was shown his room, which was on the second floor, had two beds and its own bathroom. It had a window that overlooked the Moscow River. It was September and the weather was perfect—about sixty degrees every day and sunshine. Jimmy got acquainted with his roommate Paul Beatley, a big guy who stood about six foot two inches and was a State Department employee at the U.S. Embassy. Both of them loved sports and came from military families; something clicked between them.
“I’ll show you the ropes of working here,” Paul said to Jimmy. He came to Moscow several months earlier than Jimmy and considered himself to be experienced in Russian ways. “Tonight you’ll have several phone calls from Russian girls. They already know you’re here.”
“How?”
“I can’t answer your question. I just know from experience. The first day I came here I got four calls from these girls. They’ll ask you for a date. Be careful about that. Of course you can date anybody you want and nobody will forbid you to do it. Our superiors don’t care, but remember, and I’m pretty sure about this, these girls are all working for the Soviet Secret Service. They’re friendly and they’re beautiful, but after the dance parties it’s better to leave them behind.”
“You don’t need to worry about me,” said Jimmy. “I don’t drink or dance, and I’m not even sure I want to join you.”
Paul continued, “You should come. There is always dancing, drinking, and whatever you want to do after that. But don’t talk about your job. The girls want you to be drunk so they can find out all the secrets that you know. You don’t want to do that. Last month, a couple of our guys were sent home for being too close to the girls. Their careers were destroyed because of it. These girls are so sneaky. You’ll see them all next Friday and Saturday at our weekend parties. They’re fun, you’ll like them.”
Jimmy listened carefully but he knew that he wouldn’t be the one who would be seduced by a Russian spy. Although he was still a virgin, he wasn’t ready to jump in bed with the first girl he met. That was what he thought.
Jimmy’s superiors gave him a couple of days to get used to his new life in this absolutely different world. After his conversation with Paul, Jimmy didn’t have any intention of going to those notorious dancing parties. He didn’t want to be connected with any of the Russian girls. So on Friday he went to bed early, woke up on Saturday morning and started out on a sightseeing tour of Moscow. The weather was intoxicating—sunshine and almost no clouds in the sky. Downtown Moscow seemed like a fairy tale—the Kremlin, Red Square, Saint Basil Cathedral.
“When were all these buildings built?” Jimmy wondered. “Probably a long time ago. I’ve never seen anything like this before in my life.”
A tour guide told them about Russian history, and in English, but Jimmy didn’t listen to a word. He was so impressed by the view, he wanted to get off the bus and take in this strange world slowly, on foot. But he didn’t dare ask the bus driver to stop. He was confused. He’d read so many nasty things about Russia, from the cruelty of tsars to the communist dictatorship. In front of him were beautiful streets with outstanding architecture. Maybe his friends could explain it.
When the bus returned to American House, it was already lunch time. Paul was sitting in their room with another guy who extended a friendly handshake and introduced himself as Alex Timm.
“Hey, why you didn’t come to the party yesterday?” asked Paul. “We had great time. Everybody was so funny. Alex got drunk and danced alone. Nobody wanted to get near him. The Russian girls were excellent. Almost half of them disappeared in the middle of the party with our guys. But there are some real dancers there. There was one couple that looked like they could be professionals—they danced without stopping. By the end of the party, they were sweating like hell. They’ve been together before but I never saw them dance so well.”
Paul turned to Alex and said, “Did you see John Biconish and that Russian girl Galina? They are some of the best dancers. You probably don’t remember anything; you were so drunk. Jimmy, you should come along and see with your own eyes what goes on there. You don’t have to drink or even dance. You’ve got to get out and have some fun, man, or you’ll go crazy. I know I will. This country is nuts. I can’t figure out how people live here. Maybe Alex can tell us more about Russia. He’s been here two years already.”
“You will never, ever understand the Russians,” said Alex. “Don’t even think about it. For me, the best way to forget what’s going on in the outside world is a full glass of vodka. You can buy it pretty cheap in the embassy store.”
Paul nodded in agreement and shot Jimmy a glance.
“These Russians are sure bearing down on their propaganda,” Alex continued. “They fear another war is in the immediate future. The paper said the government doesn’t want diplomatic relations with the American government but with people of America. Was it Hitler who said that if you tell people a lie long enough eventually they will start to believe it? That’s what the Russians are doing now. They’re drumming into the Russians’ heads how bad the Americans are, and soon these people will start believing it. It’s a sad state of affairs.”
Jimmy had listened to Alex respectfully, but in silence. He didn’t want to argue about politics when he had just arrived in the country. He valued his friends but he already had doubts about the propaganda they had been taught about their new host country. After his tour experience in the city the day before, Jimmy had one only question for the other men—how could these boring, uneducated people build so many beautiful churches and palaces? But he didn’t dare ask them.
In the evening Paul found Jimmy and said, “Let’s go. Let’s have some fun.”
Jimmy sighed but followed his friend to the big hall. It was full of smoke and the smell of alcohol. He almost choked. The music was loud, everybody was smiling, and Jimmy saw the girls that Paul talked about. Some of them were gracious, good looking, and dressed very nicely. Jimmy went to the corner so that he could see the dance floor. He truly loved music and admired dancing, but he had never danced himself.
The dance floor was crowded. Jimmy saw the couple Paul was talking about. They danced beautifully. The guy wore glasses and was skinny and tall. The girl was gorgeous—also thin, blonde, so flexible … and indeed they danced together the whole night. Jimmy could see that they were in love with each other. The more he watched them, the more they remind him of his favorite dancers, Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.
By the end of the night, he’d stood in the corner for several hours, and to his surprise, he found that he genuinely enjoyed the party. When he went back with Paul he told him, “You know, you were right. It is fun there. I’m looking forward to next weekend.”
“I told you, old boy,” Paul said. “Maybe you’ll find a girl for yourself there. They’re easy and no obligations.”
Every weekend Jimmy was there, watching the dancing, and even having an occasional drink. But he hadn’t become acquainted with a single Russian girl yet. He was drawn to only one of them—Galina who always danced with John.
She was different from the other girls. She never hit on other guys; she behaved respectfully. Nobody could say a bad word about her.
Jimmy wrote letters home almost every day. He wrote his parents about these parties, what he liked and what he disliked about them, about Moscow and the Russian people. He was grateful that his parents seemed to understand him. In their letters back to him—his mom and dad wrote separately—Jimmy could see how carefully they were reading them. They discussed every topic that he raised. He wrote them once that most of the Americans in Moscow thought that
