Chapter Text
Silence rings in the interview room. Ilya won’t answer any more questions until she picks a new subject.
“Do you have a girlfriend, Mr. Rozanov? People have often accused you of being a womanizer.”
“Not an accusation if it is true. When I was younger, I often had relations with many beautiful, wonderful women. We always ended on good terms. But that is in the past now.”
“So that’s a yes to the girlfriend?”
“Let’s keep private things private.”
“So there is someone?”
“I am not at liberty to discuss. I think you would understand if a woman was involved with me, she should like her privacy.”
“Because of your reputation.”
“Perhaps.”
They stare at each other, in the hard, cold, menacing way the Slavic people have perfected.
***
“Since when has Roz got a girl, man?”
“I don’t know.” Marlow shook his head. “I thought it was impossible.”
“Oh fuck,” Bradshaw said. “What about that girl he’s always texting? The Montreal girl? What’s her name? Jade?”
“Yeah yeah yeah, Jade,” Marlow clicks his fingers. “Didn’t realize they were uh- going steady?”
“It’s Rozanov,” Wheeler said. “Not sure anything is exactly steady with that guy.”
***
“Let’s talk about you, and your brand. The way you debuted.”
“My favorite topic,” Ilya smiled.
“Eighteen years old, away from home, the NHL’s #1 draft pick, signing for an unheard of amount of money in Boston. How did that go?”
“It was excellent. As you just said.”
“Did you have a lawyer who spoke Russian and English when you signed that paperwork?”
Silence.
“I handled it just fine, thank you.”
The interviewer backed off. “Media interviews immediately afterwards have described you as curt, abrasive, rude, and deeply Russian. Does that sound accurate?”
“Ah, you Americans. You always find TV and movies to be more real than your own perceptions. Always believing anything you see on TV.”
“So it doesn’t sound accurate?”
“Does it matter?” Ilya said. “They pay me an absurd amount of money to play a game. I maintain the image they have in mind for me. Everyone is satisfied.”
“I think it would hurt my feelings if the world thought I was a mindless brute simply because I was struggling to answer questions in my second language,” she said, closing in for the kill.
“People see what they want to see,” Ilya said simply. “They find a one in a generation talent coming out of the heart of Russia, they find a way to market it. As I said before, it is an industry like any other. My image is a commodity and I have a vested interest in maintaining it.”
“Do you think the media would paint you as such an aggressor if you weren’t Russian? After all, a lot of American media features mindless Russian or German villains.”
“Again, it doesn’t matter. I do have an aggressive play style. I do like to drive fast cars, meet beautiful women, and I always dominate in any game I play. In the American storytelling tradition, this makes me the villain.”
“And in a Russian tradition?”
“Russians don’t have heroes. We have bad. And worse.”
“So it doesn’t bother you.”
“Ask any NHL player if they find their public persona matches their true perception of themselves. Better yet, ask their wives. It’s part of the job.”
“Do you ever find that you struggle to answer media questions because they’re in English?”
“I may not be able to answer questions subtly but I do not believe anyone could accuse me of not answering them completely.”
She nodded. And turned to her next page of notes.
***
“Sounds like he’s doing it on purpose?” Hardy comments. “The scary Russian act?”
“I don’t think he has a choice,” Marlow said. “Read between the lines. If he wanted to stay here in Boston and play hockey, Roz had to learn to play the real game.”
***
“Shane, honey, come take a look at this,” Yuna said. “Rozanov’s doing an interview. In Russian.”
Shane stopped. Stared at the TV. The same Russian musicality washed over him. He hadn’t heard it in this detail since Ilya's father had passed. He sometimes wished he had recorded it simply to hear Ilya's voice seem so animated and alive.
Here it was again. On ESPN for the world to see. Ilya sprawled out on a leather chain, draped in an unfairly sexy white linen suit.
“Oh, cool,” Shane said, lamely. Captions scrawled across the bottom but Shane wasn’t watching them. He was following Ilya's mouth, those perfect Russian sounds…
“I always thought he was such an asshole,” Yuna said. “His answers to the media, the way he talks to his players. But now I’m wondering… is it just because he’s not that fluent?”
She turned back to the TV after Shane didn’t answer. “Oh my god, he’s talking about you.”