Hello, Privet! #1: Hello/Привет

Chapter 39

SOPHIE

Anton and I walk to the back of the bus, keeping our heads low. This is LA after all. He might be recognized. As soon as we sit down, he says something about a club in Westwood, near our hotel.

"But I thought you wanted to sleep early?"

He checks his Rolex. His Rolex. And he says I'm naive. He's the one who's naive. We're on a bus here... I resist the urge to cover his wrist and pull down his cuff over the watch. We are already sitting too close to each other. Every once in a while, my arm would brush against his. I tighten my scarf around my neck and arrange it so my elbow is covered in case his arm touches me again.

"It's only eight thirty," he says. "Just a few drinks and then we can go home."

I attempt to smooth my skirt over my knees, trying not to touch him. "You have to practice tomorrow."

"It will be fine. I can wake up early," he says. "And your nice dress. It is not just for the dinner. We must go out."

"What? This?" He noticed my dress? Maybe he's about to make fun of me again.

"Yeah. It's—pretty. What is it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Is it Louis Vuitton?"

He thinks I would wear a Louis Vuitton dress? I can't help smiling. "Thanks, I think. Not that I would ever buy anything from Louis Vuitton—Aphro made this for me."

"Aphro?"

"My friend, her name's Aphrodite. She's amazing. She can make anything. She designed this dress."

He nods. "And this is from India?"

"Yeah. Yeah. You can tell?" I smile. "I really like it."

He nods. "It's very pretty."

Wait till I tell Aphro what Anton thinks about her dress. 

"Is it really okay for you to drink? Wouldn't it affect your... performance tomorrow?"

"I am Russian. Alcohol is water to me," he says, dismissive.

"Really?"

"Yes," he says with a completely straight face. "We Russians drink vodka for breakfast. We also brush our teeth with it, take a bath in it..."

"Ah, I see...and bears just wander around the streets in Russia. In the Red Square, right?"

"Yes, exactly," he agrees, nodding. "You should come see the bears some time. They dance," he adds, mock-serious.

"Maybe I will."

"Do you want to go tonight?" he asks, now smiling. He's starting to enjoy this. "I might even play my balalaika for you and make you tea with my babushka's samovar." At this last line, he speaks as if he is angry, through gritted teeth. He is mocking the stereotypes of his culture, but at the same time he is angered that these stereotypes exist. I know I was as annoyed when I was in Israel and someone told me they were shocked that to find out I was American because I wasn't fat or wearing shorts and a fanny pack.

"What do you say, devochka?" he says. "Shall we go to St. Petersburg?"

"You know what, I just might take you up on that." I look up at him, smirking. When I first met him, Anton had seemed like—well, he seemed like he had a poker up his ass. He seemed like someone who took himself (and tennis) way too seriously, and he was so moody and humorless, not to mention touchy and irritable. And now...he's so different. He's kind of funny, actually, and the truth is, this evening wasn't so bad. Okay, I can even say I enjoyed myself. It makes me think that I might even like Anton as a friend, if our circumstances were different. Maybe it just takes him a while to warm up to people. We are exactly alike that way. I should be more understanding. "Do you have your passport?" I ask.