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Vlad leads me to what must be the restaurant—a giant, multi-story wooden hut with, not surprisingly, chicken legs where most other buildings would have columns.
As we walk up the creaky wooden stairs, I brush my fingers along one of the “legs.”
It feels as though it’s made from real chicken skin.
Raw chicken, that is.
A nice touch. Always have people think salmonella before a dining experience.
Inside, the place couldn’t look more different from its rustic external vibe if it tried. Marble and crystal are everywhere, evoking Grand Central station and the Metropolitan Opera at the same time.
The party is in full swing, with people shaking booties on a huge dance floor.
There’s also a full-on stage here, with a pudgy bearded dude wearing an outfit that shines brighter than a disco ball. In his hairy sausage-like fingers, he’s holding a microphone and singing his lungs out.
So, this place isn’t just a restaurant. It’s also a club and a theater, it seems.
The music is played on a keyboard and sounds vaguely familiar, but it takes me a moment to parse what the bearded guy is actually singing; his thick Russian accent and this context throws me off.
The song is Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It).
Seriously? Beyoncé would die laughing if she heard this butchery of an interpretation.
Vlad leans in, his breath warm on my ear. “They do a lot of covers at this place. With the American audience, expect a lot of this.”
I try to ignore the pleasurable goosebumps spreading down my arm. “Can’t wait.”
As we proceed further, I notice that most of the patrons are software engineer types—clearly 1000 Devils’ staff.
“There.” Vlad touches my shoulder and points at a table to the side of the dance floor. “Come meet my family.”
Chapter Twenty-One
I recognize Alex right away and guess that the older couple sitting at the table must be the parents.
The mother’s makeup makes me think of burlesque dancers and drag queens, and her exposed cleavage is so big it probably has a name. Helga, maybe? She’s wearing a skintight purple cocktail dress with a confidence I hope to emulate when I’m her age.
The father sports a heavy mustache and in general resembles the singer on stage—hairy and pudgy but with a unibrow that the singer must’ve plucked.
I again feel a slight stab of eyebrow envy. I’ll never take forehead facial hair for granted again.
Neither of the parents have many features in common with the two brothers, but they both remind me of someone. I just can’t say who.
“Mom, Dad, this is the woman I was telling you about,” Alex says as we approach. “She saved my company the other day, and, as I hoped, has dragged Vlad over here today.”
Each of the parents gives me a grateful nod.
“Oh, I can’t take the credit.” I smile nervously. “Vlad had to convince me, not the other way around, trust me. Nice to meet you both.”
Another set of approving nods. If my goal is to get these people to like me, Alex has clearly given me a head start.
“Mother, Father, this is Fanny,” Vlad says, his expression surprisingly cool.
They both get up. She’s ridiculously tall—a good head taller than her husband. Must be where the brothers got their height from.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Chortsky,” I say, extending my hand.
The father ignores my hand in favor of giving me a scratchy kiss on the cheek.
