Her Name Is America

Geneva, Take Two

November 19, 1985

Palace of Nations

Geneva, Switzerland

The 1980s was a great time to be an American. Markets were up, pop culture was dominating the globe, and confidence in the nation was at an all-time high. However, it was the complete opposite for Russia.

Switzerland eyed me anxiously as he grabbed my arm. His mannerisms were usually calm and delicate, so something was clearly wrong as he jerked me into a secluded hallway. He leaned in close and whispered in my ear.

"Russia will arrive within the hour. I came to warn you as soon as I heard."

I sighed in relief. As was the norm at these American-Soviet summits, diplomats from both sides and our Swiss arbitrators milled about the room socializing before the summit convened. Unlike years past, the mood was strangely light and relaxed.

"I claim responsibility for that," I told Switzerland hesitantly.

Confusion swept over him.

"President Reagan, um...he had me urge Russia to come."

Hand flying to his chest, he reeled back as if I'd just kicked his puppy. "Oh, Amerika..."

I thought back to my conversation with the President one short month ago. "Gorbachev takes counsel from him, just as I take counsel from you. Say to Russia whatever it is he wants to hear. We need to pull the proverbial wool over their eyes if we're going to outcompete them."

I gave his arm a reassuring pat. "Don't worry. You can leave us to simmer in a room somewhere."

And he did just that.

~

"I am truly honored by your presence," I said with a fake smile.

Russia's neutral expression didn't change when I said this, making me immediately regret debasing myself. He simply nodded, his usual stoic aura perforating every inch of the room.

I resisted the urge to check my watch again. Not even ten minutes had passed. "They made great tea, didn't they?" I asked, gesturing with my fancy teacup.

His own cup sat untouched on the coffee table between our respective couches. He crossed one long leg over the other and folded his hands, displaying an effortless confidence that inspired envy. I squared my shoulders and raised my chin, making sure to hold eye contact.

"You say you want to talk," he said suddenly. "Da. Talk, USA."

I swallowed thickly. "Russia..." Leaning forward, I set down my drink and folded my hands on my knee. "I know you understand the advantage of our nations maintaining diplomatic ties."

He nodded wordlessly.

"Though we are not close ideologically," I went on. "We can be close in other ways."

As I waited for him to respond, he gestured for me to continue.

"We have the two largest economies in the world. Some say we are the world's greatest superpowers. Common sense dictates that we only stand to gain from improving trade and economic cooperation."

He frowned at that, and I began to feel as if I was wasting my breath.

"Culturally, I know that Soviet citizens are...'curious' about American culture, American products. That curiosity goes both ways," I lied smoothly. "And, if you would allow me a personal note...I would like to get to know you better."

A twinge of interest flashed in his brown eyes. I suppressed a duping smile.

Ah, there we go.

"Actually," I went on, softening my voice. "I would love to get to know you better."

He tilted his head and rested it on his hand. "What do you want to know?"

My mental list of pre-rehearsed questions proceeded to do the trick. I asked about Russians' views of Americans and shared Americans' views of Russians, albeit slightly altered. We discussed current geopolitical events, compared cultural differences, and even touched on our opinions of other Nations. The conversation went incredibly well, all thanks to my perfect acting. We even agreed to meet again the next day.

As we left the room, Russia gestured for me to walk ahead of him with a respectful nod.

"USA," he said with unusual softness.

"Thank you very much."

Once my back was turned, I smirked to myself. Got him.