From the work in progress.
"I have come to see the Japanese girl, Fan."
Vera pouted and smoked her cigarette. "Fan is very popular of late," she said. "I’m sure by now she’s as worn out as an old sofa, all the cushions pounded flat, all the springs broken, and the silk rubbed threadbare. You can do much better than Fan, my darling Vladimir. Buy me a glass of port, what do you say?"
"Why do you call me Vladimir?"
"Are you going to tell me your name?"
"Of course not. Just as your name is not really Vera."
"Then why not be Vladimir? Vladimir Vladimirich, for this afternoon."
"As you wish." Antosha unbuttoned his coat and sat down on a wide sofa, holding his hat on his lap. "You may call me Vladimir Vladimirovich Vladimov, or any other name you care to invent. But I am not buying you a glass of port."
"Do you want some vodka, Vladimir?"
"I want to see Fan, the Japanese girl."
Vera sat beside Antosha and crossed her legs. Her silk gown fell open and exposed her naked calves, and her feet in silk slippers. She puffed on her cigarette and then called down a hall. "Proshitka! Bring two glasses of vodka to the parlor!"
"I am not buying two glasses of vodka," Antosha said.