Jolly Mr. Jones, Introduction
Posted: February 2, 2021
My father told me a piece of traditional Lithuanian advice:
"Don't say 'whee!' before jumping over the pit"
I don't think that advice fits in with the tale I'm about to share in today's post, but I do know that special attention must be paid about my friend Jones, because something terrible happened to him.
It was in early 2019 when I moved in here in America. I had followed the lead of a few relatives and friends. My 5 or 6 fervent readers will recall it is in this period that I began my fruitful new hobby as a 'blogger', chronicling not so much the East European Diaspora in the East Coast than my own personal experience as a stranger in a strange land, trying to find himself. My exploits range from a cultural shock helping out a friend clean his house to an encounter with a scary dog and its even scarier owner, to a wild ride across New York's most proliferous centers of debauchery. All these pale, I believe, to that singular experience I had that November. A haunted dreamer, an ugliness unmasked, a dream stripped to its disappointing bones. I wonder, if it is wise for me to publish this tale, considering the proximity of myself and others to the legal issues it raised, but I fear I won't find rest until I purge the memories from my mind, and writing has and always been my best escape.
It was in the first week of November when I received a message on Facebook from my cousin Natasha telling me to come over. Natasha, or Natalya if we're to go with birth names, crossed the Atlantic many years ahead of me and practically grew up American. Her family, among them Byelorussian nationalists, had to flee after they were spooked by threats of crackdowns on the part of the looming resurgence of Russian influence on the former satellite states, which, as I briefly chronicled in an earlier post, saw the use of deadly toxins on quite a few Soviet dissidents and political rivals. Her parents wanted her to have the life she should've had in the homeland. She grew into quite the specimen of femme fatale, combining American taste and fashion sense with the vitality and allure of her heritage. We were but tykes when I last saw her in person, the ethereal creature I've been talking about was known to me only by video calls. I was, to say, unprepared for the genuine article, in more ways than one.
Natasha lived every socialite's dream: A posh house on the Upper East Side, parties from weekday to weekend and being married to one of the richest men in the East European community of New York. Even without these earthly vestments, though, she was already armed with those big blue eyes of hers that seemed to speak of dreamy, delicious luxury and could bear only to look at the like.
Natasha married Ivan Braginsky, a family friend whose parents had helped Natasha's family secure their footing in the New World. I know even less about him, except that aforementioned fact that he was among the East Side elite. Rumormongers swear he was involved in the growing Russian Mafia in New York, which saw the collapse of Italian dominance in the area beginning as early as the 90's. Of course, I don't really take that seriously. People will say almost anything these days. We are confronted by beauty, success, power, virtue, and we constantly feel, due to a history of lies and disappointment, like we want to deface it, find the dirt beneath, because we just can't accept that such things still exist today.
Anyways, I got up early one fine day in November, at 7 in the morning, which was unheard-of for me. I received a strange invitation to some YouTubers gathering near my neighbor's house. I could tell they were YouTubers because I honestly can't think of any other profession that would require one to fill an entire pool with Orbeez. I ignored it for now. I need to determine whether there was enough time before the party to charge my extravert battery. Humans are my usual subjects in my blogs, but I do need time away from my work. I got on the bus, where the bus lady gave me a succinct summary of New York life's highlights:
"If you sit on the upper deck sir, please bang your foot when you want to stop. Do NOT stand up. Hitting a tree branch at 75 miles an hour has been known to send somebody's ass straight to the morgue. Thank you and enjoy your ride!"
A blonde chick actually very nearly stood up to take a selfie before her boyfriend snatched her back into her seat.
The Braginskys lived in a tasteful saltbox house on a tiny jetty facing the Atlantic near Manursing Island. Three-storied, with neatly-trimmed bushes and luscious flowerbeds, the mansion called to an earlier, more genteel time. Gray bricks were topped off by a black tile roof. A warm, orange glow emanated from the windows. I half-expected to see Lana del Rey peek out of a window and start singing sensually.
I got up the front door and knocked. I was welcomed in by Mr. Braginsky himself. Ivan was dressed in a jet-black double-breasted suit, with matching black pants and shoes. A rich purple scarf completed the look. Something about his broad face, aquiline nose and soft platinum blonde hair seemed to confirm my suspicions that my friends were a bit on the tizzy side when they claimed that this man was among the Russian mafiosos that ran their slice of the New York underground. He looked too soft.
"Nice to meet you at last, Mr. Laurinatis. Natasha's told me quite a lot about you" he said after a bear grip of a handshake. "The ladies are having their little tete a tete upstairs".
The second floor lounge/living room was posh, with a soft white furniture set which may not have been the wisest choice for a party girl whom I'd think would be throwing mad parties day and night. Books lined the pocket shelves on the walls and by the side of the fireplace, or at least I thought it was a fireplace until Ivan pressed the remote and the TV screen switched from the "Virtual Fireplace" YouTube video to a CNN report. Something about some rare new disease in China, but I wasn't paying attention. Two girls sat on opposite sides of the center sofa, one clearly Natasha, the other one I didn't know. She had bobbed blonde hair, and was dressed rather androgynously in her choice of leggings and pink.
Natasha threw her arms around me in a hug that reminded me more of a cat playing with its food than a gesture of affection. "Toris! I can't believe it, you finally came around!" she gasped.
"I did get a bit lost on the bus along the way, I was distracted by a little altercation on the ride here", I replied.
"Well, we all read your blog, it's the exact type of self-aware irony that the folks up here crave" she said, adding with a playful whisper. "Most of them out of a desperate sense of fashion. I bet they can't even spell irony! But Felix and I read them to get woke"
"Felix?"
The girl with us suddenly jumped into the conversation. "Oh yes, hun. Not every blogger has the balls to be as outre as you are these days, with all that cancel culture in the air!" she piped up in a surprising tone. My facial reaction gave me away and Natasha was quick to laugh it off. "Toris, meet Felix Starborne, he's one of the biggest YouTube influencers right now. Oh yeah, he's my best friend too. We do makeup tutorials".
"I'm honored, Mr. Starborne, but I'm afraid I've heard very little about you", I said, embarrassed.
He nodded and laughed. "Yes, of course you wouldn't! Irony columnists are ABOVE noticing such shallow content as makeup tutorials. I do hope you'll take interest in, like, my fledgling career as a singer! I'm transitioning into the music scene next year, I'm collaborating with comedienne Esther Koppelmann, she lowkey spits bars, She's Jewish, but rap really brings out the Borough biatch in her."
"That's nice", I said, as Ivan joined us in the room. Immediately his very presence changed the atmosphere and it was as if we were being commanded into our respective places in the hierarchy.
"Where should we take Toris for a ride?" he asked. "I think the Tea Room is nice. They have a tasty blini menu"
"Tasty, my ass, their blini is nasty. Anyway Cafe is adding all-you-can-eat pierhogi on the menu!" piped up Felix.
"Oh, word?" Ivan said, losing his composure and getting excited.
"Anyway Cafe sounds great, guys!", Natasha hopped out of her sofa. "It's soooo boring. It's New York, the temperature's finally cooling down, and I need to walk around, lose some calories"
"She stuffed herself with cheesy carbonara for her latest mukbang video", Ivan explained. "She spent more time on the toilet afterwards than on the livestream"
"Homegirl wanted to be Boki so bad," Felix cackled, "She ended up being Nick Avocado in drag, the lies you tell, girl!"
"Oh, coming from the biatch who broke a tooth over her last 'Is it cake? mukbang?'" countered Natasha.
"Oh, no, honey, I knew that vibrator was real, I just thought it was set on low-speed". The two cackled some more.
Ivan excused himself. "I'll get the car ready". He left with a grace surprising for his size.
Natasha also excused herself. "I'm never eating carbonara again", she moaned as she limped to the bathroom.
"Lies you tell, gurl" hollered Felix, shaking his head and flickering his long, fine nails. It was just the two of us, and I felt it rude not to let the conversation.
"You did notice the tea, right?" he asked, taking a sip of the proverbial iced coffee in his hands.
"I did" I replied, nervously. "So, who's the one jumping the fence?"
"Ivan is" Felix replied, his voice turning serious. "I'm already trying to find Becky-with-the-good-hair but Ivan keeps it on the down low"
"Does Natasha know?"
"Yeah, gurl, but you know how these studs like to think their girls are dumber than a herd of cattle and just about as helpless. He thinks he can still hoodwink her and come out on top as Mr. Macho Man… Lies they tell!"
"Awful". I said, speechless. Natasha may be a clueless girl at times, but she certainly didn't deserve getting cheated on. "Sorry, I usually put out my words on a keyboard" I told Felix.
"Understood. Don't look now, they're back"
"On second thought guys, how about we just play Exploding Kittens?" asked Natasha. "I need to stay within 10 meters of a toilet". 'Exploding Kittens' being a very fun card game that blends in UNO, Yu-Gi-Oh and cats, a winning formula for sure. We had a fun night saving brain-dead kittens from committing acts of terrorism with tacos and lasers.
I left at around 9 PM, promising them to visit again after a week. Felix wanted to invite me to make a video where we discuss queer and immigrant societies under Trump, and, honestly, I found that a very interesting topic and told him I would strongly consider it.
I got home an hour later and saw a figure emerge from the other house. The YouTuber, I guessed, came out probably to post a "First to count 1000 stars wins 20,000 dollars challenge" video. I keyed the door and greeted my Finno-Swedish gay couple with whom I shared the apartment. I looked again and my neighbor was gone. Maybe aliens took him.
I'm tired.
