"Jim, are you getting ready?"

"Hmm?" Jim asked, looking up from his book.

Evi walked into the living room clad in a tight-fitting, short black skirt and grey top with a long, frilly V-cut that stretched almost to her middle. She was plunging a sapphire into her ear, looking at her husband most expectantly.

Evi gave up on the earring and crossed her arms in disdain instead. "Have you honestly not even started yet?"

Jim's mind was racing. What had he forgotten? Was there was some banquet tonight? Some function of great importance? Was it a social event of such anxiety and distastefulness that Jim had excised it from his mind, hoping it would simply disappear?

"No," Jim replied, choosing his words slowly and carefully. "I just know that it usually takes you a while, so I figured I didn't need to start so early...."

Evi snorted, rolling her eyes in disgust. "Whatever, Jim. I'm putting on my make-up. If you're not ready by the time I'm done, I swear to God I will leave without you. We're probably going to be late already as it is."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Jim retorted, rather irritated. "You don't have to baby me. I know how to put on a suit."

"A suit?" Evi questioned, incredulous.

Jim narrowed his eyes, bewildered. "Yes...?"

"Seems a little formal for a dinner party, don't you think? Maybe just go with the sports blazer."

Jim exhaled. "Jesus, it's like I'm living in a house with my mother," he said under breath.

"What?" asked Evi, tilting her head up in a mix of condescension and impetuosity.

"Nothing," Jim replied flatly as he wandered over to their bedroom to change.

Jim was just finished fluffing his collar when his curiosity overcame him.

"Evi?"

"Oui?" she replied, not locking up from her vanity mirror.

"Where is this dinner party again?"

Evi smiled and shook her head. "I knew you forgot about it!"

"I'm not saying I forgot," Jim interjected, more than slightly defensive, "I just need some help ... remembering sometimes."

"Uh-huh." Evi tightened her lips, the annoyance palpable on her face.

She wheeled around from her cosmetics table and faced her husband directly. "We're going to a dinner party at Gregor's place."

"Gregor?" Jim asked, trying to maintain a calm demeanour, though his hand was twitching ever so softly.

"We've talked about him before, James," Evi said, in her fatigued, patronizing tone. "He's a friend of mine from university."

"Evi..., we went to university together. I'm pretty sure I've never heard of this guy."

Evi quickly picked up the pace, so much so that Jim had the suspicion her response had been rehearsed. "We were really only friends in first year, back when you and I didn't really know each other. It was just through Ana that I recently got back in touch in him."

"Oh, is Ana coming to this party, then?" Jim hoped his refrain to casual conversation would cover up his interrogations.

"Yep, I think so," Evi said as she got up from the table and dusted herself off. "Okay, ready to go?"

"After you, my dear." Jim held his hand towards the door.

"Oh my! What a gentleman," Evi mocked, kicking her bum up in the air like an ebullient a Depression-era showgirl, coked up beyond all recognition but far too innocent to understand what that really meant.

With all the enthusiasm of a man meandering his way to the guillotine, Jim followed after his wife, closing the bedroom door with the most ominous of creaks.

"This place look right to you?" Jim asked, scanning the house to which his phone map had diligently guided him. It was a rather inelegant, boxy structure, nondescript in every way and the perfect representation of every argument Jim and his wife had made against moving to the suburbs. It was clinical depression wrapped in a neatly decorated, plaster package.

"Yep," said Evi, just a hint of nervousness in her voice, before stepping up and ringing the doorbell.

After a long pause and the sound of feet ruffling across a carpet before thudding suddenly on linoleum tile, the door opened and an uncomfortable burst of light came forth into the night like a holy reckoning descending the heavens. But alas, it was no angel, just Gregor wearing a checkered sweater-vest and blue dyed khakis. He seemed fatter in person, but then again, much the same could be said of Jim as well.

"Hey!" Gregor exclaimed, extending the vowel far too long before leaping down the cement stair to wrap Evi in a hug.

"Hello, Gregor," Jim said, hurrying to end the physical contact as soon as possible, lest he be cuckolded on the very house steps. "Evi's told me much about you."

Gregor smiled, somewhat toothily, and shook Jim's outstretched hand with unfounded vigour. "Only bad things I'm sure!" Gregor held a hand to his belly and guffawed as if he was making the most hilarious joke of the twenty-first century.

Jim winced.

"Darling, come greet the guests," Gregor called, his voice deep and authoritative.

A hunched over, matryoshka-looking woman (both in demeanour and shape) covered almost entirely in a billowing white apron padded with flour and sauces of various colours and smells shuffled towards to the entryway. She stayed shadowed and protected in the carpet-area, not daring to venture down the linoleum stairs to the door. Raising her right hand, she smiled rather uncomfortably.

"Please, Nataliya. Come meet my friends!" Gregor demanded, his arms slapping his sides like a petulant child.

"Or ... we could just go inside," Jim suggested, patting Gregor on the back. "Getting kinda cold out here anyways."

Jim looked to Evi who nodded rather firmly.

Gregor smiled and led them inside.

"Here, let me help you with your coat."

"Oh, you're so kind," Evi said, teasing.

Jim wasn't sure whether to wait until Gregor was finished messaging his wife's shoulders and arms for him to take off his coat or if he should remove it himself, so he just stood awkwardly as Gregor made the clumsiest effort to remove a jacket he had ever seen.

Gregor took notice of Jim's expectant gaze and offhandedly said, "my wife will can get your coat as well."

Nataliya dutifully, though very apprehensively, descended the steps and quickly pulled Jim's overcoat from his back.

The woman was almost entirely proportionate to the house, a more appropriate furnishing than a racist Italian caricature stationed outside a mid-rate pasta restaurant though roughly just as attractive. She was plain in an unoffending but deeply unappealing way, rotundity her only true distinguishing virtue. Her face was almost entirely devoid of features whatsoever, as if the artist had died half-way into drawing her, leaving her edges uninked and ill-defined.

"Thank you," Jim said, as Nataliya hung his coat in a long, mirrored closet, careful to avoid eye contact. "I'm Jim."

Nataliya stared down at Jim's offered hand, not taking it, but not letting it fall back to its owner either.

"Oh, she can't," Gregor replied, apparently having finished groping Evi. "It's an Orthodox thing."

"Oh," Jim responded, "sorry to have offended you." He bowed. Even with only a cursory knowledge of Orthodox Christianity, he knew this likely total bullshit, but the reason they came up with the saying about doing as the Romans was for times just as these.

"So, are Ana and Patrick here yet?" Evi asked, clearly anxious to have someone sane come to the rescue.

"Oh, no. They couldn't make it, unfortunately," Gregor said, exaggerating his condolences. "Looks like it's just us. More food for everybody!"

Jim went white. His wife slapped him, though her look remained focussed on her host.

"Well, let's just hope your wife cooks as good as she looks!" Jim said, deciding to don his charming sociopath mask.

Nataliya quickly turned her head, but even from behind it was clear she had become as red as an overripe tomato. Gregor chuckled dryly; the humour had been lost on him. Evi groaned, but it was subtle enough that Jim hoped only he could hear it.

"Well, why don't I give you the tour?" Gregor suggested.

"Yes! Sounds wonderful," Evi chirped, much too quickly.

The house was as insipid on the inside as it was on the out. Every room was painted in what must have been an intentionally vapid beige. Much of the main floor was covered in a deep brown shaggy carpet that had clearly been left more or less intact since its installation in the early 1970's: the last time such a feature had been considered attractive.

The living room was well-suited to a drivelling bevy of dusty old women complaining about their long-dead husbands over equally bitter tea but very little else. The entirely wooden, poorly padded but strangely ornate furniture all but scorned their presence. It was hard to imagine anything but abject misery arising from within the salon's confines.

Gregor began walking up the stairs. "And the boys' room and the bathroom are up here."

"Okay. Thank you for pointing it out," Jim said, smiling but keeping his feet planted on the main floor.

"Oh, you don't want to meet them?" Gregor asked, directing the question quite clearly to Evi, a strong hint of disappointment in his voice.

"Um ... I wouldn't want to disturb anyone. Better just to let them sleep, I think?" Evi pulled a loose fold of Jim's shirt very lightly but just enough to get his attention. She was looking for support.

"Yeah, I'm sure we can meet them another time when it's not so late," Jim chimed in.

"Nonsense! It's barely past eight. Nataliya just put them to bed. I'm sure Ivan and Mikhail will be mucking around until long after you've gone, the way the little monsters are!" Gregor laughed again then turned to march up the stairs, quite confident he was to be followed.

He was right to be confident. After giving each other an exasperated look, Jim and Evi followed him up the creaking, dangerously slippery, white painted staircase.

"Hello, boys," Gregor said in a hushed but high-pitched, excited voice as he slowly creaked the door. The pair, one three and the other four, were building train tracks across the floor of their room, both half-naked though on different halves.

Gregor shrieked. "Eek! Put on some clothes, you rabbits!" He swiftly closed the door in Evi and Jim's face.

"Did you see the giant crucifix?" Jim asked, keeping his voice low to both avoid eavesdropping and veil his bizarre wonderment.

"Yep," Evi replied, trying not to look directly at her husband so that she could keep a straight face.

"A little ... realistic for children, don't you think?" Jim continued, almost smiling, casually bracing his back against the wall.

Evi covered her nose with her hand, but chuckled. "Are you talking about all the blood or Christ's apparently enormous dick?"

The two burst out laughing, happy to relieve what little amount of stress they could.

Gregor burst open the door without enough warning for the couple to regain their composure.

"Whacha two laughing about?" He asked, playfully curious but also not without a hint of accusation.

"Oh, nothing," Jim said.

Gregor tilted his head towards Evi, probing for confirmation. She nodded, but Jim could feel her tighten up under his gaze.

Gregor dropped his eyes and opened the door to allow entry. "Please, come in," he said.

Jim made sure to firmly clasp his wife's hand before entering. She enjoyed children, but had a habit of getting wistful after meeting them. He suspected that had been the reason for her initial reluctance to come upstairs.

"Come Ivan, Mikhail," Gregor directed his boys, "meet your Auntie Evi and Uncle Jim."

"We're friends of your father," Jim said, a little clunkily, feeling the need to clarify.

Evi dropped to her knees embracing the larger child. "Oh, you must be Ivan! You're so much bigger than I imagined."

"Dad said you're pretty, but you look weird," Ivan replied. Fairly strong words from someone who had clearly inherited his mother's looks, Jim thought.

"Okay, Ivan, that's not very polite," Gregor interjected, but his son wasn't quite finished lambasting the dinner guests just yet.

"And you're fat!" Ivan shouted at Jim, causing himself to erupt into a spasm of giggles.

"Ivan!" Gregor scolded. "You know you aren't to talk like that. Apologize to Uncle Jim this instant!"

"It's okay," Jim offered, certainly not magnanimous, but also not wanting to stretch the encounter any longer than was absolutely necessary. "Your honesty is very refreshing," he told the child flatly.

Gregor wagged his finger and shook his head. "No, no. He must apologize. He must realize his mistake." He waited, totally silent, while Ivan looked up at Jim blankly like a worshipper who had realized his god was a false idol. "Ivan!" Gregor shouted.

"Sorry, sir," Ivan spat out, jamming the syllables together with what looked like genuine fear, his head hanging in dejection.

"Yep. Um-hmm. Apology accepted." Jim awkwardly tapped the child's head to absolve him.

"Do you want to say hi?" Gregor asked Mikhail in a much gentler voice.

Mikhail was tiny, even for a three-year-old, and clung to his father's leg, hiding behind it to protect him from the intruders into his room. Unlike his brother's boorish stance and pudginess, he was thin enough to be confused with gaunt and paler than the house's peeling walls. His enormous eyes flitted between Jim and Evi, large, fearful, but deeply intelligent. They were the eyes of a frightened mouse and wise old owl at the same time: very disquieting.

"He's a little shy," Gregor said, rubbing the boy on his back to calm him down.

"Ah, that's okay," Evi said, standing up to lean over and at least show she wasn't a threat. "I was once very shy too."

The boy didn't recoil, but he didn't move towards her either. He simply stood stalk-still, his body not even betraying a single breath. The only discernible movement came from his eye, blinking abnormally slowly and absorbing all that it saw, like a camera lens set for maximum exposure. Jim could feel the light of the room being sucked straight into him.

"Well, we should probably just check and see if Nataliya needs help in the kitchen," Jim suggested, if only to escape from the satanic scrutiny of the scrawny demon-child.

"Oh, no!" Gregor protested, "she's fine. No need to worry about he-."

"I think we should at least go check," Evi said, nodding her head violently in agreement with Jim.

The couple didn't wait for Gregor to respond, they merely waved goodbye and wandered out of the room. Breathing an audible sigh of relief, they stepped into the hallway. "Okay, time for bed. For real this time," they heard Gregor say. The two exhaled as they realized the torment was over.

"Mmm, that actually smells good," Jim said, commenting on the dinner aromas rising from the kitchen. "Maybe we actually should see if Nataliya needs help in the kitchen."

Evi rolled her eyes. "If you thought half as much with your brain as you do with your stomach, you'd be drowning in Nobels, my dear."

Jim pulled his wife close to him, "Oh, Evi, you know I only think with one organ when I'm around you."

Evi slapped him on the bottom, but giggled as Jim drew her into a long kiss. It was quite some time before they realized Gregor had been watching them.

"Oh, sorry, didn't mean to interrupt," he said, and it was about the most sincere thing he had said all evening, though he had the earnestness of a lusty-eyed voyeur. "No doubt supper's almost ready. Let's get you all settled in!"

With that, he gestured for the trio to descend the stairs to the main floor once again.

The smells of hearty tomato sauces, well-cooked beef and fat, purple-stained beets filled the corridors. Nataliya wobbled towards the kitchen, carrying a giant, bubbly cast-iron tureen of borscht that seemed enormous even in proportion to her rather gargantuan self. Waddling like a leprechaun trying to hide away his oversized pot of treasure, it seemed like a catastrophe just waiting to happen, and Jim couldn't help but envision macabre images of Nataliya spattering her entire body in boiling hot beet's blood, her skin scathed away as it cooked instantly, its smell mingling with the roasted hamburger as her few distinguishable features were finally burned off her unremarkable face.

"Woah! Do you need help, there?" Jim asked.

"She's got it; don't worry," Gregor's disembodied voice answered from the adjoining room.

Nataliya strained, bright-red face and sweat-soaked hair said otherwise, but Jim didn't want to insert himself into some kind of awkward familial power struggle, so he decided to remain on the sidelines and imagine his hostess' impending death. Evi stood beside him, watching in abject horror, but Jim knew her well enough to know that she'd derive an equally sick pleasure from watching a fat woman drown herself in boiling borscht. There simply wasn't any other appropriate reaction.

Finally, the tureen was set in place and the dinner was prepped to begin. Ignoring his own wife, who collapsed on her seat from sheer exhaustion, Gregor pulled out a chair to the side of his own and gestured for Evi to sit.

"Please sit down, my guest," he said, using the formal address lightly, mysteriously, with an aura of flirtation and desire. Evi took the seat and his hand remained at her back for far too long, causing Nataliya to send a pained look in their direction. Gregor straightened and walked back towards his chair at the head of the table, rebuked.

His wife at one side and Evi at the other, Gregor was rather like a medieval king, choosing carefully whether to favour the queen or the concubine from moment to moment.

Jim pulled his own chair back and grumbled to his wife, "I guess I'll just have to seat myself, then."

Evi swatted him blithely on the knee while keeping her eyes pointed upwards to the front of the table and smiling. "Smells lovely," she said, winking to Nataliya.

Nataliya squirmed, bowing her head in embarrassment.

"Yes, my wife has always been a wondrous cook," Gregor said, her face contorted in a look of abstract pleasure as he stroked Nataliya's hand in small, tantalizing movements that made the hairs visibly stand on her arms. "She knows her womanly arts only too well." He winked at Jim, who forcibly held back the urge to vomit.

"Time to eat, I think," Jim said, enthusiastically lifting the tureen and letting a strong updraft of steam burrow itself into the folds of his face.

"Prayer first!" Nataliya demanded, in a gargling, bass-warped voice wrapped strangely in a vaguely Eastern European accent.

"Yes. Of course, dear," Gregor said. He grasped Nataliya then gave Evi a pitiful, near-begging look and Evi reluctantly clasped hands as well. She turned to her husband, but Jim kept his paws tightly tucked in his sides. No house was going to impose its barbaric religious practices without at least a fight.

"О Христос Бог, благослови еду и пить рабов Твоих, для святого искусства Ты, всегда, сейчас и всегда, и во веки веков. Аминь."

"Amen," Evi said, fiercely stepping down on Jim's foot under the table until he stammered out a similar reply.

The crowd opened their eyes and unclenched their hands, though Gregor managed to get one final squeeze of Evi's palm before opening the soup. "Now, it is time to eat!" He said.

Gregor ladled everyone a heaping, over-filled bowl of borscht, taking extra care to ensure that Evi got her bowl first and that nothing spilled onto her placemat. No such attention was given to Jim, who had manoeuvre with surgical precision only for the liquid to sputter out from the sides at the last minute and scald his dainty fingers.

"Fuck!" he cursed, wiping off the burning beet juice from his skin with his plate's decorative doily.

"Oh, sorry!" Nataliya shot up from her chair in horror.

"It's okay," Jim said, holding his hand up to calm her. "Just a little clumsy, that's all." Jim smiled, reassuringly. "Sure is the right temperature, though!"

Nataliya winced.

Jim and Evi watched as Gregor placed a dollop of sour cream in the middle of his soup and sprinkled the dish with fresh parsley. Not wanting to offend any unspoken tradition, they followed suit, though they noticed Nataliya remained motionless, staring over her soup like a witch planning all the future pains and miseries her victims would suffer whilst she stirred her evil, bubbling cauldron.

The borscht exceeded even the wildest expectations that could have been set. Large chunks of beef floated through the bright, reddish-purple broth and the carrots and beets had been cooked just well enough to bring out their flavours while still retaining their colour and crunch. The cook had also taken some liberties with the seasoning and Jim could see whole, roasted peppercorns floating through the soup and taste delicious notes of saffron, cumin and cayenne. Nataliya passed around a remarkably dense, flavourful sourdough bread to dip into the soup that made one's eyes clamp tightly shut in pleasure after every bite, as if they were engaged in the most intimate and loving kiss of their lives.

Only after she had seen her guests completely enraptured in her cuisine did Nataliya venture the first spoonful of soup to her mouth. She scowled, not quite satisfied with her creation.

"It's very good, dear," Gregor said, patting his wife on the arm.

"Yes," "hm-mm," replied the chorus from the other side of the table.

Nataliya just looked down in shame, though there was perhaps the hint of a smile developing on her face.

When Nataliya got up to fetch the next course, Jim decided it was time to launch his inquiry, the real reason he had allowed himself to be dragged here in the first place.

"So, Gregor," Jim said, wiping his face off with their ridiculous long, silken smooth napkins. "How did you come to know my wife?"

Nataliya shot Evi a look of unbridled suspicion before disappearing back into the kitchen.

"Well, it is a little weird, I must admit," Gregor said, giving a wry, uncomfortable smile. "We took a few classes together in first-year and then after that we kind of drifted off each other's radar until a few months ago when Ana reintroduced us at the gym."

"Ahhh," Jim said, poorly feigning his surprise at this revelation. "So you guys are gym-buddies."

"Well...," Gregor said, "actually, Evi has been kind enough to also help me with my Russian. Honestly, Jim, I don't know where I'd be without her. Probably still speaking at a first-grader level." He laughed: big, full-throated, overacted guffaws.

Jim was just about ready to split his head open.

"I'm sure I've told you this," Evi said softly, turning towards her husband.

"No," he replied through a very tightly pulled smile, keeping his eyes on Gregor.

"So, why Russian?" Jim asked. "Not exactly in vogue these days."

Gregor looked down at the table and chuckled. "No, I suppose not. Kind of sad, that is. Eurasian culture is quite extraordinary once you get to know it."

"Delicious too," Jim said, raising his emptied bowl.

"Hmmm," Gregor's eyes flitted over to acknowledge Jim, but he was obviously occupied elsewhere. "I guess I'm just trying to reconnect with my heritage a little bit."

"Oh, you're Russian yourself?"

"No, but my parents were." He paused, moving his head back and forth. "At least, I'm pretty sure."

Jim raised his eyebrows. "How would that be in doubt?"

Gregor shrugged. "When they came as defectors in 80's, it was not a good time, I don't think. They only ever spoke English in our house and cooked," he put on an affectation, "'good, American meal-things'. My parents were very proud to be Canadian, but I think they were also ashamed of what they'd been before."

That or they will were just horribly inept spies, Jim thought.

"Very sad to think that they would be ashamed of who they are," Evi said, her lip twisting in pensiveness. "I can't imagine living like that."

"Well, it was a different time," Gregor said, "Lots of people were ashamed about things back then." He sighed then, speaking more slowly, his cheeks puffed in contemplation and exhaustion, "not a lot of room for diversity."

"Especially of thought," Jim concurred, thinking of his own parents: his mother too afraid to leave a suffocating husband, his father too scared to pursue the enticing women who always caught his eye at the university, the both of them trapped in a cold bed and unloving marriage, imagining better things but never courageous enough to pursue them.

Gregor looked up, his introspective appearance melting away. "Anyways, they never spoke of the old country, so I've always wanted to go there myself, discover my roots, you know."

"In Russia?"

"Yes, in Russia. I'm trying to learn the language a little first so I don't make a complete fool of myself."

"Where in Russia would you go?"

"Do you know anything of their geography?" Gregor asked, curious

Jim replied rather flippantly, suckling on his glass of red wine. "I work for Global Affairs. All I know is geography." Jim chuckled to himself.

"Oh, what do you with GAC?" Gregor sat back in his chair, relaxing.

Evi rolled her eyes, already hearing Jim's pompous, self-important response in her mind. "I oversee the Americas portfolio in our property management department."

"Oh," Gregor's brow furrowed his face taut with artificial interest. "So what does that entail?"

"Uh, generally I just analyze the business case of investing in one place over another."

"'Business case'? Seems like an odd term to apply to government operations, which can afford to lose money rather indefinitely, no?"

Was Jim really being condescended to in the middle of a depressingly under-attended dinner party? There was only one man allowed to insult his work, and that was himself (and maybe Evi, depending on his mood). Everyone else was unwelcome and uninvited.

"Well, actually," Jim hated how he dug into that word, but he continued, his self-righteousness too great to stop now, "it's not unheard of for our department to turn a sizeable profit, especially in markets where long term commitments allow us to realize huge market value. Unlike in other government departments, whenever I manage a project, whether it be fixing the plumbing or building a new embassy, I'm actually improving the value of our portfolio, so we always add more value for the taxpayer than we take."

"Ah," said Gregor, shifting his head up and down slowly, giving his unshaven chin a light stroke. "So, these projects you manage. What do you do with them?"

"I ... manage ... them," Jim said, more than a little aggressively.

"Hm-mm," Gregor mumbled, sipping his wine. He turned his attention to Evi. "And how did you two meet anyway? You've never told me that, I don't think."

Perfect! Now Gregor was trying to assert that his was the dominant relationship with Evi, and it was Jim's that needed justification. Exactly the sort of conversational politics he had cynically expected and was yet so desperate to avoid.

"Isn't that right, dear?" Evi asked. Apparently she had been talking while Jim had been imagining bashing Gregor's skull in with the giant iron tureen. If only Nataliya would come back with it someday....

"Yes, I think so," Jim said, hoping a simple affirmation would suffice.

"Yes, but can you remember the name of that restaurant?" Evi asked, getting a little frantic.

"No. Sorry, dear," Jim said, and within a few microseconds of him saying it he could already see a little shit-eating grin carve its way across Gregor's face. Oh, what he would pay to break that look in two-.

"Yeah, and the rest is basically history," Evi said, finishing her story. Jim smiled at his wife, holding her hand. They went for a light kiss, but Jim glanced ever so quickly at Gregor just to gauge his reaction. Maybe there was a little jealousy there, but it was almost entirely contemptuous.

Nataliya walked back into the room, bearing a wobbling tray stuffed to the brim with the most gorgeously fat cabbage rolls Jim had ever seen in his entire life. His mouth was watering, but he wanted blood first. He went back on the attack.

"So, what about you two? How did you guys meet? An international spy thriller, perhaps?"

"Jim!" Evi scolded under her breath.

Gregor laughed uncomfortably. "No, nothing quite as dramatic as that, I'm afraid. Nataliya and I met on a dating site back when she was still living in Poland."

"Oh, so you're Polish?" Evi asked.

"Ukrainian," Nataliya corrected. Gregor grunted, but didn't make eye contact. Clearly this was a point of strange contention between them.

It was a point Jim was all too happy to exploit. "So, how does that work," he said to Nataliya, "are you from the Ukraine originally? Did you relocate during the civil war?"

Nataliya shook her head and was about to answer when Gregor butted in, saying, "No, she was born in Krakow, but her family is Ukrainian."

"Ahhhh," Jim said, trying to copy Gregor's earlier condescension.

It was clearly working, because it prompted Gregor to continue, "not that that matters any. Nataliya's Canadian now. She just got her citizenship last month."

"Oh, congratulations," Evi said, raising her glass. "Gregor had told me earlier. That's very good for you."

Nataliya shined but looked down at the ground, not wanting to be the centre of attention.

"Would you like some more water?" Gregor asked Evi, leaning just a little as he asked the question. The look of pleasure immediately evaporated from Nataliya's face.

"Oh," Evi replied, surprised, not exactly prepared to assess her hydration levels on demand. "Why ... yes. I would. Thank you." She flashed a polite smile.

Gregor lit up as he took a pitcher from the table and lifted it a few inches from the table, just high enough that it would have counted as a feat of strength had the action been performed by a child, though it was clear this full-grown man was expecting a similar reception. He poured the water slowly from its great height, making a palpable effort to impress his guests (or more likely, his guest) with the beauty of its enticing, light-catching flow.

Was this how he had been with Evi in those early years? Always at her beck and call. Only too happy to serve. His face wrapped in a wide, enthusiastic smile as she stretched her feet out and laid them on him like a piece of cheap furniture. How far would he have let it go? Would he have served her while Freddy watched? Stood over her while they fucked, waiting patiently with a towel draped over his subservient arms to dry them off? Let them pour hot wax on his genitals and extinguish cigarettes on his body for their amusement, silent as they laughed in sadistic pleasure?

He did not know. He had been enraptured. It didn't matter that Evi was with one other man or one hundred. He had wanted her. He had desired her. He would have done anything for her.

And now, seeing the same look in Gregor's eye, it seemed nothing but pathetic.

"So," Jim started, not quite ready to take his poker out of the fire just yet, "a Russian and a Ukrainian under the same roof. It must be a regular Crimea in here, huh?"

Jim took a long sip of wine and laughed in a high-pitched, breathless screech. His wife slapped him.

Gregor smirked. "I guess you could say that. It was indeed a union that was meant to be." He held Nataliya's hand tightly and glowed at her, watching as she slowly melted under his gaze. It was if the layers of fat and age had peeled away to reveal a statue of Venus, realized by the greatest sculptors and most talented artistes of their day.

Jim and Evi immediately stiffened, the blood draining from their faces. This was not the reaction Jim had been fishing for, but now that he had it, he naturally could not resist prying further.

"Wait, what?"

Gregor seemed confused. "What are you asking?"

"Do you honestly think that Russian annexation was a 'happy union' with Crimea?"

"Maybe not best meta-," Nataliya began, attempting the longest sentence she had spoken all evening, but she was silenced by her husband, fuming, his teeth perceptibly gritting against each other.

"I mean ... they voted to join the federation," Gregor said, shrugging, obviously under the impression he had dropped the conversational veto.

"More ballots were cast than voters, Gregor," Evi said, clearly trying with some difficulty to keep the tones of annoyed patronization out of her voice.

"Well, I'm not sure about that but even if it wasn't ninety-nine percent of the population, it was definitely, like, at least upwards of seventy percent that wanted to join."

"And how could you possibly know that?" Jim asked.

"Because they're Russians," Gregor said, exasperated. "It was a Russian province, the gem of the empire, the jewel of the black sea-."

"And legally part of Ukraine, since, I think, the 60's," Jim interjected.

"Legally, sure, but what did Ukraine ever do with it?" Nataliya's face shrank back into her folds of fat like a turtle retreating to its shell as Gregor's voice began to rise. "No infrastructure, no development, no nothing! And now, in a few years with Russia, Putin's already built one of the largest bridges in the world to stimulate trade."

"To link it with his troops, you mean."

"Well, why not?! It's Russian territory, now he must defend it. You wouldn't get up in arms if Trudeau stationed troops in Montreal, would you?"

"Sure, but it's not Montreal," Jim paused, assessing his opponent and carefully lowering his tone, "is it?"

The two men stared at each other, an uncomfortable heat rising between them.

"Dessert?" suggested Nataliya, trying desperately to cut the tension, clattering the dishes as she nervously picked them off the table.

"Oh, let me help you," Evi suggested, steadying Nataliya's hands and clumping some napkins in kind.

"Sure, that sounds like a good idea," Jim added, tossing together some plates.

"No, it's fine. Let them do it," Gregor gestured to the women. "We should retire to my study. There's something I've been dying to show you."

Jim froze.

"I, I think we should at least help," Jim said, hoping the nerves didn't creep into his voice and make him sound like a crackling adolescent at the brutal mercy of puberty with every word he spoke.

"It's okay, dear," Evi said, rubbing Jim's shoulder. "We got this."

"Really?"

Evi rolled her eyes, clearly not content with the situation, but understanding. "Just go, Jim," she said, under her breath.

Jim smiled pallidly. "Okay, lead away."

Gregor led his guest to the study, sealed away by a giant oaken door whose weight was apparent as Gregor struggled to pull it open.

"The stupid thing always rubs against the floor this time of year. I think it's the change in humidity. Makes the wood expand."

"Yeah, that make sense," Jim said, absentmindedly.

"Do you want something to drink? I have some brandy I picked up during my last trip to France, and it is simply delectable."

"Hmm, that sounds nice," Jim sighed, though he wanted more to become impossibly drunk than to taste whatever unjustifiably expensive booze Gregor had returned with from some over-hyped European distillery. Upon reflection, however, he seemed contented that one might follow the other.

"Holy shit! What is that?" Jim exclaimed. At the far end of the room sat a plastic miniature of a prodigiously ornate and ostentatious eighteenth century palace. Jim felt as if he had been transported to the very gates of Versailles.

"Oh that," Gregor said, feigning casual embarrassment. "I must admit I've gotten a bit into Lego recently. I bought a few sets for the kids, but they never seemed to take any interest. I, on the other hand, just loved building all those ninja dojos and knights' castles and superhero cars and all that, and I figured, I might as well just invest and make something a little more substantive."

"What is it?" Jim asked in amazement, cramping his back to examine the golden mythical figures attached to the fountains, the gilded patterns on the palace's facade and the intricate system of tiles that extended up and down the lush, bustling gardens.

"Peterhof."

"Which is...?" Jim asked, lifting his head a moment.

"Oh," Gregor said, as if just realizing that his guest was a complete moron, "it's Peter the Great's palace that he built in the middle of St. Petersburg."

"Cooool," Jim replied, sticking his nose back into the piece more to hide his eye-rolling than out of genuine curiosity. "How long did this take you?"

"A few weeks, maybe a month. I can't quite remember. It's just more of side project."

"All of this," Jim measured the palace, which easily exceeded his wingspan, "in less than a month?"

"It's only like, maybe thirty thousand pieces. No biggie," Gregor was enjoying the adoration.

Jim was enjoying jerking someone around who was so clearly full of shit. There wasn't a single stray piece or collection of blocks anywhere in the house. It was clear Gregor had just bought the piece and was trying to sell it off as his own. "Thirty thousand pieces! And did you have any instructions at all?"

"No, no instructions," Gregor was offended at the suggestion. "Just a few pictures and a general idea in my head."

"Wow, that's amazing," Jim said, clasping at his sides in disbelief. "Do you do commissions? I'd love to have one of these for my house someday."

"Ummmm," Gregor replied as Jim basked in the warmth of revealing the lie. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea...."

"That's okay. I get it," Jim said, slurping his brandy and thinking about what a thrill it would be to find the person who had actually built the palace and expose Gregor once and for all. Maybe he would organize lunch and randomly invite him as a third friend. Maybe he'd mail him letters with screenshots of the kijiji ad, using words pasted from magazines and newspapers to make it look like he was being blackmailed by a professional extortion artist. Maybe he'd contrive a scenario where he accidentally destroyed the set with an act of supreme clumsiness and then demand to watch it get put back together.

Actually, that was probably unrealistic. That would require spending more time with Gregor, and that was the one thing Jim absolutely could never force himself to do. Nothing was worth that.

"So, you and Evi, huh?" Gregor said, bumping shoulders suggestively with Jim.

"Yes, we are indeed married," Jim replied, not making eye contact while taking another two-finger swig of the liquor.

"How did that ever happen? I mean, to be fair, she's kind of..."

"Out of my league?" Jim asked, leaning his back against the wall, tilting his head to show his disapproval.

It was an effective power move. Gregor immediately bowed his shoulders in submissiveness. "Hey, man. I'm not trying to start something. I mean, just look at my wife and look at yours. Let's just say it's pretty clear who settled for the Ukrainian here."

Jim's face contorted in a mixture of consternation and befuddlement. "What's wrong with Ukrainians?" he asked.

"Nothing," Gregor replied, winking, "so long as you like fat Russians!" He bumped Jim's elbow playfully.

Clearly there was some cultural inside joke he was not getting ... with his own countryman. The night was slowly descending into absolute chaos.

"Do you not find your wife attractive...?" Jim didn't know why he was asking this, but once wetted, his curiosity was almost impossible to satiate.

"Well, let's just say she wasn't always quite like this," Gregor raised his eyebrows blithely. "Back when I met here, in Poland, she was one of the most beautiful women I had ever met. In Winnipeg, a girl like her would have not given me the time of day. But over there, it was like I was God Himself, the Man from America! The Maker of Dreams!" Gregor laughed. "I could have loaded up the plane with a whole harem if only I had the money for a ticket."

Jim chuckled, more out of politeness than genuine humour. "What changed?"

Gregor puffed. "The kids, man. The kids! Once Natasha popped out little Ivan, she just, boom!" Gregor made a sound effect and simulated the expansion of a balloon with his hands. "Mikhail actually brought her down a little, surprisingly enough, but the damage was already done."

"Yeah, that's kind of lame," Jim compressed his cheeks, "but, like, you shouldn't be too hard on her, man. For two kids, she's looking pretty good." Jim was generally not a huge fan of disingenuousness, but after having her entire ethnicity being dumped on, he felt he should probably stand for Nataliya just a little bit.

"Hey," Gregor squawked. "I don't need you to tell me that. She's the mother of my children and love of my life." His face glazed over. "I just wish I could fuck her."

"Wait," Jim interjected, spreading out the vowel so he more time to digest what had just been said. "You guys don't have sex anymore?"

"Well come on, Jim. Look at her. Maybe on the rare occasion where I'm exceptional horny and can't find my contacts, but other than that, no."

"And, she's ... okay with that...?" Jim shuddered, holding his aching temple between fingers. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm asking that, it's just, shouldn't you guys be getting therapy for that or something?"

"Nah," Gregor stuck his lip out in defiance. "Nataliya never had much interest anyways. Her preferred sausages always came in long, delicious coils. Ha ha?" he tapped Jim's shoulder again.

"Okay, please stop making fun of your wife." Jim let go of his temple and opened his hand in a dismissive gesture. "You're making me uncomfortable."

"Oh, sorry," Gregor, showing his palms. "Didn't mean anything by it. Once I dip into the brandy, I sort of lose my head, a bit, you know."

"Yeah, whatever." Jim hoped Gregor was being very literal about the alcohol's effects, so he decided to empty his glass and pour himself another.

"And how do you deal with it?"

"With what?" Gregor asked, his eyes wide in curiosity and confusion.

"With no sex?"

Gregor grinned, deviously. "Well, I never said I didn't have sex, now did I?"

Was this finally it? Was this the confession he was waiting for? Would Gregor admit to cuckolding him right then and there? Well, with a prize like Evi at stake, maybe he would. Maybe just to rub it in Jim's face. Who cares about secrecy and discretion, especially when manly pride is at stake.

"Sorry?"

"Just because I don't sleep with my wife, doesn't mean I'm immune to having fun on the side." Gregor winked again.

Gregor starting running his hand against Jim's hair, tracing the side of Jim's newly shaven face with his delicate fingertips. His breath felt warm and moist against Jim's face, almost seductive if not for the stench of cabbage.

"Wait, are you hitting on me?" Jim asked, though by now Gregor had another hand sliding down Jim's abdomen and the question fairly answered itself.

"Um-hmm," Gregor replied, his eyes flitting upwards, seductively, like an innocent little school-girl begging for instruction.

Gregor pushed Jim against the wall and kissed him. It wasn't as unpleasant as Jim would have expected. Perhaps a little prickly with Gregor's five o'clock shadow scratching his face, but his lips were surprisingly soft and tongue remarkably tasty. If not for the total surprise, Jim might have almost liked it.

Jim withdrew, though he could feel Gregor's breathing get heavier, a hotter moisture spreading across his cheek. Jim smiled, "I'm sorry, Gregor. I don't really like you that way."

Gregor broke away, dejected. "Oh, I'm sorry, Jim. I didn't mean to. It's just...," he held his head, confused, "you were looking at me all night, staring me up and down, and I felt it, Jim. I felt it! I want you so badly."

Gregor burst forth, his powerful arms pinning down Jim's body. Jim felt himself go limp and the colour drain from his face. His heart was pounding but he was unable to move, a trembling set in across every limb and extremity.

"You make me so horny, baby," Gregor said, burrowing his face into Jim's neck and licking down the skin, every touch of his tongue shocking Jim like the point of a cattle prod.

"S...t...o...p," Jim said, barely audible, choked by a rush of tears.

"What?" Gregor asked, softly, gently, like an experienced lover, all kind and generous, about to lay with a virgin for the first time, asking questions and whispering sweet, meaningless things into their attentive, tightened ears.

"St...op," Jim coughed. His eyes closed tightly, but they couldn't stop a flood of teardrops dripping down and covering his face in glistening despondency.

Gregor's breathing became regular. He released Jim from the wall. "Oh, Jim. Please forgive me. I didn't mean to. I thought you liked it."

Jim held his nose, his head bent down in shame. "I don't, Gregor. Or, I don't know, maybe I do." Jim looked up. His face was red and wet. He wiped away the tears as best he could, snivelling. "Just not here, not like this."

"It's okay," Gregor said, putting his hands around Jim's shoulders, rubbing them gently, but still with a hint of seduction.

Jim pushed his hands away. "Not with you!"

"Okay," Gregor backed away. "Message received."

Jim took a handkerchief from his package and dried his face as best he could. He sneezed once more into it, and, satisfied that he was at least somewhat presentable, stood tall again. His first footstep wobbled, but after that he found his balance.

"I think it's time to leave," he said, his voice low and hoarse, cracked as if by a whip.

Gregor nodded, his own throat tight and morose. "That's probably wise."

Jim slowly, fastidiously stepped out from the study, but as soon as his feet crossed the threshold, he broke out into a full gallop: no coordination, no grace, just a desire to be rid of the place as quickly as possible. He saw his wife waiting patiently at the table, tapping on her phone while Nataliya scrubbed away at the dishes, spurning any attempt at assistance. Now was time for the final test.

Jim swooped over to Evi who barely had time to acknowledge his presence before he bent down and kissed her, every fibre of his body exuding passion and energy to its very maximum. "We need to leave right now," he said, his voice urgent but inviting.

A barrage of emotions invaded Evi all simultaneously: shock, surprise, love, lust, confusion, trust, suspicion, relief all at once. She looked into Jim's eyes, only imagining the secrets they held, before nodding. She erupted from the table.

"Thank you for supper!" the couple called into the kitchen, though their words were drowned out by the crashing waves of soapy water against enormous, sticky dishes.

Thetwo giggled and ran outside. Their hearts were pounding, their breathingshallow and quick. Sweat stuck to their brows, and their palms felt warm asthey clasped hands tightly. They weren't quite sure what they were running fromor running to, but for now they were running, and that was all that mattered.