Chapter Twenty-ThreeThe valet guy by the Izbushka place says something to us in Russian. Ariel smiles at him uncomprehendingly and hands over the keys.
I grab Fluffster’s cage from the back and say, “If I come to Brighton Beach one more time this week, they’ll give me a free bottle of vodka.”
We walk up the steps, and Ariel mutters something unintelligible as she stares at the hen legs accoutrements near the entrance.
A bouncer of orc proportions (but clearly human) opens the heavy doors for us and also says something in Russian. We say thanks in English and slink into the restaurant.
The hut is anything but rustic inside. Marble and crystal are everywhere, reminding me of the Metropolitan Opera—especially if someone had recreated it somewhere in Vegas and went heavy on bling.
Cabaret
