To get an offer to a university, we had to bribe one of the professors on the admissions committee. To be precise, it was my mother who bribed her. The committee was ready to fail me in maths entry exam without a good reason. They made it clear that applicants from Pskov don’t get easily into their university’s economics department. However, my mother was prepared for this turn of events and, waiting for the right moment, took one of the committee members aside as she was leaving the room. They talked about something, she shrugged, discreetly took the money, nodded, and left. A few days later, we found my name on the list of those admitted to the budget-funded program.
I moved into a dormitory because our family couldn’t afford to rent an apartment. My father left us when I was three years old, so my mother, working as a cashier in the “Shmel” supermarket chain, was the only person bringing money to the family. She was actually an aircraft designer by training, but after her company went bust, she could not find any other intellectual job. She never had time for me since my early childhood, so I was left to fend for myself. Perhaps this early independence is why I developed an entrepreneurial streak. I used to sell Orbit gum to my classmates, buying blocks in advance from a kiosk near our house. This way I always had some pocket money to spend on whatever simple stuff I needed as a schoolboy. In the university, I used to sell clothes and different trinkets, which I bought in advance at bargain prices from Apraksin Dvor. The money my mother sent was barely enough for the dorm room and some basic food, so any additional income helped.
I quickly learned the rules of the game at university. It wasn’t necessary to attend all lectures and do all assignments. Instead, it was important to read the notes before the exam, then copy them correctly during the exam and after that – explain the material to the professor while looking them in the eye. Some call it “cheating”, I called it “fitting in the system”. All the threats of expulsion that I received from our department for skipping classes turned out to be empty. I learnt that quite early in my study, when one of the young PhD students from our department explained me how the system works. As it turned out, it was harder to expel a student from the University than to just give them a “pass”.
My first exam period went smoothly, without any fails. To celebrate passing the first session, our entire group decided to go to a bar. After drinking a lot, one of my classmates, with whom I hadn’t particularly interacted before, the nerd named Roma, got brave enough to invite everyone to an afterparty at his apartment. We bought a case of beer, two bottles of Martini, a bottle of champagne and a couple of bottles of vodka. Only the most persistent made it, including the blonde Ksyusha with her brunette friend Natasha, our star student Lyuda, who seemed to have a crush on Roma, and three other of our classmates: Kolya, Grisha, and Vitya. So, there were more guys than needed, fewer girls than required, but the amount of drinks was just right.
My plan was to seduce Ksyusha, but due to the excess of demand over supply, I had a competitor: Vitya also started trailing Ksyusha. He was short, weak, skinny, and pimply. He had no chances by definition, but he tried to woo her by pouring her Martini, making crude jokes, and embarrassing her. On the opposite side, I tried to make more elegant jokes, taking the initiative and pouring her champagne. At some point, I decided it was about time to get rid of Vitya, so I invited Ksyusha to dance, and she, of course, couldn’t refuse. However, Vitya was a stubborn idiot who didn’t understand obvious hints and didn’t want to retreat. In the middle of the dance, he approached us and tried to take Ksyusha away. Feeling brave and under the influence of vodka, I suggested for us to go out for a smoke.
“Vitya, don’t you understand a spoken language? I’m telling you to back off!” I said sharply, taking a drag.
“No, Igor, you need to understand: you’re out of luck!” he stammered back, defiantly looking in my direction.
One word led to another, and Vitya got punched in the face, was humiliated, and sent back to his home. I was victorious!
Time passed fast, and we approached the critical point when the metro was about to close. So, we had to decide what to do. Kolya, Grisha, and Lyuda, finding no comfort in each other or in alcohol, decided to go home. Natasha was already planning to stay the night, and Roma was trying to persuade someone else to stay for company. I didn’t mind, and it wasn’t hard to convince Ksyusha, she was a sociable girl, and the fact that her friend had already decided to stay was an additional argument. Besides, we were developing something between us, and we were both curious to see where it would lead.
When everyone left, we sat together for a bit longer, drinking and chatting, but then pretended to be tired and went to different rooms.
“Igor, I didn’t know you were such a funny guy,” Ksyusha giggled as I kissed her. “What are you doing?” she mockingly protested as I quickly took off her top and unhooked her bra, but she clearly wanted the same thing as I did.
Jeans followed the bra through kisses on her shoulders, chest, and tummy. Our breathing quickened, lips periodically merged in passionate kisses. She ran her fingers through my hair, and I kissed, licked, and nibbled her wherever I could reach.
The act itself didn’t last long and wasn’t particularly interesting despite the strong excitement on both sides. The prelude and the anticipation of the act were more interesting. After the deed, Ksyusha joyfully fell asleep on my shoulder. But I couldn’t sleep, my eyes just wouldn’t close. It felt like the room itself didn’t want me to fall asleep. When my shoulder went numb, I carefully turned Ksyusha onto her other side and quietly crawled out of bed. She was sleeping soundly, even snoring lightly, so she didn’t notice my disappearance.
I headed to the kitchen to grab something to eat and unwind, hoping that a walk would help me relax and get closer to sleep. Without turning on the light, I approached the fridge and started examining its contents. There was some leftover pizza from yesterday and orange juice. The rest of the fridge wasn’t interesting.
I took out the pizza and juice, sat at the table, and started eating them cold. Just as I finished the first slice, the door to Roma’s room clicked, and he entered the kitchen.
“Why are you sitting in the dark?” he asked, a little surprised to see me.
“Darkness is a friend of the young,” I declared, chewing on the pizza.
Roma chuckled, went to the cupboard to the left of the fridge, and took out an opened bottle of Massandra port wine. After that he took a plate and two glasses. He placed the plate in front of me with the words, “It’s more convenient,” then sat opposite me, opened the bottle, and poured it.
“What are we drinking to?” I asked.
“To the examas?” Roma suggested.
“Boring,” I grimaced.
“Then to love?” Roma proposed.
“Too cliché,” I objected.
“Well, you suggest something then,” Roma gave up quickly.
I fiddled in my teeth with my tongue, took a five-second pause to think, then suggested:
“To new discoveries.”
We raised the glasses and drank.
“What discoveries?” Roma asked, placing his glass on the table.
“Well, for example, I discovered you and your apartment,” I grinned.
“A genius discovery!” Roma snorted.
“No, seriously… We hardly talked at the uni, and now we’re sitting together at your kitchen at night, drinking port wine.., and I must say, it’s good port wine in a nice kitchen.”
“Well, the port wine is indeed pleasant,” Roma reluctantly agreed. “But the kitchen is just so-so.”
“Still better than in our dorm,” I cut off, devouring another piece of pizza. “By the way, help yourself, don’t restrict yourself,” I nodded toward the pizza.
“No, thanks,” he smiled. “I’m not hungry. And I somehow forgot that you live in a dorm. What’s it like?”
“Come visit, I’ll show you,” I grinned back. “Nothing special, just no personal space.”
Roma looked sad.
“Don’t be upset, it’s normal: some people have everything, others have nothing. Life is fair that way… If someone doesn’t get enough at some point, it means that there is a plan for the future of that person.”
“So you’re a philosopher, I see!”
“A bit… But just wait for it! I’ll graduate, get a job at a bank, will make crazy money, buy an apartment, and live it up. Your port wine will be nothing! Oh, I’ll go wild!”
I smiled smugly.
Roma smiled sadly.
“Don’t get me wrong, the port wine is really good. But I prefer whiskey,” I stated.
“Oh, fancy guy! And what whiskey do you prefer? ‘White Horse’ or ‘Jack Daniel’s’?”
I didn’t know if he was serious or not, but I felt a bit snuffy.
“You call that shit ‘whiskey’?! Don’t insult this great beverage with these names! I prefer ‘Macallan’ and ‘Highland Park.’ And those are the simplest and cheapest ones!”
“I don’t even know those names,” Roma was surprised. “How do you know them? Have you tried them?”
I put the remaining piece of pizza aside and leaned back in my chair, feeling finally satisfied.
“No, I haven’t. But I prefer them!”
Roma chuckled and poured more port wine.
We sat and talked about everything, as long as we could, for a long time. It was surprising to me that although Roma and I had little in common, the conversation flowed naturally. We might have stayed there until morning, but at the most interesting moment, when we were talking about politics, a sleepy Ksyusha, holding a blanket at chest level, entered the kitchen and interrupted our conversation:
“Igor, where did you go?! I’m freezing without you! Hug me!” she declared.
“Can’t you see I’m talking to Roma?” I asked sternly. “Well, why are you standing there? You should have stayed in bed, I would have come soon!”
However, my indignation and tirade were unexpectedly cut short by Roma:
“Alright, Igor, let’s go to sleep. It was nice talking to you,” he said, putting the bottle away. “And you look great wrapped in a blanket,” he charmingly said to Ksyusha, washing the glasses and the plate.
She smiled in response.
“Thank you.”
“Maybe you could wash them later?” I said to him with slight irritation.
“It’s all right, it’s not hard to do,” he replied, rinsing the glasses and putting them back in the cupboard.
“Alright, let’s go to sleep,” I grumbled, not wanting to watch this any longer, and reluctantly stood up, took Ksyusha by the hand, kissed her cheek, and led her to our room.
That was one of those rare days during university times when Roma and I communicated calmly, without arguing or bickering. But it was also one of those days when I realised that I enjoyed talking with him.