Hello, Privet! #1: Hello/Привет

Chapter 30

SOPHIE

There are no signs of Kirill or Anais anywhere by the time we get downstairs. But there are four photographers with telephoto lenses hiding behind the newsstand. I shove my hands into my pockets and look down. Anton, in his attempt to be incognito, pulls the visor of his baseball cap—my baseball cap—lower.

I'm pretty sure they are observing us and following us. I have to ask John what I am supposed to do when things like this happen. Isn't there a publicists' manual or something? I badly need a chapter on dealing with the paparazzi and evading the paparazzi. I make a mental note to get some oversized sunglasses.

It seems Anton wants to walk everywhere that day, and I have to follow him, and so do the photographers. He wouldn't talk, but I guess he's still upset. Meanwhile, I'm thinking, I didn't sign up for this.

Finally, we walk into the Restaurant Row, and then Anton announces, "I am angry."

I'm not quite sure I heard him right. "What?"

"I am angry."

"Um—I know?"

He lets out a breath of irritation. "I am angry," he repeats and then stops in the middle of the street, arms akimbo. "Food."

"Food? Ohhh—hungry. You're hungry." Like the French, Anton sometimes do not pronounce the 'h' sound.

He nods towards a sushi place. It seems swanky. It is the kind of place where celebrities like him hang out so that they can be seen. I hate places like this.

"Yeah, okay." I check my watch. "Too early for lunch, but why not," I mutter to myself as I follow him into the restaurant.

Everyone seems to know Anton at the restaurant. Apparently, he is a regular. At least reporters or photographers here don't swarm him. It still isn't clear to me just what kind of celebrity he is. I know he's a pretty big deal in Europe and Asia, specifically, Japan. They have him endorsing all sorts of things from shampoo to digital cameras, not to forget BMW. It is a mystery to me why he is so sought-after when he isn't even ranked in the top ten anymore.

When we have ordered, he says, "I know you want to know about Anais."

"Who?"

Anton raises an eyebrow.

"No. Not really."

Anton watches me for a moment, then a slow smile creeps into his face, and he laughs, which starts like a low rumble in his throat.

"What?" I ask, confused. "What did I say?"

Anton says, "You are the first person to make me laugh all week, devochka."

"Well then, you are very easily amused."

Anton frowns. "I don't understand this?"

"Please." I smile sweetly. "Don't hurt yourself."

He is not smiling back. "What, please?"

"Forget it." I smile again, hoping I look supportive and encouraging, very assistant/publicist-like.

"Okay, let me tell you about it."

"Sure. Do I have a choice?"

Anton clears his throat. "She was a model in Paris. I was—with her for some months. She wants to become an actress."

"Where?"

"Here in America," he says matter-of-factly.

"Oh...have I seen her in anything?"