The Charm School

reached his brain. He said to the woman, “Good magazine?”
    “Yes. Very sexy.”
    “Right.”
    “American women have too much.”
    “I hadn’t noticed.”
    She tapped the magazine. “They have so many problems with men.”
    “Cosmo women have more problems than most.”
    “Ah.”
    Fisher hesitated, then took a tube of lip gloss from his satchel. It was a frosted pink and seemed to match her coloring.
    She smiled as she examined it. “Thank you.” She took a compact mirror from her bag and went to work immediately.
    Fisher noticed it wasn’t really her color, but she didn’t seem to care. He liked the way she puckered her lips. The elevator came, and he stepped in. Two Russian men who smelled of salami stood quietly behind him. Fisher felt perspiration under his arms.
    Fisher stepped out into the lobby and felt somewhat better in a public place. He found the foreign exchange window, but it was closed. He went to the front desk and asked the clerk if she would cash an Intourist voucher for five rubles. She said she wouldn’t. Fisher asked for the Intourist woman and was told she was gone.
    He looked around. All he needed was a lousy two-kopek piece.
For want of a nail
… “Damn it.” He saw that the French couple was still there, and he approached them.
“Pardon, monsieur, madame. J’ai besoin de… deux kopeks. Pour le téléphone.”
    The man gave him an unfriendly look. The woman smiled nicely and searched through her bag.
“Voilà.
”
    “Merci, madame. Merci.”
Fisher moved off and found a single telephone booth in a short corridor that led to the Beriozka. He went inside, pulled the door closed, and took his Fodor guide from his satchel. Fisher found the number of the American embassy, inserted the two-kopek piece, and dialed.
    Gregory Fisher listened to the short, distant ringing signals, very unlike the ones he was used to at home. He cleared his throat several times and said “hello” twice to try his voice. The blood was pounding in his ears. He kept his eyes on the corridor. The phone continued to ring.

 
4
    Lisa Rhodes sat at the night duty officer’s desk on the first floor of the chancery building. The wall clock showed 8:45. The phone had been quiet all evening. This was not an embassy that was likely to be surrounded by angry mobs or blown up by a terrorist. Nor was Moscow a city where the police called to inform you they had a dozen of your compatriots in the drunk tank. She lit a cigarette as she crossed out a line of the press release she was working on.
    The door opened, and Kay Hoffman, Lisa’s boss, stuck her head into the small office. “Hello. Anything exciting happening?”
    “Yes, but it’s happening in Rome. Hello, Kay. Come on in.”
    Kay Hoffman entered the office and sat on the windowsill air register. “Ah, that feels good on my buns. Cold out there.”
    Lisa smiled and regarded Kay Hoffman a moment. She was a woman near fifty with thick chestnut hair and large brown eyes. She could be described as pleasantly plump or perhaps full-figured. In any case, men seemed to like her lustiness and easy manner.
    Lisa said, “I can’t offer you a drink.”
    “That’s all right. I thought I’d drop in on the Friday night follies.”
    Lisa nodded. The Friday night cocktail reception, given by the ambassador, was a sort of TGIF affair, except that the weekends were worse than the weekdays. Traditionally all visiting Americans in Moscow were invited to the reception, and in the days when you could count the Americans on two hands, they were contacted individually. Now, with increased trade and tourism, it was sort of an open invitation that you had to know about. The embassy staff seemed to enjoy seeing new faces, and the visiting Americans were usually thrilled to be there. Sort of like sitting at the captain’s table, Lisa thought.
    Kay said, “Come with me. Call the guard post and tell them where you’ll be.”
    “No, thanks, Kay.”
    “Sometimes there are interesting men there. That’s why I go. You’re young and good-looking, Lisa. You attract them, and I’ll pounce on them.”
    Lisa smiled.
    “Last week,” Key continued, “I met a single man who was in Moscow to see about exporting Armenian cognac to the States. He comes in about once a month. Stays at the Trade Center Hotel, so he must have money and connections.”
    “Was he nice?”
    “Yes. Very.” Kay grinned.
    Lisa forced a smile in return. “I’m not up to it tonight.”
    Kay shrugged.