The Charm School (37 page)

Read The Charm School Online

Authors: NELSON DEMILLE

Tags: #FIC006000

BOOK: The Charm School
11.32Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
She came inside wearing an ankle-length white wool coat, a Russian blue fox hat, and carrying a canvas bag. She kissed him lightly on the cheek, which he thought was more intimate than on the mouth. She stomped her boots on the rug and handed him the bag. “Snowing,” she said.
He helped her off with her things and put the hat and coat in the foyer closet. Hollis saw that under the stylish coat she’d worn into the city, she was wearing a black velour sweat suit.
She sat on the stairs, pulled off her boots and socks, and massaged her feet. “Where were you?” she asked.
“I was in the kitchen.”
“No, I mean earlier this evening.”
“Oh, I was sending and receiving.”
“Boy, I wish I had a secret room where I could tell people I was, even if I wasn’t. That could come in handy sometimes.”
He led her up the stairs.
“Captain O’Shea got all shifty when I asked him where you were. I looked for you in the lounge.”
“I was in the radio room. Sending and receiving.”
They stepped into the living room. She asked, “Are you seeing anyone else? I never asked you that, because I am naive. But I’m asking you now.”
Hollis was momentarily nostalgic for a wife who didn’t care where he was. “There’s no one else. What’s in the bag?”
“The best that Gastronom One has to offer.” She walked into the center of the living room and looked around at the eclectic collection of Asian, South American, and European furniture. “Is this your wife’s taste?”
“We picked up pieces all over the world.”
“Really? Does she want it back?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where are you having it moved?”
“My next duty station, I guess. Do you want this stuff in the kitchen?”
“Yes.” She followed Hollis into the kitchen and unpacked the canvas bag. Hollis looked at the jars and cans—pickled vegetables, horseradish, salted fish, canned sausage, a piece of smoked herring, a box of loose tea, and a carton of cookies labeled cookies. The Russians were into generics. Hollis had tried those cookies once and thought they smelled like rancid lard and pencil shavings. He said, “Where’s the beef ?”
“Oh, they don’t carry real food at that Gastronom. Only specialty items. I’ll just make a platter of zakuski, and we’ll pick. I’m not very hungry.”
“I am. I’ll go to the commissary.”
“There’s enough here. Make me a vodka with lemon while I put it together. Where’s your can opener?”
“Right there.” Hollis got his Stolichnaya out of the freezer and filled two frozen glasses. “I don’t have lemon. No one has lemon.”
Lisa reached into her pocket and produced a lemon. “Got this in the lounge. The bartender is in love with me.”
Hollis cut the lemon and put a wedge in each glass. They drank, opened cans and jars, and looked for bowls, plates, and serving pieces. Hollis found that he didn’t know his kitchen very well.
“Go sit on the couch,” she said. “I’ll serve you there. Go on.”
Hollis went into the living room and found a magazine under the couch.
She came in with a tray of food and placed it on the coffee table, then sat beside him and tried to push the ashtray aside. “This is stuck.”
They ate zakuski, drank vodka, and talked. Hollis asked her about her work.
“I’m a fraud. I write what I know they want, in the style they want, the word length they want—”
“Who is ‘they’?”
“I don’t know. That’s the scary thing. Do you know?”
“In the military you
know
.”
She nodded. “Actually, I’m a good writer. I can do some good stuff. But I like the glamour of the Foreign Service. What should I do?”
“Stay with the service. Write the good stuff on the side, under a pen name.”
“Good idea. Do you think they’ll reassign us together?”
“Is that what you want?”
“Have I been too subtle, or are you dense?”
He smiled. “I’ll work it out.”
“Can you?”
“I think so.”
She took out her cigarettes. “Do you mind?”
“No.”
“Want one?”
“Later.”
She drew the ashtray toward her. “Why does this stick?”
Hollis poured himself another vodka.
She lit her cigarette and said, “How have the last six months gone, Sam? You miss her?”
“No, but my bachelorhood hasn’t been too thrilling either. There aren’t many social opportunities in merry Moscow and fewer here on the compound. I can’t play bridge with the marrieds anymore, and I don’t hang around with you unmarrieds in the lounge. I’m in limbo.”
“You’ve been horny.”
“It’s been a
hard
half year.”
“So the stories I heard about your amorous adventures were not true?”
“Well, maybe three of them were.” He smiled.
“Am I the first woman who’s been up here?”
“You’re into counting, aren’t you?”
She gave him a look of mock anger and grabbed his tie. “You remember how I kicked Viktor in the balls? Answer me, Hollis.” She pulled his tie.
“You’re making my tie hard.”
She suppressed a smile. “Answer me.”
He laughed. “Yes, yes. I told you. I’ve been alone.” He grabbed her wrists and pinned her to the couch. They kissed.
She moved away. “Later. I have a videotape in my bag.” She stood, retrieved the tape, and put it in his VCR. “
Doctor Zhivago.
There was a month wait for this, so we have to see it.” She went back to the couch and lay down, putting her bare feet in his lap. “Are you into feet?”
“I never gave it much thought.”
“Would you mind rubbing my feet?”
“No.” He rubbed her feet as they watched the tape and drank vodka.
“I’ve seen this movie four times,” she said. “It always makes me cry.”
“Why don’t you run it backwards? The czar will be on the throne at the end.”
“Don’t be an idiot. Oh, look at him. He’s gorgeous.”
“Looks like a used-rug salesman.”
“I love ‘Lara’s Theme.’”
“I love Lara. I could eat that woman.”
“Don’t be gross. Oh, Sam, I wanted to go out to Peredelkino and put flowers on Pasternak’s grave and listen to the Russians read his poetry in the churchyard.”
“It seems you won’t do many of the things you wanted to do here to satisfy your Russian soul.”
“I know. It’s sad. I almost got home.”
“Watch the movie. This is where Lara shoots the fat guy.”
They snuggled on the couch and watched the videotape. A cold wind rattled the windowpane, and a few flakes of snow fell.
They made love on the couch and fell asleep. At one
A
.
M
. Hollis awakened and put on his trousers. She opened her eyes. “Where are you going?”
“To the Seven-Eleven for a pack of cigarettes.”
“Whom are you meeting?”
“The ambassador’s wife. I’m going to break it off.”
“You’re meeting Seth.”
“Correct. Jealous?”
She closed her eyes and rolled over.
Against his better judgment, Hollis said, “You never told me he lived like a czar. Did he give you the icon?”
“I told you it was my grandmother’s.”
“That’s right. And you sounded so appreciative when I said I could get it out in the diplomatic pouch. Christ, your friend Alevy could get the Kremlin’s domes out for you.”
“Don’t be a postcoital beast.” She closed her eyes and rolled over.
Hollis left, slamming the door behind him.

 

PART III
The Russian is a delightful person till he tucks in his shirt. As an Oriental, he is charming. It is only when he insists on being treated as the most easterly of western peoples instead of the most westerly of easterns that he becomes . . . difficult to handle.
—Rudyard Kipling

 

22
The background music on the tape deck in Alevy’s apartment was the Red Army Choir singing patriotic songs.
Hollis asked, “Could you change that?”
“Sure.” Alevy opened the door on the sideboard and stopped the tape. “Sometimes I play things they like to hear too.”
Hollis looked out the window toward a ten-story apartment building across the street. The top floor was where the KGB manned its electronic gadgets aimed at the embassy compound. He wondered just how much they saw and heard.
“Tina Turner or Prince?”
“Whatever turns you on, Seth.”
Alevy put the Prince tape on and hit the play button. “That should send them to their vodka bottles.” He turned to Hollis. “So to pick up where we left off, what are those three hundred American fliers doing in that prison to earn their keep? To keep from being shot?”
“Let’s back up a minute,” Hollis said. “If we know that American POWs are being held at that place, why isn’t our government doing something about it?”
Alevy poured brandy into his coffee. “We didn’t
know
until Friday night.”
“You people knew
something
before then.”
“What were we supposed to do about it? If the president made discreet inquiries or demands of the Soviet government, they would say, ‘What are you talking about? Are you trying to wreck the peace again?’ And you know what? They’re right. And if the president got angry and made a
public
accusation, he would have to recall our ambassador, kick their ambassador out, and cancel the summit and arms talks. And we still wouldn’t have a shred of evidence. And the world would be pissed off at us again. This guy they’ve got in the Kremlin gets good press, Sam. He says he wants to be our friend.”
Hollis observed, “Then he shouldn’t let his K-goons kill and harass Americans.”
“Interesting point,” Alevy conceded. “And that’s part of the complexity of the problem we face. This new guy has inherited three hundred American POWs. But it’s the
KGB
who runs that camp. How much has the KGB told him about the camp? How much have they told him about what
we
know about the Charm School? For that matter, we’re not telling our government much, are we, Sam? The KGB may be looking to hand the Kremlin an embarrassing and serious problem at the last possible moment. The KGB and the Soviet military have pulled that stunt before. They don’t want peace with the West.”
“Don’t your people sabotage peace initiatives?”
“Not too often.” Alevy gave a sinister laugh. “How about your folks at the Pentagon?”
Hollis replied, “No one’s hands are clean.”
“And you personally, Sam?”

Other books

A Pack of Lies by Geraldine McCaughrean
Black Hat Jack by Lansdale, Joe R.
Auracle by Gina Rosati
The Burning Shore by Smith, Wilbur
The Conjuring Glass by Brian Knight
Overqualified by Joey Comeau