I would have not chosen to watch a tell all interview about my daughter with two hundred other inmates surrounding me. I knew however this was perceived I would get the brunt of it for a good long while. I shuffled in with my girls as we took the priority seats in the screening room. I could see the glances towards my way and the knowing smiles. I've been getting them quite a bit these last few months and I'm still adjusting to all the hoopla.
For two years now my daughter Anya became one of the top selling recording artists in North America and soon to be the world. It was not a reality neither Dimitri and I had in mind at all when she was born. But it makes sense. Anya always loved to sing. I think it was her way of grabbing attention in a family full of boys in a tradition where boys reign number one. I remember her working with me in the kitchen at our restaurant trying to hush her from belting a ballad in fear of driving away customers. How was I to know that little voice would later fill arenas? Despite her fame now I am not ashamed of discouraging her when she admitted to Dimitri and myself of her plans to pursue a singing career. I told her a flat out no. I told her she is in America now, she should go to college where she won't have to sing for strange men to give her money. But she refused to go with any other plan. I still remember her sitting in front of me in the visitation room. Her big blue eyes, my eyes staring back at me. "Mamushka you can't change my mind I'm doing this. I'm meeting with the agent tomorrow to see if he will sign with me. He thinks I have a chance. I have to do this." I grimaced. "You don't know what they will do to you in that business" I whispered. "You don't know what I'm capable of" Anya shot back. I closed my eyes in frustration and rubbed my head. "I assume your father approves of this" I groaned. "I wore him down" she replied with a smirk. "Thats because he sad and weak" I huff "But it's not his fault I guess. He is a man." Anya smiles. "Im going to meet with him Mamushka. If he says no. I'll come here next week and I'll just continue my night classes. Deal?" She says as she rests a hand on mine. "There is no deal" I growled "You are twenty-one. You want to ruin your life you do that on your own." Anya smiled unfazed by my glare. I think she's always been the only one in the world unfazed even by my cruelest glare. "You little shit." I sigh. "I love you too" she replies.
What do you know? He signed her. She spent a year in the back of our kitchen writing songs and making phone calls. She started to do shows for nobody, then someone, then a few people, then many. Until one day someone in the crowd videotaped her singing and she became a hit over night. Soon, I would be lounging in my bunk listening to the radio and my daughters voice would waft into my ears. I had to blink away tears before anyone could notice as I would say "You little shit. You wonderful little shit." I wouldn't see her for a couple months at a time due to her jetting off somewhere to do a show or be interviewed. We decided together that I would not announce that was my baby on the radio, I mean who would believe me? With our ties in the mafia and me in prison Anya was sure to be very private about her family life which only made people want to to dig for more information on her. But she did a splendid job skirting probing questions and getting the right people to cover up what we could. But then one day the article came out. In a tell all expose there was a picture of my dear Anya in a long wig and a hat sitting with me in the visitation room. Soon all the wrong people put two and two together and all of our secrets were put on the covers of magazines. Her people were very crafty in spinning the story to keep Anya in a good light. Not to mention my dear girl paid half her fortune to keep all of our mafia connections out of the news and happy enough not to hurt us back. I can't imagine what jobs they have my poor girl doing just to keep my family alive. It makes me sick and boil with hate. But what can I do? Im an old woman wasting away in a prison. After many months of silence Anya decided fine she'll talk but she'll do it on her own terms. So here we are now sitting in a darkened theatre about to watch my daughter spill the beans.
I looked down to avoid any eye contact and feel Nicky sit next to me. "You ok Ma?" Nicky asked. I shrug. "Hey its ganna be fine. Everyone will be all excited about it and then people forget about it in a couple weeks" she assures me. "I don't have two weeks worth of patience" I grumble. "It'll be fine." She repeats. "Im not ready for this Nicky" I whisper. I look up to her and I could see the concern etched on her face. "Ah ma" is all she could manage. We glance forward knowing we're being watched. Two of the methheads are staring at us mumbling to one another. "Eh!" Nicky calls out "Thelma and Louise the shows upfront! Sit the fuck down!" The two scowl at her but take a seat.
As soon as everyone was seated Mr. Healy stood at the front. "Listen uh.." he began nervously "the only reason we are allowing you to see this is to put an end to all the rumors and the harassment of one of our inmates". I rolled my eyes with a groan as the room glanced back at me. But I looked up to see the white haired gentleman giving me an apologetic smile. "So I need you all to pay attention, be quiet and act like the fine upstanding ladies I know you can be." Some hollered quick retorts but mostly everyone kept quiet eager to see the show. The lights were switched off, the screen came alive and the soft notes of my daughters voice filled the room. I let in a shuddered breath and Nicky took my hand.
The first shot was of a serious, well polished reporter explaining the quick rise of my child's career and how she stole the hearts of many. I gazed on as flashes of my daughter performing on stage, signing autographs and hugging fans glinted across the screen. I knew she was a big deal but I was still in shock to witness at what magnitude her success had become. Before I could process much the pictures faded into a shot of a little restaurant. "I forgot what a shit hole that place is." I whispered. Nicky let out a snort. Anya stepped out of the door and greeted the reporter. She did look lovely.
She was dressed plainly in jeans and a black turtleneck. She looked thin though. She hid it well but I could tell she had her tired eyes. The two women hugged and Anya lead the reporter into the tiny establishment. I bit back a growl when I witnessed the state of the interior. The lighting looked dimer, the signs were fading and nothing looked as carefully arranged as I had left it. The reporter was greeted by all three of my boys and Dimitri standing in a military line in front of the counter. She shook their hands and kissed their cheeks. None of my boys looked to pleased to be on camera but Dimitri beamed like a christmas tree. In a cheesy voice over the reporter explained of how Dimitri and I immigrated after the death of my parents and we established our own little shop shortly after. I watched my daughter lead the reporter to the back kitchen as she said so lightly "I thought we could cook together before we sit down for the heavy stuff." The reporter laughed as she took her place by my daughters side.
"What are we cooking today?" the reporter asked cheerfully, playing towards the camera. I could hear a low groan throughout the audience at the gaudiness of this woman. "Well, depends" Anya replied "Do you want sweet or savory?" I watched as my daughter put on an apron, my apron and wrap it around her waist. "Why is she so thin?" I asked myself. I didn't realize I had voiced my thoughts aloud until Nicky gave me another light squeeze. "How about something sweet" the reporter chirped. "Ok well how about we make Syrniki" Anya suggested. "Oh whats that!?" the reporter inquired a bit overzealously. "Its these dough disks with sweetened cottage cheese and fruit. I like it because it's not to sweet but sweet enough." Anya answered. "Oh wonderful!" The reporter exclaimed. Soon the cooking was underway and the two women worked cheerfully together. She kneaded the dough a little to roughly, the filling was a little to close to the sides and she may have cooked the pastries a half a minute to long but to honest she did a good job.
The two women quickly finished up their treats and the light hearted tone began to dissipate. The shot then cut to Anya sitting on the couch in her apartment.
She looked nice so well lit and calmly waiting for the barricade questions. The reporter stared at my daughter with a solemn expression. "Anya" she said solemnly "It's no secret that you and your family have been under fire these past few weeks. Tell me. Is it because of your parents dark past why you have been known for your aversion to open up before?" I let out a scoff. Dark past? Who is this bitch. "I guess you could say that but it actually wasn't as big of a role as you think" Anya responded thoughtfully "I just wanted it to be about my music not about me. I guess I wanted to be seen as a musician before known as a celebrity." The reporter nodded in thought. "Lets go back in time to your childhood. Would you say you were a happy child?" The woman pressed. "I would say yeah. I would imagine I was like any child. I loved to sing since I could first learn to speak, I had hobbies, I was beat up by my older brothers all the time." Anya sighed "I helped at the restaurant a lot but I never felt over worked or forced into the business. Yeah pretty normal." The reporter nodded again with a raised eyebrow clearly taking the answer with a grain of salt. The reporter took in a breath and the silence was deafening. I watched my daughter smile oddly.
"I think you should go a head and ask it" my daughter said cooly. "Ask what?" The reporter asked slightly aghast. For the first time the reporter's reaction didn't seem so well practiced. "About when my mother was arrested."
Again the silence was deafening as the camera eased in closer to my daughters face. She was looking down. I couldn't see her eyes. I could feel every fiber in my being screaming to see her eyes. "All right then" The reporter replied "You were seven when your mother was arrested for her ties with the Russian mafia". "Yes. I was" Anya confirmed. "That must have been very traumatic." The reporter stated calmly. "It was hard on all of us, yes." Anya replied. "Take us back to the day. Take us back to the day when your mother was arrested at your restaurant." My daughter looked up. My grip tightened in Nicky's. There was a look in my child's eyes that I have not seen in decades. I could recognize that look. At first the look is blank like no one is there, but then I start to see a darkness dancing with the lights twinkling in her eyes, the light and dark in a long practiced waltz of desperation. I witnessed so much light in my daughters eyes but there was that unrelenting waltz in her eyes. It was a waltz I had seen in the eyes of my mother when she took her last breathes, it was the waltz I had seen in Dimitri's when the head men would come knocking at our door for another job, it was a waltz I had seen so many times in the mirror. It was a waltz of despair.
They cut to commercial break.