Chapter 6

Vika shivered with anticipation. This was going to be an adventure! She had traveled extensively but this was her first trip to what had once been called eastern Europe–recently updated to northern Europe. Which sounded better to her. She could just as well be going to Scandinavia. In fact, that’s what she had told her friends who had no clue where Latvia was. And who though eastern Europe was filled with unwashed masses of peasants toiling on the land, drinking, eating garlic and wearing headscarves.

What excited Vika was new people, new places. The moment she saw Simone and Eggy waiting for her at Riga’s International Airport she instinctively knew that these were to be her Latvian guides. She was relieved to see such nice looking people. No one else had that polished look. Most of the people in the terminal looked like happy families picking up relatives or folks holding up signs searching for businessmen or aquaintances.

***

Eggy blew out breath in a soundless whistle. Here she was in the flesh! His casual Facebook friend turned client. A beautiful wealthy client at that.

She was certainly striking. Her posture was that of a runway model. As was her air of confidence. She had chosen a soft silk ivory-colored blouse, camel skirt, and jacket. Sheer hose, black heels with red soles, a small black leather tote bag to carry her passport, tickets, itinerary and essentials every woman must have. On display were also her diamonds – in her ears, on her ring finger and on the tennis bracelet Bernie had given Vika for her “varda diena” (Vika made sure all holidays in both cultures were celebrated – with diamonds of course.)

Simone felt a little frisson of anxiety. How will she be able to keep up her own appearance as they shop and take walking tours?  Yes, today she was glamorous, but everyday?

Bowing slightly, Eggy extended his hand. He looked elegant in his one and only suit, the formality softened by a masculine scarf draped loosely around his neck.  Obviously his mother hadn’t taught him to wait until the lady extended her hand first. No matter. Vika took his hand and smiled sweetly while thinking: Isn’t he supposed to kiss my hand or something? This is Europe, for God’s sake!

Eggy returned her smile. Vika held her breath. He had the most mesmerizing eyes she’d ever seen. A clear, bright, blue which subtly suggested intimacy – but not too much.

To her surprise she didn’t even mind that he wasn’t wearing a gold Rolex. He was tall and slender with a mass of salt and pepper hair and a trendy “lady pleaser” patch of hair just below the lower lip. She wondered if he was a jazz musician or just a trendoid carry-over from the 1950s and 1960s.

Vika turned away in confusion—a feeling she  wasn’t accustomed to.  Usually men melted encountering her sensuality and sex appeal. Now it was her turn to melt.  She didn’t at all like this unaccustomed feeling. Surreptitiously she checked for a wedding ring. Didn’t see one.

The spell was broke. Wreathed in smiles, Simone approached with her bouquet. She looked very classy with her new hair (no longer grey but a champagne blonde) and her professionally applied makeup. She wore an amber broach on her beautiful patterned scarf, which she wore over a beige jacket. It was to be Vika’s introduction to upper crust elegance, and today Simone had carried the look.

Vika was glad for the distraction. She turned to Simone before she embarrassed herself ogling Eggy and graciously accepted the exquisite bouquet  of mixed deep red & white flowers, bound with natural jute and wheat stems.

“Thank you, or rather, paldies,” Vika said demurely. “I don’t really speak the language. It’s so kind of you both to greet me. The flowers are such a wonderful surprise!”

Simone chimed in eagerly. “Is no problem, I speak English. And Eggy speaks some– just enough to get into trouble!”

The right words were said. With that, they all laughed politely and proceeded to baggage claim.

* * *

The short Italian who had spoken to Vika on the flight was very pleased that he had gotten a good look at her  greeters.  She had paid no attention to him or anybody from the flight.

The short dark-haired Italian without the Rolex was a nobody. He was glad of his obscurity. It was good to be a fly on the wall. After all, he had his orders: remain   invisible and file your reports.