of her up to her cheekbones—but not her eyes. She didn’t want to miss a thing. Sergei said something in Russian at the door… a low voice responded outside. Two men entered, both about thirty-five… wearing identical tan—gabardine?—suits and navy—black?—polo shirts… one tall and slope shouldered with his balding head shaved down to an unfortunately misshapen knob… the other shorter, heavier… showing the world a head of wavy dark-brown hair he obviously worked on a lot… Both had deep-set eyes and struck Magdalena as hard cases. The taller one, from the servile way he shook his head, seemed to be apologizing for having awakened Sergei so early and then handed him a newspaper opened to a certain page… Still standing there, Sergei pored over it for about a minute that seemed to stretch out for an hour, since all of them, Magdalena included, wanted to get the godfather’s reaction. He scowled at the two men as if they had done something not only wrong but stupid. He didn’t say a word. He ordered them through a pair of old-fashioned doors with panes of glass and heavy wooden muntins—by pointing at them with a stiff arm and a forefinger that suddenly seemed a foot long. The doors led into a small study. En route they had to pass within five or six feet of the bed. Each of them took a single glance at Magdalena, each nodded his head all of two inches, each uttered, “Miss,” without so much as a micro-second slowing of their obedient march to the study. A micro-nod… a micro–word of greeting—no, not greeting; rather, a bare minimal acknowledgment of her existence. A hot wave of humiliation ran through her brain. Their “hospitality” was automatic. She was no doubt one in a sequence of naked young things to be found in the master bed in the morning.
Inside the study, she could see the smaller one, the one who loved his own wavy hair, fetching a wireless telephone receiver and handing it to Sergei where he sat. Sergei was growling into the telephone… in Russian. The only things Magdalena could understand were “Hallandale” and the expression “active adults”… which meant nothing to her but stood out simply because it was in English. When he finally concluded this Russian barrage of his, he handed the telephone back to the bodyguard with the wavy locks… and made note of Magdalena for the first time since the two men had arrived.
He emerged from the study and said, “A situation has developed.” He said it in a grave voice. He hesitated, as if he were going to say more… and he did: “Vladimir will take you home.”
He marched straight into his dressing room. He didn’t even give her another glance. That left Magdalena trapped under the bedcovers—naked. The two bodyguards stood inside the study… It hit her like a physical pressure… wave after wave of humiliation… abandoned with no clothes on in a big over-the-top bedroom with a pair of hard-looking Russians who could see her through the glass doors any time they cared to. At first she felt fear. But fear gave way to a scalding shame that she had let herself be used this way… a used coño waiting to be swept out like the rest of the filth of this place… Vladimir will take you home… After an interminable few minutes she was suffocating from the shame and humiliation of it all… and finally Sergei reappeared… hastily clad in an expensive-looking pale-blue shirt stuffed into a pair of blue jeans… she didn’t know he possessed anything so common as blue jeans… He was shod in a pair of ochre-color pigskin moccasins that must have cost a thousand dollars… and no socks… and no smile… just the worst, the curtest expression of hospitality she had ever heard: “Vladimir will take care of everything. If you want breakfast, the cook will prepare it. I’m sorry, but this is an emergency. Vladimir will look after you.” He walked out of the room with the other bodyguard, the shorter one who worked hard on his hair.
Magdalena was furious but too stunned to show it.
Like a zombie with a heavy Russian accent, the one called Vladimir said, “When you are ready, I take you. I wait for you outside.” He walked out the door and shut it carefully behind him.
His matter-of-fact manner made Magdalena feel as if he were used to hauling one naked girl or another out of here every morning.