Galina Rezinikov put her head in her hands, her eyes scanning the room of cardboard boxes surrounding her in this old, grimy apartment in a bad part of New York. "Everything we've worked for…gone," she chokes out, her trademark red hair shaking as her body was wracked with sobs. It was close to midnight, and they had finally managed to unload every box and possession that they owned. It now sat all around the desperate woman who suddenly felt very claustrophobic in the one place she was supposed to feel most at ease. Her home was now simply four walls – no scents from cooking infused the walls, no fond memories sprang to mind when she looked at the floor. Her old home was saturated with memories. Her boys' heights marked on the doorframe. The first time she baked the perfect pie. Now…nothingness. An empty shell that she was supposed to love.
Her husband, Dmitri, put his work roughened hand on her shoulder, sighing. "It was for the best, Galina," he says sadly. He lowers his voice to a harsh whisper, though they were alone. "We don't want to get mixed up with those people. Plokhiye novosti, I'm telling you."
"I know, I know," she insists, placing her own hand over his on her shoulder. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have lost my temper…our business, our boys, our home. All lost because of a badly made tit!" The Russian's temper flared as she struggled to contain her emotions whilst recalling that fateful day where her fiery temperament finally got the better of her. Her husband rubs her shoulder absently, attempting to comfort her whilst gathering his own emotions together.
"We'll get new jobs, and make this place our home." He looks around, his face betraying his true feelings toward the dump they now called home. His next words, however hollow they were to her, were sincere. "Galina, all I need is you."
"You won't be saying that when your stomach is growling for food or your clothes are ragged, you old fool." Her words cut the awkwardness of their new surroundings as Dmitri smiles down at his ever-loving wife. Her life may be broken into shards, but her spirit was still strongly intact and her backbone held her up in one piece. "I only know how to run a bakery. I don't know what job you expect me to get," she says flatly.
"You know how to be a mother," he offers, seemingly uselessly, though his compliment was sweet. Galina stares up at him incredulously. He explains further. "We are not that far away from the rich part of the city. There are many children from wealthy families who need a nanny, Galina. It pays well and it's one of the things you know you are good at. You always needed someone to take care of."
Smiling at her husband's words, she considered his theory. Her boys were mostly grown now. The thought of her own children made her eyes water and she shook her head. "I couldn't have been that much of a good mother. My own sons jumped ship like fucking rats."
Dmitri smarted at her tone and language. "Dorogaya, that's not fair. They have their own lives to lead now. You've raised them so that they can venture into the world. Not like rats, like…" he considered for a moment. "Like little ants. Hard working."
"Yes, like ants, they'll only come back when something sweet is offered, and they're a pain to get rid of." Galina shook her head. "They're still my boys, Dmitri. But saints they are not." He laughs at his wife, somehow blunt with her sharp tongue. "Maybe you are right."
"I am always right, my dorogaya," he laughs. "Tomorrow will be a new day. We'll find jobs. Pay the rent. Make a life here again. No tit punching. No more mixing with those types of people."
Galina nods. "Just me and you," she sighs, finally feeling a little better about their new situation. She sat up straight. There was no time to be weak here. Besides, she reminded herself, Galina Reznikov is never weak.
Falling into bed that night, grasping at her own blankets, which were a homely comfort in this unfamiliar neighborhood and apartment, thoughts swirled around in her head until the darkness of sleep took over her body. The welcome escape did not take long to take hold, and Galina fell asleep in the safe comfort of her husband's arms.
Galina rose before the sun as she was so used to being up and baking for the customers of her bakery, and so she found herself at a loss. After writing a hastily scribbled note to Dmitri, Galina decides to try her luck at finding a job. It takes her forty minutes to walk to the nice part of town, by which time her back ached, throbbing with every step she took, and the sun had finally risen. Her courage wavering with every step she took closer to the first door, Galina knocked on the door with a shaking fist. It was quickly slammed shut in her face with a terse, "We don't want whatever you're selling."
The next house was similar, with the owner not even opening the door. Sighing, Galina walked to the third house. Her head throbbed with hunger and tiredness, but still she knocked. Her hope fell at her feet when a young woman opened the door, clearly busy with a baby. The woman smiled kindly, but Galina still sighed. The woman was clearly the nanny to the little boy she held in her arms, who was much paler than her own olive complexion.
"Good morning," the woman says politely, a Spanish accent colouring her tone with exoticism. "Are you here to see Mrs Evans?" Galina shakes her head, holding her back.
"No," she sighs. "I was looking for a job." The nanny smiles, nodding as if Galina is an old friend.
"Ah," she smiles. "Well, there's a family just down the block – the last house on the left – whose nanny just left. Mrs Nichols is being run ragged, I've heard."
"Can't handle her own kids, no?" Galina asks, shaking her head once again.
"Just the one. A little girl around eleven," the nanny elaborates. "She'll be wanting to go to work soon. Catch her and tell her that you're a friend of Marina's. Or Mrs Evan's nanny – she probably doesn't know my name."
Galina nods gratefully. "Thank you."
The nanny – Marina – smiles back, and closes the door gently, cooing to the baby as she does so. A girl of eleven. Too old to need a nanny, Galina thinks. A tricky age.
Still, with no money and no way to pay the rent, and somewhat intrigued by this neighborhood, Galina knocks on the last house on the left, her fingers crossed hopefully behind her back.
This'll be my first multi-chapter OITNB. I hope you like the first chapter and you like where it's headed. All the Russian was translated using Google, so I'm sorry if any of it is wrong!
Plokhiye novosti – bad news
Dorogaya – darling/dear