Red Sparrow

They were naked and feverish in the little bedroom, and Dominika raked her nails lightly between his legs to make him follow her—she thought she must have just invented a new come-along technique—and they were climbing ridiculously over the footboard onto the bed wedged between the bedroom walls. She kept her hand on him, fixing her fingernails a little tighter, and she laughed, her mouth dry with desire. Feeling his skin for the first time, trailing her lips across his stomach, was unreal and dizzying. He looked at her in surprise as she pushed him back, her hand on his chest. Prurient and tender and shy and slutty, she tasted him, and savored the mouthfeel of him, and it was as if they had been lovers since forever. There was never a thought of Sparrow School, or numbered techniques. Dominika simply wanted him.

It was becoming more urgent, her secret self was expanding and filling her head and constricting her throat, and just in time Nate blessedly flipped her on her back and she pointed her quivering toes at the ceiling and the light of a bloated moon rising over the harbor islands came through the window and got in her eyes. She was night blind and moon blind, and Nate was only a silhouette above her, then a crushing weight. Dominika felt a sudden, excruciatingly sweet expansion, and the moonlight was rocketing around behind her eyelids, and she hoped he could keep her heaving body from blowing away like a piece of paper. She felt the hollow rush expand inside her, and then a rogue wave rose up from the deep, bigger than the others, hanging, curling, and she said, “Bozhe moj,” from way back in her throat, and a white-eyed state of grace rolled through her like the wind bends a wheat field.

They lay side by side in the crushing moonlight. Dominika waited for her thighs to stop quivering before turning to look at his moon-wet body. “Dushka, you are very good at agent handling,” she whispered.

The night air had not yet dried their bodies when they heard a key turn in the lock of the safe-house door, and they rocketed out of the bed, and Nate pulled on shirt and pants and shoes, Dominika grabbed a handful of clothes and ran into the bathroom. Nate walked into the living room to see Gable in the kitchen, leaning into the open refrigerator.

“Thought I’d come back to do damage control after the Director’s tour-de-force performance,” said Gable. He turned back to look into the refrigerator. “Any more of those dumplings left?”

“On the bottom shelf,” said Nate. “Yeah, I talked to Dominika about all that shit. I think she understands the diff between us and the suits.”

“I was laughing my ass off when she got pissed at the old peacock. She’s got spirit,” Gable said. He put a container of dumplings on the counter. “So you calmed her down okay?” he asked.

“Yes, Bratok,” said Dominika, coming out of the bathroom, “I am calm now.” She was completely dressed, hair combed and features composed. Nate watched Gable’s face. “Let me reheat the pelmeni for you,” said Dominika. She lit the burner, rattled a pan. “They are best the second time,” she said, “especially like this.” She poured the boiled dumplings into the skillet with butter and fried them until lightly brown on all sides. “But now this way they are best with vinegar,” she said.

The deadly domestic prattle continued as they stood around the kitchen counter eating out of bowls. No one spoke, and Gable occasionally looked from Dominika to Nate and back again. Nate studiously looked at his food, but Dominika returned Gable’s look unperturbed, reading the bloom around his head. Finished eating, Gable ran water in the sink as Dominika put on her coat and said good night. She didn’t look back at Nate as she went down the stairway. Nate closed the door, turning with dread to face Gable, who was walking to the living-room couch with two glasses held between his fingers, a bottle of scotch in the other hand.

“Well, Priapus,” said Gable, setting the glasses down on the table, “run your fingers around the rims while I get the ice.”

PELMENI DUMPLINGS

Roll two-inch discs of wafer-thin dough made from flour, egg, milk, and salt. Mix ground beef, ground pork, minced chicken, grated onion, puréed garlic, and water. Place a dot of filling in center of each disc, moisten edges, fold closed, and crimp. Bring bottom corners together, pinching to attach. Boil in salted boiling water until dumplings float to the surface. Serve with sour cream.

19

“It got away from you?” said Forsyth, leaning over his desk. “You are handling, by Headquarters’ reckoning, one of the most promising Russian cases in the Operations Directorate in the last decade, and you lack the discipline to stay out of her bed?”

“Chief, I know it was a mistake, I didn’t plan it, it just happened. She was freaked out about the Director. He called her Dominique. It’s been building up with her, she needed a connection, she’s been under a lot of pressure.”