Evelina was a sexy brunette with a rear-end like Kylie Minogue, the breasts of Marilyn Monroe, the killer smile of Catherine Zeta Jones, and the seductive charm of Catherine Deneuve.
Born in a small Ukrainian village, Evelina knew right from the word 'Go' what she wanted - or actually whom she wanted. She wanted Him, the handsome multi-millionaire.
She had learned all there was to about the lifestyle of millionaires from magazines that her father, who was a merchant marine in the Soviet Union, brought her from distant foreign lands. These lands were so distant that her adolescent heart always sunk deeply when she realized that this fast and glamorous life was so far away, and no one could tell her when she, a girl from behind the Iron Curtain, would be able to access it.
But then came Perestroika, which brought enormous opportunities to Ukraine and its people, including our sexy brunette Evelina. At the age of 18, she went directly to Kyiv to start fulfilling her dream. At first she considered entering a college in the West through some kind of scholarship program, but unfortunately she couldn't pass the entrance exam.
However, this unexpected disappointment, this turn of events, which at first seemed to dash her fragile dreams against the rocks of life for years to come, this very disappointment appears to have led her to take a very unusual and brave decision.
Evelina decided to announce a tender for some lucky man to win her heart, body and soul. She would not try to rope a Western millionaire, but a local guy in Ukraine, since at the time many such promising lads were appearing on the young country's horizon.
The following is the text of the announcement she placed in one of the capital's Russian-language publications, one regularly read by Ukrainian oligarchs.
Young sexy Ukrainian female, a knockout at the first glance, announces tender for love and marriage.
Entry requirements:
Ukrainian nationality, annual income of not less than 10 million US dollars (after taxes), athletic physique, under 30 years old, university educated, knowledge of foreign languages, interesting conversationalist, healthy with a good sense of humor. Also must love unusual opportunities.
See my photo.
Potential candidates will be interviewed on ------------ at the following address ________________.
Warning: any applicant found to have misrepresented himself or used forged credentials will be automatically disqualified.
The winner will not be announced officially, of course, but will know for sure who he is.
The photo Evelina included in her announcement showed her in a tight black skirt and blouse, displaying all her feminine charms in full.
Her girl friends were shocked. "Are you crazy?" they exclaimed. "Of course, some girls go hunting for rich men, but not in such an obnoxious way. What are you trying to do, show us up or something?"
"To prove that obnoxiousness wins over modesty," came the reply from Evelina, which she repeated over and over until her friends finally kissed her 'goodbye' and 'good riddance'.
As for her male friends, Evelina did not have any because she saw all the men that surrounded her as impertinent puppy dogs, creepy spiders or simply not financially well equipped. As far as she was concerned, they did not deserve to hold her hand.
One week before the date of the tender, an average Ukrainian guy by the name of Oleg was reading Evelina's announcement in the newspaper. He was at the home of his friend, Arkadiy, a youngish oligarch. Oleg was employed as a clerk, receiving a salary that just covered the cost of his groceries, some clothes and spending money. They had met at one of the anniversary parties of the bank where Oleg worked and Arkadiy kept his money. Drinking whiskey next to each other at the bar, they soon discovered that they had a lot in common: neither was married or liked the people he worked with and both liked talking about foreign classical literature and repeating lines from Soviet comedy films. Oleg was just a few years younger than his worldy companion.
"Would you help me to win this tender?" Oleg asked his friend, tossing him the newspaper over the couch he was lying on.
Lying on the floor thumbing through the television guide, Arkadiy took a glance at the photo in the announcement. He was instantly shocked but immediately regained his composure and put on his usual bored face. "Sure, no problem, I'll help you. I'll give you all the necessary things to look like an oligarch: a driver with my Bentley, an expensive watch with a few diamonds, a five-thousand-dollar suit, two-thousand-dollar shoes and my lucky handkerchief. You can bring her to this house and say that all this is your property. I'll be away on that day. But remember one thing, you've read the announcement and know that all phonies will be disqualified."
"Yes, I know that, but let me give it a try. Something tells me that this girl can't be all that she is pretending to be. She can't really be so materialistic and ..." Oleg did not finish his thoughts. Instead he just sat lying on the sofa looking lovingly at the photograph of the smiling Evelina.
'There's got to be more to her,' he thought to himself, 'and I want to find out just how much.' This is the way Oleg usually reasoned just before he was about to fall in love.
"Steady on, Man!" said Arkadiy from the floor, as if reading Oleg's thoughts, "I can feel your heart throbbing from down here."
"No kidding!" replied Oleg, who suddenly felt he needed some fresh air. Both men walked out on to the balcony on the second floor of Arkadiy's mansion in Koncha Zaspa, and lit up cigars, smoking them in total silence.
Ten minutes later, Oleg was on his way to the city, in the back seat of one of Arkadiy's luxury cars with a chauffeur behind the wheel. He felt like a medieval knight on his way to tournament.
Then came the Day. Evelina was seated behind the desk of a second-story apartment converted into an office, accepting applications from men lined up in the corridor, who entered one by one for their interviews. She looked like Cleopatra tending to the affairs of her ancient state.
Standing somewhere at the end of the line (the driver couldn't find a good place to park the Bentley), Oleg kept peeping over the heads of the other suitors each time the door opened to catch a glimpse of his queen. Within less than an hour, Evelina had gone through the other applicants and his turn was up.
The moment Oleg walked into the office, she looked directly into his eyes and suddenly dropped a glass of water she was holding. He rushed quickly to assist her: "Did you cut yourself?" he asked.
"No, thanks, I am fine," she answered and suddenly a tear appeared in the corner of her eye.
"Please, wait here. I'll get a broom and dustpan from the kitchen," she said, trying not to look directly into his eyes. "Okay, I'm not going anywhere," said Oleg.
While in the kitchen, Evelina regained her composure and re-did her mascara, returning shortly to the reception, where she saw Oleg seated patiently in the guest chair. From the moment he had stepped in, she realized who he was but stopped short of telling him he was disqualified.
Her heart was pounding so heavily, it was difficult for her to breathe. Her chest was rising heavily. Untrue to her nature, Evelina felt shy in his company. To disguise her anxiety, after asking a few mechanical questions, she lit up a cigarette (which she had promised herself not to do, as she would not permit such behavior from a prospective candidate).
Oleg kept blabbing on about how rich he was, pleased with how well he could lie. But suddenly Evelina cut him short: "I think that will be all." Oleg's face dropped in mid sentence. "You know, I feel tired. Let's go for a ride. You probably came here by car, so let's go for a ride." Oleg's face perked back up. "You can show me where you live," she added. At this point, he had almost broken into a grin.
Within a few minutes, both had their coats on and were headed out the door, leaving the other candidates to ponder their fate in the corridor. They sat quietly in the back seat of the Bentley, letting the sound of the engine direct the course of their separate thoughts.
About half way to Koncha Zaspa, Oleg found himself blabbing on about his interests: music, food, literature and eventually Soviet comedy films. It felt good to start telling a little truth. Realizing that it was a one-way conversation, he asked Evelina her view. "Please go on, I am more interested in hearing about you. I will tell you about myself later. We'll have plenty of time." Again, Oleg started grinning from ear to ear. He knew that this newspaper beauty really wasn't as mercenary as she came off in her announcement.
When they arrived at the mansion, Oleg began to show Evelina around the house. Then he offered her some champagne on the couch - the same piece of furniture on which he had first hatched his romantic deception.
He opened the bottle and poured the sparkling drink into two tall glasses thoughtfully left on the coffee table by his bosom buddy. The lighting, the music, her beautiful face - everything was just perfect. And on an empty stomach, the champagne was going to his head, or maybe Oleg really couldn't be deceptive for long. He took Evelina's hand into his: "Listen, I have to tell you the truth." His own words seem to surprise him. But Evelina wasn't taken back in the least. "You must know ..." She cut him off again. "You don't have to, Oleg. I already know."
But Oleg was on a romantic role and couldn't stop his confession for anything. "No, No. I'm not a millionaire and this is not my house, that Bentley doesn't belong to me."
"I know, I know ..." repeated Evelina, leaning back to enjoy a long gulp of champagne, which was as expensive as everything else in the house.
"But how could you?" he continued, beginning to calm down now. Evelina just lifted her little finger in the direction of the fireplace, where a picture of Arkadiy standing next to his Bentley was hanging. Oleg looked on.
"Damn it!" the young lothario nearly pronounced aloud, "What a nice friend'! He didn't even put his stupid photo away!"
Just as he was about to charge into another emotional volley of verbiage, Evelina again cut him off. "Look a little more closely at the photo." Oleg got up from the couch and walked over to the mantle. This is the first time he had seen this picture. All the time that he had been in that room, he never noticed it before.
Arkadiy, several years younger, was standing next to the luxury car, which he had apparently just bought. And in the car was sitting ... Evelina, just as hot as she was now.
"So you see. I am a pretender too."
"But how did you know all this before coming here tonight with me?"
"Well, besides the Bentley, I recognized you from one of those boring bank parties. I couldn't help spying on Arkadiy as he got drunk with you at the bar."
"So are you still in love with him?", asked Oleg, like an indignant schoolboy.
"Not any more, but we had quite a time together, wheeling around in that Bentley".
Oleg began to look more intensely at the photo, turning it over in thought. 'How could Arkadiy pull such a dirty trick on me.' He thought sullenly.
Suddenly, he noticed a piece of paper pinned to the back of the picture. It was a note from ARKADIY.
Dear Oleg, if you have found this photo, you must already know about me and Evelina. She's as beautiful and seductive as you think, but things didn't work out with us.
P.S. Don't let her drive the Bentley after drinking champagne
Evelina laughed as she read the note too over Oleg's shoulder. "Well, now that I'm here what shall we do now, Mr. Banker? Did Arkadiy ever tell you how much nicer I am when I drink champagne?" she asked.
"No, but I would like to find out," said Arkadiy with renewed resolution and passion. "And by the way, I am not a banker but a clerk - however, you may be interested to know that my uncle Sasha is one of the directors of that bank."
A passionate kiss followed.
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