"Then go! Leave-me-here-just-leave-me-here." A long pause
for a long, deep inhalation. "My-dealer's-I-mean-my-boyfriend's-going-
to-be-here-any-minute-now-so-just-GO!"
Belova was up off her made bed and across the disheveled
hotel room the two teenage models shared, then out the door with
her twin luggage set rolling behind her down the thickly-carpeted
hallway. A balding man with chest hairs exposed beneath a heavy
gold chain stepped off the elevator to turn in the direction of her
room, and then the fifteen-year-old fresh from Moscow was
descending to the hotel lobby, where the most insistent of her suitors
awaited her.
############
"So how many girls have vou taken to this little 'country
weekend place' you've told me so much about?" Svetlana asked with
her too-perfect English.
Hans brushed at his locks of blond hair before shifting the gear
of his Porsche, per his unwavering habit. "Zero, 'til you."
Svetlana smoothed out her longest skirt, which came
within six inches of covering her kneecaps. "Then how do you know so
much about this place?"
"My mother used to take my sister and I there for long
weekends after my father died," Hans replied with a brush and shift
that sent them zipping down the highway even more swiftly than
before.
His younger companion didn't question him again.
############
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