Doing Lunch

by Doing Lunch Free(Lit)

  “Why the quiet, it is time to enjoy? Potemsky, did you have a good day hunting this afternoon?”

  “Why yes. I bagged a deer. We’ll be having it for dinner tomorrow.”

  “Good! I always loved venison.”

  The servant entered with the drink and handed it to the late arrival, who was now center stage. He was the first to raise his glass in toast.

  “To the return of communism. To the good life.” Everyone raised their glasses and then sipped from them with a unity of thought about maintaining their way of life.

  “I cannot believe that Debenov fell for it. What a fool!” commented Listisch, who took another sip from his vodka.

  “Aw, the university grows them. Look at Karl Marx, his foolishness gave us this,” reminded Medansky, the KGB officer who never had any problem getting time off to enjoy the perks of the party.

  Raising his glass again to propose another toast to their good fortune, Sergotoff was almost automatically followed by the others as if they had been trained. “To the universities and the fools it produces.” Quickly, everyone sipped, helping the Russian vodka consumption rate rise.

  CHAPTER 2

  ALTERNATIVE LIFESTYLES

  Los Angeles International Airport was bustling as usual with traffic bumper to bumper in some spots of the circular road that covered the interior of the terminal. Those areas also found the noise pollution up, thanks to the sound of the horn section of the Los Angeles cab philharmonic. Those horns never performed the way Mozart had intended.

  Exiting the Thomas Bradley International terminal building, a bag tightly gripped in each hand, Alexi looked around to acquaint himself with his new surroundings. Seeing all the yellow cabs, he was quite certain that if these taxis were in Moscow when the communists ruled the country they would not be yellow. His confused expression was caught by a cab driver looking for a fare and he was certain that he had one. Lowering the window on the other side he leaned forward to throw his voice, “Hey, where you going?”

  The screeching of tires followed the taxi driver’s question and the sound of profanities filled the air. While Alexi didn’t understand what they were saying, he could sense from the sight of the bulging veins in the necks of the drivers who were now outside their cars screaming, that they weren’t exchanging phone numbers. The tie up that the two had caused now had the entire horn section of the Los Angeles International Airport Philharmonic going full blast.

  “Hey I asked you, you goin’ someplace?” screamed the driver, wanting to get the show on the road.

  “Home. I’m going home!”

  “Hop in.”

  Alexi climbed into the cab hurriedly, somewhat frightened by the sound of the horns that resonated around him.

  “Okay pal, where’s home?”

  “Moscow.”

  “Get out pal! Get out!” Alexi became somewhat terrified by this conduct but could not fulfill the driver’s demand quick enough.

  “What’s wrong?” asked the perplexed Alexi, who did not realize that the sound of the horns had almost completely dissipated.

  “It’s been a hard day, pal. I don’t need this. I don’t go to Moscow. I don’t even like going to the valley.” The driver quickly closed the window and Alexi almost jumped out of his socks with the sound of a single blast from a car horn that came from the curb where he just turned. Looking around to see what this person wanted from him, getting right into the American spirit of things, he saw his nephew Mikhail. Recognizing him from the photos of the dossier he had reviewed on him just the previous week, he now wondered if they would really have anything to talk about besides mother Russia. Mikhail pulled his brand new Mercedes convertible to the curb, hopped out and hugged Alexi.

  “Uncle Alexi! How’ve you been?”

  The almost smothered Alexi, fighting for some breathing room like most people in Los Angeles, finally delivered his well-rehearsed answer. “Fine. Everything is fine, Mikhail. How did you recognize me, it has been years?”

  “I’m a spy, remember?”

  Mikhail looked down and saw the two bags next to his uncle and then looked around. His actions raised the curiosity in Alexi.

  “What?”

  “Where are your people, Alexi?”

  “What people?”

  “Your entourage. You’re the premier of Russia now, where are the people who are suppose to protect you?”

  “I did not come with anyone.” The thirty-three year old nephew of the Russian premier was aghast. He never heard of a world player traveling alone.

  “What happened to your plane, did the pilot take it back to Moscow?”

  “I do not know where the pilot went, Mikhail, but we didn’t come from Moscow. We came from London.”

  “London?”

  “Yes, London.”

  “Didn’t you use a plane from the Russian air force?”

  “No, Mikhail. I was coming to America so I used American Airlines.” Mikhail burst into laughter that had Alexi worried to no end since he had a return flight on this airline. Was this airline a joke, he wondered?

  “What is wrong?”

  “Nothing, unk, nothing. It’s just that world leaders usually don’t travel by commercial airline. Sounds like maybe you had a contract with America.”

  The line went right over Alexi’s head and it made him realize that he had a great deal to learn about this country. Mikhail bent down and grabbed the bags.

  “Well I hope you at least got your frequent flyer miles, Alexi.”

  “Frequent flyer miles? This was my first trip.” Mikhail looked at his uncle and, knowing his intellectual abilities, started to realize just how silly someone could look when they were out of their environment. Mikhail thought about how fortunate it was for Alexi and Russia that he was a professor and not a spy. He tossed the bags into the trunk, invited Alexi in, and they left the airport and horn section behind.

  “So how come you’re the new premier and they haven’t announced it? Why did my contact have to tell me? Why couldn’t I just read it in the Los Angeles Times?”

  “It is so because I needed to come here to talk to you alone.”

  Taking his attention off the road to look at his uncle, he searched the face of his relative for a clue about Alexi’s visit.

  “This is serious?”

  The sudden blast of a horn forced Mikhail to quickly hit the brakes, driving Alexi forward. Being small, his head struck the dashboard. Mikhail turned to the driver who he believed cut him off although he was not looking so he could not possibly know. Quickly, he flipped his middle finger up as if checking to see which way the wind was blowing.

  “Asshole!”

  Mikhail quickly took off and the unexpected inertia threw his uncle back into the seat.

  “One of the first words I learned when I got this assignment here in Los Angeles. Great word, hear people using it all day no matter where I drive.”

  “Mikhail, you cut that man off.”

  “I did not.”

  “Yes Mikhail.”

  “Oh let’s not talk about that. Listen, Alexi, I have a great book for you to read while you’re here in America. It’s really what America is all about. It was written by a famous lawyer named F. Lee Bailey and it’s called “Never Plead Guilty.”

  “How many times have you read it?”

  Mikhail grew a scowl real quick. Wanting to avoid any further face-to-face confrontation with Alexi, the well-tanned spy quickly removed his sunglasses from his shirt where they neatly hung from the last closed button on the way up. Putting on the glasses, he focused on the asphalt in front of him while in his mind he replayed the tone of Alexi’s words when he said they needed to talk alone. As Mikhail continued to drive the two toward his ocean front condominium, he started to wonder if maybe they discovered about his fudging on his expense account. Maybe he should not take Alexi to the condo considering the fact that he had paid three quarters of a million dollars for it and he was just a civil servant, a lowly spy. Replaying the thought
in his mind, he realized that Alexi knew that he lived on the ocean so faking it would call for a rather elaborate scheme that he just did not have time to develop. Oh well, another afterthought gone astray.

  The waters of the Pacific provided quite the backdrop for the luxurious condominium where Mikhail resided. As the Mercedes waited for the electronic security gate to the subterranean garage to open, Alexi wondered how his nephew could afford this. He knew what a spy made and maybe Mikhail’s expense reports should be reviewed. Pulling into the garage, Alexi was further impressed by the exotic sports cars and luxury sedans that occupied the subterranean parking area. He now realized that his nephew definitely was in tune with capitalism.

  “No one suspects that you’ve been spying?”

  Mikhail turned toward Alexi, wondering what made his uncle believe that he had advertised what he did. “Of course they never suspected I was spying. Why the hell would they want to take their minds off of making a buck?” It now started to sink into the mind of the visiting statesman that he was going to have to grasp the American culture much more than he had because it was obvious from Mikhail’s statement Americans were more preoccupied with other things than spies amongst them.

  Getting out of the car, Alexi turned his attention toward the elevators when he heard the voices of a man and woman. Mikhail, gathering Alexi’s bags from the trunk, turned and recognized the couple. The woman, a well-tanned beauty in her early twenties who wore just enough cloth cut in the shape of a bikini to keep the private parts of her anatomy just that, private.

  “Hi, Mikhail.”

  “Hi, Mike,” added her male escort, a Herculean hunk whose tan was two shades darker than the woman’s.

  “Headed south?” asked Mikhail.

  “Huh, huh. Be there about two hours,” replied the young woman, who kissed Mikhail on the cheek. “Come on down if you get a chance.” The two sun seekers headed out of the garage with Mikhail taking one last look at the back of the young woman, concentrating his focus on the lower half. Alexi watched with astonishment at another of the small nuances of the American culture.

  Walking toward the elevator, the ride up found Alexi amazed at the world of luxury that his nephew resided in. The inch thick carpeting in the elevator, along with the gold marbled mirrors that lined the elevator doors, was something he had never seen in Russia. He now was almost afraid to see where Mikhail actually spent his evenings, where he ate and slept. Too much luxury in one day could be real culture shock for someone coming from a country where labor strikes were rampant.

  Entering the elevator, Mikhail punched in a code on a keypad that was right near the buttons that operated the elevator. Within moments the elevator began to make its ascent, with Alexi’s eyes moving about the walls of the moving room, amazed that elevators like this existed in apartment buildings. He knew people who would kill to live in an elevator like the one he was riding in. With the elevator coming to a stop, Alexi looked to see what floor they arrived at and was confused at seeing the letters PH lit up. Mikhail’s instincts sized up the problem quickly. “Pent House. The PH stands for penthouse.” The doors opened and Mikhail’s entire residence laid before Alexi’s eyes and it was more luxury than he could stand in one day, the very thought he had when he first entered the elevator. The thud of the visitor’s body hitting the floor caused Mikhail to turn around and drag his uncle from the elevator before someone on the second floor found themselves dialing 9-1-1.

  Carefully placing his uncle on the circular white sofa, which had a marble coffee table as a centerpiece, Mikhail removed his uncle’s shoes. As he did, he noticed several holes in the soles and began to fall into reverie, unaware that his servant, Barbara, had entered.

  “Mikhail,” came a voice so soft that it could not possibly disturb someone dreaming. Seeing a man passed out on the couch and her boss staring out into the sky above the Pacific Ocean, she just didn’t know what to think.

  “Mikhail.” While again there was no response from her boss, the older man opened his eyes and lifted his upper torso. His head turned one hundred and eighty degrees to take in what he thought he had seen when the elevator doors opened. Amazed, he began to get up.

  “Who are you?”

  “I am Mikhail’s uncle.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” Stopping for a minute to think about something, the maid’s eyes lit up when she remembered something.

  “Allison will be right back. She went out to get something to eat. Pardon me, I must attend to Mikhail.” With that she left the living room while Alexi walked around, stopping every once in awhile to study some of the paintings and statues. Recognizing some of them as contemporary European, Alexi knew that for contemporary works, some of the pieces were at the high end of the price range, just on the other side of the rainbow.

  Barbara returned to the living room holding a damp cloth and moving toward Mikhail, who stared aimlessly out the window, replaced him. Placing the cloth on his forehead, he began to come out of it. Rising, he replaced his uncle.

  “I must get you some shoes.”

  “I have only had these seven years.”

  Quickly, all eyes turned toward the elevator doors as they opened and Allison entered. Mikhail’s girlfriend of six years appeared much younger than most people would guess. Her glowing dark hair with a natural tan that she was born with was complimented quite beautifully with soft brown eyes that were very round. Soft, gentle looking lips that had the lightest shade of pink lipstick covering them gave off an infectious smile that created an immediate warmth with those around her. She held a large bag of groceries in her arms.

  “Allison!” As Mikhail moved toward her, she moved past him and toward the older man.

  “You must be Alexi, Mikhail’s uncle.” The premier looked at his nephew with a scowl as Mikhail merely shrugged his shoulders. Alexi kissed Allison’s hand, attempting to be charming but not really knowing what to do; his awkwardness was noticeable. Everything he had seen so far since he had been in this country that they called America had been something he had not expected. He was becoming more confused. While having been to America several times in the past, he was always going to New York or Washington for conferences, not Los Angeles for Beach Boy concerts.

  “Did you get fish?” asked Mikhail.

  “Sushi.”

  “Good. I always remember that when I was growing up, my uncle always loved fish.”

  “Cooked fish, Mikhail, cooked fish.”

  “Oh boy. Alexi, ever have a Big Mac?”

  “Oh sit down, you two need to get to know each other again. I’ll just hop into the kitchen and put something together.” Allison moved toward the kitchen with the groceries and Alexi followed her movement with his eyes while Mikhail watched his uncle.

  “She is a beautiful woman.”

  “Oh yeah!”

  “Oh yeah?” responded Alexi, drawing his head back as if questioning this new catch phrase.

  “She’s beautiful. She’s everything to me. I meet her at the UCLA Law Library.”

  “You were spying in the UCLA Law Library?”

  “Alexi, it was a law library. I wasn’t trying to spy, I was there to make up a cheat sheet.” Alexi could merely shake his head in disbelief at what he was hearing.

  “You’re going to law school? You were sent here to spy.”

  “You don’t think that spies need to know the law? It was just a shame I couldn’t write it off as a business expense.” The shock of Mikhail’s lunatic statements began waning on the physics professor, having been bombarded with them, one after another.

  “Come on, let me show you around.” As Mikhail played gracious host to this world leader, his uncle was flabbergasted by the marble floors, the elegant French Provincial furniture and the expensive statues that were placed just so correctly in the living room to give just the right aesthetic appearance accenting the furnishings.

  Moving through the corridor toward the back of the penthouse, Alexi began to wonder about his nephew’s w
ealth as his eyes kept passing over valued treasures of post impressionist art. Was Mikhail dealing drugs, because spying could not pay this well without the country going broke? What was he thinking Russia was broke? Moving into the master bedroom, Alexi almost fell over backward when his nephew opened the double doors, exposing an enormous platformed waterbed that stood raised above two stairs. Scanning the room the likes of which he had never seen before, it was even equipped with a built in Jacuzzi built into the floor that was in front of a large circular window that looked out toward the horizon.

  Noticing his uncle staring in stunned silence, Mikhail knew he would be amazed. Hell, so was he when he and Allison bought the place. Alexi walked over to the Jacuzzi and then looked out where people played in the surf below him. His mind flashed back to Moscow the night he left which was caught in a terrible blinding blizzard with forty mile an hour winds and a wind chill factor of minus twenty-one. He turned back to face Mikhail, who wore a gloating smile.

  “It is the middle of the winter, Mikhail.”

  “I know. We have this problem every year with the Rose Bowl. Seventy-degree day, clear skies and these people from the Midwest and East Coast come flying out here. Hell, Alexi, they should only televise the Rose Bowl in California, Florida and Hawaii.”

  Allison’s voice caromed off the walls through the corridor “Food’s ready!”

  “Ready, already?”

  “You heard her, unk, come on.”

  The two walked back down the corridor that they had come through when Alexi spotted a bathroom.

  “Let me wash up.”

  “Sure.” Entering the room, he turned on the light only to be shocked once more. The bathroom was enormous, with a separate bathtub and shower stall. The fixtures were copper and their glistening appearance revealed that they were recently polished, very recently. Alexi could not spot a fingerprint anywhere.