Chapter 8

Never can you climb over this wall. You’re not strong enough. Your body is for others, not for you.

Vika had underlined these three short sentences in a magazine which she had been reading on the plane. They were about Marilyn Munroe but so many women could relate.

Luckily she herself had been strong enough to climb over that wall. She was free. Bernie was thousands of miles away and now her body was finally her own.

She was proud of herself. It was nervy going off alone on this adventure in what used to be Soviet territory. A delicious sense of the unknown, of the unexpected, of the wild and thrilling–even of the dangerous–sent shivers of anticipation down her spine. She was  ready for Riga—Paris of the North, her mother had called it. And here it was: an exciting, beautiful, culturally-rich metropolis waiting to be discovered and adored.

After checking into the Radisson Blu on Elizabete Street, Vika had said goodbye to her new acquaintances. They had agreed to meet the following morning for breakfast in the hotel. At reception an unexpected thought had briefly crossed her mind. Why did she even need tour guides? Everyone at the hotel spoke English. Besides, she herself had compiled a brief personal dictionary of useful phrases which her mother had made her practice until her accent was perfect.

Vika gave a quick finger wave to Eggy and Simone before proceeding to the glassed-in elevator. She got off on the fourth floor and easily found her room. Plopping down on the bed she let out a huge sigh of relief. It was nice to be on her own. The first thing she did was text her mother to tell her how happy she was on her first day in Riga. Next, she threw off her shoes and stripped off her clothing. She was ready for a warm soothing shower. It was time to relax and pamper herself. And enjoy herself to the hilt.

She considered herself in the mirror. Her gorgeous body and pretty face had attracted her most recent asset: Bernie. Along with a seemingly unlimited cash flow, flowing unstoppably her way. She had been sailing through life on looks. But there was more to her than that. She was smart. She would find a project. Something meaningful. Once she reached a certain age (and it was coming soon) Bernie would find a new much younger conquest to parade on his arm–that is, if he hadn’t already. He was not the lonesome type.

Stepping out of the shower Vika automatically reached for the fluffy white bathrobe hotels provide. Bathrobe? She gaped in disbelief. There was no bathrobe. Nor were there slippers.

Her sense of wellbeing evaporated. What kind of an outfit is this? How many stars does this joint have? She wrapped herself in one of the towels and strode to the minibar. Minibar? What minibar? Just a couple of bottles of warm mineral water with price tags attached on top of an empty fridge.

Her mind shot back to something the receptionist had said. Yes, we do have a pool. It’s just down the street. Only five minutes away. At the time Vika had paid little attention. All she had wanted was a nice shower and a stiff drink. Well, she’d simply change hotels. This one was unacceptable. After all, she had standards.

One thought led to another. Bernie had made the reservations. She had no say in that but had trusted him to pick out the gems. The Amrath Grand Hotel in Amsterdam had been sensational. All the luxury imaginable, art, history and exquisite service. Didn’t Bernie realize that this Blu would not suit her at all? Was this the best Riga could offer or was Bernie about to downgrade her?

A bold new thought occurred to her. Why not strike off on my own? People seemed to speak English quite well. She had plenty of cash and unlimited credit on her cards. Sure, she had arranged to meet her guides for breakfast — but what the hell. Besides, she hadn’t really liked the effect this Egmonds had on her. She didn’t want to limit herself. Maybe all Latvian men were as enticing as this one.

Vika heard a voice, probably her mother’s. You’re getting so thin. Go and eat a nice warm supper. She knew Irena wouldn’t encourage her to drink but that’s what she needed right now. The thought of having to call room service for a drink – and for a bathrobe, slippers, a heavy blanket and an extra pillow was depressing. Paris of the North! My foot!

With expert hands she quickly styled her thick blond hair (at least there was a hairdryer), put on a cozy, soft blue, cashmere sweater, loose slacks, and comfy flat shoes. She decided to put her diamonds into the safe (at least they had that).

Riding the glass elevator to the main floor she felt squeezed into a corner as some loud mid-Western Americans got on. She averted her eyes. She wanted nothing to do with America right now.

Arriving at the main floor she headed straight for the bar. Then she’d have a late supper. She’d start with a dry martini and perhaps a nice Italian red wine with her meal. She longed for comfort food – pasta with cheese sauce. Easy enough, she hoped. Not Latvian food but there would be plenty of time to get into that later.

As usual several gents at the bar tried to engage eye contact but she ignored them. To be truthful she was getting a little tired of being ogled. Besides, she knew her best years were behind her and realized that she’d have to come to terms with  her fading beauty. Her mother, Irena, was still a handsome woman. But that was quite different.

Just as she was ordering her drink she heard the ping from her phone. Shit! A text from Bernie. So soon. With a weary sigh she opened it. It was as cryptic as possible. Tomorrow at noon your friend Svetlana will meet you in the lobby.

She instinctively knew this was no friend of hers. It was Bernie’s way of telling her what her mission was on this trip. She knew not to ask for details. The same as in beautiful Amsterdam, the same as in Rome.

Bummer! This meant that she’d have to stay put, at least until tomorrow afternoon.

Vika had been so busy with Bernie’s text that she didn’t think that the Italian nursing a coffee in the back of the dining area should have looked familiar.