“You’re right. They’d milk it for all it’s worth.”
“Part of why they’re so successful in getting publicity is because they know how to manipulate the media. I really worry if someone overhears your comments.”
“Don’t worry, I know how to manipulate the press, too,” Monica muttered. “What makes me so angry is the fact that Fielding, on national television, has made disparaging remarks about President Reagan’s policy regarding the environment. Doesn’t Fielding realize that whales aren’t a priority anymore? She comes off like a self-righteous zealot. I’ll bet she’d save a whale before she’d save a human being from death.”
Pat grimaced. “We’re going to have to work tonight with Hill personnel to issue some kind of statement.”
Monica turned, her eyes narrowing on her assistant. “I’ll write up some innocuous, generic response from the State Department that presents a united front between us and the president. Then you take it up the Hill and get it approved, Pat.”
“Of course.”
Grimly, Monica sat down and took some sheets of paper from her desk drawer. Her office was filled with mementos of the Reagan years. A favorite photo of her and the president sat on her desk, conspicuous, so that everyone would see it upon entering her mahogany-paneled office. Picking up her gold pen, she began to write.
“Fielding’s not going to get away with this.”
Pat sighed. “I don’t know how we’re going to stop them this time, Doctor. With that Soviet captain in tow, he’s stealing the show with just his presence. Glasnost is in, and to tell you the truth, he’s not bad-looking.”
“Speaks flawless English, too,” Monica growled. “Where’d they dig him up? Probably one of Gorbachev’s minions they’ve been grooming for something like this.”
“While you’re at it, don’t you think an appropriate phone call to the Department of Transportation is in order, too? It appears that the Coast Guard approves of the views presented by Dr. Fielding. That isn’t good for our image.”
“Damned whale issue,” Monica whispered, scribbling more rapidly on the paper. “I hate it! It’s such a paltry problem in comparison to real problems like national-security issues! And Japan! God, but they’re being stubborn about this semiconductor issue. But Fielding doesn’t see that, does she? All she can see and hear is her stupid whales and dolphins!”
Sadly, Pat nodded her head. “Maybe this Captain Rostov will make a mistake and discredit himself with the American public. You know, glasnost is new, and the president is still leery of it.”
“He ought to be. I am, too. Maybe Rostov is a mole. We’ll see. Don’t worry, Pat, I’m going to contact my friends at the FBI and have Rostov watched closely. Without his or the Coast Guard’s knowledge, of course.”
Pat smiled. “Wouldn’t it be something if Abby Fielding was a deep-cover Russian spy?”
Chuckling, Monica shook her head. “Oh, if only that turned out to be true. Then I could discredit her and deflate this whole whale issue.”
“Right now, she’s looking like the good guy and the administration is the bad guy. All we can do is hope Fielding slips up and makes a fool of herself in some way.”
Monica finished the statement with a flourish and handed it to her secretary to type up. “If she does, I’m going to be like a killer whale—just waiting to slit open her underbelly.”
Chapter Four
“WE’RE HOME,” Abby announced wearily, stepping inside her Anchorage apartment. Alec followed her and halted in the middle of the living room to look around. Outside the door were two Coast Guard sentries, who would remain on twenty-four-hour duty until Alec’s visit to the U.S. was at an end.
Glancing at her watch, Abby saw it was nearly 10:00 p.m. She quietly shut the pine door and watched Alec’s inspection and his reactions. Realizing she’d never dreamed of seeing a Soviet in uniform in her home, the discovery left her shaken. Alec was a Russian who was, indeed, a friend, not an enemy.
“Well, what do you think?” she asked, walking past him into the kitchen.
Taking off his cap, Alec placed it beneath his left arm and moved around the living room. “It’s spacious.” He knew there was awe in his voice. “Very rich by Soviet standards. Someone who had power in the Kremlin or Politburo would have this kind of apartment.”
Abby laughed and opened the fridge to retrieve a chilled bottle of wine. “Me, rich? Hardly. Marine biologists aren’t rich. With my salary, some free-lance writing and an occasional consulting fee, I make about twenty-seven thousand dollars a year. Here in the U.S. that’s considered middle-class income, believe me.” She brought two glasses down from the cupboard and glanced across the kitchen, which was separated from the living room by a breakfast bar.
The living room spoke of someone who respected the Earth, Alec thought. He leaned over to touch the cinnamon-colored velour sofa, and found the texture delightful. Potted plants hung from the ceiling and stood in huge ceramic pots. The hardwood floor was a gold-and-reddish-colored cedar, graced with a large hand-woven Navaho rug at its center. The coffee table was fashioned from pine, and a hand-carved mahogany whale was the centerpiece. The overstuffed chairs were a tan and a brick color respectively. The room gave off a sense of earthy warmth.
When Abby handed him a fluted glass of rose-colored wine, Alec smiled. “Thank you,” he murmured.
“Sit down,” Abby urged. “Take off your jacket, loosen your tie and kick off your shoes. You’ve got to be dead on your feet.” She sat in one of the overstuffed chairs, dangling her long legs over one arm, and kicked off her sensible brown shoes.
Grinning, Alec took a sip of the wine and watched Abby. She was tired, as evidenced by the shadows beneath her glorious blue eyes. But she looked utterly wanton with her hair released from the pins that had held it captive all day.
She smiled at him. He looked so stiff and formal. “Come on! Relax, Alec. There’s no camera around to take your photo now.”
She was right. He put down the flute and tried to get comfortable. “I want you to know, this is the first time I’ve done this.”
“What?” The wine, a blush variety from California, tasted heavenly to Abby after the long, grueling day. It had been a day filled with victories, though, not defeats. She felt high on adrenaline from all the media attention, not for herself, but for her whales and dolphins. They’d finally got the attention they deserved.
Alec shrugged out of his uniform jacket and laid it across the back of the couch. Off came his tie, and he opened the button of his shirt at his throat. “Getting out of uniform like this is against regulations. I either wear it or don’t wear it. If Captain Denisov could see me,” Alec said as he sat down to untie his shining black shoes, “he’d probably write me up for being out of uniform and a disgrace to the Soviet navy.”
Giggling, Abby shook her head and threaded her fingers through her hair to loosen up the abundant mass. What she needed to do was brush it. She hated pinning it up in a chignon, but realized she had had to look professional today for the world’s cameras. “I won’t tell.” With his light blue long-sleeved shirt opened at the throat, Alec looked like a businessman now, and not a naval officer. The only light on in the living room was a huge hanging stained-glass lamp, a pattern of red roses and green leaves on a pale pink background. It cast colorful light about, and the shadows accentuated Alec’s rugged features, making him intensely male and handsome.
Leaning back against the couch, Alec sighed, the wineglass in his hand again. “You look more like an elfin sprite than that serious marine biologist I saw today,” he teased. The wine was mildly fruity and semidry. Rarely had Alec had such wine, and he savored the chilled liquid.
“When I’m in the public eye, Alec, I have to present a certain kind of image.”
“Why?” He motioned to her. “You look relaxed, free and beautiful. What’s wrong with that image?”
Abby felt heat nettle her cheeks, and she avoided his hooded stare, more than a little aware of how woman
ly he made her feel. “If I showed up looking like this, a lot of Americans wouldn’t take me seriously.”
“Oh?”
“Unfortunately, Americans have had too many decades of prepackaged concepts. They’ve been brainwashed into seeing or believing only certain types of images. If you don’t fit the image, then you might not be believed.”
“But you dressed almost—” he searched for the right words, not wanting to insult her “—like a man. Even your hair was tamed into a severe shape.”
She sighed. “I know.”
“That wasn’t an insult. You looked very beautiful today in your suit, but now you look like the Abby I know.”
“Women have their problems in my country, Alec. Feminism isn’t a new concept.” When she saw the confusion in his eyes, she added, “There’s a double standard in America. Women were taught they could only be housewives and mothers and that was all. In the seventies, women began to assert their rights to do anything a man can do, with the exception of certain physical limitations. Not only that, but to get equal pay for equal work.” Her mouth twitched with ire. “Equal pay still hasn’t happened yet, and women are continuing to be undervalued by men who run this country. Part of the answer lies in women voting for women political candidates to sway the balance of power. Only then do I think women’s issues will begin to be fairly addressed.”
“And so you dress like a man to be taken seriously?”
Abby was pleased with his insight. “Yes…exactly.” She took another sip of her wine and stared down into the contents of the glass. “Every step women have taken in my country to free themselves of what men think they ought to do or be had been one hell of a struggle. The girls being born today will have it so much easier. They won’t have to fight to be taken seriously as an equal, or be sexually harassed like the women before them.”
“Things aren’t very good in the Soviet Union for women, either,” Alec noted. “A woman may be allowed to work at a job, just like a man. But she is still expected to raise the family and take care of the home, too.”
She gave him a flat look. “Looks like the double standard is alive and well over there, too. Here, a woman who has a career and a family is referred to as a Supermom.”
“A woman’s life isn’t easy,” Alec agreed softly.
“You don’t seem to have a problem with me being the way I am.”
A slow smile pulled at his mouth. “How can one dislike a sunbeam?”
“Are all Soviet men like you? Poetic? Not threatened by a woman such as myself? I can’t believe they are.”
He shook his head. “Not many are. They see women as something to be used.”
“Or abused,” Abby said grimly. “Do you know that rape of women is on an alarming rise in our country? That one out of three women in the U.S. will be raped in their lifetime? And that one quarter of all girls have been sexually abused by the time they’re eighteen, usually by a family member? I’ll never forget those statistics. They’ve stuck in my mind since I heard them seven years ago. I shudder to think how much higher they’ve risen since then. Sad, isn’t it? As women gain credibility and some equality, we have other threats to worry about.”
“That’s a high price to pay,” Alec said.
“The price for freedom is always high.” Abby got up. “I know Lieutenant Atkin wanted me to paint a rosy picture of life in American, but I believe in telling the truth. Especially about women’s rights. I’m known as a feminist, a woman who demands her rights.”
Alec felt the tension in her tall, proud body. He saw the anguish in her eyes and heard the vibrating anger in her voice. “I have no idea what it’s like for women in my country. To be frank, I’ve had little contact with that side of life.”
“You’re lucky. My best friend, Susan Stone, who lives across the hall from me in Washington, is a case in point.” Abby came and sat down on the couch with Alec. She crossed her legs and rested her wineglass on one of her knees. “The way I met Susan four years ago was when she pounded on my apartment door at two in the morning. Her husband, Steve, was beating up on her.” Abby shook her head, unable to stand the sympathy in Alec’s shadowed eyes. “Susan took him to court and started divorce proceedings. To show you how sick the justice system is in our country, the damned judge decided to block the injunction to keep Steve out of the apartment. The judge, who was also a man, a part of the good-old-boy network, said Susan didn’t have enough evidence as to Steve’s abuse. It was her word against his. So Steve was able to stay.
“Susan asked if I’d allow her and her daughter Courtney, who was only a year old at that time, to sleep in my apartment until she could get some kind of legal protection. I said yes after hearing what had happened. When Steve got home and found out what Susan had done, he flew into a rage and started beating her up again.” With a tremulous sigh, Abby whispered, “I had to take Susan to the emergency room. Alec, she had two black eyes and a broken rib. Can you believe that? I was so angry at her idiot husband that, if I’d had a gun, I’d probably have shot him.”
Alec remained silent, watching the fury and hurt in Abby’s face. Finally, after a minute, he murmured, “No, it’s not in your blood to kill anyone.”
She glanced up at him. “Don’t be so sure. I can’t stand men who would assault any woman or child who cannot physically defend themselves against that kind of superior strength.”
He shook his head, sharing her disgust. “So what happened to your friend Susan?”
“I called the cops right away. They took one look at Susan and hauled Steve off to jail.” She flashed him an angry look. “I took care of Courtney and had a lawyer friend from SOWF represent Susan. Bill got that injunction and then he went after Steve with a vengeance.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing,” Abby said flatly. “The judge threw out Susan’s testimony in court. Can you believe that? And this isn’t an isolated incident, Alec. Women go through this all over the U.S.!”
“Where is she now?”
“Susan’s working very hard to be a successful stock broker in Washington, D.C. In the last three years, she’s pulled herself up by her bootstraps and made something of herself.”
“And Courtney?”
“Adjusting. Susan takes her to a therapist but Courtney is still wary around men. She’s getting better, though.”
“And this ex-husband? Is he in jail?”
Abby shook her head, so angry that she wanted to cry. “Susan divorced Steve and then he skipped town and hasn’t paid a cent in alimony.
“Susan works long hours and Courtney lives half her life at day-care. When she goes to school next year, she’ll be a latch-key kid, someone who goes home to an empty house because the parent has to work.”
“It doesn’t sound like a very healthy situation.”
“You’re right. But in America, both parents frequently have to work to make enough for the family to live on. Unfortunately, it’s the kids who suffer.”
“Has Susan fallen in love with another man?”
Sadly, Abby shook her head. “When you have something like that happen to you, Alec, it breaks your faith and trust in men in general. Not all men are like Steve, but Susan still has to learn to trust all over again, and it’s not easy. No, she’s single and frankly, with her work hours, she doesn’t have time for a significant other.”
“Significant other?”
She smiled. “A slang term for a boyfriend or a steady guy.”
He shared her strained smile. “I think Susan will find a man who has her kind of strength.”
“You’re more hopeful than she is, that’s for sure. She’s grown up a lot since this thing with Steve and realizes there just aren’t too many men around that she’d like to get involved with. Susan’s content to wait, even if she’s lonely.”
“I can’t disagree with her decision,” Alec said. His hunger to know Abby on a personal level drove him on to ask her, “What of your family?”
She smiled softly. “I came o
ut of a normal home, so to speak. In fact, my dad is my strongest supporter. I’ve inherited his tenacity and discipline.”
“And your mother? How much of her is in you?”
Relaxing against the couch, Abby smiled wistfully. “I’m a lot like her in every other way. I have her red hair, although now she’s got red and gray hair. She’s always been a firebrand. Back in the seventies, she marched for the feminist movement and now she works part-time in Washington.
“My folks live in La Jolla, California, but my mother flies back and forth to lobby for pro-women and pro-family legislation.”
“Sounds like you are from a politically active family.”
Abby shrugged. “I don’t consider us political at all. We’re just a family who cares about our quality of life, and the future of our children and our planet. And we’re willing to give our beliefs more than lip service. We go out and try to change the conditions we don’t like.”
Draining the last of the wine from his glass, Alec set it on the coffee table. “I like people with a commitment. On board whatever ship I served, I try to get my people involved, to care, like you do.” He scowled. “Before glasnost, it was almost impossible because most people were afraid of the KGB spies among us. Now with this new openness, even the most diehard Communist is relenting a little, and personal expression and freedom is finally being allowed to surface.”
“I just hope,” Abby said with fervency, “that glasnost and perestroika are real, Alec, and not overturned.”
“You think General Secretary Gorbachev is a wolf in sheep’s clothing?”
Uncomfortable, Abby tried to choose her words carefully. “America has had forty years of the Cold War, Alec. Most people are distrustful of glasnost. Everyone wants it to work, but we’re wary. But believe me, no one would love to see the nuclear race come to an end more than me.”
“But…?”
She smiled suddenly. “You have the most unerring way of reading my mind.”
“I see the doubt register in your eyes, Abby. As an officer, it’s a skill one develops to know how your men are really feeling or what they’re thinking.”
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