Chapter 11: Day Four – "In Which I Get Engaged"
One thing I notice, the next morning, is that it seems to get much brighter, much earlier, in Kiev. I guess its closer to the east, and the sun rises there or something. But in no time, it seems like the room is bright.
Of course, my internal biological clock is so screwed up, it doesn’t know if it’s coming or going. But, as I open my eyes in the morning, and check my watch, I am surprised at how bright it is for only 6:30 am.
Victoria, again, is already up. I close my eyes and try to sleep some more, and in a little bit, she comes back in the room to check on me. I’m curious by her behavior, so I “play possum” and stay with my eyes closed.
She climbs back into bed and lays down with me. I can tell she wants to wake me up, but she resists for a little while. She is acting a little like a kid on Christmas morning, trying to decide if it’s OK to wake up her parent yet. (And, guess which present she wants to unwrap first…?)
After a few minutes, she starts kissing my neck.
Well, hell... I’m really not that tired…
Later… we sit down to breakfast. Breakfast is pretty much the same every day: Sausage, bread, olives, cucumbers, and cheese. As she is getting the juice, I butter a piece of bread. The night before, at dinner, I had made the mistake of letting her butter my bread for me. The bread came with a half inch layer of butter piled on the top.
Today trying to lower my cholesterol to a level that might be accepted by the FDA, I butter my own bread.
When she comes to the table, I offer her the piece of bread that I just buttered. She looks at and shakes her head, then proceeds to butter her own. I watch her slap on the butter, and wonder if I should offer her a putty knife for it or something.. it would make it easier for her.
She must have read my look, because she starts laughing and says: “I like butter.”
After breakfast, she draws me a hot bath. That’s a mistake, because after that, I am feeling sleepy. I tell her that I need to rest for a moment. She tells me OK, but first she wants do something for me. She rolls me onto my stomach, and proceeds to give me a massage, complete with lotion.
It’s not a sensuous massage. It is one of those massages designed to loosen tired and sore muscles. That is the last straw, and when she is finished, I really am ready for a nap. This seems to be her plan. She draws the curtains in the room and leaves. I nap for about an hour before she comes back in and lays down beside me.
She wakes me up gently and asks me what we will do now?
Well, we talk for a bit. At some point in our conversation, I look at her and say:
“I want to take you to America with me.”
She is very happy by this, and although I have not used the words, we both know what I mean. We talk about America for awhile, and it occurs to me that I have kind of botched things. The Romantic in me is offended by the way I am handling this.
So, I stop in the middle of the conversation, and look her in the eyes, and say, slowly: “I am sorry. I have not done this right” She looks at me confused. I smile and start again. “In my country, it is custom that a man *asks* a woman to marry him. I haven’t done that. So… Victoria, will you marry me?”
She tears up and holds me for a moment. It was one of the few times that I knew she understood exactly what I said. “Yes,” she says into my ear. “Yes, I will marry you!”
There, I thought. That was better. Could have gone down on one knee, I suppose… but at least the Romantic in me can rest now.
After a bit, I ask her where we can go to get a ring. She is not following me, so I get my computer, and begin typing for her:
“In America, when a man proposes to a woman, they become engaged”
She nods.
“He buys her an engagement ring” I type. “And in Ukraine?”
She nods and smiles. She knows where this is going now…
I type some more: “Does the ring have a diamond on it?”
She is puzzled by this, and we have to look up some words. Finally she understands and says. “No, just a gold ring.”
I type again: “Just a gold band? She nods.
I smile and type: “Then I will buy you an engagement ring. So you can show the old women that you are engaged” She had mentioned that some women at work were always trying to fix her up with someone.
She is so happy now that she can barely contain herself.
Then I had to figure out where to get a ring. I asked her if she knew of any jewelry stores. She suggested we go to the department store again, where we had bought my guitar. I tell her, OK, but only if we take a taxi.
She laughs and says that maybe we can find a jewelry store closer, if that’s what I want.
I tell her that will be fine, and ask her again if she would like an engagement ring with a diamond on it. This whole idea of a ring with a diamond seems completely strange to her. She says, no, she just needs a gold band for her right hand.
I pick up my computer, and try to explain it to her.
“This is my plan…” I type, “We will buy you an engagement ring here. You will wear it on your right hand. To keep all of the Russian men away…” She smiles. “ Then, I will buy us matching rings for when you come to America. You will wear this one on your left hand. (I will wear mine on my left hand, too, for we will be in America)"
"However, in America, The ring I buy you will also have a diamond on it. It is our custom."
"In America, you will have two rings. One is a gold band. This is called your wedding band. You also have a ring with a diamond. This is called your engagement ring."
"You wear your engagement ring when you get engaged. You put on your wedding band the day you get married."
"Engagement ring tells the world you are 'spoken for'. You will marry. The wedding band says: You are married.”
She smiles at me when she reads this, and says: “Whatever you want.”
I laugh and tell her that I like the sounds of that.
We get dressed and go shopping for rings.
Since we are going to buy rings I decide to dress the part. I put on nice slacks, a green silk shirt, and a blazer. I get into the bathroom first, since I need some time while she gets ready to figure out my money situation.
Victoria gives me an odd look as I sit down with my laptop. I note it, but don’t think much of it, she emerges later with her “Vogue” look.
I have decided that I can spend a few hundred dollars on a ring, without much worry. I put American cash in the breast pocket of my jacket as insurance, in case the store doesn’t take a Visa.
And off we go.
As we get in the elevator, Victoria is keeping an unusual amount of distance between us, which is very odd. I’m thinking that somehow I have violated one of the infamous unwritten “Russian Rules” that you hear about. (i.e. never buy an even number of flowers, never whistle in the house, never wear your shoes in the house… etc…)
Whatever it is… something must be bothering her. I’m sure of it. All of my instincts tell me something is wrong.
Finally, she turns to me. Aha! I think… here it comes. Mark is about to hear about how he screwed up… I can feel it coming.
“It is bad that we are leaving now,” she says.
Bad? Hmmm… maybe you have to buy the ring when the hour hands are sweeping up or something?
“Bad?” I ask. “Why?”
“Because I want you very badly right now, and it will be hard to walk around Kiev with you.”
Oh.
Geez… with instincts like mine, it’s amazing I’ve been divorced twice, huh?
She somehow soldiers through, though, and we find a small jewelry shop not far from our apartment. It is REALLY small, and we crowd into it and look at rings.
All of the prices were in hrvinas, obviously. So, I am taking the figures and dividing by 5 in my head. Victoria’s math, however, is sharper than mine, and a quick look around is all that she needs. She takes my hand and pulls me out of the shop.
“We will go somewhere else,” she says.
“Why?” I ask, even though I know the answer.
She just shakes her head. “Those prices are…” her hand gropes in the air as she searches for the word. “Crazy,” she says.
I have just managed to do the math and realize that the rings, which had diamond studs on them, were about $200 - $300.
We find ourselves back at the department store. At the jewelry counter there they have a large assortment of simple golden bands. As others have described on here, the rings are a copper-gold color.
Unfortunately for Victoria, she has a real dilemma now, for none of the prices are shown for the rings. She stares at row after row of golden rings. Finally she says to me: “You choose which ring.” I can see that she is clearly stressed over the choice. She doesn’t want to pick something too expensive, because she knows by now that I will be just crazy enough to buy it.
“No,” I say. “I will pick your American ring. You choose this one. I want something that you like, and that everyone will know you are taken.”
She looks at the rings again. She is nervous now.
“OK,” I say. “Pick three rings out that you like, and I will choose the final one.”
She nods, and motions for help. A woman comes to help us and she points to a ring.
The woman gets it for her so she can try it on. Of course, the first thing she does is look at the price. I see her smile and relax a little. She puts the ring on, and it fits. (Good thing, because I’m pretty darn sure that they didn’t have a sizing service…)
“This one,” she says looking at me and smiling.
“You like it? Good… do you want to pick two others?”
She shakes her head emphatically. “No, I want this one,” she says.
I know that the reason is that she is afraid she will choose one too expensive, and that will be the one I end up buying. So, I give in, and buy her the ring “of her choice.” I know that the day is coming when I will buy her the ring of my choice. And I will do this without consulting her, I can see now…
The engagment ring, the token of my esteem, this ring which made her feel like she could go home with her head held high, cost about $60 US. She kept looking at it like it was the Hope diamond.
We walk out of the department store “officially” engaged. And I have the happiest woman in Kiev. (I am told this, by the way, which is how I know…)
A cool front is moving into Kiev. And although my jacket was a little warm earlier, it is just right now. But Victoria seems a little chilled, so I take my jacket off and give it to her. She hands it back.
“You seem cold,” I say.
She smiles and says: “But I like seeing you in your jacket.”
She won’t accept it, so I put it back on.
We go back to the apartment, and I tell her that we will have to go out to celebrate. I get my old faithful “Whats-On” and start looking for romantic restaurants.
Victoria has other ideas.
In a moment she saunters into the room wearing nothing but her engagement ring. It was a very small ring… it didn’t cover much…
Later… I have finally decided that we will eat at the “Empire” restaurant, which is located in the “Premier Palace Hotel. The Whats-On guide described it as: “Luxury interior design. Good atmosphere. Enjoy our chef’s new creations in our panoramic 5 star restaurant.”
Sounds good. And it was. (Just do yourself a favor… and don’t order the steak… Especially if you are a Texan who knows a good steak when he sees one.)
We take a taxi to the restaurant, over Victoria’s small protests. I tell her that there is no way that I am going to walk on our celebration night.
The Premier Palace Hotel is gorgeous. The Empire restaurant is at the top (I think the 8th floor) and offers a fine view of Kiev. Victoria has never, I don’t think, been in a place like this. She is almost too intimidated to eat.
Since the waiter speaks English, as well as Ukrainian, She asks that I order for both of us. I order the Chateaubriand for two. (It was a mistake.. everything else was perfect… the Chateaubriand was a bit tough…) Though she didn't seem to think so. We have a greek salad, and she tells me later that her favorite salad is a greek salad. It is very good. In fact, other than the steak, everything is excellent.
She orders juice with her meal, and I have a beer. (I’m growing fond of this Ukrainian beer. I don’t know the name of it, since the label is in Ukrainian, but I recognize the logo now…) Victoria never has an alcoholic drink the whole time I am with her. Whether she does not drink at all, or whether she was trying to be gentle on my bar tab, I don’t know.
Despite the fact that I think that the meat is tough, our celebration dinner goes very well. At one point, she turns to me and asks:
“Have you watched the television in our apartment?”
What a strange question, I thought. “Yes,” I say. “I looked through the channels. There is not much there.”
“Do they have a music station?” she asks.
“I think they have a couple,” I say.
She nods. And then says the most incredible thing: “Tonight, I will dance for you.”
Waiter… check please!
Ok… now, those of you who think she might be referring to some native tribal Ukrainian folk dance, done with native costumes made of yak hair and goatskins… you haven’t been paying attention.
Those of you who think that the kind of dance she is talking about you usually only get to watch if you have a fistful of five dollar bills… go to the head of the class.
Actually, to Victoria’s disappointment, the music stations on the TV are playing techno-crap. Fortunately, I have a backup… I get my Shakira CD out of my luggage, and slide it into the CD player (which the apartment so kindly provided...)
And... she dances. For the whole length of the CD, she dances for me.
I will never hear “Underneath Your Clothes” again without blushing… When the CD ends... she finally ends my torment, and lets me take her into my arms...
My second day in Kiev ends… incredibly… even better than my first.
I think about that one great scene from the first “Cocoon” movie. In it, Steve Guttenburg gets to make love to a sexy extra-terrestrial (Played by Tawny Welch, Raquel’s daughter.) She undresses, and then touches her breast, and this brilliant white lights shoots around the room, and then impacts Steve. You can tell that he has just had an incredible sexual experience, and as the she closes in on him and the scene fades to black, he says: “If this is foreplay… I’m a dead man…”
Well… if each day keeps getting better… I’m a dead man…
