Comrade Cowgirl

by Yolanda Wallace

  Chapter Five

  Outside, Anastasia hailed a cab and helped Laramie crawl into the back seat while the cab driver deposited her bags in the trunk. Their abrupt departure from the party had been somewhat embarrassing, but it did have one upside. Having to leave early had prevented her and Mischa from weeping in each other’s arms while they engaged in a long, drawn-out good-bye. When it came to bidding farewell to someone she cared about, short and sweet was always best.

  The cabbie eyed her and Laramie after he climbed into the driver’s seat of the dented Lada, the much-ridiculed car brand that was currently undergoing yet another attempted image makeover in an effort to boost the company’s lackluster sales.

  “Where to?” he asked.

  Anastasia gave him the address of Laramie’s hotel and leaned back against the cracked leather seat that reeked of fresh sweat and stale cigarettes.

  The cab driver started the meter and used the rearview mirror to peer at her reflection. “It looks like your friend has had a little too much fun tonight. If she gets sick before we reach the hotel, I’m charging you a cleanup fee.”

  Anastasia tried to remember how much cash she had on hand. Enough to pay the fare, but not enough to cover any ridiculous surcharges the driver decided to tack on the final bill. She thanked her lucky stars Sergei had made arrangements to send a company car to ferry Shorty and Laramie to the airport tomorrow. One less expense she would have to worry about.

  “She’ll be fine. Just drive.”

  Despite her assurances, she could tell Laramie’s energy was starting to fade. Her eyes were half-lidded and her breathing was growing shallower by the minute.

  Unsurprisingly, Laramie fell asleep almost as soon as the car pulled away from the curb. Her snores were so loud they drowned out the sound of the Philipp Kirkorov song playing on the radio. Not that Anastasia minded. She liked Kirkorov’s gender-bending style, and the Bulgarian-born musician had been named the best-selling Russian artist five times during his storied career, but she had never been much of a fan of his music. She preferred One Direction.

  Music critics might beg to differ, but she thought 1D’s first four albums were on par with the Beatles’ early releases. Pure pop that made you feel good and didn’t try to manipulate your emotions or ask you to think. Then Zayn had to screw things up by deciding to go solo. The group’s fifth album—their first as a quartet—was okay, but it didn’t have the same spark. Neither did their solo work. Now the group was on hiatus, code speak for taking a break from recording and performing with each other until some promoter threw enough money at them to pique their interest in a lucrative reunion tour. Anastasia wasn’t holding her breath. Neither, by the sound of it, was Laramie.

  Anastasia tilted Laramie’s hat forward until it covered most of her face. The thick felt served as an effective dampener, muffling Laramie’s snores so they sounded more like a blender than a pneumatic drill.

  “Her husband must not get much sleep,” the cab driver said.

  Anastasia almost corrected his assumption about Laramie’s sexuality like she always did when someone made the same assumption about her, but she managed to catch herself in time. Though she frequently outed herself, she would never do it to someone else.

  “She doesn’t have a husband,” she said instead.

  “It’s easy to see why.”

  As the cab driver laughed at his own joke, Anastasia regarded Laramie out of the corner of her eye. Laramie didn’t have a husband, true enough, but did she have someone to call her own? Was there someone besides her family waiting for her to return to Wyoming when her time in Godoroye came to an end? Anastasia wouldn’t doubt it. Even though a line of drool was starting to form in a corner of Laramie’s mouth, the passed-out cowgirl was quite a catch.

  Laramie’s long legs were stretched as far as they could reach in the cramped space. Her work-roughened hands rested in her lap. Anastasia was tempted to run a finger across the thick calluses on Laramie’s upraised palms, but she didn’t dare. Not here. The cabbie seemed to sense something was different about them. It wouldn’t do for him to assume that they were a couple. He was a big man. Almost twice her size. If he figured out they were lesbians and decided to express his disapproval, the situation could turn dangerous. Laramie was in no condition to defend herself and she couldn’t fight him off on her own.

  She moved closer to the passenger’s side door to put some distance between herself and Laramie, then waited for the seemingly endless ride to be over.

  “We’re here,” the cab driver said after he braked to a stop in front of Laramie’s hotel.

  Despite its pretty trappings and exorbitant price tag, the hotel wasn’t quite as grand as it seemed. Par for the course in modern-day Moscow. The rooms were small, the beds were hard, and the food in the restaurant was only a level or two above what was served in most school cafeterias. Which mattered more, Anastasia mused as she climbed out of the taxi, the trappings of success or success itself?

  The cab driver retrieved her luggage and deposited it on the sidewalk. “One hundred rubles,” he said, holding out his hand.

  Anastasia balked at the price. The meter had stopped far short of the amount the cabbie had just demanded, but she was in no position to argue. Not when she needed his help. She opened the driver’s side door and tried to pull Laramie out of the car, but Laramie wouldn’t budge. She looked at the cabbie, who was still holding out his hand for his fare.

  “Grab an arm and help me take her upstairs.”

  The cab driver wagged his finger. “I will drag her out of my car to make room for my next fare, but carrying her inside will cost you extra.”

  “Forget it.” She looked around for someone more willing to help her, but the doorman didn’t volunteer to offer his services either. “Do you mind if I borrow one of those?” she asked, pointing to one of the luggage carts lined up in the lobby.

  The doorman glanced at her clothes—an off-brand shirt and knockoff designer jeans—with obvious disapproval. “Those are for guests who pay by the night, not by the hour.”

  Anastasia gritted her teeth in frustration. “Sergei Ivanov is the principal owner of this hotel. The woman in the taxi and I both work for him. She is a registered guest. Her room is being paid for by Mr. Ivanov, and I would very much like to take her to it.” She could hear her voice rising in anger, but she didn’t try to reel in her temper. “Would you like to call Mr. Ivanov so he can confirm who we are, or do you want to keep standing here wasting everyone’s time?”

  “No,” the doorman said contritely. His attitude changed as soon as she mentioned Sergei’s name. If she had known it would have such a profound effect, Anastasia would have dropped it sooner. “That won’t be necessary. Wait here.”

  He ran inside like wolves were on his tail. He returned a few minutes later with a porter in tow. The porter dragged Laramie out of the back seat and loaded her on the cart. Laramie’s hat managed to stay on, even though her head lolled back and forth like she was a rag doll.

  Anastasia turned to the cab driver. “Here’s your money.”

  “This is only eighty-seven rubles,” he said after he counted the bills she had given him.

  “Exactly.” She pointed at the meter, which had stopped just short of eighty-seven rubles. “And I’ll need a receipt for my expense report.” Someone was going to pay for all the torment he and the doorman had put her through, and it wasn’t going to be her.

  He mumbled a few curses under his breath but did as she asked.

  “Is there anything else you need?” the doorman asked after the porter placed her luggage between Laramie’s splayed legs.

  “No,” she said, enjoying the unexpected taste of power, “I can take it from here.”

  She followed the porter inside as he steered the luggage cart across the lobby and into the elevator. The porter didn’t say much as they rode the elevator upstairs. She liked the fact that he did his job without looking down on her or trying to suck up to her.

&
nbsp; Upstairs, she fished Laramie’s key card out of her pocket and used it to access the room Sergei had booked. She gave the porter a generous tip after he set her bags inside the door and placed Laramie on the bed.

  “Do you need a receipt for this, too?”

  “No,” she said as they shared a laugh. “Why don’t we keep it between us?”

  He slipped the bills into his pocket and darted his eyes toward Laramie. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks. I think I’ll need it.”

  After the porter pushed the luggage cart out of the room, she locked the door behind him and took a look around. The room was listed as a suite, but it was probably less than thirty-seven square meters. It had all the basic necessities, though. A bed, a desk, a couch, and a bathroom with a walk-in shower. The minibar was well stocked, though Laramie wouldn’t have much use for it tonight.

  Laramie.

  Anastasia walked over to the bed and looked down at her. Her features, tense and guarded while she was awake, were placid as she slept. Anastasia used the tip of one finger to brush a stray lock of hair off Laramie’s cheek. Laramie stirred but didn’t rouse from her slumber.

  Anastasia backed away from the bed. How was she supposed to handle this situation? She had watched out for drunk friends before while they slept it off, but Laramie was a stranger, not a friend.

  Even though the couch was so small Anastasia doubted she would be able to find a comfortable sleeping position, sharing a bed with Laramie was out of the question. She couldn’t shake her suspicion that most hotel rooms were rife with hidden cameras, and she didn’t want to be spied on while she slept next to a woman she thought she might be attracted to.

  She removed Laramie’s boots, turned her on her side, and placed a trash can next to the bed in case she got sick again. She headed to the bathroom to change into the sleepwear she had brought, then grabbed an extra blanket and pillow from the closet. She set the alarm on her phone after she texted Mischa to let him know she had arrived safely. He didn’t respond right away so she assumed he must have been hooking up with the guy he’d had his eye on all night.

  She took one last look at Laramie before she turned off the light. “At least I’m not the only one sleeping alone tonight.”

  Her legs were too long for the couch so she curled into the fetal position. She suspected most of the muscles in her back and legs would be cramping by the morning, but it was still better than sleeping on the floor or on a worn-out cot like she’d had to do in the orphanage she grew up in.

  One thought came to mind as she drifted off to sleep. I could get used to this.

  * * *

  The tinny sound of electronic chimes cut through Laramie’s head like a buzz saw. She blindly reached for the alarm clock next to her bed and pressed the snooze button. The sound lessened but didn’t die.

  “What the hell?”

  She groaned as she lifted her head, the movement sending shock waves of pain throughout her body. Her head felt like it was about to explode, her mouth tasted like something had crawled into it and died, and the rest of her didn’t feel too good either.

  “Sorry,” an apologetic voice said in the dark.

  A cell phone’s glowing display lit up Anastasia’s face as she opened an app and disabled the alarm.

  Laramie squinted as she turned on the light next to the bed. “How did I get here?” She tried to think, but gave up when the effort proved too painful. “I remember hailing a cab and I have a vague recollection of riding in a luggage cart, though that doesn’t make any sense.”

  “If you do not remember what happened, I will not tell you. I need this job.”

  Anastasia tossed her covers aside, swung her legs off the sofa, and stood as if she didn’t expect her legs to be able to bear her weight. Laramie tried not to admire the glorious sight of Anastasia in the tight tank top and boy shorts she had slept in the night before.

  “Did you have as much to drink as I did?”

  Anastasia’s enigmatic smile was all the answer Laramie needed. “Not quite.”

  “Good. First Shorty, then me. I’m glad someone managed to show a modicum of responsibility last night.”

  Anastasia’s tank top rode up as she stretched, revealing an enticing expanse of skin. Laramie licked her lips and turned away.

  “How is head?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Head.” Anastasia tapped her temple. “How is head? Does it hurt?”

  “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

  “And stomach?”

  “It’s mercifully empty.”

  “You will feel better after you have food. Something greasy to soak up alcohol. We get butterbrods and fried eggs after we check in at airport, yes?”

  Laramie didn’t know what butterbrods were and wasn’t sure she wanted to find out, but she didn’t seem to have much choice. She flinched at the shrill sound the telephone emitted when it rang. The concierge making the wake-up call she had requested.

  After Laramie hung up the phone, Anastasia shook two pills out of a bottle in her carry-on bag and handed them to her, along with a bottle of water from the minibar. “Take these for headache.”

  “Thank you.” Laramie downed the pills and hoped it wouldn’t take long for them to start working their magic.

  “Would you like to shower first, or shall I?”

  Laramie drank the rest of the water and pushed herself to her feet. She didn’t feel dizzy like she had when she first woke up, but her head was still in a fog. “You go. I need to check on Shorty to make sure he’s none the worse for wear.”

  Anastasia laughed as she headed to the bathroom. “If he looks as bad as you, we are in for long day.”

  If Laramie didn’t stop thinking about how good Anastasia’s ass looked in those boy shorts, she would be in for a long night. Several, in fact. She grabbed her key card off the counter and avoided looking at her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t need visual evidence that she looked even worse than she felt. She needed to sober up before she got to Godoroye because this certainly wasn’t the first impression she had hoped to make on her new trainees. She wanted to earn their respect, not their scorn.

  She crossed the hall and knocked on Shorty’s door. She thought she would have to bang on it for a while before she received a response, but Shorty answered right away. When he opened the door, he looked as fresh as a daisy. He was showered, shaved, and already dressed. His bed was made, his bags were packed, and he was ready to roll.

  “I came to wake you up,” she said, “but it looks like I’m too late.”

  “I might get knocked down a time or two, but I always get back up. Right now, I don’t know if I can say the same about you. What did you get into last night?”

  “I might have had one too many at Anastasia’s going-away party.”

  “One or a dozen?”

  He poured her a cup of coffee from the carafe he had made. It was black and so thick a spoon would have stood straight up. Just like she liked it.

  “I lost count after four.”

  “No wonder you look like shit. Did you have fun at least?”

  “Let’s just say our translator has some rather interesting friends.”

  “Did you meet her boyfriend?”

  “I met her roommate, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Shorty’s eyebrows knitted in confusion, then arched in recognition. “Oh. So the two of you have something in common. Did you…” He waved his hand to indicate Laramie should finish the sentence for him.

  “No, but we did spend the night together.”

  “Yeah?”

  Shorty arched his eyebrows again. Though he was reluctant to reveal his own secrets, he seemed to take immense pleasure in hearing other people spill theirs. He wasn’t one to gossip, but he could listen to it all day. Laramie explained what had happened before he could start speculating.

  “After I puked my guts out at the party, she brought me back here and slept on the couch while I sawed logs in the bed.”


  “Where is she now?”

  “Taking a shower while I check on you.”

  “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” He pulled the cup of coffee from her hands and pushed her toward the door. “Get back where you can do some good.”

  She retrieved her mug so she could finish every caffeine-soaked ounce of coffee that remained. Her nerves would probably be jangling for the rest of the day, but at least she would feel more alert than she did now. She needed her wits about her in order to avoid a repeat of last night’s unfortunate behavior.

  “Stop your matchmaking, Shorty. Nothing’s going to happen between me and Anastasia. Homosexuality is illegal here, remember?”

  “According to our federal government, smoking marijuana is against the law, too, but that doesn’t stop people from lighting up, does it?”

  “I’ve never seen you light anything other than the occasional celebratory cigar whenever someone gets married or has a baby. What do you know about smoking weed?”

  “Let’s just say the Rocky Mountains aren’t the only things in Colorado that are high.”

  “I’m going to have to start following you when you go on vacation, old man. You have way more adventures than I do.”

  “If you want to catch up, you can start by going back to your room. A pretty filly and a hot shower? Fifteen minutes is all you need to have the adventure of a lifetime.”

  Laramie wished life was as simple as Shorty often made it out to be. In her experience, though, matters of the heart had always proven to be anything but simple.

  Chapter Six

  After she, Laramie, and Shorty checked in at Domodedovo Moscow Airport, Anastasia found a restaurant that was open and placed three orders for butterbrods, fried eggs, and coffee.

  “What’s this now?” Shorty asked after the waitress brought their food to their table.

  Not many people were taking early flights today so the wait wasn’t very long. The food was piping hot and smelled amazing.