DMITRY'S CLOSET

Graduation was less than a week away, and Royal had no idea what she was going to do about living arrange-ments.  The job that she had secured fell through two days before with a short phone call to inform her that the offer was off the table due to cut backs.  So, she was about to be living in a hotel off of her small and meaningless savings unless she found a job. 

Determined, Royal was now walking the hot pavement of downtown Memphis in a pair of worn black stilettos and an awkward, black borrowed dress suit going from inter-view to interview trying to close a deal that would promise her the ability to sign a lease to a one-bedroom apartment by month’s end. 

The economy was a mess.  Over three million people had lost their jobs in the last few months; the unemploy-ment lines were unbearable; banks were being bailed out by the bus loads.  They were in the middle of a presidential primary election with no sure way to know who would win.  And still, she was out trying to find gainful employment. 

In her mind, there had to be hope.  All it took was one manager to see her potential and give her a chance.  She would do the rest.  However, the odds for such an event happening today were not looking good.

The sun had baked completely through Royal’s rayon getup causing the icky clothes to stick to her body.  She was sweating from the outside in and holding back a heat stroke with a bottle of tap water. 

Adjusting her worn out, black leather satchel on her aching arm, she stopped for a moment at an inviting, old wooden bench under the cool shade of a lonely tree.  

She sat down, slumped over and took off her pumps.  Wow, did her feet hurt!  They were red from irritation, and a nasty little bruise had started to form on her baby toe.

Exhaling her last bit of hope, she massaged her heels and prayed for strength.  Really prayed.  Meditated as the waves of smoldering heat consumed her.   

For a moment, all was silent.  The heat didn’t burn, and the sweat stopped.  The millisecond of peace gave her just enough clarity to not lose it right then and there by a homeless man, who stood a few feet from her talking to himself about the aliens coming on Thursday.  She finally opened her eyes and focused. 

Slipping back on her shoes, a small tear crept from be-hind her pride and tried to fall down her burning face, but she wiped it quickly.  Like a stretching seam, she could feel her strength giving away under the stress, but she had to push on until she met her objective.  She was capable of that…wasn’t she?

The Memphis heat was ridiculously relentless.  With not one cloud in the sky, the rays beamed down on the concrete and cooked the aching bones of her body like meat in a steamer.  Salty sweat started again to pour down her face and neck into the collar of her shirt, making her feel sticky and leaving an unattractive and unmistakable stain.  Her stomach growled.  Rubbing it, she thought about the last time that she had eaten – many, many hours ago. 

“Screw it,” Royal huffed, taking off her jacket.

She could feel the humidity wrap around her skin as she unbuttoned the top notches of her shirt and curled up her sleeves to her elbows. 

Desperate for a meal, she pulled a ten-dollar bill from her purse and wondered down Main Street looking for something to eat. 

She would resume her job hunt after she had fed her growling stomach.  Maybe then she would be able to think straight.

It was mid-afternoon and all the lunch dwellers had rushed back up into their high-rise buildings and their important business meetings.  Now only shopkeepers, vagabonds and tourists walked the streets, monitored by police officers on bikes and in beaten up patrol cars. 

Royal slowly inched down the cobblestone lane along the trolley line clutching her money and trying not to further agitate her pulsating toe.  A hot wind blew down the street and brushed through her long, damp hair.  She moved the wild strands from her face and yawned. 

Feet swollen and stomach growling, she followed the beautiful smell of cooked apples and mangos to a small shop covered with large crimson awnings and smoke-tinted bay windows.  She inhaled again, feeling her stomach growl louder in response to the prospect of a hot meal. Grasping the elaborate, hot gold handles, she pulled opened the large black, embroidered wooden doors and walked into the dark restaurant. 

From the outside, the restaurant appeared very simple and adequate, but to her surprise inside the beautiful two-story building was decorated in decadent colors, gold textures and brilliant hues of crimson.  It reminded her of a setting that she had seen on an old movie.  She looked around curiously, wondering what new world that she had accidentally stepped into and grateful for it. 

The winter breeze coming from the air conditioner cooled her hot cheeks instantly as the door closed behind her.

Gratified by the change, she sighed thankful for some relief.   She would owe them strictly for the ability to not breathe fire. 

Remarkably, the place was empty.  No waiters or wai-tresses came out to help her.  Standing alone in the middle of the floor, she looked around confused and cleared her throat. 

“Hello?”  Her voice cracked.

There was no answer.

She walked on.

“Um…helloooo?” she called again, this time louder.

There was an intoxicating aroma coming from the kitchen, indicating the place was still open.  But where were all the people?  Where was one person?  Anyone would do.

All she heard was music playing from the back of the room. 

Instinctively, she followed the sound of a lonely violin weeping its melody from small stage near the bar in the back of the restaurant.  She walked slowly on the wooden floors, feet still aching, to the edge of a staircase, where below a man sat playing the instrument. 

The musician was perched flawlessly on a long, black piano stool.  His wing-like arms were perfectly formed around the small instrument with his left arm protectively cupping the hollow wooden frame and his right hand gracefully guiding his bow.  While his fingers plucked the strings, his eyes tightened as if the music was a continuation of his own emotions.  Somber.  Magnificent.  Resilient.

Royal stood entranced by the beauty of the harmony, by the smell of the food, the stunning translucent glow of the foreign restaurant and the welcoming crisp air.  Alas, she had found a safe haven in the eye of Memphis’ hell storm of heat. 

She listened on gratefully as he played, trying not to interrupt his apparent concentration.  However, the melody that he played was so sweet and so alive that it nearly brought tears to her eyes.  It sounded very much like her own life, full of high peaks and such low, intricate valleys.  It was controlled by the men who had touched her, played like the man who now played his violin, made to cry out – to weep.  Her little life. 

The music swept through her, creating small goose pumps over her body.  She sighed deeply with her eyes closed for a moment, trapped in his lovely tune.

Oblivious to his audience, the man played passionately with his eyes closed for a while, until he felt her presence.  When the slits of his ice cold blue eyes opened, the grip on his bow loosened and his perfect chin dropped.  He stopped, looked curiously at her for a moment and then set his violin down on the polished Fazioli grand piano.

 

Royal’s breath was suddenly shallow.  She didn’t mean to spy on the man.  She didn’t mean to disturb him, but she could not help it.  Without saying a word, he had impri-soned her with his fiddle. 

There was a moment of utter silence as the exchange was processed.  The two locked eyes and captured each other in a blank space in time, strangely enough with Royal still hearing his now silent violin.  She looked on not knowing what to say. 

At a loss for words, she swallowed hard and blinked.  Only, the man did not move; his body was like a statue.  He had no expression on his face, no surprise in his movements.  He was merely there.

Finally breaking away from the moment, jolted out of his shock, the man stood up, exposing the full height of his monstrous enormity, and began to walk towards her. 

His black, Italian dress shoes clicked on the wooden floor as he moved.  Click.  Click.  Click.

Royal’s eyes widened in awe.  He had to be nearly seven feet tall.  He was a giant; a very beautiful Zeus-like creature commanding in all of his presence.  His golden blonde hair caught the sun in the reflection from the mirrors behind him and casted a luminous glow as he came to her, making it even harder to take her eyes off of him.  He was absolutely mesmerizing.

Royal tried to move but was stuck.  Maybe it was his sheer height or his liquid blue eyes or his chiseled, high cheek bones, or maybe it was just someone to serve her a meal, but Royal felt an indescribable urgency. Unable to move, her posture horrible, she was planted concretely at the top of the steps as he approached her. 

In long, leisurely strides that equally matched his very graceful body, he moved down the aisle.  She barely blinked as he stopped at the bottom of the short steps at eye level with her.  He looked dead into her wide brown eyes, paralyzing her more.  

While the shock was over, Royal still did not speak.  Her mouth would not move.  She only hoped that her eyes would speak for her. 

The man stood stone faced for a moment then smiled at her nervousness.  He instantly recognized her discomfort, sensed her attraction.   Perfect, white pearly teeth were revealed under his shapely rose-color lips.   A long dimple exploded in his left cheek and his eyes sparkled like diamonds.  It only made Royal weaker, more lost in his spell.

“Is someone helping you?” he asked in a thick foreign accent.  His cologne floated up to her nostrils, and she took in the scent of extremely expensive cologne.

“No,” she said, voice pitched high.  She cleared her throat.  “Excuse me.  No. No one is helping me.”

She opened her sweaty hand and showed him the mon-ey, in order to validate her reason for intruding on him.

He made his way up the polished wooden steps past her.  She looked up at him as he did so, still in wonder of his giant build.

“Do you want to pay me for music or for food cooking in kitchen, my dear?”  His deep voice reverberated through-out the empty restaurant as he talked. 

“Just the food,” Royal swallowed again.  

He chuckled a little.  “This is polite way to tell me not to quit day job, dah?”

Royal smiled.  “I enjoyed it, actually.”  Her eyes told him that she loved it.

“Er…enjoyed it?  Well, good.  Now, come with me, my little spy,” he said reading her.

She followed him obediently to the front of the restau-rant, where he pulled a single seat from a table near the bay windows. 

“Anatoly, bring me a plate of duck you are cooking,” he ordered towards the kitchen door.   He looked back over at Royal and motioned towards the seat.  “Please, love, sit down.  I have made you wait long enough.”

“Thank you,” she said sitting.  His hospitality and warmness was most appreciated.  It almost made her blush.

“You’re welcome.” He pushed her up to the table and bent down to her ear.  “Do you like duck?” he asked, tickling her nose with his minty perfumed breath.

“I…I’ve never had it,” she answered, feeling slightly embarrassed and completely controlled by the situation.

“Never?” the strange man asked, amused.  His eyebrows arched.

She nodded no.

“Well, you will try my duck today.  It is best in all of Memphis, recipe straight from Russia.”  He stood back up.

She nodded yes, frustrated at her sudden lapse in verbal communication.  Struggling, she tried to make herself spit out her words and stop acting like a school girl. 

“Thank you,” she said again, forcefully this time.  “I’d like that very much.”

“It is my pleasure,” he said, bowing out like a trained waiter.

“One question though?” she asked before he could get away.

“Yes?”  He stopped and looked over at her curiously. 

“I only have ten dollars.  How much does the Russian duck cost?”  Her eyes were wide.  Maybe the man had mistaken her second-hand business suit for something valuable?  She was in no position to pay for an expensive dinner.

“It will cost you conversation with me.”  He looked at her sweat-stained white oxford, run over pumps and exhausted state and felt instantly responsible for feeding the woman.  It was the least that he could do. 

“Now, if you’ll excuse me for just a minute.” 

“Okay.  Thanks,” Royal said, watching his long, muscular body disappear into the restaurant. 

A duck recipe straight from Russia?  So he was from Russia?  She looked around the restaurant again.  Yes, unmistakably Russian.  So unmistakable, she found the whole setting to be slightly stereotypical; all that was missing was a framed photo of Putin and the national flag.  She looked over in the far corner, saw both and giggled to herself.

The day had most certainly turned around.  She was about to have free duck in a plush restaurant with a hot man out of the hot sun.  And that was completely fine by her.   She needed a break.  She’s been job hunting all day.  And if she heard, we’ll be contacting you, one more time, she would lose her mind.  What they really meant was that the economy was in a complete downward spiral, and she had a degree in business and no real experience outside of working her butt off doing odd jobs to pay for school, so she would never hear from them again.  

However, she wouldn’t focus on all of that now.  This man had given her a millisecond break. She would just take it and forget for a while that her life truly sucked.  Happily, she slipped her feet halfway out of her shoes, wiggled her toes and sighed.  Ahh. Freedom at last.

Minutes later, the man whom Royal guessed was Anatoly came walking towards her lonely table with a two plates.  The young dirty blonde moved quickly.  His stocky frame was covered in tattoos, and he wore dark blue jeans and a black t-shirt covered by a white apron.  His hooded eyes never looked up from the ground.  He sat the food down and walked away.  Then an even shorter redhead woman came out with two shot glasses and a bottle of vodka, two red crystal glasses and a bottle of wine and set it on the table in the same manner.  She also never spoke a word. 

“I was hoping that you’d still be here,” the man said returning. 

He pulled his seat away from the table and sat directly across from her.  She watched him carefully while he inspected the presentation of his meal.  His long, muscular arms rested beside him, reaching nearly the length of the table. 

“Shall we toast?” he asked, picking up his glass once he was satisfied. 

“Sure.  What to?”

He thought for a minute then smiled.  “To prosperous futures.” 

“I like that.”

She toasted his glass and drank the potent contents.  The burn rushed down her throat to her empty belly and caused a shiver through her body.  Maybe it would do exactly what she wanted it to do - numb the awkward exhilaration of being across the table from the giant man. 

“You took good drink,” he smirked, sipping from his glass. “But it’s vodka that I would recommend taking straight to the head, not the wine.”  He lifted his glass for her to observe.

“Well that depends on what kind of day you’ve had,” Royal said, coyly.  “If you’ve had a day like mine, then you take everything to the head.”

“Oh, I see,” Dmitry grinned, utterly fascinated. 

Leering back, she poured herself a shot of the Jewel of Russia vodka.  Boldly, she took the shot and set the glass softly on the table.  With her index finger, she pushed it farther away from her.  Instantly, she feel the magic burn rush through her body.  She wanted to cough but held it in – defiant until the end.  Her watery eyes told on her as she tried not to gag.

The stranger looked at the empty glass, at the strange woman and laughed aloud. 

“You look like flower and drink like weed.”  His dimple deepened. 

Following her direction like a good host, he set his wine glass down and poured himself a shot of the expensive vodka.  He toasted her again and drank it quickly.  The contents went down smooth and with no tingle.  His Adam’s apple barely moved.  Then, he set his shot glass softly beside hers and smiled back. 

“I like your attitude,” he said leaning over.  “Tell me, what is your name?”   His eyes sparkled like diamonds.

“It’s Royal,” she said, placing her napkin on her lap.

“Excuse me?”

“My name is Royal Stone.”  She looked up at him under long dark eyelashes. 

“Where did you get a name like that?”

“I don’t know.”  Royal poured another shot of vodka.  She started to feel a little more relaxed and maybe even a little buzz.  “Don’t know my parents.  I lived with a foster family until I was 18, and then I went to college.   I graduate next week, and the company that I had landed a job with went under this week,” she explained.

“Oh, so, you’re out job hunting?” the man asked, more intrigued.

“Exactly,” she said, taking another shot.

Dmitry eyed her.  “Try the duck.  I think you’ll like it even more than the vodka.”  His silky eyebrow arched again.

“Oh, sorry.”  Royal smiled with more ease, putting her hand over her mouth.  The alcohol gave her the edge that she needed.  Plus, she liked how sometimes the strange man missed words when he spoke.  English was definitely not his first language.

Dmitry smiled.  “So, you’re looking for a job doing what?”  He continued.

“Is this an interview?”

He shrugged his large shoulders.  “It could be.”  He sat back in his chair relaxed.

“Shouldn’t I at least no your name then?”  She was mildly sarcastic.

“Wait.  You don’t know my name?”  The stranger winked his eye at her.  “Everyone knows who I am.”  His voice was now a low whisper as if he were telling her a huge secret.

“I don’t know who you are,” she replied, whispering as well.  She tasted the duck.  Absolutely delicious.

“It caught you by surprise, did it not?”  He looked at her plate, forgetting their conversation for a minute.  “I told you.  The best duck in Mid-South.  This dish was featured in…Memphis Magazine one month ago.”  He slapped his large hand on his equally large thigh in satisfaction.  He was always pleased with a happy customer, even if she was not paying.   

Royal nodded in satisfaction and at his enthusiasm.     “Yes, it is very good,” she confirmed.  “The best duck I’ve ever had.”

“Yes, after this, everything else will be all downhill.”  He looked at her for a moment, then shifted back to their conversation with a large smile on his angelic face.   “My name is Dmitry Medlov.”  He stuck his hand out across the table and offered it to Royal. 

She wiped her hands on her crimson-colored napkin and shook his hand gingerly, feeling his large fingers wrap around her entire hand.

“Nice to meet you.  Like I said, I’m Royal Stone.”  After a few drinks, she was starting to feel a little better.

“Nice to meet you too, Royal.”  His eyes locked on hers, lingering.   “Tell me what subject are you getting your baccalaureate degree in?”

“Business.  Umm…would you like to see my resume?”

“You have it with you?” he asked, watching her as she quickly turned to her little tattered bag.  His head tilted as he watched her every move. 

Her long thin fingers rummaged through the well orga-nized folders and pulled out an off-white cotton sheet of paper.  It was the most pristine thing in her disheveled little existence.

Proudly, she reached out and passed it to him.  Her resume.  Her life on one miserable page.  He pulled his glasses from his jacket and placed them on.  She was surprised for a minute.  Although, they did make him look even more distinguished, he didn’t look like the type that would wear glasses.    The silver wire rimmed frames sat perfectly on his chiseled narrow nose, across his suntanned face and his over his dreamlike eyes. 

“Is this your restaurant?”  she asked, interrupting his attention as she looked around.

“Dah.”  He nodded but did not look up from the paper.

“Does that word mean yes?”  Another interruption.  She looked back at him.

He glanced up at her, “Dah.”  His voice was silky smooth.  He looked at her with a strange gaze then looked back down her resume.  Royal was finally quiet, giving him a moment to digest her unworthiness.

Dmitry read her resume carefully with no expression on his face.  She could not tell if he was impressed or like many of her other interviewers - unmoved, indifferent and ready to see her out of the door.

“And you graduate in one week?”  he finally asked, placing the resume beside him on the table and taking off his glasses.

“Yes.  I graduate next Tuesday.”  She sat up a little straighter.

“Tell me, Royal.  Are you particular about what job you would like?” He put his glasses back inside of his coat jacket and focused in on her, a hint of interest on his face.

“I’d like a job with the potential to move up in the or-ganization, but I’m willing to start anywhere.”

Dmitry smiled.  “That is sign of hard worker,” he said pointing at her.  “You’ve never been given anything.  And so, you know how to work hard to get it or take it.” 

“If I need to, dah.” She smiled.

Dmitry’s eye twitched.  She was quick and spunky, and he was completely paralyzed by her natural beauty.  He had been struck since the moment he opened his eyes, and she was standing in front of him while he played the violin. 

She had appeared like a dream, standing there like she had just fallen out of the sky.  He had to blink when he saw her.  He blinked hard to make sure that she was real and not some figment of his imagination, some illusion due to his aching loneliness.  He knew that she was real when he saw the sweat glistening from her body.  It was the only sign that God had given him to let him know his angel was human. 

Her long, shapely figure was concealed under her baggy clothes.  Her gaze spoke of trust, not deceit.  She was refreshingly innocent.  Her bright eyes told her entire story.  She was what he was playing for and praying for…a sign.

“So what do you think?” she asked, finally. 

“You’ve done good work,” he said, realizing that he had zoned out far too long.  “I’d like to make you a proposal.”  He smirked at how fluid that statement was for him.

“Okay,” Royal said, putting down her knife and fork.  She listened on attentively.

“I’m opening new business not far from here.  Really just couple blocks over.  I need someone who is willing to give it their all.  It’s a new clothing store.  I call it Dmitry’s Closet.  It’s full of nicest clothes for women.  However, I need young shop keeper for this one.  Do you have kids, husband, something like this?”

“No,” Royal said, clearly seeing that this guy knew nothing about HR.  One was never supposed to ask those types of personal questions on an interview, but she didn’t care, as long as he gave her the job.

“Good.  This is just what I want to hear,” he said, slyly.  “The person that run’s my shop will have nice apartment just above the store.  You see, I own entire building.  You have the degree, the professionalism, the drive I need to make Dmitry’s Closet into Memphis’ next big boutique.”

“So, you want me to manage your store and in ex-change you’ll give me an apartment?”  She was suddenly unimpressed.  It was only half of what she needed.

“No…I want to offer you much more,” Dmitry said, excited about her ability to bargain.

“How much more?”  Royal asked, leaning into him in anticipation.

“As long you work for me, you have this and to start off sixty grand.  You have to hire part-time staff, do inventory, keep books.  But I see from your resume that you have experience with this.”  He knew in this economy, he was offering her a lot more than he had to, but he wanted to keep her, even though her experience was actually very limited. 

“$60,000?”  Royal sucked in her own breath. 

“Are you starting to be interested now, Royal Stone?” he smiled.

“Of course.  Since it is close, can we go there and see it?”  Suddenly, the duck was not at the top of her list.  She could eat later, after she had secured this job.

Dmitry smiled a little smile of success.  She had taken the bait.  He would have easily paid her $80,000 to take the job, to keep her near.  Now, he was simply saving twenty grand. 

“Yes.  After you finish your meal, I’ll take you over.” 

Dmitry smiled at her.  He could see the passion in her eyes.  She was a young businesswoman.  Her ambition would drive his newest investment, and if she wasn’t careful she would drive him to give her much more. 

“Anatoly, get my car to the front.  I want to take Ms. Stone to my new shop,” he ordered, absently.  His eyes were still fixed on hers.

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Chapter One

Dmitry's Royal Flush