Free Crooked by Austin Grossman Page B

of the second floor. Let them drag me back if they wanted to; I needed a moment alone. The second floor was dark and solemn. Hiss might once have been invited to a reception like this, but now, instead, he was making plans for a legal defense and worrying about staying out of prison. What did I care? He’d been a spy, hadn’t he?
    I stepped out onto the balcony in my tuxedo, let the snow fall on my face for a moment, muscles slack. Downstairs the party was still in full swing.
    “Congratulations, Mr. Nixon,” I heard behind me. I turned, smiling my party smile, and then I realized it was Tatiana, wearing a strapless green ball gown, her hair up, a drink in her hand.
    “You can’t be here,” I said.
    “Why not? I have an invitation. I am a respected member of the Soviet cultural delegation.”
    “It’s not in very good taste. You should leave. Our business is done.”
    “I don’t work for you, Dick,” she said. She looked directly at me in a way I didn’t like. “I didn’t vote for you. In fact, you owe me a favor.”
    “How did you know the microfilm would be in the pumpkin patch?”
    “Alger told me it was there. I keep very close track of my American contacts, Mr. Nixon. Especially the interesting ones. I believe you’ll be a senator soon. They’ve asked you to run. Helen Gahagan Douglas’s seat.”
    “How do you know that?” I said, squirming a little. I wondered if anyone could see us.
    “Oh, goodness, maybe there are Russian spies in the United States government, wouldn’t that be awful?” she said. “You’re going to be an influential man soon, Mr. Nixon. How do you like it?”
    “Christ,” I said, sweating. “Would you please go? I feel bad enough as it is.”
    “Don’t be stupid. And stop glancing around like that. There’s no one here. And no one would suspect anything. You look like a guilty husband.” It was true; I could barely pay attention to what she was saying. “You feel bad about what you did?” she continued. “I don’t believe it. Your whole life you tried to succeed, and you got what for it? Hack lawyer, then hack politician. And now you see you can be more than that. Slip your skin, walk between the walls. Break rules.”
    “Betray my country.”
    “Don’t be dramatic. You’re sorry about the deal you made, I know. Your feelings, yes. ‘I’m a traitor to my country!’” she said in a growly woe-is-me voice, the first of many Richard Nixon impressions I would witness over the years, and not the worst. “Do you care about it that much? Flag, Star-Spangled Banner? Christmastime and apple pie? I do not think you do.”
    “There’s more to it than that.”
    “Is there? I know you, Dick; you don’t care about all this, not deep down. Who are you betraying? What did these people ever do for you? Who’s pulling for Dick Nixon here? We are. We got you Mr. Chambers and Mr. Hiss, and we’ll get you more. Lots more.”
    “No. I won’t do it.” I was drunk and tired and sounded pitiful, I knew.
    “Oh, Dick. You already are doing it.” She might have been hiding a smile. “You’re one of us now, Dick. It’s not so bad, is it? There are more of us than you think.”
    “How many? And who are you really? And what was all that nonsense Hiss wrote about in his diary? That night—”
    “Is not good ask so many questions,” she said, pouting and putting on a heavy Russian accent.
    “Dick?” I heard Pat’s voice float up the stairs. “Are you up there?”
    “Go now,” Tatiana said, and she raised her glass and gave me a twinkly toast. “Enjoy bourgeois party and loving wife. I will be seeing you later.”
    “I’ll be there in just a minute, Pat,” I called, glaring at Tatiana.
    Pat stared at me curiously as I descended the steps.
    “What were you doing up there? We need to go.”
    “Just getting some air, dear.”
    “Get our coats. I’ll meet you by the door,” she said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
    “I’m fine.”
    I thought of the last