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assistants/ hangers-on, he arranged our excursion. We met at a side entrance of the Hermitage so
no one would see us going in. He had managed to set this up this with the museum, and while it
was still open to the public, at least no one would be photographing us inside, as cameras were
prohibited. Gregor also took the trouble of wearing a baseball cap pulled down low over his
eyes.
We wandered for a little while, just taking in the magnificence of the building itself,
before heading for my personal favorite, the Italian masters wing. I had taken a couple of art
history courses in college, and I murmured a few comments as we took in works from
Michelangelo, Raphael, Titian, and others.
I like this one, Gregor said, pausing in front of Titian s St. Sebastian. He studied the
uplifted face of the martyr, the golds and crimson hues of the background. Nobody paints like
that anymore. They throw a blob of paint on the canvas and call it art. What the hell s that?
I smiled a little. Rebellion against all the centuries of this, I suppose, I replied,
sweeping three Raphaels and a Da Vinci in my gesture. But I agree, the modern backlash gets
to a point of ridiculousness. We paused before Giorgione s depiction of one of my favorite
subjects, Judith of the Bible.
Gregor cringed a little. What s this one? he asked.
Judith wanted to save her people from the Assyrians, I explained. She snuck into the
camp of their army commander, who was named Holofernes. She dazzled him with her beauty
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and intelligence. But then when she was left alone with him after a banquet, she beheaded him
with his own sword.
Gregor looked at the painting, showing a surprisingly serene Judith with her foot resting
lightly on Holofernes severed head. Rather grim, isn t it?
This is actually the least violent version I ve seen, I replied. The ones by Caravaggio
and Gentileschi are much bloodier. She looks pretty placid, doesn t she?
Gregor nodded and kept walking. Perhaps I need to watch myself around you, he said
jokingly. You seem to have quite a fascination with this Judith.
I m not the one you need to watch, I thought, taking one last look as I followed him. Did
I imagine it, or was Clara s face demurely peering out at me from inside the frame?
The afternoon passed too quickly, and soon we realized we d spent three hours together.
Gregor had the decency not to check his phone once, but I saw him glance at it as we finished up
looking at Peter I s palace. I hate to cut this short, he said, leading me over to a quiet corner
and sitting down. But I told Clara I d meet her for dinner.
I nodded. It was the first time he d spoken of her all day.
She s leaving in the morning, he added. Thank heaven for small favors, I suppose.
I took a deep breath. Are you going to tell her- anything?
He rubbed his chin, which I was learning was what he did when he was trying to deal
with an uncomfortable situation. I m going to suggest that we take a break from each other.
I nodded. I couldn t ask for more than that right now. I had gotten myself into this; I was
the one who swooned like a sixteen-year-old the minute Gregor made googly eyes at me.
Okay, I said. I hope it goes all right. I touched his sleeve. I appreciate you making the
effort to come today. I really enjoyed going around with you.
It was a wonderful tour, Gregor said. I had no idea you knew so much about art. If
the screenwriting gig doesn t work out, you could always apply for a post here.
We both smiled. Gregor took my hand and squeezed it, gently. I knew we both hated
that we couldn t hold hands or show any affection in public, unless it was dark outside. And it
never got very dark in St. Petersburg this time of year.
What are you going to do tonight? he asked as we slowly made our way back out of the
building.
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Probably dinner with Molly and some of the crew, I said casually. Actually, Arne
mentioned this karaoke bar he wanted us to try. All the songs are English- I mean, American and
British artists.
You sing, too? Gregor asked.
Oh, not well. I will probably just listen. It would be interesting to hear Russians belting
out Neil Diamond songs.
Indeed. Gregor looked thoughtful.
Later that night, after an excellent dinner and even more excellent Russian vodka, I
learned the reason for Gregor s thoughtful expression. We had been in the karaoke bar for about
five minutes when Vanessa, who had come out with us, received a text on her cell phone.
Sheila s coming, she informed us. And Houston, and Teo even. And apparently they ran into
Gregor and the countess out at dinner, and they re joining us too.
I felt a slow burn creep into my face that had nothing to do with the alcohol. I saw Jack s
eyes flash darkly. He had come out with us but was keeping his distance from me, pouting a
little, I suspected. He had asked me to sightsee with him today, but I had told him I already had
plans. Of course, he suspected whom my plans involved.
Wow, Arne commented. We must be popular, all the big guns are coming out. He
turned to Molly. Come help me choose a song, he told her. I need to impress Teo.
I saw that Molly took his hand as they walked over to the table with the book of song
choices in it. I must have been so wrapped up in my own problems that I hadn t even noticed
love blooming among others on the movie set.
Jack sat down on a stool close to me; I knew why, of course. What are you going to
sing, Lise?
You re kidding, right? I asked. I would have to drink a whole bottle of this stuff
before I got up there. I nodded at my drink.
Oh, come on. Jack teasingly punched my arm. What do you care? You ll never see
any of these people again. I mean, the Ruskies. And they re all drunk or high anyway. They ll
never remember.
I glanced around at the crowd, which was pretty tame compared to the one at the dance
club the other night. It was more working-class, less androgynous. That s okay, I said. What
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about you? Jack sang all the time in the shower. He wasn t nearly as good as he thought he
was, though.
I already signed up, he said proudly.
What song?
It s a surprise. He winked and swigged his beer.
I stirred the straw in my drink. Jack seemed to be in a better mood than just ten minutes
before. Uneasily, I wondered if he was planning on doing something weird when Gregor
arrived, like hang all over me or kiss me. I fervently hoped not. I was not in the mood to watch
a pissing contest.
What should I sing? Vanessa asked, plopping down on the stool across from me. She
shook her bleached hair; I wondered idly if it would fall out. I m more of a disco girl myself.
She lit up a cigarette. Anyone? she asked, holding out the pack.
What the hell, I said, taking one. Jack looked at me in some surprise; he knew I didn t
smoke. I took a drag, savoring the nicotine head rush. I blew the smoke out and said to Vanessa,
I dunno. Who s your favorite artist?
I grew up on Donna Summer, Vanessa said, expertly flicking her ashes. And Abba.
Even old Michael Jackson. Damn, those were some good times, she said, tilting back her drink.
I was twenty, maybe twenty-one. Used to hang out at all those clubs- Studio 54 and all. It was
a crazy, crazy scene.
I can imagine, I said with interest.
Sooo many drugs, Vanessa continued, a faraway look in her eyes. I never touched
coke- I had a cousin who died from heroin, so I stayed away from the hard shit. But boy, there
were some messed-up cokeheads there, all skinny, hadn t eaten or slept in days. And don t get
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