Nana thought about this. “No,” she said finally.
“Did he come home from work?” I asked, trying not to sound impatient. Clearly, Nana was having one of her less cogent days.
Nana considered this for about a million years. “Yes.” She paused. “No.” She paused again. “I’m not sure.” Another pause. “What day of the week is this, devochka? I lose track of time.”
“Monday,” I told her. “The first day of school, remember?”
“Monday still?”
“It’s almost over, Nana.”
“Good. Good.” Nana smiled. “If it’s still Monday, that bastard Jakov came to see me today.” She meant bastard literally. Jakov (pronounced Ya-koff) Pirozhki was my father’s half brother’s illegitimate son. Jakov, who called himself Jacks, was four years older than Leo, and I had never much liked him since the time he’d had too much Smirnoff at a family wedding and tried to touch my breast. I’d been thirteen; he’d been almost twenty. Disgusting. Despite this, I’d always felt a little sorry for Jacks because of the way everyone in my family looked down on him.
“What did Pirozhki want?”
“To see if I was dead yet,” Nana said. She laughed and pointed to the cheap pink carnations that were sitting in a shallowly filled vase on the windowsill. I hadn’t noticed them. “Ugly, aren’t they? Flowers are so hard to come by these days, and that’s what he brings? I suppose it’s the thought that counts. Maybe Leo’s with the bastard?”
“That’s not nice, Nana,” I said.
“Oh, Anyaschka, I would never say it in front of him!” she protested.
“What would Jacks want with Leo?” I had only ever known Jacks to ignore or show outright contempt for my brother.
Nana shrugged, which was difficult for her to do considering how little mobility she had. I could see that her eyelids had begun to flutter shut. I squeezed her hand.
Without opening her eyes, she said, “Let me know when you find Leonyd.”
I went back into the kitchen to tend to the macaroni. I called Leo’s job to see if he was still there. They said he’d left at four as usual. I didn’t like not knowing where my brother was. He might be nineteen, three years my senior, but he was and would always be my responsibility.
Not long before my father was killed, Daddy made me promise that if anything ever happened to him, I would take care of Leo. I’d only been nine years old at the time, roughly the same age as that little mugger, and too young to really know what I was agreeing to. “Leo is a gentle soul,” Daddy had said. “He isn’t fit for our world, devochka. We must do everything we can to protect him.” I’d nodded, not quite understanding that Daddy had sworn me to a lifelong commitment.
Leo hadn’t been born “special.” He had been like any kid, if not, from my father’s point of view, better. Smart, the spitting image of Daddy, and best of all, the firstborn son. Daddy had even given him his name. Leo was actually Leonyd Balanchine, Jr.
The year Leo was nine, he and my mother had been driving out to Long Island to visit my maternal grandmother. My sister and I (ages two and six) had strep throat and had to stay behind. Daddy had agreed to stay with us, though I doubt it was much of a sacrifice as he’d never been able to tolerate Grandma Phoebe.
The hit had been meant for Daddy, of course.
My mother was killed instantly. Two shots through the windshield and straight through her lovely forehead and honey-scented chestnut curls.
The car my mother had been driving slammed into a tree as did Leo’s head.
He lived, but he couldn’t talk anymore. Or read. Or walk. My father had him sent to the best rehabilitation center followed by the best school for learning disabilities. And Leo certainly got a lot better, but he would never be the same. They said my brother would always have the intellect of an eight-year-old. They said my brother was lucky. And he was. Though I knew his limitations frustrated him, Leo managed a lot with the intellect he had. He had a job where everyone thought he was a hard worker, and he was a good brother to Natty and me. When Nana died, Leo would become our guardian—just until I turned eighteen.
I had added the cheese sauce and was considering calling the cops (for all the good that would do) when I heard the front door open.
Leo bounded into the kitchen. “You’re making macaroni, Annie!” He threw his arms around me. “I have the best sister!”
I pushed Leo gently away. “Where were you? I was crazy worried. If you’re going out, you’re supposed to either tell Nana or write me a note.”
Leo’s face fell. “Don’t be mad, Annie. I was with our family. You said it was okay as long as I was with family.”
I shook my head. “I only meant Nana, Natty, or me. Immediate family. That means—”
Leo interrupted me. “I know what that means. You didn’t say immediate.”
I was pretty sure I had, but whatever.
“Jacks told me you wouldn’t mind,” Leo continued. “He said he was family, and you wouldn’t mind.”
“I bet he did. Is that the only person you were with?”
“Fats was there, too. We went to his place.”
Sergei “Fats” Medovukha was my father’s cousin and the owner of the speakeasy Gable and I had been at the night before. Fats was fat, which was less common in those days. I liked Fats as much as I liked anyone in my extended family, but I’d told him that I didn’t want Leo hanging out at his bar.
“What did they want with you, Leo?”
“We got ice cream. Fats closed his place, and we went out for it. Jacks had … What do you call it, Annie?”
“Vouchers.”
“Yeah, that’s it!”
And if I knew my cousin, he’d probably made those vouchers himself.
“I had strawberry,” Leo continued.
“Hmmph.”
“Don’t be mad, Annie.”
Leo looked like he might cry. I took a deep breath and tried to control myself. It was one thing to lose my temper with Gable Arsley but behaving that way around Leo was completely unacceptable. “Was the ice cream good?”
Leo nodded. “Then we went … Promise you won’t be mad.”
I nodded.
“Then we went to the Pool.”
The Pool was in the nineties on West End Avenue. It used to be a women’s swimming club back before the first water crisis, when all the pools and fountains had been drained. Now, the Family (by which I mean the semya, or the Balanchine Family crime syndicate) used it as their primary meeting place. I guess they got the space on the cheap.
“Leo!” I yelled.
“You said you wouldn’t be mad!”
“But you know you’re not supposed to go to the west side without telling someone.”
“I know, I know. But Jacks said that a lot of people wanted to meet me there. And he said they were family so you wouldn’t mind.”
I was so angry I couldn’t speak. The macaroni had cooled enough to be eaten so I began to serve it into bowls. “Wash your hands, and tell Natty that dinner is ready.”
“Please don’t be mad, Annie.”
“I’m not mad at you,” I said.
I was about to make Leo promise that he would never go back there when he said, “Jacks said maybe I could get a job working at the Pool. You know, in the family business.”
It was all I could manage not to throw the macaroni against the wall. Still, I knew it was no good getting mad at my brother. Not to mention, it seemed excessive to commit two violent acts with pasta in the same day. “Why would you want to do that? You love working at the clinic.”
“Yeah, but Jacks thought it might be good if I worked with the Family”—he paused—“like Daddy.”
I nodded tightly. “I don’t know about that, Leo. They don’t have animals to pet at the Pool. Now, go get Natty, okay?”
I watched my brother as he left the kitchen. To look at him, you wouldn’t know anything was wrong with him. And maybe we made too much of his handicaps. It couldn’t be denied that Leo was
handsome, strong, and, for all intents and purposes, a grownup. The last part terrified me, of course. Grownups could get themselves in trouble. They could get taken advantage of. They could get sent to Rikers Island, or worse: they could end up dead.
As I filled glasses with water, I wondered what my padonki half cousin was up to and how much of a problem this was going to be for me.
II.
i am punished; define recidivism; tend to family matters
THE WORST PART OF LUNCH duty was the smock. It was red and tentlike and made me look fat and had a dry-erase sign velcroed to the back that read ANYA BALANCHINE MUST LEARN TO CONTROL HER TEMPER. At first, you couldn’t see the sign because of my hair but then they made me wear a hairnet. I didn’t protest. The ensemble would have seemed incomplete without the hairnet.
While I collected my classmates’ trays and glasses, Scarlet kept shooting me sympathetic looks which almost made the whole thing worse. I would rather have just served my time in a completely zoned-out state.
For obvious reasons, I saved Gable Arsley’s table for last.
“I can’t believe I ever went out with that,” he said in a low voice that was still loud enough for me to hear.
Though several replies did occur to me, I smiled and said nothing. You weren’t supposed to talk when you had lunch duty.
I pushed the cart with the trays to the kitchen, then I went back out to the cafeteria to eat my own lunch in the two minutes I had left. Scarlet had moved and was now sitting with Win. She was leaning toward him across the table, and laughing at something he said. Poor Scarlet. Her flirting technique could hardly be called subtle, and I had a sense that this approach wouldn’t work with Win.
I didn’t really want to sit down with them. I smelled like cafeteria fumes and garbage. Scarlet beckoned to me. “Annie! Over here!”
I trudged over to her.
“Love the hairnet!” Scarlet said.
“Thanks,” I said. “I was considering wearing it full-time. The smock, too.” I set down my tray and put my hands on my hips. “Probably needs a belt, though.” I took off the smock and set it on the bench next to me.
“Anya, have you met Win?” Scarlet asked. She slightly raised her eyebrow to let me know that he was the one she’d been telling me about.
“In the principal’s office. She was busy getting herself in trouble,” Win said.
“Story of my life,” I said. I started eating the vegetable potpie in what I hoped was a somewhat ladylike fashion. Even though I was sick of smelling the stuff, I was still famished.
As the bell rang, Win and Scarlet left, and I concentrated on speed-eating. I noticed that Win had forgotten his hat on the table.
Just as the second bell rang, Win returned to the cafeteria.
I held out the hat to him.
“Thanks,” he said. He was about to leave but then he sat down in the chair across from me. “Felt rude to leave you here all alone.”
“It’s fine. You’re late.” I took one last forkful. “Besides, I like my own company.”
He crossed his hands over his knee. “I’ve got independent study this period anyway.”
I looked at him. “Suit yourself.” Scarlet was into him and there was no way I would ever go for a guy she was into, no matter how nice his hands were. If there was one thing my dad had taught me, it was the importance of loyalty. “How do you know Scarlet?”
“French,” he said, and he left it at that.
“Well, I’m done now,” I informed him. It was high time for Win to be on his way.
“You forgot something,” he said. He removed the hairnet from my hair, his thumb gently grazing my forehead, and my curls spilled out. “The hairnet’s nice and all, but I think I prefer you without it.”
“Oh,” I said. I felt myself blush and so I ordered myself to stop blushing. This flirtation was starting to annoy me. “Why did you move here anyway?”
“My dad’s the new number two in the DA’s office.” It was well-known that DA Silverstein was basically a puppet—too old and ailing to be effective. Being the second-in-command was actually like being the first-in-command but without the annoyance of having to run in an election. Things must have been pretty bad for them to have brought in someone from Albany. An outside hire implied a major regime change. In my opinion, that could only be a good thing as the city couldn’t get much worse. I didn’t remember exactly what had happened to the old number two, but it was probably the usual: he’d been incompetent or a thief. Possibly incompetent and a thief.
“Your dad’s the new top cop?”
“He thinks he’s gonna clean everything up,” Win said.
“Good luck to him,” I said.
“Yeah, he’s probably pretty naïve.” Win shrugged. “Calls himself an idealist though.”
“Hey! I thought you said your people were farmers,” I said.
“My mother is. She’s an agricultural engineer specializing in irrigation systems. Basically a magician who grows crops without water. My father used to be the Albany DA, though.”
“That’s … You lied!”
“No, I only mentioned what was relevant to your question, which, if you recall, was how did I get my calluses? And I certainly did not get my calluses because my dad’s the DA.”
“I think you didn’t say anything because you knew who my father was, and …”
“And?” Win prompted me.
“And maybe you thought I wouldn’t want to make friends with a guy whose family is on the opposite side of the law from my family.”
“Star-crossed lovers and all of that—”
“Hold on, I didn’t say—”
“I take it back. And I apologize if I misled you in any way.” Win looked a bit amused with me. “That’s certainly a good theory, Anya.”
I told Win I had to get to class which, in point of fact, I did.
I was already five minutes late for Twentieth-Century American History.
“See you around,” he said as he tipped his hat.
On the board, Mr. Beery had written Those who don’t remember history are doomed to repeat it. I wasn’t sure if this was meant to be inspirational, thematic, or a joke about making sure to study.
“Anya Balanchine,” Mr. Beery said. “Nice of you to join us.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Beery. I had lunch duty.”
“Thus, Ms. Balanchine provides us with a walking example of the societal problems of crime, punishment, and recidivism. If you can tell me why this is so, I won’t send you back to Headmaster’s office for a late pass.”
I’d only had Mr. Beery for one day so I couldn’t completely tell if he was serious or not.
“Ms. Balanchine. We’re waiting.”
I tried not to sneer when I answered, “The criminal is punished for his or her crimes, but the punishment itself leads to more crimes. I was punished for fighting by being given lunch duty, but the lunch duty itself made me tardy.”
“Dingdingdingdingding! Give this woman a prize,” Mr. Beery said. “You may take your seat, Ms. Balanchine. And now, boys and girls, can anyone tell me what the Noble Experiment refers to?”
Alison Wheeler, the pretty redhead who would likely be our class’s valedictorian, raised her hand.
“No need for any hand-raising in my classroom, Ms. Wheeler. I like to think of us as being in discussion.”
“Um, yes,” Alison said, lowering her hand. “The Noble Experiment is another name for the first prohibition, which lasted from 1920 to 1933 and banned the sale and consumption of alcohol in the United States.”
“Very good, Ms. Wheeler. Any brave soul wish to hazard a guess as to why I’ve chosen to start the year with the Noble Experiment?”
I tried to ignore the fact that all my classmates were looking at me.
Finally, Chai Pinter, the class gossip, offered, “Because of, maybe, how chocolate and caffeine are today?”
“Dingdingdingdingding! You aren’t quite as dull a lot as you look,” Mr. Beery proclaimed.
For the rest of the period, he lectured about Prohibition. How temperance people believed that banning alcohol would magically solve everything that was wrong with society: poverty, violence, crime, etc. And how the temperance movement succeeded, in the short run at least, because it allied itself with other more powerful movements, many of which didn’t care about alcohol one way or the other. Alcohol had been a pawn.
I wasn’t an expert on the chocolate ban as it had happened before I was born, but there were definite similarities. Daddy had always told me that there was nothing inherently evil about chocolate, that it had gotten caught up in a larger whirlwind involving food, drugs, health, and money. Our country had only chosen chocolate because the people in power needed to pick something, and chocolate was what they could live without. Daddy once said, “Every generation spins the wheel, Anya, and where it lands defines ‘the good.’ Funny thing is, they never know that they’re spinning it, and it hits something different every time.”
I was still thinking about Daddy when I became aware of Mr. Beery calling my name. “Ms. Balanchine, care to weigh in on the reason the Noble Experiment ultimately failed?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Why are you asking me specifically?” I would make him say it.
“Only because I haven’t heard from you in a while,” Mr. Beery lied.
“Because people liked their liquor,” I said stupidly.
“That’s true, Ms. Balanchine. A bit more, though. Something from your personal experience perhaps.”
I was starting to loathe this man. “Because banning anything leads to organized crime. People will always find a way to get what they want, and there will always be criminals willing to provide it.”
The bell rang. I was glad to be out of there.
“Ms. Balanchine,” Mr. Beery called to me. “Stay a moment. I’m worried we may have gotten off on the wrong foot here.”
I could have pretended I hadn’t heard him I suppose, but I didn’t. “I can’t. I’ll be late for my next class, and you know what they say about recidivists.”
“I’m thinking of asking Win to come out with us this Friday,” Scarlet said on the bus ride back from school.