"You're stuck in my heart,
Like a bullet in the heat of battle.
Shot down and lifeless,
I came alive under your touch…"
She barely managed to pry her eyes open (she’d stayed up late last night, hunched over her computer, finishing yet another urgent freelance job).
Her phone kept blaring the voice of the lead singer from the popular band "No Limits," until her husband, grumbling on his side of the bed, shifted irritably and hissed something about her being a fool for not setting a normal ringtone, and about the idiots who dared call her on a Saturday morning.
Irina finally fumbled for her slippers under the bed, grabbed the phone that was still ringing off the hook, and dashed into the kitchen wearing nothing but a short nightgown.
— Hello!
She’d forgotten to close the small window overnight, so the kitchen greeted her with a biting chill. Autumn had arrived out of nowhere... well, at the end of October, after what had felt like an endless summer. At least, she desperately wanted to believe it had been summer until now.
She stood there, shivering, hugging herself with one arm while pressing the phone to her ear with the other.
— Good morning, Irina Oleksandrivna! We’re not disturbing you, are we?
— Not at all! — Irina replied in her cheerful “client voice.” — Good morning, I’m all ears!
— You submitted your resume to participate in the testing of a new virtual social network, — chirped an energetic female voice on the other end. — Well, I’m thrilled to inform you that you’ve been selected as one of the winners of our competitive process. There will be an interview, though, but it’ll be conducted over Skype. You know, with the quarantine and all…
— Yes, of course, I’m fine with Skype, — she said, her spirits lifting. They’d promised good pay for testing that social network game. Working from home, and not too demanding either (after all, playing a game wasn’t like grinding out mind-numbing articles on topics she didn’t understand and probably never would).
— But there’s one small catch... — the woman on the line paused, as if listening to instructions from an unseen colleague. — You see, at the last minute, the terms and location for our project have changed. On the bright side, the compensation for participants has been doubled. And the winner will take home a hundred thousand hryvnias! — She said the last part with a breathless excitement, as if imagining herself as the lucky winner.
— Changed terms? Could you elaborate on that? — Irina desperately craved a cigarette, but she fought the urge. She’d quit the habit a year ago and thought she’d kicked it for good, but in moments of stress, her body betrayed her with old reflexes.
— Nothing major, — the woman replied in a rapid-fire tone. — Unfortunately, the social network project fell through. It’s too large-scale and expensive, so it’s been put on hold for now. Maybe after the crisis passes… But we’d like to invite you to participate in the filming of a reality show for our TV channel instead.
Irina fell silent. Her feet were freezing, and her teeth had started chattering traitorously. Without moving the phone from her ear, she grabbed a lighter with her free hand and turned on all the burners on the gas stove, then the oven too. Ah, that was much better.
— ...in a beautiful, scenic location. Cozy cabins with everything you need for a comfortable stay, a former vacation resort… — the woman continued, painting a rosy picture of the new show. — Participants will come from all walks of life, different ages and backgrounds. You might remember a show from the early 2000s called "Survivor"? Well, we’re creating something similar, but right here in Ukraine. The project kicks off in two weeks.
— Sorry, but that’ll be mid-November. Are the participants supposed to run around in the snow? On "Survivor," at least they were shipped off to a tropical island…
— We don’t have the budget for a tropical island, — the woman’s tone grew slightly annoyed. — And traveling abroad is tricky right now with the quarantine, as you know. But we need to launch the show during the New Year holidays—that’s when we get the widest audience. People are sitting in front of their TVs, eating potato salad, craving something positive to take their minds off their problems…
"Yeah, by watching a bunch of lunatics who, lured by the promise of big money, get dragged out into the freezing wilderness to do ridiculous tasks like sack races or climbing trees," Irina thought bitterly.
But aloud, she said something else:
— I’m sorry, but I’ll probably have to pass. I have a sick son; I can’t leave him. This would mean going somewhere and staying for a long time, right?
— Well, yes, — the invisible woman agreed. — But the pay is excellent, so you could consider hiring a nanny for the duration…
"Sure, and one for my husband too," Irina thought, her lips twisting into a grimace.
— I’m sorry, I really can’t, — she said firmly. — Please don’t waste your time on me. If it were the virtual game mentioned in the ad, I’d be all in. But I’m not interested in a reality show.
— Why not? You’re a perfect fit for us, — the woman persisted, clinging to her like a burr on a dog. — All the tests, your application—everything’s spot-on. If it’s just about your child, we can arrange someone to look after him for free…
— I’m sorry, but it’s just not possible. Thank you for the offer, though.
— Well, I’d suggest you think it over a bit more. If you change your mind, give me a call. Save my number—my name’s Svitlana.
— Alright. Goodbye!
She tossed the phone onto the table. Running a hand through her messy hair, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror hanging near the kitchen nook. What a disaster! No way was she cut out for TV!
Damn it, she’d been counting on that paycheck…
Her hand instinctively reached for the pack of cigarettes she knew was stashed in the farthest drawer of the cabinet. The lighter flicked to life, and she took a greedy drag, savoring the long-forgotten sensation.
She opened the window, resting her forehead against the cold glass.
That’s how her husband found her when he shuffled into the kitchen for a glass of water, apparently already awake.
— What the hell, Irka! Do you know how much gas costs these days? You’re heating the whole damn street! Turn this off right now! And why are you smoking in the apartment?
His face flushed with irritation, his hair sticking up comically, his pajama pants sagging. He lunged to turn off the gas with the urgency of someone saving his own life. Then he snatched the cigarette from her hand, tossed it out the window, and slammed the window shut with such force that the glass cracked.
— Good morning to you too, — Irina muttered through gritted teeth.