“Pochemu ty sprashivayesh'?” (Why do you ask?), I replied.
“Izvinite, ya ne khochu pokazat'sya grubym. Mne pokazalos', chto ya ulovil amerikanskiy aktsent, kogda vy govorili s konduktorom. YA pytayus' uluchshit' svoi navyki angliyskogo yazyka i lyublyu obshchat'sya s amerikantsami...” (I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. I thought I detected an American accent when you were speaking with the conductor. I’m trying to improve my English-speaking skills and enjoy talking to Americans.)
I understood enough of what she was saying tocatch her meaning. “Is my Russian that bad?” I asked.
The Russian beauty smiled and shook her head. “No, but your accent needs a little work.”
“You could tell I was American, huh?”
“I can almost always spot an American by their accent, even when speaking Russian. Sometimes I can even tell what part of the United States they are from.”
“What about me? Can you tell where I’m from?”
My new travel companion twisted up her face, tapping her finger to her pursed lips as if she was lost in deep thought. She looked like Diane Lane circa The Outsiders and admittedly, I’d always had a crush on Cherry Valance. But my god, who didn’t?
This woman was absolutely fucking adorable, and if I wasn’t here as a matter of national security, I’d get off at whatever stop she was getting off at.
“I think you’re from California. Am I right? Oh, I hope so. I want to go to California so bad.”
“You’re pretty close,” I replied. “I’m from the state right next door to California called Nevada, in a town called Las Vegas.”
Her baby blues widened. “Oooh, Las Vegas. I’ve heard of that, of course. That’s a very fancy place.”
I chuckled. “Yes, it can be very fancy. It can also be a little bit rough.”
“I don’t mind,” she replied. “In Russia we’re used to rough.”
“I’m Noah,” I said, extending my hand, which she shook gently.
“Pleased to meet you, Noah. My name is Alina.”
“I must say, Alina. Your English is excellent. I hope someday my Russian will be as good.”
At this point, I was ninety-percent sure Alina was a prostitute and that this train was her hunting ground. It would certainly explain why she could pick out an American accent from across a train car, and why such an exotically beautiful woman would be on a commuter train headed to St. Petersburg mid-day on a Monday.
“Keep practicing and you’ll get better,” Alina replied before asking, “What brought to Russia? Are you here to meet your Russian fiancé for the first time?”
I laughed. “No, nothing like that. I’m an art broker.”
“A fancy job as well as a fancy town,” Alina said.
“It’s not as glamorous as you’d think. All I do is help collectors locate and acquire works they are interested in purchasing. It’s as simple as that, really.”
Even if Alina was a working girl, it didn’t hurt to have someone to rehearse my cover story on.
“And is there somethingyou’dlike to acquire while you’re in Russia?” she asked seductively.
Alina wasn’t just pretty. She was drop dead gorgeous. I’d never once paid for sex, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted at that moment.
I smiled politely. “I’m afraid this trip is all business.”
“Maybe next time you visit, you will make some time for pleasure,” she purred.
It was more than ironic that my family and friends thought I was a playboy. It was cruel. Sincejoining the agency, I had zero time for dating. While everyone thought I was out on the town with a lovely lady on my arm, I’d been working undercover dancing cheek-to-cheek with some of the worst people on earth. People who traded human lives for money. Now, I found myself away from home being hit on by a Russian supermodel and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it if I wanted to. And I certainly did.
“Next time,” I replied with a polite smile.
Alina leaned closer to me. “Can I ask you one more thing before I go back to my seat?”
