My Women

My Women

Yuri Yakunin

Иллюстрации Vivago

© Yuri Yakunin, 2026

ISBN 978-5-0070-7168-0

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

Magda, the Cop’s Wife

1. If Idon’t catch up, I’ll warm up

The early eighties. I’m on a flight to Leningrad for a business trip. Sitting next to me are newlyweds, Kiti and Vaso, headed off on their honeymoon. It brought back memories of my own honeymoon in Leningrad. I promised to help them out with a hotel.

From the airport, I call the “Evropeyskaya” Hotel. Alla, the senior translator, calls me back after checking with someone and dictates an address — “Yenisei Hotel, 1 Artilleriyskaya Street.” Basically, the central district, right by Liteyny Avenue… a prime location. Ladies’ connections always work, though the price for the favor sometimes exceeds the favor itself.

The hotel turns out to be some strange building — either a new one half-finished or an old one half-renovated — but definitely an ongoing construction site. A mid-range triple room. I recalled my own “lordly” whims from seven years ago during my honeymoon (there’s a story about that), and smiled — different people, different journeys. Dropping the luggage, we sat down to rest. Kiti and Vaso could finally embrace in peace, no longer minding me since I was already “one of the family.” But everything has its limits, so I went to explore the hotel and give the youngsters some space to relax.

After wandering around, I walked into the cafe, habitually scanning the room to decide exactly where to sit; otherwise, I’d be stuck counting flies out of boredom. To the left, in the half-empty hall, sat a “target.” A polished brunette, well-dressed, sporting a large ruby ring. It was immediately clear she wasn’t a prostitute — for a hotel like this, such an outfit on a working girl would be like wearing a Cardin dress with a Gucci bag to a summer dance floor in a rough suburb. But she wasn’t my usual crowd either; women like that usually look at men not just from above, but somehow through them. The old saying came to mind — “If I can’t catch her, at least I’ll get a workout.”

— Is this seat taken?

— The whole hall is empty, or do you think you have a shot at something?

The “you” was a bad sign, but it was too late to back down.

— Heavens, no. With my jeans and your ruby… what “shot” are we talking about? I just figured your ruby is being invisibly guarded and decided to play it safe. I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours. Thought I might pass out after a glass of champagne, and someone might nick my last ten-ruble bill. Your security wouldn’t let that happen!

She looked me over theatrically, as if from the side:

— What, were you unloading cargo crates for that tenner?

The woman spoke with a slight Baltic accent.

2. Half a Bottle of Champagne

— Wrong guess. I’m from Tbilisi, and I wouldn’t fly all the way to Leningrad just to unload cargo crates!

— Darling, — I said to the waitress who approached us, — I’ll take the assorted appetizer platter and a bottle of champagne.

The woman interjected coldly:

— If you’re counting on me, don’t bother!

— In that case, make it half a bottle of champagne; the lady won’t be drinking.

— How exactly am I supposed to serve half a bottle of champagne? — the waitress asked, confused.

My neighbor didn’t even bat an eye.

— Fine, just bring the bottle. We’ll figure out what to do with it.

The brunette pulled a pack of Kent and a gold-plated lighter from her purse. She lit up, blowing a smoke ring in my direction, and said with a touch of disdain:

— I look at you people and I’m amazed. You come from the Caucasus, buy a bottle of champagne, and think the deal is done — straight to bed by evening. It’s simply ridiculous. You don’t actually think I came here to meet Georgians who have nowhere to sleep, do you?

The fact that she shifted from the informal “you” to the formal “you” suggested the disdain was fading.

— At first, I wanted to leave to avoid the cliché advances of some katso offering to share a bottle of Saperavi in his room. Но you’re a bit strange. Are you not Georgian?

The food arrived, along with the champagne and two glasses. The waitress opened the bottle and poured it into both. Good girl, I thought, you’ll get a tip for that second glass.

— I told you, I’m not drinking with you!

— To avoid any questions or misunderstandings: my name is Yura, I’m from Tbilisi, and I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours because there’s a pair of newlyweds in my room. I can’t get in the way of their romance just because I want to sleep. Being from the Caucasus, I can’t drink champagne without offering some to the beautiful, impeccably dressed woman sitting next to me. Your drinking this glass commits you to absolutely nothing.

— I can buy my own champagne!

— I don’t doubt that for a second. In fact, I’ll even let you have the last word: if we finish this bottle, you can buy the second one and treat me, so you won’t feel obligated.

— You’re pleasant to talk to. But if you fall into a dead sleep, where is the staff supposed to carry you? Do you even have keys? Do you actually stay here?

Aha — a test. She’s checking if I live here or if I’m just some wandering gigolo (you can’t hide the accent). This was a big step forward; if she didn’t give a damn about me, I could have slept under the table for all she cared. I twirled the hotel key fob on my finger.

— Yes, you guessed right. I was checking to see if you actually live here. Who knows with you Georgians, you might be a petty thief, — she said with a smile, — though, of course, you don’t look like a thief.

The plate was becoming treacherously empty, and the intimate conversation that had begun was stalling. I didn’t want to be pushy; I felt that if I overdid it, I’d ruin everything. We drank another glass in silence. Then, the lovely brunette summoned the waitress with a flick of her wrist.

I could have said something like, “Don’t worry, it’s already paid for,” or “Don’t insult me; after such a pleasant talk, not paying for you would be an affront.” But for that role, I lacked the oversized “airport” cap and the Zhiguli car keys twirling on my finger. My companion would have had to smell like cheap Polish perfume and sport a “cuckoo’s nest” hairstyle. So, I kept quiet and finished my appetizers without looking up. The waitress approached and handed over the bill.

— This is for my share, and this is a tip for the second glass. Tell the young man that my name is Magda, and if he’s caught up on his sleep by eight tonight, I’m ready to return the favor with some champagne. I think meeting right here would suit everyone.

— I’ll be sure to tell him, — the waitress said with a grin. — I expect I’ll get a tip from him for the second glass as well.

Magda took her purse and departed swiftly, leaving a faint scent behind. Her dress seemed to flow as she moved.

— Young man, should I tell you what Magda said, or are you going to pay me for that second glass right now?

— I’ll pay for the first one too, if you tell me something about Magda. I take it she’s not a woman of easy virtue?

— Heavens, no. I see her here occasionally in the company of some high-ranking police official. She’s supposedly from the Baltics.

As she was settling the bill with me, she added with a mock sense of offense:

— I suppose you’re no longer interested in knowing when I finish my shift? We have a break room with a very comfortable sofa, — the girl continued with a chuckle.

— Does the room happen to stay unlocked at night? Could someone sleep on that sofa?

— You idiot! What did you imagine? That I was planning to sleep with you?

— I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. I have newlyweds in my room and staying there is a bit awkward. If that little sofa of yours is empty at night, I could really use it.

— Well, there you go! And I thought you were serious about the other thing!

The girl tossed my tip back onto the table and walked away, her hips swinging fiercely.

I watched the waitress leave and thought to myself: If I had been sitting alone, she would have served me and I would have been just another faceless customer — good or bad depending on the tip. But here, she became part of a flirtation; her blood started boiling, her libido kicked in, and she wanted a piece of the action. If I had just smiled at her, I’d have a bed for two tonight and wouldn’t be bothering the newlyweds.

At the same time, if the waitress was like a paperback you read on the subway, Magda was a bestseller — though it wasn’t yet certain I’d get to read it.

3. The Mingrelian Couple

After buying some juice, I returned to the room.

— Yura? We were just about to go looking for you. Come, join our table! — Keti chirped in a rapid-fire blur.

I think it’s worth saying a few words about my friends.

The newlyweds: a young Mingrelian couple from Zugdidi.

Keti — nineteen years old, pretty, fragile, with chestnut hair. She was like liquid silver — a domestic Napoleon. Vaso — her age, equally thin in build, also a brunette but already showing a receding hairline. On the plane, unlike Keti, whose energy charged every passenger, he slept the whole way, pretending to read the Izvestia newspaper while holding it upside down. Keti claimed, however, that when it came to eating, drinking, and laughing, he transformed into a fountain of energy, and that his sleepiness was merely the result of the wedding chaos.

Mingrelians — Georgian sprinters in everything except running and pleasure. Practical, they can do everything at once: eat, drink, talk on the phone, watch TV, plan renovations for a new apartment, and notice that the neighbor who just pulled up has a new car… But most importantly, they speak at such a speed that they simply don’t have time to breathe. My attempts to speak Georgian with them were useless. Their rapid-fire speech is like a text without spaces; if you aren’t from their circle, it’s hard to adjust. We spoke exclusively in Russian, as I find “text without spaces” much easier to process in that language. These offspring of wealthy Mingrelians had held their wedding in Tbilisi. To say “wealthy Mingrelian” is an understatement; a Mingrelian without money is like a Chukchi without skis, but you can’t compare a wealthy Mingrelian to a Chukchi because it’s simply impossible to own that many skis.

In the morning, they had headed straight to the airport. Three large suitcases and a bag that Keti carried clutched to her chest. Two suitcases for clothes, and the third… for provisions, so they wouldn’t have to leave the room for at least the first three days. Usually, the first wedding night on a honeymoon stretches until the first hunger pangs. The Mingrelians had planned for that, too.

The table was covered with delicacies provided by their relatives. In those days, luggage wasn’t checked like it is today, so you could have brought a roasted elephant through. But elephants aren’t popular food in Georgia; instead, there were roasted chickens, khachapuri, tkemali, wine, and jonjoli — everything usually found on a Georgian table, plus a jar of red caviar.

What is a Georgian feast without songs and “man talk,” especially fueled by Kindzmarauli? When the conversation turned to my absence, I told them about Magda. I won’t say I haven’t known beautiful women before — I have — but I’d never met a “queen” with her stature, dignity, and lack of verbal fluff or frivolity. You constantly felt she was one step ahead; even though she played your game, she played by her own rules. What constituted a win or a loss was anyone’s guess. A unique kind of “Russian-Woman Roulette,” where only one shot leads to the bedroom. Keti looked at me intently and asked:

— You plan on playing roulette in those jeans? If so, every shot will be a blank. Believe me, I know queens — I’m one of them!

Emptying her husband’s suitcase — luckily, he was roughly my size — Keti began to work her magic.

— Take off the jeans, — the Georgian princess commanded.

Sure, after a day together we were like friends, but standing before Keti in my underwear wasn’t part of my plan. I clutched my pants, fearing she’d start pulling them off herself. Vaso watched her with wide eyes, amazed at how, in a single day, a demure girl could turn into — well, it’s scary to even say.

— What are you two, frozen? Yura, go to the bathroom and change there. Or were you planning to parade in front of me in your shorts? Vaso would slit both our throats, as kind as he is! — Keti laughed.

Half an hour later, I could have been sent to a reception with the Queen of Denmark. The jacket fit like a glove, as if it were tailored for me instead of Vaso. I looked thinner, leaner, even somehow more handsome. Only my shoes ruined the ensemble — while the color was passable, the style was a disaster. Vaso’s shoes, fortunately or unfortunately, were a size and a half too small, and I wouldn’t have worn someone else’s shoes anyway.

— Fine, you’ll go barefoot. Less to take off later! — Keti joked, hugging Vaso and whispering something in his ear.

— Right, — Keti began seriously, — we’ve conferred and unanimously decided: you arranged the hotel for us, so we’ll arrange the shoes for you. But, mind you, I’m the one picking them out! And don’t you dare object, otherwise… — Keti hugged Vaso, gave him a long kiss, and continued with a sigh, — I’ll divorce my husband and drown myself!

We agreed to split the cost of the shoes. As we walked through the shops, it became clear why Keti didn’t wear her bag over her shoulder but carried it in her arms. It was full of money — the wedding gifts from the guests. After buying me shoes in about twenty minutes, Keti sighed and said to the air:

— Now, boys, something for me.

Two hours later, we were back at the hotel. It was half past six; an hour and a half remained until the meeting.

4. The Amber Surprise

— Vasiko, are you taking me to the restaurant? I’ll simply die if I don’t see Magda, — Keti said.

— I’m inviting you both. I’ll introduce you to Magda there, and at the same time, we’ll quietly celebrate the new shoes.

As we were getting dressed, Keti looked at the high-collared jacket and said:

— This jacket is the reason I married Vasiko, and it looks fantastic on you! Right now, compared to this morning, you’re two completely different people.

— Wait, — I suddenly realized, — what is Vasiko going to wear?

— What kind of Mingrelian woman would I be if my husband didn’t have a second jacket? And what kind of Mingrelian would he be if he were any less of a clothes-horse than his wife?

At ten minutes to eight, we set off for the meeting.

By exactly eight o’clock, we were in the daytime cafe, which had transformed into a restaurant for the evening. The place was packed, but one table stood empty, set for four people. Magda was nowhere to be seen. The waitress from that morning approached and told us to take that table, as it was Magda’s reservation. I smiled at her, and she smiled back — she had clearly forgiven me! It was strange, though, that the table was set for four; apparently, Magda wasn’t coming alone.

Just as we began to sit down, Magda appeared. It seemed to me she had been waiting, hidden somewhere nearby.

— Good evening. — Magda looked the part for an evening out. She wore an impeccably tailored, form-fitting black dress with a subtle shimmer, a high neckline, and a low-cut back. The ruby ring from the morning was now joined by matching ruby pendants.

— Allow me to introduce my friends, the newlyweds, Keti and Vaso. I mentioned them to you.

— I am very happy to meet you. I’m Magda. As I understand it, Yura has already told you everything. I figured a Georgian man wouldn’t come to a restaurant to meet a near-stranger who was just returning a favor of a bottle of champagne alone — and I was right! Forgive me, Yura, I was watching you from behind that pillar over there. Let’s use the informal “you.” If you had come alone, I would have left, as it would have looked like I was trying to, shall we say, pick you up. I’m glad I wasn’t mistaken. Well, why are we all standing? Please, sit!

The table was elegantly set in a “Georgian style” as interpreted by Leningrad restaurateurs.

— I wanted to do something nice; I hope I’ve succeeded?

— Very much so, — Keti said. — Yura told us about you, of course, but to be honest, I thought he was exaggerating. It turns out he was underselling it. You look lovely. We brought some Georgian wine along, Stalin’s favorite, “Manavi Mtsvane.”

Vaso pulled two bottles of wine from a bag and set them on the table, then took the champagne bottle, opened it, and began pouring. Magda leaned toward me and whispered:

— Well, you look handsome and elegant. It suits you. I think if you had been alone and looking this dashing, it would have been hard for me to walk away.

We drank to our acquaintance, then I proposed a toast to the newlyweds — to eternal love, to those feelings lasting a lifetime, and for them to have many children as beautiful as they are.

— Oh, a true toastmaster! — Magda said, raising her glass. — I’ll be honest, I came prepared.

— I was in a bad mood this morning. Someone frightened me last night, peeking into my window from the wing of the building. I was already about to call my husband — he’s the chief of the district police in Tallinn. I went in for breakfast, and that’s when Yura sat down with me. I thought… here we go again. I knew he sat there on purpose, but he didn’t let on that he wanted to meet me; he just showed Georgian gallantry. I calmed down. And when I took out my cigarettes and he didn’t rush to help me light up — I actually felt a bit offended. I decided to return the “champagne debt” on a pure impulse. Back in my room, I debated for a long time whether to come or not, but I thought if Yura told you this story and I didn’t show up, it would just be poor form on my part. So I decided to book a table for four and hide. And as I said, if Yura had come alone, I would have left. He came with you and proved he isn’t just a “katso in a flat cap,” as he put it this morning.

— So, as I said, I prepared for this meeting, and I’ve brought you wedding gifts so that you may have a happy life together.

She opened her purse and produced an exquisite amber jewelry box and a matching amber lighter.

— I hope you smoke, young man?

Keti, like a little girl, started bouncing in her chair and clapping her hands.

— Keti, my beauty, you will use this box to keep all the jewelry that your husband and loving relatives will give you.

Keti went over to Magda, hugged her, and kissed her:

— Magda dear, half an hour ago I didn’t know you at all. When Yura was telling us about you, I thought you were some hotel girl, a hunter of Caucasian men. But now, we’ve suddenly become close. You must be a very good person at heart, just like Yura, whom we met on the plane. We sat next to each other, and now we’re like relatives. I didn’t prepare anything, and I don’t know what to give you in return. We’ll leave you our address. You must come visit us, preferably at the end of summer. It will be the most memorable trip of your life, I promise you!

Keti even began to cry from the emotion. The women then excused themselves to the powder room.

5. The Unbearable Gaze

Vaso and I immediately tested the amber lighter. It was styled like a Zippo, but no metal was visible — just solid, exquisite amber inlay. A stunning piece.

— Yura, what’s with all these surprises? Is this some night of wonders? Did you and Magda just fall out of the sky for us? It feels unreal. If I told anyone, they wouldn’t believe it.

Then he suddenly burst out laughing, nearly ducking under the table.

— Now Magda’s husband will show up — what is he, a colonel? A general? He’ll take all these trinkets back, call a squad, throw us in jail for fifteen days for harassing a woman and swindling her out of expensive gifts, and then he’ll whisk her back to Tallinn!

— What makes you say that? — I asked.

— Well, she said she was going to call him after breakfast, and it’s only a three or four-hour drive from there.

Right then, a police major approached from the back of the hall. With a thick Baltic accent, he asked:

— Where did you put my Magda? She was sitting here two minutes ago and suddenly vanished.

He picked up the wine bottle and turned it in his hand.

— Good wine. Stalin loved it.

Vaso instinctively shoved the lighter into his pocket.

— My big mouth is my own worst enemy! — Vaso whispered, turning pale. — Your wife and my wife went to the restroom. Please, have a seat; they’ll be back shortly.

The policeman sat down in silence.

Magda and Keti returned. The major stood up and went to meet them.

— Magda, Viktor called. He asked me to help. Are you having some kind of trouble?

Magda shook the officer’s hand.

— Everyone, meet Ainar, a colleague of my husband’s. He’s here on a business trip, and my husband asked him to help me deal with some “nighttime saboteurs.”

Magda smiled, thanked Ainar, and promised to call for help if needed. Ainar asked where we had bought such wine, or if our friends from Georgia had brought it with them.

— Yes, my friends brought it. Take a bottle and treat your lady friend — I see you aren’t here alone.

Ainar flushed slightly, but as his gray eyes bore into Magda, he said:

— I trust there is no need for us to spread word to anyone about our dinners or our breakfasts. Better we just drink good wine and have a good time. Call if you have need.

The major bowed and departed with the bottle of wine. A lady was waiting for him at a table diagonally across from us.

— Whenever I come to Leningrad to clear my head and wander around, Ainar conveniently goes on a “business trip.” Our rooms are always booked in this hotel — I always have the same two-room suite, and he gets whatever is available.

— Now he’ll rat you out, — Keti said, looking distressed.

— He’s not with his wife either, — Magda parried. — To pleasant surprises!

We drank, and suddenly Keti grew hurried. She “remembered” they had a meeting with relatives on Liteyny Avenue. Pulling Vaso from the table, she lamented that they’d love to stay, but family was sacred. It was clear from Vaso’s face that if relatives were waiting, it was a complete surprise to him. Watching the couple leave, Magda looked at me through her glass of champagne and said:

— It turned out to be a good evening. Chaotic, but unexpectedly pleasant and warm. I haven’t felt this light in a long time. You have good friends; they’re so happy.

— Magda, an indiscreet question: why do you travel to Leningrad almost under guard? Why can’t you stay still in Tallinn?

— I’d rather not talk about that, even if Keti says we’re practically relatives. Let’s just say I come here to visit museums and theaters. By the way, has anyone ever told you that you have an unbearable gaze?