‘Pleased to meet you,’ the man said. A gust of wind immersed Kate in the frigid air. She dug her elbows in her sides and pressed her legs close together.
‘We’d better let him g-go,’ Kate managed.
‘You need a hat,’ Woody’s friend said.
‘I told her that, man,’ Woody said.
Kate rolled her eyes and nodded toward the terminal building. The Russian gate agent — wearing a greatcoat so thick that he looked like a bear — opened the roped-off area. The departing passengers stampeded toward the plane, which hadn’t even turned off its engines.
Mick grabbed Woody and whispered into his ear. The Irishman was looking at Kate. He and Woody laughed loudly. ‘He-hey? Woody exclaimed. ‘Always good to see ya, compadre!’ They parted. Kate practically ran to the terminal and, once inside, went straight over to an old radiator. There she shed the parka and gloves, which had themselves become the source of the cold.
‘O-o-o-oh,’ Kate moaned. She sagged in exhaustion as she held her blue fingers to the hot iron. ‘God!’
‘I told you it’d be cold,’ Woody said. ‘Next time, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t ask for me by name.’
‘I fought my ass off for this assignment, Woody,’ she said. Her teeth remained clenched as she toasted each side of her hands before turning to warm her rear. ‘You’re the very best cameraman there is, and…’
‘Yeah, well…’ he interrupted, then fell silent ‘Anyway, look at you. I mean, we just like walked from the plane to the terminal, and you’re already frozen solid.’
‘I’ll be fine! That jerk in San Francisco just didn’t know what he was talking about. “Gore-Tex” this and “polymer” that. My ass!’ Woody was distracted. He kept looking around the concourse. ‘Trying to spot some more old friends like that leering bastard out there?’
‘Hey, if he leered any, it’s because of his Spanish blood.’
‘Well, what about that macho male lewd shit he was whispering to you about me.’
Woody rocked his head back — feigning shock. ‘You think that was what it was? Wait here.’ He headed for the men’s room.
Kate began the process of putting her Arctic gear on again. The parka was so cold that she held it over the radiator. Then she remembered the salesman’s warning that the high-tech fabric might melt. ‘Gore-Tex my ass,’ she grumbled as she slipped the parka on.
When Woody returned he had a shit-eating grin on his face. ‘Нее, hee-hee, hee-hee, hee-hee.’
‘What is wrong with you?’ she said. ‘Has that rat hat made you go mental?’
He pulled open his massive overcoat. A large plastic baggy protruded from an inner pocket. In it was an enormous quantity of pot.
‘Jesus, Woody!’ Kate whispered. She stepped closer to him and looked all around. The terminal was deserted now. ‘Where the hell did you get that?’
‘Mick-a-roono! He wasn’t talking about yer bod, Kate. He was tellin’ me where he’d stashed his sensimillia!’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Well, what the hell are you gonna do with it, Woody?’ she whispered. ‘What about Customs?’
He laughed, holding out his arms and looking from one side of the empty building to the other. ‘This is Russia, Kate. No government. No customs. Anarchy, man. You can do anything you want here!’
‘No, you can’t,’ Kate said. ‘You can’t call me “man”. Now come on,’ she said. She headed for the empty baggage claim.
‘Are you ready to order, Andre?’ Mrs Stempel asked.
‘You go ’head, ma’am,’ he said.
He was still studying the bewildering array of foods on the menu. She ordered things he’d never heard of. Four different things. His eyes darted all about the menu. Harold too ordered several things. Andre’s eyes were drawn not to the food, but the prices. His momma could have fed the whole family a fine meal for the price of any one of the things on that menu.
‘And for you, sir?’ the waiter asked.
‘I’ll have the same as him,’ Andre replied — indicating Harold.
Even though he’d been clear enough, the waiter seemed surprised. Everybody acted funny. They dabbed at their mouths with napkins.
After Mr Stempel ordered, they all sat there quietly and waited. It wasn’t like a real dinner table. Stempel’s folks talked, but one at a time like some kind of talk show on TV.
‘Andre comes from New York too,’ Harold said.
‘Is that right?’ Mr Stempel said — smiling. ‘What part?’
‘The Bronx, sir.’
He nodded and arched his eyebrows. He couldn’t think of anything to say.
‘What are you going to be doing now that you graduated, Andre?’ Mrs Stempel asked.
A small dish filled with food in tiny portions was laid in front of them.
Andre wondered whether it could get any worse. ‘Postal detachment, ma’am.’
‘Now, you see, Harold,’ she said. ‘Why is it you didn’t get something that might better prepare you for the future? You’ve had a computer since the day you were born. There have to be plenty of jobs in the Army that use computers. Maybe you could ask for a transfer.’
And that’s the way it went, all the way through four lousy courses. The steak was fine, but he’d had better. Only the dessert tasted like it was worth the money.
‘Are you sure you don’t want us to drive you to the airport, Andre?’ Mr Stempel asked after the ordeal was finally over.
‘No, sir. That’s all right.’
‘Where are you headed if you’re not going home?’ Mrs Stempel asked.
‘Korea.’
‘Oh,’ the two elder Stempels said almost in unison.
‘Thanks for dinner,’ Andre mumbled. He put his cap on his head and pulled away… free.
‘Hey, ’Dre!’ Harold shouted. He ran after Andre. ‘Good luck, man.’
‘You too, Stemp.’
They shook hands. Harold held Andre’s hand longer than was normal.
President Marshall already felt like an outsider. All of the Marshalls’ belongings in the residential quarters had been packed a week before. Marshall toyed with the pens and pencils on the desk. His staff had already packed up his files. No one expected him to work on a Saturday. The day before the Inauguration.
Bristol would be hopping from balls and bashes all across town. They’d be picking up steam and heading into the wee hours of the morning. Looking around the office — stripped bare of anything personal of Marshall’s — he saw he was leaving it in good shape for his successor. He wished he could say the same for the world situation. Marshall shook his head and frowned. So much left undone.
The door burst open and the sound of two busy men followed just behind. When they saw him there, they froze. Marshall didn’t recognize their faces.
‘Oh. I’m sorry, sir,’ one of the men said. ‘We didn’t know…’ They held in their hands stacks of files… for the new President.
‘No, no. Come on in,’ Marshall said. He swept his arm across the desk — turning it over to them with a gracious smile.