Jonah’s been in prison for thirteen rough years. His first day on parole, he arrives in Manhattan, where a shill lures him into visiting a dodgy men’s clothing store, one that offers parolees quality suits at a discount. While there, he meets Theo, the store’s owner. Suave Theo charms Jonah into meeting him later for dinner.
Over their meal, the handsome store owner regales Jonah with stories of his youth in Alexandria, Egypt. For a while, they’re joined by Theo’s beautiful friend, Lena. She’s the daughter of a Russian who raised her in a Constantinople nightclub. Afterwards, the two men wind up in Theo’s elegant flat. Jonah’s eager to spend an intimate evening there with his host. Then Lena shows up and makes herself at home. Gradually, Jonah realizes the two friends plan to share him together in Theo’s bed.
Not wanting to lose his edge, he turns down a drink.
“Enjoy your bath?” Lena asks. “Were your ears burning?”
“Thought I scrubbed them too hard.”
“My favorite Russian will be spending the night,” Theo tells him. “The storm, you know.”
“This lovely, pretentious flat,” she says. “It’s much closer to my humble modeling agency than my own digs. Clients expect me to run the little shop as if it were a postal service. How many mailmen wear high heels I’d like to know?” She slides her bare feet off the divan and gestures for him to join her. Once he’s seated, she slips her legs on his lap as if from habit.
Jonah complements the familiarity. He cups one hand on her calf, his other on the slanted armrest.
“Your high heels won’t be any more practical tomorrow,” he says.
“I keep a full second wardrobe in the other bedroom,” she tells him. “It’s been accruing for years. Samples I get for free, including boots. Outfits for every circumstance.”
“And every taste,” Theo adds.
“Almost every,” she says, and they share that exclusive look again. “Speaking of taste, have you seen the other bedroom?” And when Jonah shakes his head: “Theo’s done it up for me like a Pasha’s lair to remind me of home. Too late Ottoman for words. I love the sentiment and ignore the irony.”
“I thought you were Russian,” Jonah says.
“White Russian, darling. The granddaughter of a tailor and a servant girl.”
“Lena’s forebears ‘fled the Reds’ during the Bolshevik Revolution,” Theo says. “They washed up on the Turkish coast, along with several hundred thousand other Whites. Stayed for decades -- from necessity. Her nibs is of the third generation. Born and bred in Istanbul.”
“Only my childhood,” she says; and not in any quarter you’d find a Pasha, unless he was slumming in some brothel. Theo will have his little jokes.”
“I would’ve done the room that way regardless,” he tells Jonah, as if in confidence. “I loved Istanbul the short while I lived there. Such a decadent city despite that prissy Ataturk’s reforms. I’ll say one thing. He must’ve had a soft spot for transvestites. The city was filled with them. Like swarms of perfumed butterflies, they were.”
“Now you know why he loves New York,” Lena says.
“I see the Pasha decor as a homage to Lena’s sainted mother, the showgirl.”
Theo and his favorite Russian smile at what seems an old and cynical joke.
“What about you?” she asks.
“I didn’t grow up around any Pashas either,” Jonah says.
“Don’t be evasive.” She gently nudges his arm. “Share with us an intimacy about yourself. Something more than Theo got from you -- and from his contact at your former residence.”
The last bit stuns Jonah. In all their conversations together, his host never revealed checking him out with some snitch upstate. Theo must’ve done it after they met at the clothing store and Jonah gave his full name. Spelled it out twice! Theo probably got an earful if his contact was a records clerk. The lowdown couldn’t have been bad. Otherwise this wily Greek never would’ve showed up at Grand Central.
“How’d you know which place to call?” he says.
“Your discount flier,” Theo says. “It has a small code printed at the bottom. Part of our tracking system. One glance at the leaflet told me exactly where you came from.”
Here Jonah was thinking he controlled the info about his past. Yet all the time Theo -- and even this Russian chick -- knew about his crimes and probably a lot more. He feels vulnerable under their observant gaze. Peeled naked before becoming so. Before he wants to become so. The sensation evokes prison, a place where secrets don’t last long.
“What’s the matter?” she says.
“Yes,” Theo says. “Why so glum, chum?”
“Figure it out for yourselves since you know so much about me.”
“You shouldn’t blame our being cautious,” Theo says. “You didn’t just graduate from a seminary.”
“We’re business people,” Lena says. “Successful business people. We take pleasure only in calculated risks. You’d do the same if the situation were reversed.”
“There’s a couple things I can say about that.”
“What are they?” she asks.
“I’ve had a long and busy day for one.”
“So I’ve heard. And for another?”
“I think it’s time I reverse the situation, like you said. Check out the two of you my own way.”
“And what way’s that?”
He leaves her question hanging. The air grows dense with expectation. Slowly he glides a hand up her smooth leg. He pauses to assure he’s welcome before reaching under her skirt and grabbing a handful of snatch.
