I run after them and scrabble along the wall for the switch. Find it, flip it on. Bright light fills the room, illuminating the dark-haired man who throws open the door and staggers out into the hallway. Fox dives after him. I dive after Fox.
“Don’t! Stop!”
He whirls on me. His pale eyes blaze with something I can only call bloodlust—beyond fury or fight or hate—just the desire to destroy whatever it was that threatened us. I fall back a step and the flame dies in an instant. Blood trickles from a small cut on his cheekbone.
“What was that?” I gasp.
“Just a watcher, I think. Checking on us.”
I open my mouth to tell him that wasn’t what I meant, but he’s already turned away to close and lock the door—as if that will make any difference—so I walk to the bathroom instead and run a washcloth under the faucet. When I return, Fox stands with his hands braced against the door and his eyes shut tight.
“Turn around,” I say.
He turns. I wash the cut gently while he sets his hands on his hips and stares at the ceiling. “I’m sorry,” he says.
“Sorry for what?”
“You shouldn’t have come to Moscow. On our own like this.”
“Of course I should. I’m not a child.” I put down my hand with the washcloth and stare at his chin, which contains a tiny dimple, so small you almost don’t see it unless you’re up close. He looks down at me over the ridge of his cheekbones, wary, and comprehension comes upon me like the beam of a searchlight, smack between the eyes. “Christ Almighty,” I whisper.
He shakes his head and lays his finger over my mouth. I pluck it off and wheel around. I’m too angry to look at him. My skin scintillates with fury.
“Ruth!” he calls softly after me.
“Go to hell!”
I stride back into the bedroom and slam the door behind me. Between the curtains, a smudge of dawn colors the air. I plug the lamp back into the wall and turn it on. No point in going back to sleep. I pull my suitcase from the top of the armoire and yank my dresses from their hangers.
The door opens.
“I wish I could explain,” Fox says.
“Oh, I’m sure you’ve got all kinds of pretty explanations ready. What I want to know is how long were you going to keep all this from me? How long before you told me the whole story about yourself?”
“Ruth, for God’s sake. Keep your voice down!”
“I don’t care who’s listening! Hello? Hello?” I cup my hands around my mouth and shout to the framed landscape above the bed. “We’re having an argument, all right? Just like any married couple! Because you’ll never guess! I married a dirty low-down lying bastard! He told me he had a job, a real job with a paycheck, and it turns out he quit! He’s in business for himself!”
Fox takes me by the shoulders and turns me around—not rough, I’ll give him that, but firm enough to hold me in place in front of him so he can say his piece, in a low, calm voice that only makes me madder. “Ruth, listen to me. I’ll make it up to you. I’ve got—I’ve got money you don’t know about. We’ll be all right, okay? I’ve got things lined up, people lined up, as soon as we’re out of Moscow.”
I throw up my hands. “That’s what they all say. Oh, my luck’s about to turn, I’ve got it all planned out, our ship will come in! Well, I’ll tell you what, buster. Until I see that sail coming into harbor, I’m not counting on a red cent from you. Not a red cent.”
“Fine, then!”
“Yes, fine!”
We stand there panting at each other. The cut on his cheekbone has begun to bleed again. I pick up the evening gown I wore to the Bolshoi and blot away the blood. The sunrise blossoms behind the window. I want to cry at the pinks and golds.
“I promise you, everything will work out,” Fox says. “This outfit I’m working with, they know what they’re doing.”
“Oh, they do, do they?”
“Honest to God.”
“Then I guess you’d better start praying right now, Mr. Fox, because if they don’t? You and I are splitsville.”
The worst thing is, I can’t even ask him the real story. Silently we pack our suitcases and wait for six o’clock, when we can call down and order coffee. I like to think they can’t possibly doubt we’re really married now, a fight like that.
The coffee arrives, hot and strong. I smoke cigarette after cigarette. Fox opens a window and I come to stand next to him, so our words float straight out into the cool summer morning.