A Million Different Ways (Horn Duet 1)
“There’s a greater chance of me becoming the queen of England than going back there.”
“Shit! That bad?!”
I picked nervously at the frayed hole on the knee of my jeans, tried to tuck the loose fibers back into the open weave but only succeeded in making it worse. “Unfortunately, yes.”
A pair of elderly men walked past us at a snail’s pace, arms locked behind their backs, bickering about the cost of living. One of them tipped his hat at me and I forced the corners of my mouth into a poor imitation of a smile.
“Have you heard anything from the hospitals?”
“Nothing…yet.” My voice sounded weirdly high, my feeble attempt at optimism falling flat. I had applied for a residency position at half a dozen local hospitals months ago and hadn’t received a single response. My three month grace period had expired.
Originally signed in 1985, the Schengen Agreement allows EU residence to travel freely across borders without having to stop at checkpoints and show a passport. In 2008 Switzerland became the twenty-fifth country to join. More importantly, the law allows EU residents to obtain a temporary visa lasting ninety days within a six month period. Unfortunately that day had come and gone for me. And since Switzerland is notoriously strict about enforcing the limit––lawbreakers are routinely rounded up and deported after being subjected to enormous fines––I was constantly looking over my shoulder.
Thanks to the global economic meltdown, a blanket of hopelessness had settled over Europe. Not only was it suffocating growth and opportunity, it was also fueling an alarming anti-immigration movement. Previously fringe, far-right political parties were gaining momentum in Italy, Greece, Switzerland, and the Netherlands. Austerity policies had given birth to a destructive mentality of scarcity, a perfect breeding ground for hate and intolerance. Cracking down on immigration suddenly seemed to be the solution to every evil. No one wanted to acknowledge how closely it had begun to resemble a cycle of unpleasant history in Europe.
Italy had taken a big hit. The economy unraveled with each descending tick of the Italian stock market. By the time I graduated from the University of Milan medical school, funding for state-run hospitals had been reduced to the bare minimum. And since Switzerland’s recognition of medical degrees from Italy is automatic, the decision to leave the relative safety of Milan, a city I had grown to love, was an easy one. I jumped on a bus headed north and three hours later found myself in a new country, with a renewed sense of hope.
Geneva is a grande dame, an elegant lady, hosting a dinner party for friends from all around the globe. Arabic men dressed in traditional thobes are as common as young mothers pushing designer baby strollers in their workout spandex. Add to that bankers, students, and foreign dignitaries and what you get is a city filled with an eclectic mix of people who fit together as neatly as a colorful puzzle. I fell in love with her instantly. My shining city upon a hill. But as beautiful as she is, routinely ranking as one of the best cities in the world to live in, she also ranks as one of the most expensive. Financially, I was barely surviving, one paycheck away from total ruin.
“How are things with Yuri?” I asked out of habit. She brushed my concern away with a wave of her hand.
“Yuri isn’t that bad. I can handle him.”
I turned to look at her, an expression of disbelief plain on my face. “You can handle him?” Her eyes flickered away, scrupulously avoiding my glare. “Emi, he’s involved with the Russian mafia. It’s no secret. I’m very worried for you. And what about your modeling career? Have you given up on that?” Something about Emilia triggered fiercely protective instincts in me. It had always been that way between us, since the day we met in grade school.
The pale skin between Emilia’s arched, black brows puckered. “No––” She stopped chewing her food and stared at the sandwich in her hand. “But I’m tired of starving myself, of getting up at four in the morning, of begging for jobs.” She threw the rest of her sandwich away and crossed her arms. “Yuri takes care of me. Did I tell you he wants to buy me a brand new BMW? It’s red––my favorite color.”
What could I say? I was exhausted, buried under a mountain of my own problems. I didn’t have the energy to debate all the dangers she faced with this man. “Please promise me you’ll be careful. No partying…no drugs.”
Chastened, she studied her fingernails. Her pale jade eyes wouldn’t meet mine. Beautiful Emilia. The fine boned features and long legs did nothing for her self-esteem. There was also a new brittleness to her that I hadn’t sensed last time I saw her. I suspected she realized it couldn’t last with Yuri but was stubbornly trying to convince herself otherwise.