automatic doors opened to greet Charlie with a blast of cool air. It took him a minute to adjust his eyes to the lights of the airport terminal. Then he saw her. He knew right away that it must of been her. She looked so foreign, so out of place, just sitting there with her luggage. She was amazing. Charlie had never seen anyone like her before. As he approached her she looked up into his eyes. Kristina noticed a man in a brown suit walking in her direction and looked up into his eyes. He was looking back and he was not looking away. He walked toward her with a purpose, as if he knew her. She grew a little nervous, was her own game coming back to bite her. Maybe this man thought she making advances on him. He smiled and offered her his hand. “Kristina Bazhenov?” he asked, still looking into her eyes. Refusing to lose she stared back. “Yes. Are you here to pick me up?” Kristina became aware of her Russian accent. Charlie was not sure what to do with his own eyes. He felt a rush through his entire body, those cool blue eyes seemed to bathe him in ice water. “Yes, I’m sorry that I was late, I can’t believe your still hear after such a long wait.” He had to do it, he had to drop his gaze for a moment. It was too intense for him. He made a gesture with his arms, looked at her luggage and asked “Are these yours?” “Stupid question” he immediately thought to himself. “You’re not too late. I’ve only been in for fourty-five minutes. And yes, these are my bags.” Kristina said, still watching Charlie. He was an interesting man. She could tell that he was excited. He made some awkward jerky movements with his hands as he reach for a piece of luggage as the same time she did. “Sorry, haha.” he smiled wide. “I’ll get the rest. The car is right out front. Was it a long flight?” Another stupid question. With that he grabbed the two bags and headed for the door. Kristina, who followed close behind, was almost overwhelmed by the change of temperature when she went through the doors. The head smothered her. It seemed unbearable and she wondered how people could even live in such conditions. There was no escape from the heat whereas in Russia she could always put another coat on. By the time they reached the car and began loading the luggage in the rear, she refused Charlie’s offer to get it all, she could feel beads of sweat forming on her scalp. Maybe she had made the wrong choice. Charlie’s first task was to bring Kristina back to the HNN building and introduce her to some of the people that she will be working with. He couldn’t stop looking over at her as they pulled out of the airport. She was reserved, she felt no need to talk, she was all business. She was so different from anything Charlie had ever known. But back there , in the airport terminal, they had connected for a moment. Charlie had never felt to real in his life as he did then. Kristina had seen him, she had really seen him. All formalities, politeness, and bullshit was put aside for a moment. Charlie realized that he been quiet for a while, which seemed to suit Kristina just fine. She just sat there in the passenger seat, looking straight ahead. Charlie was not ready to give her up to his co-workers yet. She was his He looked down at the clock and realized it was 12:30, lunchtime. “Miss Bazhenov?” he asked. “Yes, Mr...?” she gave him an inquisitive look. Had he really forgotten to give her his name? I”m such an idiot. “Oh! I can’t believe it. Sorry, Mr. Moore. Charlie Moore” he nodded at her. “Pleased to meet you again” he said with a slight chuckle. “Yes, Mr. Moore. What is it?” she asked, looking directly at him again. Charlie could stand to not look at her but he did his best to keep his eyes on the road. “Well, it looks like its lunchtime. Everyone back at HNN will be at lunch right now so we might as well go. Don’t worry, I’ve got a business card on me” he said while his mind raced to think of an appropriate restaurant to take her too. Kristina glanced at the car’s digital clock before saying “I didn’t realize it was noon already. Yes, I suppose thats fine.” Charlie nodded. “Well, what are you in the mood for?” “In the mood?” Kristina asked, not entirely sure what he was asking her. “ What kind of food do you want. I know of a great little place down on fifth, not too far from HNN” he said, turning into the left lane already, “Thats fine” she replied. “I do not no of anywhere else.” Kristina pulled the green book out of her purse to use as a distraction. Something about Charlie was different. Normally she would have nothing to do with a man like him. He asked redundant questions and was constantly fidgeting with something, it was the car’s AC controls at that moment. She watched him adjust the controls for a moment. He would click the knob and then hold his hand over the vents, trying to create the perfect temperature in the car. Kristina was convinced that there was no longer a perfect temperature. While she preferred the frigid Russian climate to this muggy heat she was willing to admit that neither extreme was preferable. She opened the book to a print filled page. She gasped. There was no way she could have missed this before. Holding the page with her thumb she flipped through the book. This wasn’t the only page she had missed. Some of the pages were together in clusters, while others were by themselves amidst sheets of blank paper. “Whatcha readin there?” Charlie interrupted her. Kristina closed the book. “Nothing, just an old book from Russia?” “Oh yeah? Who is it about?” he asked, looking at the front cover of the book. There in English were faded gold letters. It read “My Story.” “I don’t know” Kristina said as she put the book back in her purse. “I haven’t read it yet.” “Hmm, well here we are. Just in time too, we beat the lunch rush.” Zollman 1