The Importance of Being Married (17 page)

“Then we need coffee,” she said, looking at Helen. “I will have a macchiato, which you will order in Café Boheme downstairs, and wait for me. I there in five minutes. Good?”

Helen looked at me. “Good,” I confirmed. “Very good. We’ll…um…see you there.”

We traipsed down the narrow stairway and out onto the street, stepping over two men sleeping in the doorway, and nipped across the road to Café Boheme, where we ordered coffee and waited. And waited. And then waited some more.

An hour later Ivana finally emerged and took a seat next to us.

“So,” she said, turning to me accusingly as though the intervening hour hadn’t happened. “How you seduce a man? What you do?”

She looked with distaste at her cold macchiato, and Helen quickly ordered her a new one.

“I don’t know,” I said awkwardly. “I mean, I guess I don’t. Not really.”

“Your last boyfriend was when?”

My face filled with humiliation. “Look, I’ve been kind of concentrating on my career lately.”

“When?” Ivana demanded.

“Two years ago, maybe,” I said quietly. Suddenly my usual defense—that I was focusing on my career, that I didn’t need a man in my life—seemed a little pathetic. Ivana was right—I didn’t know how to be sexy. I didn’t even know where to start.

“Two year?”

“Maybe three.” I cleared my throat.

Ivana looked at Helen and rolled her eyes. “So, I have my work cut out, yes?”

She was looking at me now, so I kind of half nodded and tried to smile, but then decided against it when I saw her eyes were smoldering and not in a
come-hither
way.

Ivana’s coffee arrived and she downed it quickly, then turned back to me.

“Okay,” she said, sighing loudly. “Tell me how you talk to men.”

I frowned. “How I talk to them?”

Ivana nodded.

“Well, I guess, like I talk to anyone else. I mean, it depends on the context, but you know, I’d just…” I looked at her helplessly. “I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

Ivana nodded again. “I think as much. Okay, so a few basics you must know. First, you no talk to men how you talk to woman. Men, they like to speak. End they like you to listen. Everything he do is fascinating, everything he do, you find sexy. Okay?”

“But what about what I’ve got to say?” I asked. Ivana glowered at me and immediately I reddened. “Fascinating,” I said. “Fascinating and sexy.”

Ivana looked at me uncertainly. “You disagree, he move away.”

“But then he’ll think I’m facile,” I said, feeling myself get agitated. “And anyway, I’m not going to agree with someone just to make him fancy me. Have you not heard of feminism? Of female emancipation? I’m not prepared to look stupid.”

“Men prefer stupid,” Ivana said flatly. “Anyway, agree with man, he think you’re clever.”

“But…but…”

“But nothing,” Ivana said firmly. “Trust me. So, next, you have to touch a little bit. Too much and is over; too little and he is looking away. Okay? Just on arm, on face when you lean in to say something. Little brush here, little touch there. You want him focus on you. Not anyone else. Okay? So, you hanging on every word, and then you lean. Like this.” She demonstrated by draping herself over Helen. “This I think biggest challenge for you, no?”

I rolled my eyes. “What, and I’m going to do this where? Over the watercooler? Very professional.”

The tone of my voice was distinctly sarcastic, and Ivana frowned. “You will find opportunity,” she said abruptly. “But is problem with your voice. You need to change.”

“My voice? What’s wrong with my voice?”

“It no sexy.”

“Well, I can’t change it,” I said stoutly. “It’s my voice. I’m kind of stuck with it.”

Ivana shook her head. “You can always change your voice. Listen.” She took another sip of coffee and began to talk in what I could only assume was her native language. Her voice was coarse, angry, spiky, and guttural. Then she pulled a different face and started whispering in English, her voice as silky as a siren.

“You see? In Russia, I no heff to seduce. Here, I heff. Here, I heff better voice. Yes?”

I nodded in admiration, then checked myself.

“Now you try,” she demanded.

“I can’t.” I squirmed.

“Go on,” Helen urged me. “Give it a go.”

I sighed. “Fine, but don’t laugh,” I said, then cleared my throat. “Hi,” I said, attempting to imitate Ivana’s sultry tones. “Hi, my name is Jessica Wild.”

“Wild? Your name is Wild? For real?” Ivana was smiling now, revealing at least four gold teeth. “I kill for name like thet,” she said, shaking her head, and I found myself hoping that she only meant it as a figure of speech. “Your name Wild, you use that, no? Say W-i-l-d.”

She purred my name so suggestively, I looked around to see if anyone else had heard.

“Wild,” I repeated, achieving none of the sexiness.

“Wiiild,” Ivana said again, looking me right in the eye.

“Wiiild,” I said back, this time sounding slightly less like an English schoolgirl but still nowhere near sexy.

Ivana frowned. “We need breathing exercise,” she said. “We go to park.”

“Park?”

“Park.”

Twenty minutes later we were in Regent’s Park.

“Now,” Ivana said firmly, “you run and scream at same time. We watch.”

I stared at her. “I’m not running and screaming,” I protested. “There are people here.”

“You want husband? You want money? Less my cut, of course.”

I studied her face to see if she was joking, but apparently she wasn’t.

“No,” I said. “I mean, this isn’t about money. It’s about…well, this friend of mine, Grace, who died. She thought I was married, but…”

I trailed off as I caught a glimpse of Ivana’s stony stare. “You want merry, you run, and you scream ‘Wild,’ okay?” she said abruptly.

“Helen?” I looked imploringly at my friend, but she stared at her feet. “You could at least try,” she suggested without meeting my eye. “I mean, what harm can it do?”

“Harm? What, other than humiliating myself in a public place, upsetting the tourists, and potentially getting myself arrested?”

Ivana looked at her watch. “Quickly,” she ordered. “Is getting late.”

Her eyes were stony, and I realized with a jolt that I wasn’t going to get out of this, that one way or another I was going to be running around Regent’s Park screaming my name. Slowly, I took a deep breath and jogged away from Helen and Ivana—or, more to the point, away from the couple on a park bench and the man walking his dog nearby—then ran, and shouted “Wild.” Maybe
shout
was a slight exaggeration, but I definitely said it quite loudly.

“Thet vos crap,” Ivana shouted after me. “I no hear you. You heff to scream.”

Gritting my teeth, I started to run again. “Wild,” I snarled. “Wild,” I shouted.

“Run faster. You no run fast enough.” Ivana jogged over to me and started running alongside, her spiky heels sinking into the grass until she stopped, whipped them off, and carried on barefoot. Wondering why I hadn’t thought of that, I immediately followed suit. Then, realizing that Ivana was about to overtake me, I upped my pace. It was almost fun, trying to stay ahead of her, feeling the wind fill my lungs.

“Wild,” she shouted. “Come on, Jessicaaa. Is wiild.” As she ran, she opened up her arms and screamed with a guttural force that made birds fly away.

“Wild,” I shouted, louder this time. “Wild.”

“You’re wild, I’m wild,” Ivana shrieked.

“We’re all wild,” I yelled, closing my eyes and breathing in deeply. I was, I realized with surprise, actually beginning to enjoy myself. Somehow I didn’t care if people were staring, or if my feet were killing me—it was liberating to be running around, screaming, in a sedate London park; exciting to be behaving so outrageously, like a child who hasn’t yet learned to be self-conscious.

“Wild,” Ivana shouted at the top of her voice.

“Wild,” I screamed back, flinging my arms open and tossing back my head. “Wiiiiiiild.”

I carried on for another five minutes, and only realized as I ran back toward Helen that I’d been doing it on my own for most of that time; Ivana was now back in her shoes and standing next to Helen, smoking a cigarette.

Immediately I felt stupid again and looked down at the ground.

“That vos better,” Ivana said, throwing her cigarette to the floor and stamping it underneath her stiletto heel. “But you heff long way to go before you gonna seduce men into merry you.”

“I thought you were really good,” Helen said, noticing my crestfallen expression. “You were totally wild. I mean, really.”

“Okay,” Ivana said, walking off toward the park entrance. “I heff to go now. Your homework: to tell yourself in mirror that you are Jessica Wild, that you are sexy woman. You tell your friend, too.”

“That’s it?” Helen asked. “No other tips? It’s just that time is…well, short.”

Ivana stopped walking. “You prectice this today. I see you again soon. You tell me about touching.”

I looked at her uncertainly. “But…but I can’t. I mean, I don’t know how to. I’ll look ridiculous,” I protested.

“You do right, you look sexy,” Ivana said, walking away as though that settled the matter.

“But how do I do it right? You haven’t even shown me,” I called after her, then immediately regretted it when she stopped walking. With a sigh, Ivana looked at her watch and slowly turned around.

“I heff appointment,” she said irritably. “But okay, two things. Licking lips like this.”

Her tongue flicked out of her mouth and languidly made its way around her lips.

“See? Now you do.”

I reddened and tried to imitate her. Ivana looked distinctly unimpressed and raised her eyebrows at Helen.

“Do in mirror,” she suggested. “Better to see yourself when doing. Now for touching,” she continued. “Is better to show you close. Come here.”

I did as she told me and approached her.

“Now talk,” she barked.

Uncertainly, I started to babble about the weather. As I spoke, Ivana stretched out a hand and lightly brushed mine. “You know,” she whispered, “it vos very nice to meet you today.” Then she leaned down to take my hand in hers. She touched it so tenderly, and I suddenly realized that underneath her fierce façade, Ivana was actually really sweet. And gentle. I squeezed her hand back, affectionately.

“Thanks, Ivana. It was really nice to meet you, too.”

“Where are your eyes?” she demanded.

“Um…,” I said, not wanting to admit that my eyes had, just that minute, been drawn to admire her amazing cleavage, which had shot into view as she bent over. Then she pulled away, and I found myself frowning. I didn’t want her to go.

“You should be looking at my breasts,” she said, looking up to check that I was. Neither Helen nor I could look at anything else. “And the touching. It was nice, yes?”

I nodded, speechless. “You put that on? That was all part of the seduction?”

“Of course.” Ivana shot me a withering look. “Getting a men attention—is game, you understand? You come close, they get interest, you step away. Make them want, then make unavailable, then they want more, yes? So, you prectice this. And you prectice bending over—you fix shoe, you pick something up, it no matter; what matter is where he looking, yes?”

“Yes.” I nodded. I couldn’t believe games like that actually worked. There I’d been thinking that love and lust were a matter of natural chemicals and the power of attraction, when in reality it was all about the right touch and flashing a bit of cleavage. I wished I’d brought a notebook now, there was so much to remember.

“Thanks, Ivana,” Helen said quickly.

Ivana looked at her, then at me, her face impenetrable. “This not going to be easy,” she said, with a sigh. She gazed at my feet as though she’d never noticed them before. My feet that were now uncomfortably wedged back inside my black heels.

“You need better shoes,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Shoes? But these are new.”

“You no think Anthony deserves girlfriend with good shoes? You think he should put up with unsexy shoes? Is that what you tell me?”

I reddened slightly. Frankly after last night I wasn’t sure Anthony deserved a girlfriend, let alone one with good shoes. “These aren’t good?” I asked, looking down at my shoes.

“They no sexy,” Ivana said, shrugging. “Thinner heel. Color. Your face need color, too. No bleck, I think.”

“No black?” I gulped. My whole wardrobe was black. The only way Helen had persuaded me to buy this ridiculously tight pencil skirt was because it was black and I’d convinced myself that no one would really notice how it clung to my thighs.

But Ivana wasn’t listening—already she had nodded her goodbyes and I watched, silently, as she strode off, her high heels clacking on the path.

“I’m screwed, aren’t I?” I said to Helen as we watched her go.

She took my hand. “Come on. Let’s go shopping.”