The Good Life (for now)

Heidi, aka Milena Wojcik here in the dear EU was having fun thinking of the exciting way her life had turned around. From poor widow to Oleg’s gangster moll? Nah. Nothing sexual there. She was much too old for Oleg and his gang of bikini fanciers. But did it matter to her womanly self-esteem when the only thing she really had to esteem was her growing bank account? Swiss bank account, of course. How lovely to watch the money accumulate. That was only a figure of speech as she had no bank book. Safer that way. She thought of having the number tattooed on her inner thigh, which didn’t seem to be getting much use lately, except for her daily exercise routine. But you never knew what she might pick up in days to come. She wasn’t the type of woman to let herself go. In true French fashion she had become tres chic; and she could still attract attention walking down the street or sitting in cafes, with her wine and olives. But the only men who approached her were from the ancient regime, so to speak. Oh, wait, just the other day a student type approached, but he simply wanted to borrow her unused ash tray. She was tempted to give him a lecture on the dangers of smoking, but that would have been too motherly.

Still, she lived a very pleasant life. Who needs a man when you have money?

She hardly saw Oleg. They were in communication via email which used a lot of misdirecting terms in case anyone investigated their business arrangement. “Did you get the perfume I sent you?” Heidi wished he would send perfume, but at least that terminology was more romantic than asking about the case of sardines. If anyone ever checked, they’d wonder what she’d be doing with a case of sardines. But let him have his fun.

Occasionally, his yacht would pull into the Marseilles harbor and she would go on board for a day’s sailing, but never more than a day. The yacht might be a business write-off for tax purposes, should Oleg even pay taxes, but it was mainly used as a reward for his teams’ efforts. Thus, she got to meet the likes of Michal, Ivan, Felix, Ilya, Dimitri. Aside from the men, it was always stocked with female lovelies of the younger persuasion. Hey, get it while you can, girls. Times remembered, Heidi thought somewhat wistfully.

In a way she was glad those days were gone for her. They took so much effort. Better to have your own money than having to worry about finding a man to support you.

Her arrangement with Oleg had become more involved after the first six months. She supposed Oleg was testing her, to see not only if she could be trusted but also if she could handle what was passing through her hands without getting greedy. Now, with the gift of a very modest Peugeot, she found herself driving throughout southern France, making pickups. She had no idea what she was picking up to deliver to the seaport in Marseilles except it wasn’t drugs. Oleg had kept his promise as far as that was concerned. Though she supposed at this point he could blackmail her into doing anything.

In any case, she had a certain route she traveled once a month a very pleasant drive. Her stops were painless. An antique shop in Perpignan, a vegetable stall in Toulouse, a jeweler’s in Avignon, a soap boutique in Arles, a butcher in Gordes and so on. It was in and out with her legitimate purchases. One had to act the part of a shopper or one might be thought to be collecting something illegal.

Heidi sometimes wondered if this was the life she would live forever. She doubted it. But it was compatible with her capabilities. With the money she earned, she was able to fly her parents back to Poland for a visit, for them to decide whether to retire there. As Oleg pointed out when they first met, the EU was wide open, so she took the opportunity to travel to Paris, Amsterdam, Berlin, Florence. She even took the Chunnel train to London, although her passport was needed there, due to Brexit. What a mistake that was, economically for the British. But for her? Life was enjoyable. For now.

But hasn’t it so often been true that as soon as she was enjoying herself, something came along to wreck it, putting her back to ground zero where she’d have to build yet another ladder to the good life? Harold dying in Thailand. Jerry dying in Scarsdale. Oleg—

She couldn’t believe her eyes. She hated using a cliche because she wasn’t a cliche sort of woman, but she simply couldn’t believe the report in the International Herald Tribune, which she so enjoyed reading, sitting in her favorite cafe.

Allegedly, Oleg Karnofsky, international real estate broker, committed suicide by jumping from the tenth floor of the Hotel Marinela in Sofia, Bulgaria. Bull— SHIT!!! Oleg was definitely not a suicidal type. Oh, yes, the article went on to list all Russian oligarchs who seemed to have a penchant for suicide—or taking poison.

This cannot be happening AGAIN!

What was Heidi to do now? She paid her bill and fled, well, walked in a steely manner, back to her apartment. This was definitely not good news. Oleg was a crook, but he was her protector. His “friends” knew of her, maybe knew what she did for him. They might not be as amenable as Oleg, would hardly consider her proclaimed ethical red lines. And what choice would she have except to deal with them. Or be thrown off some hotel balcony.

Oleg. Death reported in the paper this morning. How fast would his confederates move? Were they already on their way?

She packed two suitcases and called for a taxi. She’d head for the Marseilles airport and take the first plane out of Dodge. Wherever it landed, she would make the connection back to the States. Back to Heidi Fairfax Franklin. Oleg’s gang only knew her as Milena Wojcik, she hoped. But if worse came to worse there was always, dare she even think it, the FBI? Could she claim to be working undercover to discover what happened to her husband Dr. Jerry Franklin, whom she suspected had been murdered by Oleg’s gang? Did that sound plausible?

Hell, she’d think of something. She always did. Heidi Dupont Fairfax Franklin Milan Wojcik was a survivor!